CHAPTER XXXIII.
ON THE ROCKS.
As the sailmaker was stretching himself, Rough-and-Ready, who was already stirring, said,--
"I say, mate what name shall we call you by?"
"Isn't Sailmaker good enough?" was the Irish answer.
"It's good enough; but it's no name."
"Tom, for short, then."
"That'll do, Tom; it's like your talk, short, and to the point."
From that time they talked of him as Tom the Sailmaker.
"We're going to look for something for breakfast, Marvel," said Rough-and-Ready. "Don't wake the women--let them have their sleep out. And keep your eye on those two rascals yonder. If they come to close quarters, have no mercy. They'd have none on you. Come along, Tom."
They returned some two hours afterwards, with smiling faces. The women gathered hope from their cheerful countenances. The sailmaker was loaded with wood to replenish the fire, which had not been allowed to go out during the night.
"We're going to have a fine breakfast," said Rough-and-Ready, flourishing half a dozen plump pigeons. He chuckled as he exhibited them; but he had no time for trifling. There was more serious business to attend to--the cooking of the pigeons.
With those and a few mussels they made a breakfast fit for kings and queens. The two malcontents in the distance had no fire and no pigeons; they made their breakfast off cold shell-fish, and looked with envious eyes at the cooking going on among the other party.
"Ah, ah, my fine fellows!" cried Rough-and-Ready, waving half a roasted pigeon in the air; "what d'ye think of mutineering now?"
They could not hear him, but they understood his taunting action.
Said Rough-and-Ready to the women, when breakfast was finished,--
"Can you handle a pistol? Could you pull the trigger of one straight in the face of man or beast, if danger threatened?"
They looked at him inquiringly.
"You might have to do it," continued Rough-and-Ready; "so you had better learn, and be prepared."
"But why?" they asked.
"You see, my dears, there are two parties of us. Here we are, one party. Yonder are two rascals, another party. We are not the best of friends, we two parties. If they could get rid of us, they would. By fair means they can't; but they might try foul. Now I take it that we men have to look after you and protect you--and you may depend upon us for doing our best, my dears. We must see to every thing--food, lodging, protection from storms and from savage Blacks. That may take us away from you sometimes, and those rascals might steal upon you unaware. Or another thing might happen: we might fall sick. Then who will protect you? Or another thing--But, pshaw! there are a dozen other reasons why you should learn to use fire-arms."
Without more ado he showed them how to load a pistol and fire it, and indeed was not content until they did it to his satisfaction. Minnie was the more expert of the two; she soon learned. Then said Rough-and-Ready,--
"Now, we are going to take a walk. A mile, I dare say. We shall be followed, you'll see; the enemy will want to know where we are going."
Rough-and-Ready took Little Emma in his arms, the sailmaker assisted Rachel Homebush, and Joshua attended to Minnie. As Rough-and-Ready expected, Scadbolt and the Lascar followed them at a distance. Rough-and-Ready led the way over the rocks, on to sand, into forest. They were nearly an hour before they came to the end of their journey, for the women were very weak and could walk but slowly. Without any forewarning, Rough-and-Ready stopped.
"Here is another thing I have to teach you. A native call."
And to their astonishment, he put his hands to his mouth and emitted a shrill cry, that rang through the woods and seemed to linger there. The word he uttered was "Coo-ēē!" and the sound was composed of two notes, the second an octave higher than the first. He made them all repeat the cry after him many times, and made them dwell on the notes as long as their breath lasted.
"If we miss each other, and lose our way, that cry will be a signal. You have no idea how far it will travel, if you dwell long enough on the notes. Now, you" (to the men) "stop here for a little while. You," (to the women) "follow me."
They obeyed him unhesitatingly. He led the women over a rise in the woodland, where the trees were thickly grouped; and when they were on the declivity on the other side, they saw at the base of the rise a lovely creek of fresh water sparkling in the sun.
"You will not be disturbed for an hour," he said, and darted away.
They divined the meaning of this delicate thoughtfulness, and with full confidence in him and his party they made their way to the creek, and bathed and combed their hair. (I vouch for the comb, but am not prepared to say where it came from, for the cunning of woman is beyond me.) The men looked at them with astonishment when they came back, sleek and trim. They appeared to have grown a dozen years younger. They blushed and smiled as the men gazed at them, and Little Emma lisped, "It was so nice!" Even Rachel looked brighter and more womanly.
After them, the men went in turns and bathed, and by that time they were hungry enough for their dinner. Rough-and-Ready had already provided it, having shot a sufficient number of birds for three or four meals. Nothing could satisfy them after dinner but to go to the rocks, and look seaward for the sight of a ship. Rough-and-Ready declared it was useless. "Time thrown away," he said. "If we see a ship, we have no means of signalling it; and even if we had, 'tis a thousand to one that they would not see the signal." But all-potent as his authority and advice were in every other matter, he could not prevail upon them to cast away the hope of being rescued by that means. Before night came they made their way back to the woods, and constructed some rough tents with branches of trees, to sleep in. As they were collecting suitable timber, Rough-and-Ready, who never omitted an opportunity to instruct his companions in the resources of the country, called their attention to a group of curiously-twisted trees, which he said were apple-trees, although there was no fruit on them. On nearly every one of them, three or four feet from the ground, was a large knob, bulging out like a tumor.
"See how bountiful Nature is," said Rough-and-Ready. "You need seldom be in want of water or food, if you know the secrets of the bush."
He dug his knife into one of the knobs, and fresh water ran out of the wood. They tasted it, and found it very sweet.
It was a beautiful night, and they sat talking for some time before they retired to rest. Their strength was recruited by the nourishing food they had eaten, and by the bath they had had. They had not seen the Lascar or Scadbolt since the morning, and they deemed it prudent to keep watch during the night. Now that the first excitement of being saved was over, their thoughts turned to their unfortunate companions who had found a grave in the cruel sea, and they shed pitiful tears over the memory of the dead.
Rough-and-Ready's experience of the Australian natives was largely drawn upon during the night. Although he said nothing of his past career, it was evident that he was well acquainted with every thing appertaining to Australian bush-life. His descriptions of the natives were not comforting; he described them as treacherous, mean, and cruel. As to their chances of escape, he declared that there was no hope from the sea. Their best plan would be to try and work their way southward, but not for some time, until they were quite strong.
"We will camp here," he said, "for two or three weeks at least, and try and learn something about the country."
But he told Joshua, when they two were alone, that he only said that to console the women.
"We can manage to live here; but to get south we should have to cross country, where we should almost certainly be starved to death or butchered by the Blacks."
The prospect was dismal indeed; they seemed to be cut off from the world.
Notwithstanding that the women shuddered and trembled as they listened to Rough-and-Ready's account of the natives, with whom they were almost certain to come in contact soon, the subject was too fascinating to be avoided. So, being compelled to talk about them, he spoke of many strange things concerning them. The conversation turning upon their superstitions, he told his hearers of the savage beliefs in water-spirits and land-spirits, who are all females, and walk about without heads; of the Oorundoo, who comes out of the water to drown bad wives; of the Balumbal, a gentle race of spirits who live upon the sweet leaves of flowers; of the Bunyip, a monster who lives in the large lakes, and who issues therefrom to seize women and children; Potoyan, a spirit of darkness, whose Whisper strikes terror; and of many other singular beliefs.
Said Rough-and-Ready, "There is no surer way to frighten the blacks than through their superstitious fears. Their 'doctors' can work upon them as they please."
Joshua had taken care of his accordion, and had preserved it almost uninjured. He played, and they all listened wonderingly to the soft notes of "Home, sweet home," floating through the woods. It was like a dream; they could scarcely believe they were awake. When he ceased playing, a melancholy cuckoo-note came from the distant woods.
"'Tis the more-pork, a night-bird," said Rough-and-Ready. "I never heard it sing in the day."
They retired to their beds of dry leaves soon after that, and dreamed of the strange things they had heard. But Joshua could not sleep. Some time before midnight--it might have been an hour--he rose and wandered away from the camp, through the solemn woods. He took no notice of the groups of majestic trees through which he walked--here masses of the silver-leaved iron-bark; there thick clusters of the gigantic palm, woven together, as it were, by luxuriant vines trailing through their topmost branches. Strange effects of light and shade were produced by this natural network; but Joshua took no heed of them, nor of the other wonders of the woods by which he was encompassed. A sense of awful desolation was upon him; tremblingly he retraced his steps till he came to the camp, where he sank upon the ground exhausted by emotion. The full moon rose and shed its light upon him. He took from his breast the Bible which Dan had given him, and read upon its first page, "From Dan, with undying love and confidence." Those words did much to calm him; he kissed them, and pressed the book to his heart, and gradually fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
BITTER REVELATIONS.
Here in the grand Australian woods are two tents--gunyahs, Rough-and-Ready calls them--built of tea-tree bark, bound round by vine creepers. They are in the form of a hive, and are wonderfully picturesque and comfortable. Up to this time, the castaway dwellers in these gunyahs have been undisturbed by savages, and this has been a matter of surprise to all but Rough-and-Ready. "Wait till after the rainy season," he has said a dozen times; "we shall have plenty of them then." Rough-and-Ready has made this "rainy season" a pretext for lingering near the spot where they first camped after their rescue. It would be suicide, he told them, to attempt to move at present; they would not be able to make their way through the country. But indeed all of them, with the exception of Joshua, were content to remain where they were; they dreaded to encounter the horrors of the wild country through which they would have to pass. Joshua was the only one who fretted at their life of inaction. It seemed to him the cruellest thing to remain passive while Ellen and Dan and his parents were waiting for him at home. But what could he do? Without the assistance of Rough-and-Ready he was powerless; and that wise man of the woods declared emphatically that it would be madness to start upon such an expedition. So Joshua was compelled to wait for events to shape his destiny, and fretted and worried because he could take no hand in the direction of them. It was a good thing for him that he had plenty to do; he might else have lost his reason. Rough-and-Ready was the best of physicians; he would not allow any of his companions to be idle, and he took care to supply them with more work than they could conveniently accomplish. He derived a huge pleasure from this cunning proceeding, and had many a sly laugh to himself because of it. The building of the gunyahs was a matter in which he took especial delight, and he and his mates labored at them for many days; when they were finished, Rough-and-Ready declared that they were better than the finest stone houses that ever were built. The women took delight in them also, and decorated them with the prettiest creepers they could find. During all this time they were not molested by Scadbolt and the Lascar. In their rambles through the woods they occasionally came upon traces of the two rascals and caught distant glimpses of them, but they never came to close quarters. Once Scadbolt had attempted to make overtures; but he was warned off with small ceremony by Rough-and-Ready, who declined to parley with him.
On a certain moonlight night, not many nights ago, Rough-and-Ready invited Joshua to accompany him on an expedition. Coming to a place where the moon was shining over the tops of the gum-trees Rough-and-Ready motioned Joshua to be still, and in a few minutes they heard a call, half scream, half chatter. Presently Rough-and-Ready raised his gun, pulled the trigger, and down came two animals shaped like cats, with long brushy tails, sharp claws and something like thumbs on their hind feet.
"'Possums," said Rough-and-Ready in explanation.
He had found out a haunt of these animals, and that night they brought back more than a dozen, some ring-tailed, some silver. They could only be shot on moonlight nights, said Rough-and-Ready, and are chiefly found where the gum or peppermint-tree abounds. They had a splendid harvest, and in a week they collected nearly a hundred, Rough-and-Ready was mighty particular about the skinning of them, and about rubbing the fleshy parts of the skins with fine wood-ashes before fixing them on the trees to dry. They also caught a score or so of the sugar-squirrel, whose fur is real chinchilla. Upon these skins Minnie and Rachel are busy now with needle and thread, making caps for the men. It is a strange sight to see such evidences of civilization in the wild woods. The women had begged Rough-and-Ready to spare the lives of two young opossums which were found alive in their mothers' pouches, and he, knowing that they could be easily tamed, had readily consented. They were the most docile and harmless little things, and soon became domesticated, if such a word may properly be used in the life I am describing. At the present time, one of them is hanging head downwards, with its tail curled round the branch of a tree, in a state of serene happiness and content. The other is with Little Emma, who is sitting not far from the women, playing with it in the midst of a great heap of wild flowers she has collected.
The females are not alone. Two of the men are away, but Joshua is in sight, busy with his axe cutting up a tree for slabs. To tell truth, Rough-and-Ready is not desirous of moving from the woods where they are now camped, unless they are compelled to do so by the savages or by unforeseen circumstances. They are camped upon high land, where they are comparatively safe from floods; the country round about is fairly stocked with game; and there is water in abundance--somewhat of a rare circumstance, and, rarer still, the water is sweet. As for the life itself, none could be more attractive to him. The slabs that Joshua is cutting now are designed for a fence round their homestead. "Even if Blacks come," thought Rough-and-Ready "and they are not inclined to be friendly, we may frighten them away with our guns." He is very sparing of their powder and shot, of which they have not too large a store, and has taught his companions to make and lay many kinds of cunning snares for game. He is a thorough bushman, and in his present circumstances is certainly the right man in the right place.
The character of Rachel Homebush appears to have completely changed. The trials she has gone through have softened her hitherto hard nature. No stony-voiced exhortations to repent drop from her lips; she is humanized and humbled. But a short time since she was intolerant, arrogant, harsh, and proudly-insolent in her armor of sanctity; but now she has doffed that armor, and has inward doubts of herself: She believes in the goodness of others. She is less sanctified and more godly.
Said Rough-and-Ready to Joshua, when they were talking of the women--
"Rachel Homebush is a different creature to what she was. She is not so good as she was, and I think she's all the better for it."
Joshua smiled at this paradox, and said,--
"At all events she has a different opinion of you."
"Think so, mate?" asked Rough-and-Ready, a little anxiously. "I'm sorry for it, in one way. There's only one woman"--
But he paused unaccountably in the middle of his speech, looked at Minnie, who was a few yards away, looked at Joshua, and walked off whistling.
Here is the picture. Two hives, bright with flowering creepers; Rachel and Minnie sitting in the shadow of the hives, on stumps of trees, making fur caps; a 'possum hanging by its tail, studying gravitation; the little child, not far away, lying on the ground, surrounded by wild flowers, playing with her pet; in the distance, Joshua busy with his axe; surrounding and encompassing all, bright sky and lovely forest. Rachel, raising her eyes from her work, looks at the child in the midst of her garden, and a soft expression rests upon her face. The child sees the look, and thrusting the 'possum in the bosom of her frock, runs towards Rachel with a handful of flowers. Rachel kisses the child, strokes the silky coat of the 'possum, and selecting a piece of wild jasmine, places it in her breast. Then Little Emma goes to the back of Minnie, and twines some of the brightest flowers in Minnie's beautiful hair; and after falling back and admiring the effect of her handiwork, whispers to Minnie to get up, for she wants to show her something. Minnie smiles and rises, and they walk hand in hand to where Emma's wild flowers are, but the child leads her farther on, in the direction of Joshua. Made aware of the child's intention, Minnie falters, and tries to release her hand gently; but Little Emma clings to her, and laughingly strives to pull her along. Joshua's attention is attracted to the gentle struggle, and, coming forward, he asks the meaning of it. The child explains that she wanted Joshua to see how pretty the flowers looked in Minnie's hair, and that Minnie tried to run away. Joshua looks at Minnie, who stands trembling before him, as if she were guilty of some deep offence. Her bosom is heaving, her eyes are luminous with tears, her face is bright with blushes, and the tell-tale blood dyes her fair neck. Surely he has never looked upon a more beautiful picture! He says some kind words to her, and she goes back to her place near Rachel, and he to his work. But, within a few minutes afterwards, he swings his axe over his shoulder, and walks away in deep thought. The bees are humming about him, many-colored locusts and golden-green grasshoppers flit among the tangled brushwood, gorgeous butterflies skim through the air; the gaudy beetle creeps lazily along; the praying mantis, with its leaf-like wings, darts before him; the tree-frog utters its strange cry; a great lizard, with a frill round its neck, disappears at the sound of his step. He walks past these and myriad other wonders of the woods, until the character of the country changes, and he finds himself among rocky gullies, with many a fissure in the stony ranges that lead down to them.
The buzz of woodland life has ceased; unfathomable silence seems to dwell in these rocky hills and valleys. But suddenly a sharp shrill note sounds upon the air. It is a bird's note, but no mate's voice replies. It is like himself; solitary in the midst of this ungracious scene, which frowningly proclaims, "Love finds here no dwelling-place." Again the note sounds, and as he makes his way toward it, curious to see what kind of bird haunts so desolate a place, he hears a faint echo answer--a voice with no soul in it, he thinks in his then melancholy mood. He comes to the opening of a small cave, the walls of which assume fantastic shapes in the dim light. And there, uttering its wail, to which only mocking echoes make response, he sees the Solitary Warbler standing alone in the centre of the cave, like the Cain of its race. He sighs and walks on--over the rocky range, into woodland again, where the ground dips, and where the rich soil is teeming with new wonders; and coming to a great pool, he sits down by its side. He has been to this spot before. Chancing upon it by accident in one of his rambles, he was attracted by its beauty, and by the singular effect of the shifting shadows upon the bosom of the pool, whose surface is almost covered by lovely pink-and-white water-lilies. He looks now into the water, and sees his haggard face reflected between the beautifully-colored lilies. And singularly enough he sees at the same time, with the eyes of his mind, the picture of Minnie as she stood before him, with eyes downcast and the flowers in her hair. It is because he was disturbed by thought of her that he left his work. He knows her secret but too well. She loves him with all her soul. She tells it in every look, in every word; every little act of hers towards him is imbued with dangerous tenderness, and yet she is unconscious of wrong. Every day she grows more devoted--every day grows more beautiful. And it is a part of his great misery to feel that her society gives him pleasure as well as pain. He is storm-tossed by a conflict of feeling. In this conflict no miserable vanity finds place, although it might be well excused in most men in such a position; nor is he by a thought false to Ellen. But Minnie is dependent upon him, lives upon his kindness, asks nothing from him but gentle speech. Shall he deny her this? Shall he be false to his nature, and be harsh where harshness would be brutality? He is strong; she is weak. Her power is in her weakness; his weakness is in his strength. She leans upon him for support, and rules by submission.
Something stirs behind him. A sound so light that it might have been produced by the fall of a leaf or by the swaying of a bough from which a bird has flown. Joshua, whose senses have been quickened by his late experience, turns rapidly, and meets the Lascar face to face. In the woods thought and action are twin-like. Quick as lightning Joshua's pistol is in his hand, and the muzzle is pointed straight at the Lascar's breast.
"Stand!" cries Joshua, "if you value your life."
The Lascar stands motionless, his hands behind him.
"Show your hands and what is in them, or I fire."
The Lascar shows his hands--a large piece of rock in one. He had seen Joshua sitting by the pool, and had intended to brain him with the stone. At Joshua's command, he drops the stone. A bitter smile wreathes Joshua's lips, and something like a savage instinct whispers to him to shoot his enemy dead upon the spot. But the thought that it would be nothing less than murder restrains him. The Lascar sees the struggle in Joshua's face, and trembles; miserable wretch as he is he has not conquered the fear of death. He is re-assured when Joshua drops his hand and moves away, still facing him. At this, fear being subdued, the venom in his nature begins to work. Shall he let his enemy depart without a sting? He commences with a piece of bravado.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "you have robbed me, but you can't make up your mind to murder me."
"Robbed you!" exclaims Joshua, forgetting for a moment. "Of what?"
"Of my knife. Give it me back. I can't hurt you with it. You are more than a match for me with your pistols. How do you think I can live without a knife?"
Joshua makes no reply to this appeal to his humanity, and moves off a few steps, warily.
"I suppose you think yourself a manly sort of fellow," continues the Lascar, moving step for step with Joshua, but keeping at a safe distance nevertheless, "robbing people of their knives, threatening to murder them, and running away with an innocent girl, and ruining her!"
"You villain!" exclaims Joshua, quivering at this reference to Minnie, "do not make me forget myself!"
"So far as to shoot a man in cold blood!" sneers the Lascar. "But don't forget that the first time you struck me it was for running after a woman. What better are you than me? I ran after a woman, not an innocent girl. Perhaps you'll say you didn't trick her from her father's house, and make love to another girl, her friend, all the while, and that girl the sister of the man you pretended such fondness for! Going to be married to her too, I heard. But I can tell you something you don't know. You were precious sly with your sweetheart, Ellen Taylor, in Gravesend; she wouldn't suspect you, I dare say you thought, if you had her down at Gravesend until the ship sailed--she wouldn't have an idea then that your other sweetheart, Minnie Kindred, with her face stained brown, was waiting for you on board the 'Merry Andrew.' Ah! you played a cunning game, you pink of perfection, you sailor-hero; but I outwitted you, I think, in a way you're not aware of."
"How?" asks Joshua, constrained to listen.
"How? I watched you, and was paid for it. You little thought that, did you? I'll tell you something more. The man who paid me for watching had a fancy for your sweetheart Ellen: you've no need to ask me who he is, for you'll not find out through me. I did my duty to him, and he paid me for it. Why, directly I set eyes on that brown-faced gypsy-maid aboard the 'Merry Andrew,' I says, 'Minnie Kindred, by God!' and I set a trap for her, and she fell into it. Then what did I do? I sent a letter to my master by the pilot, and told him to go to Minnie Kindred's father, and to Dan, and to your mother and father, and to your other sweetheart, Ellen, and let them know that you had run away with the girl, that you parted from Ellen Taylor one minute, and was courting Minnie Kindred aboard ship the next. Was that a good game to play? Was I as cunning as you? Was that paying you for what you first did to me? Do you remember what I said, when you called me a dog of a Lascar? I told you that the Lascar dog never forgets--never, never! Why, now I look into your face, I could hug myself to think that we're wrecked, and that we shall die and rot here, every one of us, and that your sweetheart (who's my master's sweetheart now, I'll be sworn) and your friends know you for what you are--a mean false hound! I put a cross against you once, and I swore to have your heart's blood. Have I had as good? Think of it, and tell me if I have had my revenge."
But he does not wait to be told. There is so dangerous a look in Joshua's face, that he darts away and disappears in the bush. It is well for him that he has escaped, for Joshua is maddened by what he has heard. Truly the Lascar has struck at him with a cunning hand. The agony of his soul is shown in the convulsive twitching of his features, in his white lips, and in the veins of his strong hand, which swell almost to bursting as he grasps a stout branch for support. So he remains fighting with his agony with a bleeding heart, for full half an hour. This knowledge that he has gained is more bitter than all the rest. He knows the worst now. The evidence against him is awful in its completeness. "Even the Old Sailor will believe me guilty," he thinks, and groans aloud at the thought. But there is one duty before him to do. He must tell Minnie. This last resolve comes upon him when the force of his first passion is somewhat spent. Between him and Minnie no word has ever passed of those at home; their very names have been avoided. But Joshua now makes up his mind that silence on this subject must be broken. It must; both for Minnie's sake and his own.
It is past sundown. The day has been very hot, and the shadows of night bring cooler breezes, grateful to the senses of the castaways. Joshua has drawn Minnie a little apart from the others; she, yielding to his slightest wish, accompanies him to a part of the forest where they can talk unobserved. His first impulse is to ask her why she came on board the "Merry Andrew" unknown to him, and why she had disguised herself from him; but he spares her this pain, and takes from his breast Ellen's portrait and her lock of hair, and Dan's Bible. He hands Minnie the Bible.
"Do you know what this is?" he asks. "Yes," she answers; "it is the Bible that Dan gave you."
"Read what is on the first page."
She reads the inscription: "From Dan to his dearest friend and brother, Joshua. With undying love and confidence."
"You know the love that existed between Dan and me, Minnie?"
"I know. It is perfect. Why do you say existed? Surely it exists!"
"I don't know; I'm afraid to think. Your words are in some sort comforting to me; for they prove you have acted in ignorance, and that you have not wilfully wronged me."
She looks at him imploringly.
"You will understand presently," he says.
He takes Ellen's lock of hair, and presses it to his lips, and kisses Ellen's portrait also. The hot blood flushes into Minnie's face, then suddenly deserts it, and she clasps her hands convulsively. She is but woman, after all. Yet she controls her agitation sufficiently to ask in an unsteady voice,--
"Is it necessary to speak further of this, Joshua?"
"It is more than necessary," he replies; "it is imperative. My duty and my honor demand it."
She bows her head; he pauses a while, and when he speaks again, it is in a softer tone.
"Minnie, do you know that Dan loved you?"
"Loved me!"
"Ay, with all the strength of his constant heart."
"I did not know it. I thought he liked me, but I had no idea it was as you say."
"He told me in confidence some time before I left. My heart bleeds as I recall that conversation. No girl could hope to be more fondly, more faithfully loved. When the 'Merry Andrew' left Gravesend, I said to myself, 'When I return, Minnie will be Dan's wife,' for I could not but believe that you would have learned to appreciate the worth of such a love as his. But it was not to be."
"No, it was not to be," says Minnie sadly. "If I had known, it could not have been; if I had remained at home, it could not have been. You, who knew Dan so well, do you not know something of me also? I understand the motive that impels you to speak to me of these things, and I honor you the more for it. It is another proof of your goodness and generosity"--
"Minnie, Minnie!" he cries, "do not speak to me like that!"
"I must; I cannot help myself. Have you so poor an opinion of me--do you know so little of me--as to think I would marry a man I did not love? Rather than that, I would choose for him I loved the bitterest lot that life can offer--misery, shame, humiliation--and be content. Dan is all that you say; but I did not love him, did not deceive him. If he told you so, he told you what is false."
"He did not tell me so, but said that from your manner to him sometimes, he hoped to win your love."
"Must I shame myself to justify myself?" she cries recklessly. "I was happy in his company because he was your friend, and because he loved you. I was happy in his company because he spoke of you, and because--Joshua, have pity on me and forgive me! O my heart, my heart!"
He catches her fainting form, for she is falling. Weeping, she turns her face from him and hides it in her hair. Soft breezes play among the branches of the trees, stirring them into worshipping motion, and the more-pork, with its sad-colored plumage, flits by on noiseless wings, uttering his melancholy note. Joshua waits until Minnie is more composed; presently her sobs grow fainter and she leaves the shelter of his arm, and stands a little apart from him, with her face still averted.
"I do pity you," he then says, "and forgive you. What I have said and what I have done springs from no feeling of unkindness to you, Minnie. God knows, in such a strait as ours, such a feeling would be worse than cruel. But there are certain things of which I am afraid you are ignorant, that I must speak of and that you must hear. Do you know that, before I left home, I was suspected of playing with your feelings--of making love to you clandestinely, and so betraying the friend whom I would have laid down my life to serve?"
"No, no Joshua, do not tell me that!"
"It is the truth; but I did not know it until after I had bidden good-by to mother and father and Dan, in Stepney. Where were you on that day?"
"I--I was not at home," she falters.
"You had left, then. I went to your father's room to wish you and him good-by. He refused to see me. I asked to see you, and Susan told me you were asleep. I was deeply grieved; and I can understand now what caused Susan to beg me imploringly to be true to Ellen. What a cowardly villain they must believe me to be! Your father suspected me; Susan suspected me. If I had died that Christmas night at mother's door, it would have been happier for me! Minnie I thanked you once for saving my life; but I cannot thank you now, for you have made me the unhappiest of men."
She does not answer him, but stands before him trembling and suffering, as before a judge, enduring her punishment and admitting the justice of it.
"It is part of my unhappiness," he continues, "that I have to speak thus to you; it is part of my unhappiness that I have to show you the consequences of your rash conduct. Listen: To-day I saw the Lascar; he came behind me stealthily, to kill me, I believe; but I turned and saw him in time. I could have shot him dead where he stood; indeed, some savage prompting urged me to do so, but I held my hand and was spared the crime. This man hates me, Minnie. In an encounter I had with him before I first went to sea, I struck him and hurt him. He has had a bitter revenge upon me. He saw you on board the 'Merry Andrew' before the pilot left the ship, and recognized you, despite your disguise."
Minnie holds her breath. She remembers how the Lascar whispered her name in her ear the first day she went aboard.
"He did a devilish thing then. He wrote a letter home, saying that I had run away with you, and that we were together on board the 'Merry Andrew.'"
She falls on her knees before him, and raises her bands supplicatingly, and begs him again to forgive her, and to believe that she knew nothing of this, and that if she had known--
"If you had known, Minnie," he says, gently raising her, "you would not have done what you have. But you did not stop to consider, poor child! You see the consequences of that letter, do you not? Suspecting me, your father told me the story of his life, to warn me not to betray you. Suspecting me, Susan implored me to be true to Ellen. Dan confided to me his love for you, and I listened to and sympathized with him. Well, what must he and all of them think, when they have learned that you and I are together on board the 'Merry Andrew'? And I have something to tell you more painful than all the rest."
He puts Ellen's portrait into her hand. "Do you know who this is?"
Her eyes are blurred by tears, and she sees Ellen's sweet face through the sorrowful mist.
"It is Ellen's," she says.
"It is my wife!"
As Joshua utters these words, earth and heaven fade in Minnie's sight; nothing is visible, nothing is palpable to her senses, but the knowledge that flashes upon her, that her love, instead of being her glory, is now her shame. "There is no earthly sacrifice that love will not sanctify," her father had said. Could love sanctify such a sacrifice as she had made--a sacrifice that had brought disgrace and dishonor upon the man she loved? For the first time some slight consciousness of her error breaks upon her, and she looks upon herself as a shameful thing. As Joshua, witnessing her agony, moves a step nearer to her, she cries, "No, no, do not touch me!" and with a wild shudder sinks upon the ground. He, animated by sincerest compassion, throws himself by her side, lays his hand upon her head, and raises her face to his. She bows her head upon his shoulder, and sobs her grief out there. By every means in his power--by gentle speech, by tender act--he strives to soothe her, and succeeds. And then, true to his purpose, he finishes his story--tells her what occurred between him and the Old Sailor at Gravesend; how surprised he was to find that the good old man, and even his own mother, had seen Minnie's fancy for him, and had devised the cure for it; and how, prompted by duty and by his love for Ellen (he dwelt much on that), he had married her quietly at Gravesend, and had spent there the three happiest days of his life. And when his story is finished, and she has learned all, they sit hand in hand, very quiet and sore-smitten, until Minnie, in a singularly-subdued voice, asks what she shall do: as if, having committed this fault, and brought such terrible suspicion upon him, he has only to tell her how to atone for it, and she will straightway do it. Sadly he replies, "What can you do, Minnie? Nothing--nothing but wait. There is, to my mind, not the barest chance of escape. We shall make our graves in this wild forest; but we must live so--you and I, my dear--that upon my deathbed I shall be able to think that I have been true to my wife, true to my friend. Life is not the end of all things."
Meekly she assents. He calls her "Sister," and kisses her; and then they rejoin their companions, who are seated by the gunyahs, cooking turtles' eggs found by Rough-and-Ready, the discoverer.
CHAPTER XXXV.
SURPRISED BY SAVAGES.
The wisdom of Rough-and-Ready's plan of action was soon proved. One night, thunder awoke them from sleep. The thunder that breaks over the housetops, and the lightning that flashes in at the window-panes of a populous city, are very different from what are heard and seen in mountain ranges and great wastes of forests. Nature seems to be toned down in the city; in the forests and mountains she is grandly beautiful in repose, terrifically beautiful in travail. The thunder-peals were so loud and awful, that the women and child lay clasping each other in speechless fear. Like savage Titans the sound swept down upon them, and rushed through the forests and over the mountains and into them in search of echoes. The lightning darted upon the trees, and ran along the branches, and leaped through the woods into the bowels of the earth. Every thing that lived in stream and woodland, in rocky range and dark lagoon, sought shelter from the storm, of which Sound was but the herald. Presently it came, the swift rush of waters, like a second deluge, filling the creeks and rivers, and flooding all the land. Great torrents rushed down the mountainside into the low land, sweeping all before them. The storm raged the whole night through, abating slightly when morning dawned. It was well for the castaways that they had a little food stored by, for they could not go out in search of any. The second night the women begged the men to stay with them; so they all occupied the women's gunyah, lying side by side in the dark, and whispering to each other little words of comfort. All but Rachel Homebush, who was struck dumb by fear. The second night's storm was more terrific than the first, and about midnight so tremendous a peal of thunder broke over them, that they started up in dread.
"Who screamed?" asked Rough-and Ready. But his voice was not heard; and swift upon the heels of the thunder another vivid lightning-flash, instantly followed by a terrific burst of thunder, darted through the gunyah, and struck them blind for many moments. Then, during a slight lull, Rough-and-Ready asked again,--
"Who screamed?"
"Not I," said Joshua.
"Nor I," said the sailmaker.
The women did not speak. Joshua's heart beat with a new fear as he whispered,--
"Minnie! Minnie! speak to me. You are not hurt?"
And tears of thankfulness came into his eyes as Minnie answered in a trembling voice,--
"No Joshua; I am only frightened. Let me hold your hand."
"Where's the child?" he asked.
"Rachel has her. Rachel! Rachel!"
No voice replied. Thoroughly alarmed, they called to her again and again, and to the child, but could not rouse them. They were in the deepest darkness.
Presently Rough-and-Ready said, "Hush! we must wait for the light."
They waited for the light, and by the first faint glimmer they saw Rachel and the child lying down peacefully, the woman with the child folded in her arms. Light had come to them before the others!
Rough-and-Ready, who was the first to discover it, turned to his companions, with the tears streaming down his face and beard.
"Comfort her," he said to Joshua, pointing to Minnie.
Joshua put his arm round Minnie and turned her face from where the woman and child lay.
"Poor Rachel! Poor Little Emma!" he said. "Be brave, Minnie, my dear. Do not give way, for my sake."
He knew what words to utter to give her strength to bear the shock, and he made use of his power with a wise compassion.
Her poor white lips trembled as she said to him,--
"Pray for one thing for me, Joshua. Pray that I may not die before I have made atonement."
"Hush, hush, my dear!" he replied; "there is none to make. It is I who rather should have to make it, for my hardness to you. Be comforted, my dear."
The words came from his heart. He would have been unfeeling indeed if he had not learned to appreciate the beautiful unselfishness of Minnie's love; her meekness, her faithfulness, her devotion, her unmurmuring submission, could not fail to have a powerful effect upon such a nature as his.
The men went into their gunyah, and before night came again had made a rough coffin of bark. The next morning they dug a grave and stood round it bareheaded while the rain was falling. They kissed the child's face and poor Rachel's also before the cover was put on the rude coffin. Amid deep sobs--the men were not ashamed of their tears--Joshua read prayers; some vine-creepers were thrown into the grave; the earth was piled up into a mound: and they went back sadly to their tent. The loss of some one very near and dear to them could not have been more severely felt. From that time forth it became a practice for Joshua to read a chapter out of the Bible every morning and evening.
The rainy season lasted for three weeks, and during this time they lived very miserably. Minnie thrived, however--perhaps because Joshua was tender to her. The hot weather came and they were able to go in search of food. But Minnie was never left alone. Joshua and she were waiting one evening for the return of Rough-and-Ready and the sailmaker, but Rough-and-Ready came back without his companion. He looked round in some anxiety.
"Hasn't the sailmaker returned?"
"No," said Joshua; "you went out together."
"I know; but I missed him a couple of hours ago, and although I have searched for him and coo-ēēd for him everywhere, I haven't been able to find him."
The sailmaker did not make his appearance. To the surprise of his companions, Rough-and-Ready, after dark, fired half a dozen shots from his pistol into the air.
"You look surprised," he said; "well, now" (to Minnie), "can you bear a shock? Will you promise to be brave if I tell you something?"
She nodded.
"It is only something that I have been expecting. I think that the sailmaker is with the natives."
"Why do you think so?" asked Joshua.
"For good reasons. I saw some tracks of them when I was hunting for Tom. Perhaps they have captured him."
"He had his pistols."
"Frightened to use them, perhaps; or perhaps there were a lot of the Blacks, and he thought it would be foolish and useless. Besides he is new to them. He's all right, though; they won't hurt him for he's a plucky fellow. Now, mind. When you first see the natives, and indeed always after that, show no fear of them. What I am going to say is to my mind a most foolish thing; but there's the faintest chance in the world that, making friends with them, you might make your way down south, from one tribe to another, in a few months, and come upon some cattle station. But, lord! there's one chance for you, and a hundred against you."
"Why do you say 'you'?" asked Minnie. "'We,' rather."
"No, my dear," said Rough-and-Ready with a blush. "I have two reasons for saying you and not we. The first reason is not a reason--it is a presentiment. I shall die in the bush. The second reason is a plainer one. It wouldn't be pleasant for me to get into civilized company in New South Wales."
"Why?"
Rough-and-Ready looked at her with admiration, and said, very inappropriately, as she thought,--
"Do you know that you have made me a better man?"
"A better man!" she exclaimed. "Why, you are a good man, and a brave man, too."
"You think so. So let it be," he said, half seriously, half gayly. "I'm not going to spoil your delusion just yet."
They saw no signs of the savages that night. They did not retire until late, and Rough-and-Ready went many times short distances in different directions to look for the natives, but they did not appear. Joshua took out his accordion and played. Rough-and-Ready listened thoughtfully, and when Joshua had finished an air, he said,--
"I told you, when we first came ashore here, that there is no surer way to frighten the blacks than through their superstitious fears. Your playing to-night, connected with the near presence of the savages, brings that remark back to me; and I'll tell you why. That music of yours may possibly be a great power with them. They have never heard any thing like it. If you don't lose your self-possession when you get among them--and you must take care not to, for Minnie's sake; her life may depend upon your courage--you may obtain an influence over them by means of your accordion. Sound for which they cannot account has a wonderful effect upon them. Here you have it. Don't forget what I say. Come, now, I can hear no sign of the black devils. You take some rest. I'll wake you in a couple of hours."
So they watched in turns during the night.
"What is the best thing to do," asked Joshua the following evening, "when the savages come?--to make friends with them, or try to frighten them?"
"There are too few of us to fight," answered Rough-and-Ready. "We might frighten them for a time, but they would be sure to come back in larger numbers. Then we haven't too much powder and shot left. No; the best and wisest course will be to be friendly with them, if possible. I have heard of white men living with them for many years. I saw an Englishman myself once who had been with them for five years. He was glad enough to get away from them; but they treated him kindly, he said. One man, whom I never saw, lived with them for thirty years. His name is Buckley, and he is living now."
"Do you know any thing of his story?"
"I'll tell you what little I know. He was a bricklayer in Cheshire--came from Macclesfield, I've heard. A great big hulking lazy fellow he was--brick-making was too hard work for him, so he enlisted as a grenadier. A fine grenadier he must have looked--he was six feet six inches in his stockings. But grenadiering didn't satisfy his wants. He was a natural vagabond like myself, and he got into trouble, and was sentenced to transportation. So he and three or four hundred other natural and unnatural vagabonds, being deemed fine material for the purpose, were sent out to form a colony. Buckley and his mates were put ashore at Port Phillip; but the governor, whose name was Collins, liked the place as little as the convicts, and he moved them off to Van Dieman's Land. Then they began to talk of escaping. They didn't know any thing of the interior of the country; but they thought, perhaps, that any thing was better than the devil's life they led as convicts. Buckley got away with two mates, of whom nothing more was ever heard. About twelve months after he escaped, he fell in with the natives, and lived with them for more than thirty years. During the whole of that time he never saw a white man. At length he heard from the tribe he was living with, that some men with skins the same color as his had been seen within a few miles of the native camp. They belonged to a band of explorers headed by a man named Batman. Buckley went in search of them, and presented himself to them. You can imagine what a sensation he created; a white giant, who had forgotten how to speak English, with native weapons hung round his body, and a kangaroo-skin rug his only clothing. He soon picked up a bit of English, and was taken to a white settlement, where he was made a pet and a wonder of. He might have done good service for the white people with the natives, for they say he has great influence with them. But my opinion of him is, that he is a lazy, skulking thief, and that living with the savages, where he hadn't to work for his food, just suited him. I expect that some part of his influence over them was produced by his tremendous height and big limbs. However, he is among the whites again, with a free pardon granted him, I've heard, and earning his living as he has earned it all his life--by doing nothing."
During the recital of this story, which Rough-and-Ready declared was veracious, every word of it, he was busy baking a fresh-water turtle, which he had caught that day while he was fishing in a lagoon. The turtle was baked in its shell, and they made a delicious supper off it. They had arranged to fish for eels that night, and Rough-and-Ready said,--
"Come along; it's of no use being frightened by thinking of the natives; we must get accustomed to them. We shall soon see them, and Tom with them."
They took all their fire-arms. Minnie had two pistols in her belt, and Joshua and Rough-and-Ready, besides pistols, had guns slung across their shoulders. Each of them wore a cap made of the beautiful fur of the sugar-squirrel. They walked through the quiet wood, looking sharply about them as they went along, but neither heard nor saw any signs of the natives. When they came to the lagoon, Rough-and-Ready told them he was going to show them a fine way of catching eels without trouble. He had his fire-sticks with him, and in half an hour he had a great fire blazing by the side of the lagoon. Attracted by the light, the eels came swarming towards them; and in a very short time they caught as many as they desired. Loaded with their spoil, they made their way back to their gunyahs; and as they got near them, they saw a dark figure glide swiftly away from the spot into the bush.
"A native," said Rough-and-Ready. "We must look out to-night."
"Or Scadbolt, or the Lascar, do you think?" suggested Joshua, supporting Minnie, who was clinging to him in alarm.
"No; a white man couldn't move away with such a cat-like motion. I fancy I saw his dark skin."
Thereupon Rough-and-Ready, for the purpose of familiarizing Minnie with the idea of living with the savages, and so lessening her fears, commenced talking of them, and continued talking for a couple of hours. By which time Minnie's fears really were lessened.
"What a number of stars have fallen the last few nights remarked Joshua.
"Ah, you have noticed that!" said Rough-and-Ready. "And if you observe, they have fallen immediately over this spot, in the direction of the sea. Well, those shooting-stars may have brought the natives here; for although some tribes believe that danger lies where stars fall, or that they indicate the direction of hostile tribes, others have a kind of belief that a great and good spirit may be seen where they fall. They believe that there is a new sun every day and a new moon every night, One tribe throws up the sun at daybreak, and another tribe catches it at sunset."
Here they were interrupted by cries of fear, and by the running towards them of some person who fell at their feet trembling and grovelling. It was the Lascar, who was evidently in a state of horrible fright. He looked more like a wild beast than a man. What few clothes he had on were torn and tattered, his nails were long, and his disordered hair and grovelling fears deprived his features of any likeness to humanity.
"The savages, the savages," he cried.
He had chosen what he considered the lesser of two evils; his white foes were preferable to black cannibals. Rough-and-Ready looked down upon him contemptuously and touched him with his foot.
"The cowardly ruffian!" he said. "I'd sooner trust the Blacks than such as he. Where's his rascally mate, I wonder--Get up!" he cried, and administered so smart a kick to the prostrate wretch that he jumped up on the instant, imploring mercy.
"Be silent, you chattering imp of darkness!" roared Rough-and-Ready; "be silent, and answer me. You've seen the Blacks, I suppose?"
The Lascar muttered an affirmative.
"Well, what are you frightened at? Why don't you go and make friends with them? They haven't much the advantage of you in color, and you are more of a wild beast than they are. Frightened of being eaten, eh? Faugh! they'd spear you and throw you away; you're not good enough even for them." The Lascar trembled the more at this; he was a true coward. "What d'ye think of mutineering now, eh? Answer me, you copper-colored devil, or I'll make an end of you--where's your mate, Scadbolt?"
"I don't know; I haven't seen him for days.
"Ah, two of a trade never agree. I thought you'd be cutting each other's throats. Captain Marvel, here's one of your crew who tried to raise a mutiny. As if that was not enough, he has murdered his mate." (It is a fact that Scadbolt was never heard of again, nor was any thing ever known of his fate.) "Now then, you, as captain of the 'Merry Andrew,' pronounce judgment--death, nothing less--and I'll take him away and execute it, as truly as I'm a living man!"
There was something so determined in Rough-and-Ready's speech, and something so threatening in his action, that the Lascar leaped away in mortal fear. Whereat Rough-and-Ready laughed loud and long, and fired a shot in the air to frighten the Lascar the more.
In the morning, while they were at breakfast, two savages suddenly made their appearance, about twenty yards from where they were sitting. They appeared so suddenly, that they seemed to have started out of the ground.
"Now, Minnie," said Rough-and-Ready quietly, "don't scream out, and don't show any alarm. By the look of those fellows they are friendly, and do not mean to harm us."
Minnie conquered her fears bravely, although her heart was beating fast, and by the direction of Rough-and-Ready they went on with their breakfast, to all appearance quite unconcerned, and as if the presence of the savages was the most natural thing in the world. The two men who stood gazing at them were naked, with the exception of a girdle of emeu-feathers round their waists; their color was pale black; they were tall, with thin limbs and fine chests, and their hair was thick and curly. They had spears in their hands, about seven feet long, made from the stem of the tea-tree.
Seeing that they stood quite quiet, Rough-and-Ready held up part of an eel towards them, and smiled, and nodded his head gently. Whereupon the two savages looked at each other, said a few words, and disappeared. Both Joshua and Minnie drew a long breath of relief, for which Rough-and-Ready was inclined to be cross with them.
"They will be back presently," he said, "in company."
They had not long to wait. In less than half an hour the two who had first presented themselves returned with nearly a score of others. To the joy of the castaways, they saw Tom the sailmaker in the rear, and they nodded and smiled at him. Seeing that the savages, who had been jabbering among themselves, made signs to the sailmaker; and after the display of much pantomime, he came towards his mates. They shook hands with him, and Rough-and-Ready asked him how he was.
"Jolly," he replied. He told them in crisp sentences, all of them in answer to Rough-and-Ready's questions, that the natives seemed disposed to be friendly, and that they were not half so bad as they looked.
Rough-and-Ready, accompanied by Tom, then walked half a dozen yards in the direction of the savages, and held out his hands to them. Tom looked at the savages, touched Rough-and-Ready on the breast, and then himself, with sufficiently expressive pantomime, to denote, "We two are one." Minnie and Joshua stood in the background, side by side, with linked arms. The savages, coming a little nearer, pointed to them, and jabbered unintelligibly, as much as to say, "What do you do here? Who are you?" Joshua, observing the success of Rough-and-Ready's pantomime, touched Minnie on the breast, and then himself, conveying the same meaning, "We two are one."
Here it must be told that Minnie had regained her naturally fair complexion, and that her hair, also fair, had grown to a great length. Tall and well-formed, with bare arms beautifully shaped, with pure complexion; with dreamy eyes, with long hair hanging loosely down, and with the charm and grace of youth upon her, she stood before them in her strange dress of civilized cotton and woodland fur; and her singularly-beautiful appearance had a powerful effect on the savages. They approached Rough-and-Ready, and felt his clothes, and made friends with him in their primitive fashion; but they kept some distance from Joshua and Minnie, regarding, her with looks of reverence and astonishment. Presently, after much grimacing and flashing of hands and fingers, Rough-and-Ready came towards Minnie, and, to her surprise, bowed low before her, and stood in an attitude of respectful worship. The savages, who were watching him attentively, saw only his back; but if they had seen the merry twinkle in his eyes, they would have been as puzzled as Minnie was.
"I've heard say that every woman is an actress," he said, smiling. "Prove yourself one now, for all our sakes, by not moving, and by listening to me attentively. Your conduct may decide our fate. I have told you what significance the natives attach to shooting-stars, and how they either avoid the direction in which they fall or are impelled there by some powerful superstition. Fortune has favored us. I don't understand a single word these savages utter; but I understand from their actions that they are so amazed at your appearance as to entertain a belief that you are not quite mortal--that, in fact, you are a superior spirit. If they can be kept in this belief (supposing they entertain it), it will be of immense service to us. If you are brave enough not to show fear, they will almost be certain not to attempt to harm us."
No better speech could have been spoken to Minnie to inspire her with confidence and courage. But she turned to Joshua first, and asked, "Shall I do this?"
"Yes," he answered; "I think it will be well, if you can nerve yourself to it."
Smiling at the "if" she said softly, "For your sake, Joshua," and then, with queenly motion, walked towards the savages, conquering her disgust at their appearance. They awaited her approach; and when she was within a few steps of them, an old graybeard came forward, and held out his hands, saying some words expressive of respectful welcome. Minnie understood as much by his expressive action. She touched his hands, and waved hers, bidding them welcome, and beckoning to Joshua, touched him on the breast, and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Then, smiling placidly upon the dusky group, she walked away with Joshua, and sat down in the shade of the gunyah. Whatever meaning her pantomime had conveyed, it evidently excited great interest among the savages. They conversed earnestly and excitedly, and pointed to the sky and to the earth, describing, by their motions the action of a star falling gently to the ground.
"Bravely done," said Rough-and-Ready to Minnie. "Whatever notion they have in their heads, it is one that will do us no harm. See, they are moving off, taking the sailmaker with them."
And, indeed, the natives went away in a body, leaving behind them four of their party, however, who squatted upon the ground, with their eyes fixed upon the castaways.
"They are left to watch us," said Rough-and-Ready; "but I think we may make ourselves easy about their being disposed to be friendly."
He and Joshua went about their pursuits as usual; but to keep up the fiction concerning Minnie with the natives who were watching them, they would not allow her to work, and treated her with such marks of deference as could not fail to impress the savages. During the day, Rough-and-Ready offered food to the savages, who accepted it. To show their gratitude, two of them went away into the forest, and returned with a quantity of honey in a reed basket, which they placed at Minnie's feet, and which she partook of to their evident satisfaction.
"There isn't the slightest mistake," said Rough-and-Ready merrily, "that the devil isn't half so black as he is painted."
They were left apparently undisturbed for two days, when the natives returned, with different descriptions of food--sweet roots many of them, pleasant and good to eat. "They have some plan in their heads," said Rough-and-Ready. He was right. Early the next morning the natives gave them to understand that they were going farther inland, and that the white people were to accompany them. "Now we shall see something," observed Rough-and-Ready as they plunged into the forest. They walked for three days before they came to the native camp. They made short stages to accommodate Minnie. During this time, Minnie kept close to Joshua, as if to protect him; but Rough-and-Ready mixed freely with the natives, and made some snares for game, which he gave to them, and with which they were much pleased. When they were within a few miles of the camp a number of the tribe, chiefly women and children, came out to meet them. Soon they arrived at the camp, and were surprised at its picturesqueness. It consisted of about a dozen roomy huts, roofed and thatched with bark and reeds. At a short distance from the huts was a large pool, the vegetation around which was singularly beautiful. Among the strange trees which attracted the notice of the castaways, the umbrella-tree, with its dark loaves and crimson flowers, seemed to them the most remarkable. There were also a large number of great fig-trees, and magnificent palms with feathery leaves. The air was sweet with the perfume of lily and jasmine and the golden-flowered thorn. There was one hut which appeared but newly built; it was prettier than the others, and its sides were decorated with wild flowers and flowering vines. Towards this the natives led Minnie, upon whom the women and children looked in awe and wonder. She, clasping Joshua's hand, entered this hut, and sank upon the bed of dry leaves, wondering what was next to come. She begged Joshua to stop with her, for she was frightened of being left alone. So, after partaking of the food which the natives brought to them, he lay down near the mouth of the hut, and she at the farther end on her bed of leaves. Joshua could see the glories of the sunset from where he lay; and he saw the fire die out of the sky, and saw the stars come out. But he was tired with his day's walk, and sleep overpowered him, although he tried to keep awake. Early in the morning they rose, and walked towards the banks of the pool,--