Book Two—Chapter Five.
“Till the Sea Gives up its Dead.”
From Madeira, where we stayed for many days, going on shore every forenoon to sell some of our cargo to the shopkeepers, and every afternoon for a long ride—horse and hammock—over some part or other of this island of enchantment, sometimes finishing up with a dance—from all this pleasure and delight, I say, we sailed away at last.
“South and away we sailed, and in due time we reached and anchored off Saint James’s Town, Saint Helena.
“Now, Saint Helena had not figured in our programme when we left Merry England. But here we were, and a most delightful place I found it. Hills and dells, mountains and glens; wild flowers everywhere; and the blue eternal sea dotted with many a snow-white sail, engirdling all. This, then, was the ‘lonely sterile rock in the midst of the wild tempestuous ocean,’ to which Napoleon had been banished.
“James had been here before, although I had not, so everything was of interest to me, and everything new. And my good mate determined to make it as pleasant for me as possible. He seemed to know every one, and every one appeared delighted to see him. Such remarks as the following fell upon our ears at every corner:—
“‘Well, you’ve got back again, James?’
“‘What! here you are once more, James, and welcome.’
“‘Dee—lighted to see you, certain—lee!’
“‘Ah! Jeames,’—this from a very aged crone, who was seated on a stone dais near her door, basking in the warm, white sunshine—‘ah! Jeames, and sure the Lord is good to me. And my old eyes are blessed once more wi’ a sight o’ your kindly face!’
“‘Glad to see you alive, Frilda. And look, I have got a pound of tea for you. And I’ll come to-night and read a bit out of my mother’s Good Book to you.’
“‘Bless you, Jeames—bless you, my boy.’
“We went rambling all over the island that day. We visited the fort, where James had many friends; then we went up a beautiful glen, and on reaching the top we struck straight off at right angles, and a walk of about half a mile took us to one of the most pleasantly situated farms I have ever seen. It was owned by the farmer, a Scotsman of the name of MacDonald. Nothing flimsy about this fine house. The walls were built of sturdy stone, and must have been some feet thick, so that indoors in the cheerful parlour it was cool and delightful, especially so with the odour of orange blossom blowing through the open window and pervading the whole room.
“‘Man, James, I’m so pleased. Here! Hi! Mrs Mac, where are you? Here’s James Malone, the honest, simple sumph come back again. Jamie, man, ye must stop all night and give us a song.’
“‘We—ll—I—’
“‘No wells nor I’s about it. And your friend here too.’
“Mrs Mac was a very little body, with rosy cheeks, a merry voice, and blue eyes that looked you through and through.
“A little girl and boy came running in, and James soon had one on each knee; and while I and MacDonald talked in the window recess, he was deep in the mysteries of a mermaid story, his tiny audience listening with wondering eyes and rosy lips apart.
“Mrs Mac had gone bustling away to send in a dram of hollands, cunningly flavoured with seeds and fruit rind. She disappeared immediately again, to send orders down to James’s Town for fish and fowl.
“Of course we would stay all night?
“‘Well,’ I said, ‘the ship is safe, unless a tornado blows.’
“‘There will be no tornado, sir,’ said Farmer Mac.
“‘I’ll send off, then, and tell the second mate.’
“‘My henchman is at your service, Captain Halcott.’
“‘And look, see,’ cried James, ‘just tell your henchman to bring my Good Book and specs. I haven’t the heart to disappoint old Mother Banks.’
“‘And the guitar,’ I added.
“‘Well—well, yes.’
“The children clapped their hands with glee, and Maggie, the girl, pulled James’s face towards her by the whiskers and kissed him.
“We started next for Longwood and Napoleon’s tomb. Maggie and Jack—ten and nine years old respectively—came with us, and a right pleasant day we spent. There were bright-winged birds flitting hither and thither in the dazzling sunshine, and singing sweet and low in trees of darkest green; but the happy voices of the children made sweeter music far to my ears, and I’m sure to James’s too.
“All along the roadsides at some parts grew the tall cacti; they were one mass of gorgeous crimson bloom, and here and there between, the ground was carpeted with trailing blossoms white and blue; yet, in my opinion, the laughing rosebud lips of Maggie and Jack’s saucy eyes of blue were prettier far than the flowers.
“And here, on the top of the dingle or glen, and overlooking the sea, were Napoleon’s house and garden.
“‘Why, James,’ I cried, ‘this isn’t a dungeon any more than Saint Helena is a rock. It strikes me—a simple sailor—that Nap must have had fine times of it.’
“‘No, sir, no,’ said James, shaking his head. ‘Plenty to eat and drink, plenty o’ good clothes to wear, but ah! Charles Halcott, he wasn’t free, and there burned inside him an unquenchable fire. When in action, on the field, or on the march, he had little time to think; but here, in this solitude, the seared conscience regained its softness, and in his thoughts by day and in his dreams at the dead hours o’ night, Charles Halcott, rose visions of the terrible misery he brought on Europe, and the black and awful deeds he did in Egypt. O sir, if you want to punish a man, leave him alone to his conscience!’
“James Malone was in fine form that evening at Farmer Mac’s. He sang and he yarned time about—the songs for the children, the yarns for us. Parodying Tam o’ Shanter, I might say:—
“‘The nicht drave on wi’ sangs and clatter,
Wi’ childish glee, wi’ bairnies’ patter;
The sailor tauld his queerest stories,
The farmer’s laugh was ready chorus;
Till, hark! the clock strikes in the hall
The wee short oor ayont the twal.’
“Before dinner that evening simple James had gone to see old Mother Banks, and he spent a whole hour with her.
“‘Good-bye, dear laddie,’ she said, when he rose to leave; ‘I’ll pray for ye on the ragin’ sea, but I know the Lord will never let me behold ye again.’
“And simple James’s eyes were wet with tears as he held her skinny hand for a moment, then dropped it and bore away up the street, never once looking back, so full was his heart.
“When the clock struck one, James shyly proposed a few moments’ devotion. Then he mounted the awful specs and opened the Good Book.
“Half an hour after this, all in the great house were asleep, and not a sound could I hear—for I lay long awake thinking—save the sighing of the wind in the trees above my open jalousies, to me a very sweet and soothing sound.
“‘Heigho!’ I murmured to myself. ‘Will I ever have a home on the green earth, I wonder, or shall I die on the blue sea?’
“Then I began to doze, and mingling with my waking thoughts came dreams which proved that poor James’s prescriptions had not yet been entirely successful.
“Just three weeks after this we were far away in the centre of the South Atlantic Ocean, and bearing up for Rio de Janeiro. The sea around us was of the darkest blue, but sparkling in the sunshine, and there was just sufficient wind to gladden the heart of a sailor.
“What induced James and me to change our plans and sail west instead of south and east, I never could tell, though I have often thought about it. A friend of mine says it was Fate, and that Fate often rules the destinies of men, despite all that can be done to alter her plans and intentions. This line of reasoning may be right; my friend is so often right that I daresay it must be.
“But one thing now occurred to me that at times rendered me rather uneasy, and which, when I tried to describe it to James, caused that honest sailor some anxiety also. I have spoken of it more than once to so-called psychologists and even to so-called mediums; but their attempted explanations, although seemingly satisfactory enough to themselves, sounded to me like a mere chaos of words, the meaning of which as a whole I never could fathom. But the mystery with me was this: I seemed at times to be possessed of a second self, or rather, a second soul.
“I struggled against the feeling all I could, but in vain. James read his mother’s Bible to me, and otherwise, not in a spiritual way, he did all he could to cheer me up, as he phrased it. But—and here comes in the most curious part of it—I did not feel that I wanted any cheering up. I was happy enough in the companionship of my second self. This was not always present. Sometimes absent for days indeed, and never as yet did it talk to me in my dreams. At other times it came, and would be with me for hours; and it spoke to my mind as it were, I being compelled to carry on a conversation, in thought, of course, but never once did I have any notion beforehand as to what the remarks made were to be. They were simple in the extreme, and usually had reference to the working or guidance of the ship, the setting or shortening of sail, and making the good barque snug for the night.
“We called at Rio. The harbour here could contain all the war fleets in the world; grand old hills; a city as romantic as Edinburgh—that is, when seen from the sea—quaintness of streets, a wealth and beauty of vegetation, of treescape and flowerscape, that I have never seen equalled anywhere, and a quaintly dressed, quiet, and indolent people.
“We landed much stores here and filled up with others. On the whole, James and I were not sorry we had come, we drove such excellent bargains.
“Again, at Buenos Ayres, with its fine streets and public buildings, and its miles upon miles of shallow sea all in front, we did trade enough to please us.
“‘When I retire from sailing the salt seas, sir,’ said James, ‘it’s ’ere and nowhere else I’m goin’ to make my ’ome; and I only wish the old lady were livin’, for then I’d retire after the very next voyage.’
“Shortly after resuming our voyage southwards towards the stormy Cape Horn, we encountered gale after gale of wind that taxed all the strength of our brave barque, as well as the skill of the officers and seamen. Again and again had we to lie to for long dark days and nights; and when we ventured to run before the storm, we had literally to stagger along under bare poles.
“But when we reached the Cape at last, and stood away to the west around the bleak and inhospitable shores of Tierra del Fuego, or the Land of Fire, never before in all the years I had been to sea had I encountered weather so fearful or waves so high and dangerous. So stormy, indeed, did it continue, that hardly did either James or I dare to hope we should ever double the Cape. But we both had a sailor’s aversion to turning back, and so struggled on and on.
“The danger seemed to culminate and the crisis come in earnest, when one weird moonlight midnight we suddenly found ourselves bows on to a huge iceberg, or rather one vast island of ice that appeared to have no horizon either towards the north or towards the south. The barrier presented seemed impassable. We could only try, so we put about on the port tack, the wind blowing there with great violence from the west and north.
“This course took us well off the great ice island. It took us southwards, moreover.
“‘But why not steer northwards?’ said James. ‘We’d have to tack a bit, it is true, only we’d be lessening our danger; leastways that’s my opinion. This berg may be twenty or thirty miles long, and every mile brings us closer to great bergs that, down yonder, float in dozens. Before now, Charles Halcott, I’ve seen a ship sunk in the twinkling of a marling-spike by a—’
“‘By striking against a berg, James?’ I interrupted. ‘So have I.’
“‘No, sir, no; you’re on the wrong tack. Wherever big bergs are there are small ones too—little, hard, green lumps of ice, not bigger than the wheel-house, that to hit bows on would scarcely spill your tea. But, friend, it is different where there are mountain seas on. These little green bergs are caught by a wave-top and hurled against the ship’s side with the strength of a thousand Titans. And—the ship goes down.’
“There was something almost solemn in the manner James brought out the last four words. It kept me silent for minutes; and shading my eyes with my hand, I kept peering southwards into the weird-like moonshine, the ice away on the right, a strange white haze to leeward, and far ahead the foam-tipped waves, wild-maned horses of the ocean, careering along on their awful course.
“‘James,’ I said at last, ‘danger or not danger, southwards I steer. Something tells me to do so; everything bids me. “Steer south—steer south,” chimes the bell when it strikes; “steer south,” ticks the clock. James Malone, my very heart’s pulse repeats the words; and I hear them mournfully sung by the very waves themselves, and by the wind that goes moaning through the rigging. And—I’m going to obey.’
“For nights I had hardly slept a wink, but now I felt as if slumber would soon visit my pillow if I but threw myself on the bed. The moon, a full round one, was already declining in the west when I went below and turned in all standing, and in three minutes’ time I had sunk into a deep and dreamless sleep.
“James told me afterwards that it had taken him one long minute of solid shaking and shouting to arouse me, but he succeeded at last.
“‘Anything wrong, James?’ I said anxiously, as I sat up in my cot.
“‘Can’t say as there’s anything radically wrong, sir,’ he replied slowly. ‘Leastways, our ship’s all right. Wind and sea have both gone down. We’ve doubled the berg at last, and a good forty mile she was, and now we’re nearing another. But the strange thing is this, sir. There is men on it, a-waving their coats and things, and makin’ signs. I can just raise ’em with our Mons Meg glass.’
“‘Some natives of Tierra del Fuego, perhaps,’ I said. ‘Anyhow, James,’ I added, ‘keep bearing up towards them.’
“‘Ay, ay, sir.’
“In ten minutes’ time I was on deck, glass in hand.
“It was a grey uncertain morning, the sun just rising astern of us, and tingeing the wave-tops with a yellow glare.
“I could see the people on the ice with the naked eye. But I steadied Mons Meg on the bulwark, and had a look through that.
“‘Mercy on us, James!’ I cried, ‘these are no savages, but our own countrymen or Americans. I can count five alive, and oh, James, three lie at some little distance stretched out dark and stiff. Shake another reef out—those people want us. A sad story will be theirs to tell.’
“We got them all on board at last, though with difficulty, for the surf was beating high above the snow-clad ice, and twice our boat was dashed against the hard, green edge of the monster berg, her timbers cracking ominously. We brought off the dead too, and buried them in a Christian way, James himself reading over them the beautiful service of the English Church. Though they were strangers to us, yet, as their bodies dropped down into the darkling sea, many a tear was shed that our fellows scarce took pains to hide.
“‘And there they’ll sleep,’ said a voice behind me, ‘till the sea gives up its dead.’
“I turned slowly round, and the eyes of the speaker met mine. Hitherto I had paid most attention to the lifeless, and scarce had noticed the living.
“But now a strange thrill went through me as this man, who was the skipper of the lost ship, advanced with a sad kind of smile on his face and held out his hand.
“‘We have met before,’ he said.
“‘We seem to have met before,’ I answered falteringly, ‘but where I cannot tell. Perhaps you—’
“‘Yes, I can; I have seen you in a dream. We must both have dreamt.’
“I staggered as if shot, and pressed my hand to my brow.
“‘You seem puzzled,’ he continued, ‘yet I am not. I am a man who has studied science somewhat. I am often called a visionary on account of my theories, yet I am convinced that there are times when, in answer to prayer, the mind during sleep may be permitted to leave the body. You, sir, have saved the few poor fellows of my ship’s crew who have escaped death, and I thank you. Think nothing strange, sir, in this world simply because you do not understand it. But you have an errand of mercy yet to perform. Heaven grant you may be as successful in that as you have been in taking our poor helpless men from off the ice.’
“‘Come below,’ I said, ‘Captain—a—’
“‘Smithson,’ he put in.
“‘Come below, Captain Smithson, and tell your story. James, will you bear us company?’
“I and James sat on one side of the table, our guest, with his thin, worn face and dark eyes that seemed to pierce us with their very earnestness, on the other. He told his story rapidly—ran over it, as it were, as a school-boy does something he has learned by heart.
“‘It is but little more than five weeks since the good yacht Windward cleared away from San Francisco—’
“‘James,’ I said, interrupting him, ‘how long have we been at sea?’
“‘Wellnigh four months, sir.’
“‘How the time has flown! Pray, sir, proceed.’
“‘I have never known a quicker passage than we had. The wind was fair all the way, and our little craft appeared to fly with it. But it fell dead calm about the latitude of 20 degrees south of the line. My only passengers—in fact, it was they who had chartered the Windward to take them to Monte Video—a lady and her daughter, began to be very uneasy now. They had heard so much about the fleetness of the Windward that they never expected a hitch. No wonder they were uneasy. Their business in Monte Video was a matter of life or death. The doctor there had assured them that if they were not out by a certain time, the husband and father would never again be seen by them alive.
“‘But the calm was not of long duration. Worse was to come—a tornado burst upon us with awful fury, and all but sunk us. We were carried far to the west out of our course. Fierce gales succeeded the tempest; and when the wind once more sank to rest we found ourselves surrounded by a group of islands that, although I have sailed the South Pacific for many a long year, I had never seen before.
“‘That the natives of the largest and most beautiful of these islands are savages and man-hunters I have not the slightest doubt. The king himself came off, evincing not the slightest fear of us; but both he and his people remained so strangely pacific that it excited our suspicions for a time. We were glad, however, to be able here to repair damages and to take on board fresh water; and the kindness of the natives was so marked that our suspicions were entirely lulled, and for days we lived almost among them, even going on shore unarmed in the most friendly way.
“‘I must tell you, sir, that, owing to the heat and closeness of the atmosphere, a screen-berth or tent had been rigged for the ladies close to the bulwark on the port side, and almost abreast of the main-mast. The first part of the night of the tenth was exceedingly dark, and it was also hot and sultry. The ladies had retired early, for a thunderstorm that had been threatening about sunset broke over us with tropical fury about ten by the clock, or four bells—the first watch.
“‘And now, sir, comes the mystery. The moon rose at twelve and silvered all the sea, shedding its earth light upon the green-wooded hills of the mainland till everything looked ethereal. Not a sound was to be heard, except now and then the plaintive cry of a sea bird, and the dull, low moan of the breakers on the coral sand.
“‘As was her custom just before turning in, the ladies’ maid drew aside their curtain to see if they wanted anything, and to say good-night.
“‘I was walking the quarterdeck smoking, when pale and scared she rushed toward me.
“‘Oh!’ she almost screamed, ‘they are gone! The ladies have gone!’
“‘No one thought of turning in that dreadful night; and when in the morning the sun, red and flaming, leapt out of the sea, arming a boat as well as I could, I rowed on shore and demanded audience of the king.
“‘But we were not allowed to land. The savages had assumed a very different attitude now, and a shower of spears was our welcome. One poor fellow was killed outright, another died of his wounds only an hour afterwards. In fact, we were beaten off; and in an hour’s time, observing a whole fleet of boats coming off to attack our vessel, we were forced to hoist sail and fly.
“‘That is my story, and a sad one it is. I was on my way to the nearest town to seek assistance, when our vessel was crushed in the ice and sank in less than twenty minutes, with all on board except those you have seen.’
“Smithson was silent now. With his chin resting on his hand he sat there looking downwards at the deck, but apparently seeing nothing. For many minutes not a word was spoken by any one. The vessel rose and fell on the long, rolling seas; there was the creak of the rudder chains; there was occasionally the flapping of a sail; all else was still.
“James Malone was the first to speak.
“‘Charles Halcott,’ he said—and I think I hear the earnest, manly tones of his voice at this moment—‘Charles Halcott, we have a duty to perform, and it leads us to the northward and west.’
“I stood up now, and our hands met and clasped.
“‘James Malone,’ I replied, ‘Heaven helping us, we will perform that duty faithfully and well.’
“‘Amen, sir! Amen!’”
Book Two—Chapter Six.
“O my Friend, my Brother,” I Cry.
“That same forenoon,” continued Halcott, “the wind went veering round to the southward and east. The sea was darkly, intensely blue all day. The sky was intensely blue at night, and the stars so big and bright and near they seemed almost to touch the topmasts. But here and there in the darkness, on every side of us, loomed white icebergs like sheeted ghosts, and every now and then there rolled along our beam—thudding against the timbers as they swept aft—the smaller bergs or ‘bilts’ we could not avoid.
“James was on deck, and determined to remain there till morning, in order, as he said, to give me the quiet and rest my health so much required.
“In two days’ time we had weathered the stormy Cape, bidden farewell to the ice, and, with every stitch of canvas set which it was possible to carry safely, were sailing westward and north, away towards the distant islands of the South Pacific.
“In a few days we got into higher latitudes, and the weather became delightfully warm and pleasant. The sky was more than Italian in its clear and cloudless azure; the rippling waves were all a-sparkle with light; they kissed the bows of our bonnie barque, and came lapping and laughing aft along our counter, their merry voices seeming to talk to us and bid us welcome to these sunny seas.
“Birds, too, came wheeling around our ship—strange, swift gulls, the lonesome frigate-bird, and the wondrous albatross, king of storms, great eagle of the ocean wave.
“Had we not been upon the strange mission on which we were now bound, and the outcome of which we could not even guess, both James and I would have enjoyed this delightful cruise; for, like myself, he was every inch a sailor, and loved his ship as a landsman may love his bride.
“‘In five days’ time,’ said Captain Smithson to me one forenoon, ‘if it holds like this, we ought to reach the Unfortunate Islands.’
“‘Is that what you call them, captain?’ I said, smiling; ‘well, my first mate and I mean to change their name.’
“‘Heaven grant you may,’ he answered. ‘O sir, the loss of this yacht, clipper though she was, and a beauty to boot, is nothing to mourn for—she was well insured; even the death of my poor men is but an accident that we sailors are liable to at any moment; but the fate of those two innocent ladies—the mother so good and gentle, the daughter so childlike and beautiful—is one that, if it is to remain a mystery, will cloud my whole life. Think of it, sir. The savages must have crept on board in the midst of the thick darkness and the storm, crept on board like wet and slimy snakes, gagged their poor victims, and borne them silently away—to what?’
“‘It is all very terrible,’ I said.
“‘Well, now,’ said James, ‘it strikes me talkin’ about it isn’t goin’ to help us. Charles Halcott, I served on board a man-o’-war for seven years.’
“‘Yes, James.’
“‘Well, sir, I know what they’d do now in a case like this.’
“‘Yes, James.’
“‘They’d muster their forces, and prepare for ’ventualities.’
“‘You see, gentlemen,’ he added, ‘we may have a bit o’ good, solid fightin’ to do. Heaven knows that, if it would do any good, I’d gird up my loins and go all unarmed, save with the Word o’ God—my mother’s Bible—among those poor, benighted heathens, and try to bring ’em to their senses. But I fear that would do but little good. When we go among the more humble and simple savages of lonely islands in the sea, or on the mainland of Africa itself, our work o’ conversion is easy, because the creatures have no form o’ religion to place against the gospel. But these head-hunters—and I know them of old—have their own ghastly, blood-stained rites and sacrifices—I cannot call it religion, sir—and these they set up as an awful barrier against the glad tidings we fain would bring to their doors, to their lives.
“‘No, gentlemen, we may have to crack skulls before we get the Word in. But to save those helpless ladies Is a duty, a sacred duty we owe to our own white race, as well as to our own consciences, for we’d ne’er be happy if we didn’t try.’
“‘Heaven grant,’ I said, ‘they may still be alive!’
“‘That we must find out,’ said James. ‘Now, sir, shall we call all hands, and see to rifles and ammunition?’
“James’s suggestion was at once acted upon.
“The Sea Flower was a very large barque, and once had been a full-rigged ship. And our hands were more numerous than are generally carried, for many were working their voyage out, and might have been called passengers.
“So now forty bold fellows, including two strong and sturdy black men, and the negro boy we called the cook’s mate, put in an appearance, and drew shyly aft. There were, in addition to these, Captain Smithson and his four men.
“But these latter we determined the savages must not see, else their suspicions would at once be raised, and, instead of our being able to act peacefully and by strategy, we should have at once to declare red-eyed war.
“‘Will you speak first?’ I said to Captain Smithson.
“Without a word he strode forward, and, when he held up his hand, the men came crowding round him.
“‘Men of the Sea Flower!’ he began, ‘I am going to tell you a story. It is short and simple, but also a very sad one. Maybe you know most of the outs and ins and particulars of it already. My men must have told you all about our voyage and our lady passengers.’
“‘Repeat, repeat!’ cried the men; ‘we would have it all again from your own lips, sir.’
“Briefly and pathetically Smithson did so, relating to them all the particulars we already know.
“‘Men,’ he continued, ‘you are Christians, and you are Englishmen. It is on this latter fact I rely chiefly, in case we have to fight with the savages of those Unfortunate Islands. The elder of the two ladies we are going to try to save is English, though she married an American, though her home was on the Pacific slope, and her innocent and beautiful daughter was born in San Francisco. They are your country-people, then, as much as ours. But, apart from that, when I say they are women in bondage and distress, I have said enough, I know, to appeal to the brave heart of every Englishman who now stands before me.’
“A wild, heroic shout was the only reply.
“‘Thank you,’ said Smithson, ‘for that expression of feeling! and I will only add that these ladies, especially the younger, were, all the way out, the light and life of our poor, lost yacht, and that, by their winning ways, they made themselves beloved both fore and aft.’
“‘Now, lads,’ cried James, and as he spoke he seemed a head taller than I had ever seen him, ‘if we’ve got to fight, why, then, we’ll fight. But against these terrible savages we can’t fight with porridge-sticks. Luckily, in our cargo we have a hundred good rifles, and that is two for each of us; and we have revolvers, too, and plenty of ammunition. All good, mind you; for I chose the whole cargo myself. So now, bo’s’n, pipe up the guns; and this afternoon, men, and every day till we touch at the Unfortunate Islands, I’ll put you through your drill—which, bein’ an old navy man, I fancy I’m capable of doing. Are you all willing?’
“The cheer that shook the ship from stem to stern was a truly British one. It was their only answer, and the only answer needed or required.
“So the drilling was commenced, and entered into with great spirit. After all, this drill was merely preparation for ‘possible ’ventualities,’ as honest James called it, for fighting would be our very last resort, and we earnestly prayed that we might not be driven to it.
“At last, and early one morning, just as the sun was beginning to pencil the feathery clouds with gold and green and crimson, land was discovered on the lee bow.
“I brought the big telescope which James had named Mons Meg to bear upon it. Then I handed Meg to Smithson. He looked at the land long and earnestly, and glanced up at me with beaming face.
“‘That’s the principal island, Captain Halcott,’ he said; ‘the king’s own. How well we have hit it!’
“That same forenoon we cast anchor in Treachery Bay, close to the spot where the yacht had lain not many weeks before.
“Our sails were furled in quite a business-like way. We wanted to show the savages that we were not one whit afraid of them, that we had come to stay for a short spell, and hadn’t the remotest intention of running away.
“That you may better understand the shape or configuration of this strange island, gentlemen, here I show you a rough sketch-map. This will enable you also to follow more easily our subsequent adventures in the fastnesses of these terrible savages.
“Rude and simple though this plan is, a word or two will suffice to explain it. The island trends west and east, and is not more than sixteen miles long by about ten to twelve in width. It is divided into two almost equal parts by a very rapid and dark-rolling river, which rushes through rocky gorges with inconceivable speed, forming many a thundering cataract as it fights its way to the sea. It is fed from the waters that flow from the mountains, and, probably, by subterranean springs. The whole western portion of the island, with the exception of some green woods around the bay, is pretty low, but covered throughout with the remains of a black and burned forest. This forest is supposed by the natives to be inhabited by fearsome demons and witches, and is never visited, except for the purpose of sorcery by the medicine-men of the tribe, and to bury the dead. In the centre of the eastern portion of the island, which is beautifully clad with woodlands, and rugged and wild in the extreme, is a lake with one small, lonely isle; and around this the mountains tower their highest, but are clad to their very summits with forest trees, many of them bearing the most luscious of fruits, and all draped with wild flowers, and sweetly haunted by bird and bee.
“The only things else in the map I wish to draw your attention to, gentlemen, are the parallel lines. These mark the spot where was the only bridge leading into the fastnesses of these savages, and the only mode of communication with the lower land and bay, without walking round by the head of the river, or following its course to the sea and crossing in a boat.
“This bridge was primitive in the extreme, consisting merely of three straight tree stems, and a rude life-line composed of the twisted withes of a kind of willow.
“I have sad reason to remember that bridge, and shall not forget it while life lasts.
“I have said nothing in my story yet about Lord Augustus Fitzmantle. But it is time to do so. Lord Augustus was our cook’s mate. It is well to give a nigger boy a high-sounding name, and, if possible, a title. He always tries to act up to it. Lord Augustus was very, very black. The other niggers were black enough certainly, but they looked brown beside his merry, laughing little lordship. Yes, always laughing, always showing those white teeth of his and rolling his expressive eyes, and good-tempered all day long. Even a kick from the cook only made him rub a little and laugh the more. Lord Augustus wore a string of sky-blue beads about his neck, and on warm days he wore very little else. But if Lord Augustus was black, he was also bright. The sunshine glittered and glanced on his rounded arms and cheeks, and he had sunshine in his heart as well. It goes without saying he was the pet of the Sea Flower and everybody’s friend, and though all hands teased as well as petted him, he took it all in good part.
“So long as Lord Fitzmantle kept his mouth shut, and didn’t show those flashing teeth of his, he was as invisible as Jack the Giant Killer on a dark night.
“Seeing our independence, the savages for hours held aloof. At last a white-headed, fearful-looking old man paddled alongside in a dug-out. From the fact that he had a huge snake coiled around his chest and neck, I took him to be the medicine-man, or sorcerer, of the tribe, and I was not mistaken.
“He was certainly no beauty as he sat there grinning in his dark dug-out. His face was covered with scars in circles and figures, so, too, was his chest; his eyes were the colour of brass; his teeth crimson, and filed into the form of triangles. But he climbed boldly on board when beckoned to, and we loaded him with gifts of pretty beads, and engirdled his loins with red cloth, then sent him grinning away.
“This treatment had the desired effect, and in half an hour’s time the bay was alive with the boats and canoes of the head-hunters. Each of their tall, gondola-like prows bore a grinning skull, the cheek bones daubed with a kind of crimson clay, and the sockets filled with awful clay eyes—not a pretty sight.
“Presently the king himself came off, and we received him with great ceremony, and gave him many gifts. To show our strength, James drew up his men in battle array, and to the terror of all in the boats, they fired their guns, taking aim at some brown and ugly kites that flew around. When several of these fell dead, the alarm of the king knew no bounds. But he soon recovered; and when, a little later on, I with a dozen of my best men went on shore, the king placed a poor slave girl on the beach and made signs for us to shoot. I would sooner have shot the king himself.
“Lord Augustus came with us, and we soon found that he understood much that the king said, and could therefore act as our interpreter.
“It is needless to say that the men of the lost yacht were kept out of sight.
“Our walk that day was but a brief one. The king did not seem to want us ever to cross the bridge. On climbing a hill, however, I could see all over the wild and beautiful country. I pointed to the lake and little island, and was given to understand that the medicine-men dwelt there. But from the shiftiness of the savage’s eyes, I concluded at once that, if they were alive, that was the prison isle of the unhappy ladies. The king dined with us next day, and we considered it policy to let him have a modicum of fire-water. His heart warmed, and not only did he permit our party to cross the bridge, but to visit his palace. The sights of horror around it I will not dare to depict, but, much to my joy, I noticed from the king’s veranda the flutter of white dresses on the little prison isle.
“My mind was made up, and that night I dispatched Lord Augustus on shore with a note. It was a most hazardous expedition, and none save the boy could have undertaken it with any hope of success. In my letter I had told the ladies to be of good cheer; there would be a glimmer of moonlight in a week’s time, and that then we should attempt their rescue; anyhow they were to be prepared.
“Three whole days elapsed, and yet no Lord Augustus appeared, but on the night of the fourth, when we had given him up for lost, he swam off to the ship. Poor boy, he had hardly eaten food, save fruit, since he had left, and his adventure had been a thrilling one. Yet he was laughing all over just the same.
“Yes, he had managed to give the note, and had brought back a message. The ladies had not, strange to say, been subjected to either insult or injury by the king. They were well fed on fruit and milk and cooked fowls, but were guarded day and night by priests.
“The most startling portion of the message, however, was this: in a fortnight’s time a great feast and sacrifice were to take place, and during that they knew not what might occur. They begged that the boy might be sent again, and with him a sleeping-powder, which they might administer to the priests on the night of the attempted rescue. I confess my heart beat high with anxiety when the boy told us all this, for not one word of his message had he forgotten.
“I consulted now with James and Smithson. Would it not be as well, I advanced, to attempt to rescue the ladies by force?
“This was at once vetoed. Both James and the captain of the yacht knew more of savage nature than I did, and they most strongly affirmed that any show of force would assuredly result in the putting to death of the two unhappy ladies we had come to rescue.
“So it was finally agreed that stratagem, not force, must be resorted to, in the first place, at all events. So a night was chosen, and on the previous evening faithful Lord Fitzmantle was dispatched once more, taking with him a powder for the medicine-men, or priests.
“To our great joy and relief, the messenger returned before daylight with the news that all would be ready, and that they, the ladies, would be found at midnight in a cave by the banks of the lake, if they were successful in escaping in a canoe from the island.
“‘And you know this cave, Fitz?’ I asked.
“Fitz’s eyes snapped and twinkled right merrily.
“‘I done know him, him foh true, sah!’ he said, which signified that he had a perfect knowledge of the position of the cave.
“As I speak to you even now, gentlemen, a portion of the anxiety I felt on that terrible night when, with muffled oars, our boat left the ship, comes stealing over my senses. I could not tell then why my feelings should be worked up to so high a pitch, for I’d been in many a danger and difficulty before. But so it was.
“The king had dined with us, and we sent home with him a supply of fire-water, which has worked such ruin among many savage races. But surely on this occasion we were partially justified in doing so. We knew, therefore, that the king and some of his principal officers were safe enough for one night.
“The largest boat was cautiously lowered about an hour before midnight, when everything was still as the grave on the island; a long and plaintive howl, however, being borne on the gentle breeze towards us every now and then, telling us that sentries were here and there in the woods.
“We were fifteen men in all, including James and myself, and excluding our little black guide, Lord Fitzmantle. During the nights of terror he had spent in hill and forest he had surveyed the country well, and so we could safely trust to him.
“We rowed with muffled oars to the beach near the haunted forest, and drew up our boat under some banana-trees; then, silent as the red men of the North American forests, we made our way towards the bridge.
“The moon was about five days old, and served to give us all the light we desired. We took advantage of every bush and thicket, and finally, when within seventy yards of the river—the hustling and roaring of which we could distinctly hear—we dispatched little Fitz to reconnoitre.
“He returned in a few minutes and reported all safe, and no one on watch upon the bridge.
“We marched now in Indian file, taking care not even to snap a twig, lest we should arouse the slumbering foe. I do not know how long we took to reach the cave. To me, in my terror and anxiety, it seemed a year. They were there, and safe.
“We waited not a moment to speak. I lifted the young lady in my arms. How light she was! James escorted the elder, sometimes carrying her, sometimes permitting her to walk.
“Then the journey back was commenced.
“But in the open a glimmer of moonlight fell on the face of the beautiful burden I bore. She had fainted. That I could see at a glance.
“But something more I saw, and, seeing, tottered and nearly fell; for hers was the same lovely and childlike face I had seen that evening, which now appeared so long ago, in the Liverpool theatre.
“I felt now as if walking in the air. But I cannot describe or express my feelings, being only a sailor, and so must not attempt to.
“We might have still been a hundred yards from the bridge and river, when suddenly there rang out behind and on each side of us the most awful yells I had ever listened to, while the beating of tom-toms, or war-drums, sounded all over the eastern part of the island.
“‘On, men, on to the bridge!’ shouted brave James. No need for concealment now.
“It was a short but fearful race, but now we are on it, on the bridge!
“On and over!
“All but James!
“Where is he? The moon escapes from behind a cloud and shines full upon his sturdy form, still on the other side, and at the same time we can hear the sharp ring of his revolver. Then, oh! we see him tearing up the planks of the bridge, and dropping them one by one into the gulf beneath. We pour in a volley to keep the savages back.
“‘Fly for your lives!’ shouts brave James. ‘Save the ladies; I’ll swim.’
“Next minute he dives into the chasm! For one brief moment we see his face and form in the pale moonlight. Then he disappears. He is gone.
“‘O my friend, my brother!’ I cry, stretching out my arms as if I would plunge madly into the pool that lies far beneath yonder, part in shade and part in shine.
“But they dragged me away by main force. They led me to the boat. The savages could not follow. But I seemed to see nothing now, to know nothing, to feel nothing, except that I had lost the dearest friend on earth. He had sacrificed himself to save us!”
Book Two—Chapter Seven.
“I Think You’re Going on a Wild-Goose Chase.”
Halcott paused, and gazed seawards over the great stretch of wet beach.
So wet was it that the sun’s parting rays lit it up in great stripes of crimson chequered with gold.
And yonder are the children coming slowly home across these painted sands.
A strange group, most certainly, but united in one bond of union—oh, would that all the world were so!—the bond of love.
The brother’s arm is placed gently around his sister’s waist; the Admiral is stepping drolly by Ransey’s side, with his head and neck thrust through the lad’s arm.
Something seems to tell the bird that fate, which took away his master before, might take him once again.
Bob brings up the rear. His head is low towards the sands, but he feels very happy and satisfied with his afternoon’s outing.
Halcott once more lit his pipe.
The two others were silent, and Mr Tandy nodded when Halcott smiled and looked towards him.
“Yes,” he said, “there is a little more of my story yet untold; there is a portion of it still in the future, I trust. With this, however, destiny alone has to do. Suffice it to say, that as far as Doris and myself—my simple sailor-self—are concerned, we shall be married when I return from my next cruise, if all goes well, and, like two vessels leaving the harbour on just such a beautiful night as this, sail away to begin our voyage of life on just such a beautiful sea.
“You must both know Doris before I start. But where, think you, do I mean to sail to next? No, do not answer till I tell you one thing. Neither Doris nor her mother received, while in that little lake island, the slightest injury or insult.”
“Then there is some good in the breast of even the wildest savage,” put in Weathereye. “I always thought so; bother me if I didn’t. Ahem!”
“Ah, wait, Captain Weathereye, wait! I fear my experience is different from yours. Those fiendish savages on that Isle of Misfortune were reserving my dear Doris and her mother for a fate far more terrible than anything ever described in books of imagination.
“We rescued them, by God’s mercy, just in time. They were then under the protection of the awful priests, or medicine-men, and were being fed on fruits and on the petals of rare and beautiful flowers. Their hut itself was composed of flowers and foliage.
“The king, no, not even he, could come near them, until the medicine-men had propitiated the demons that live, according to their belief, in every wood and in every ravine and gully in the island.
“Then, at the full of the moon, on that tiny islet I have marked on the map, the king and his warriors would assemble at midnight, and the awful orgies would commence.
“I shudder even now when I think of it. I happily cannot describe to you the tortures these poor ladies would have been put to before the final, fearful act. But the king would drink ‘white blood.’ He would then be invulnerable. No foe could any more prevail against him.
“While the blood was still flowing, the stake-fires would-be lit, and—
“But I’ll say no more; a cannibal feast would have concluded the ceremonies.”
“You mean to say,” cried Weathereye, bringing his fist, and a good-sized one it was, down with a bang on the sill of the open window by which he sat—“do you mean to tell me that these devils incarnate would have burned the poor dear ladies alive, then? Oh, horrible!”
“I said that they meant to; but look at this!”
He handed Weathereye a small yellow dagger.
“What a strange little knife! But why, I say, Halcott, Tandy, this knife is made of gold—solid, hammered gold!”
“Yes,” said Halcott; “and it is this dagger of hammered gold that would have saved my poor Doris and her mother from the torture and the stake.
“But,” he added, “not this dagger only, but every implement in the cave of those fearsome priests was fashioned from the purest gold.”
“This is indeed a strange story,” said Tandy.
“And now, gentlemen,” added Halcott, “can you guess to what seas my barque shall sail next?”
Tandy rose from his seat and took two or three turns up and down the floor.
He was a man who made up his mind quickly enough, and it is such men as these, and only such, who get well on in the world.
Weathereye and Halcott both kept silence. They were watching Tandy.
“Halcott,” said the latter, approaching the captain of the Sea Flower—“Halcott, have you kept your secret?”
“Secret?”
“Yes. I mean, do many save yourself know of the existence of gold on that island of blood?”
“None save me. No one has even seen the knife but myself and you.”
“Good. You love the Sea Flower?”
“I love the Sea Flower as every sailor loves, or ought to love, his ship. I wish I could afford to buy her out and out.”
“The other shares are in the market then?”
Tandy was seated now cross-legged on a chair, and leaning over the back of it, bending towards Halcott with an earnest light, in his eyes, such as few had ever seen therein.
“The other shares are for sale,” said Halcott.
It was just at this moment that Ransey Tansey and little Nelda came, or rather burst into the room. Both were breathless, both were rosy; and Bob, who came in behind them, was panting, with half a yard of tongue—well, perhaps, not quite so much—hanging red over his alabaster teeth.
“O daddy,” cried Babs, as father still called her, “we’ve had such fun! And the ’Ral,” (a pet name that the crane had somehow obtained possession of) “dug up plenty of pretty things for us, and he wanted Bob to eat a big white worm, only Bob wouldn’t.”
One of his children stood on each side of him, and he had placed one arm round each.
Thus Tandy faced Halcott once more, smiling, perhaps, a little sadly now.
“I can buy those shares, Halcott. Do not think me ambitious. A money-grabber I never was. But, you see these little tots. Ransey here can make his way in the world.—Can’t you, Ransey?”
“Rather, father,” said Ransey.
“But, Halcott, though I am not in the flower of my youth, I’m in the prime of my manhood, and I’d do everything I know to build up a shelter for my little Babs against the cold winds of adversity before I—But I must not speak of anything sad before the child.”
“You have a long life before you, I trust,” said Weathereye.
Tandy seemed to hear him not.
“I’d go as your mate.”
The two sailors shook hands.
“You’ll go as my friend, and keep watch if you choose.”
“Agreed!”
“Bravo!” cried Weathereye. “Shiver my jib, as sailors say in books, if I wouldn’t like to go along with both of you!”
“Why not, Captain Weathereye?”
The staff-commander laughed. “Not this cruise, lads, though I’m not afraid for my life, or the little that may be left of it, and you must take care of yours. I think myself you are going on a kind of wild-goose chase, and that the goose—that is, the gold—will have the best of it, by keeping out of your way. Well, anyhow, I’ll come and see you both over the bar. Where do you sail from?”
“Southampton.”
“Good! and the last person you’ll see as you drop out to sea will be old Weathereye in a boat waving his red bandana to wish you luck. Good-night!
“Good-night, little Babs! How provokingly pretty she is, Tandy! better leave her at Scragley Hall, and the crane too. She’ll be well looked after, you may figure upon that. Come and give the old man a kiss, dear.”
But Nelda hung her head.
“Not if you say that, Captain Weathereye. Wherever ever daddy goes, I go with him. I’m not going to let my brother run away to sea and leave me again.”
“And you won’t give me Bob?” said Weathereye.
“Oh, no!”
“Nor the Admiral?”
Nelda looked up in the old captain’s face now.
“I’m just real sorry for you,” she said; “but the Hal’s going and all—you may figure on that.”
Weathereye laughed heartily.
Then he drew the child gently towards him and kissed her little sun-browned hand.
“May God be with you, darling, where’er on earth you roam! And with you all. Good-night again.”
And away went honest Captain Weathereye.