WITH DRAKE ON THE
SPANISH MAIN

BY

HERBERT STRANG

ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR BY ARCHIBALD WEBB

LONDON
HENRY FROWDE
HODDER & STOUGHTON
1908

OXFORD: HORACE HART
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

Copyright, 1907, by the BOBBS MERRILL COMPANY in the
United States of America

PREFACE

The romancer, in choosing as the setting for a tale the period of a man who looms large in history, finds himself on the horns of a dilemma. He cannot place his fictional near his historical hero without either dwarfing the former until the young reader ceases to find him interesting, or robbing the latter of some of the glamour with which history invests him.

In the following pages I have tried to meet the difficulty by making Francis Drake the presiding genius of the story. The deeds of Dennis Hazelrig are akin to those of Drake; the same spirit of adventure dominates them: and when, in the course of the story, the real and the fictitious personages meet, it is, I trust, without loss of dignity to either.

HERBERT STRANG.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

Jetsam

Daybreak! But, eastward, no glory of dawn. Black thundrous clouds roll sullenly across a livid sky, riven at moments by pale zigzags of flame. Rain tumbles in cascades. League upon league of white-crested waves chase one another in fury, hissing, roaring as they hurl themselves upon a stubborn shore, only to be broken and thrown back into the seething turmoil. The wind outstrips them, shrieking as it cleaves a way through the massed foliage, in mad haste to reach the mainland and smite the yielding tops of Darien's palms and pines.

The shelving sandy beach is strewed with the jetsam of the storm. Here, a tangled heap of seaweed, left by a breaker when, spent with its own rage, it falls back baffled. There, a log of wood, hard by nameless creatures of the sea, destroyed by the fury of their own element. And here, high up the strand, beneath a bank overgrown with large-leaved plants, lies a human form, huddled, motionless.

The waves do not touch it now; the storm has exhausted itself; the tide is ebbing. Minute by minute the sea becomes less boisterous; the strip of sand widens; the rain ceases. By and by the sun breaks through the eastern sky, and, gathering strength, disperses the lingering clouds and flings his radiance over the scene. His beams, falling aslant through a gap in the cliffs, strike upon the draggled form on the sand; it stirs slightly, stretching itself as a leaf uncurls. At last, when the air quivers with heat, and all things lie under a shimmering haze, Dennis Hazelrig heaves a sigh, opens his eyes, and looks amazedly about him.

His eyes close; for some minutes he remains still; then he lifts himself slightly, falls back with a gasp, and lies again as one dead. But Nature is recovering under the beneficent rays. Pigeons are cooing in the branches above; parrots are screaming; insects drone their burden; and when a mosquito, adventuring forth, alights on a human cheek, and tastes, Dennis is stung once more into consciousness. He starts up, brushes the marauder away, staggers to his feet, and, to prevent himself from falling, clutches at a tuft of grass in the overhanging bank. Its thin blade-like edge draws blood from his hand, and he looks at the red stain as at some strange phenomenon. Then he laughs huskily, checks the sound as though it too is unfamiliar, and laughs again—a short sobbing laugh.

"Certes, I am alive!" he mutters.

An hour or two passed before Dennis ventured once more to try his tottering legs. The sun's heat had dried his clothes, which, as he ruefully observed, had been so rent by the buffeting waves that they hung upon him precariously. But in the same genial warmth his strength was returning, and though all his body ached, he could now move without a stagger. Catching sight of some clams near him, he was conscious of a vast emptiness within, and felt for the clasp-knife which he was wont to wear slung about his waist. It still hung upon its chain. He had opened and eaten, ravenously, a dozen of the shellfish before he realized that after all his thirst exceeded his hunger, and he looked round for a spring of fresh water. He walked some paces along the shore, groaning with every movement, until his ear caught the musical ripple of a stream, and he saw a rivulet flowing across the sand from a narrow water-course in the cliff. In an instant he was down on his knees, drinking his fill.

Refreshed with the draught, he rose and began to consider. He was alive: that was the first thing. It seemed marvellous to him. The tornado had ceased. Looking round, he could hardly believe that the sea now so calm was the same sea which, but a few hours before, had been a raging monster. As far as the eye could scan it stretched away, shimmering in the sunlight, only a white crest here and there giving sign of its late disturbance. Not a sail broke the line of the horizon. What had become of the Maid Marian and her crew and his companion adventurers on board? Had they, had any of them, been cast ashore like himself, on some other part of this strange coast? If he had escaped, why not others? There was something cheering in the thought, and instinctively he braced himself for a search when, remembering that awful night—the amazing suddenness of the blast that struck the bark, rending the sails like ribands, snapping the mainmast like a reed, the tumultuous waves, the crashing thunder, the bursts of lightning, the deluge that poured down from the heavens—as he remembered these battling elements he shuddered involuntarily; could it be otherwise than by a miracle that he had survived?

He lived over again his last conscious moments. The mainmast had gone by the board. He heard the hoarse shout of Miles Barton the master, calling upon the men to cut away the wreckage. He was with them at the task, struggling to keep his feet, when the gallant vessel staggered under the onslaught of a tremendous sea, and he was swept off her deck. He heard cries all around him, but could see nothing for the darkness and the blinding rain. Striving to keep his head above water, he felt his strength failing, so puny was it against the might of the passionate waves, when he encountered a floating spar, and clung to it with the tenacity of despair. After that he knew nothing. His grip must have relaxed, for the spar was not near him when he awoke to consciousness on the beach. Yet it seemed that this had been his salvation. He must have held to it until near the shore; then some mountainous breaker had torn him away and hurled him to the spot where he had lately opened his eyes again upon the world.

Hapless bark! It was scarcely possible that she had survived the hurricane. And what of the souls on board with him? What of Miles Barton, the bluff sea-dog her master, and his cheery crew, and the score of gallant gentlemen who had sailed out of Plymouth Sound but two months before, gay, high-hearted adventurers for the Spanish Main? Where was Sir Martin Blunt, the blithe captain of the band, and Philip Masterton, and Harry Greville, and Francis Tring, all young men of mettle, whom Dennis was proud to call his friends, and who, though but little his elders in years, had seen and done things in the great world that made him burn with envious admiration? Alas! he could not but fear that the sea had swallowed them.

But then again came the thought: might not Fortune have befriended them too? Why imagine the worst? And Dennis thrust sad thought from his mind; hope was not dead. His meal had given him strength to search, and search he would.

He looked about him. The sandy beach was narrow. It was overhung by cliffs of varying height, in parts merely a low bank, in parts reaching an altitude of perhaps forty or fifty feet. They were covered with the dense vegetation of the tropics. Some distance to the north of where he stood the receding tide had left bare a long ledge of massive rock, running up into the highest part of the cliff. To the south the shore was less rocky, and within half a mile curved round to the east. It was in this direction that he decided to go.

But he had not walked far along the glistening sand when he suddenly bethought himself. Signs of life there had yet been none, save the cries of birds from the trees above him. But what if he came upon a fishing village, and found himself among enemies—the wild red men of whom he had heard, the Spaniards of whose terrible deeds returning navigators made such grim tales for the winter nights at home? Where was he? On some shore of the Caribbean Sea, he made no doubt, for only the day before, when the Maid Marian was sailing merrily westward, Sir Martin had declared, and old Miles had borne him out, that but a few more days would bring them to the point where they expected to meet other adventurers who had preceded them on the same quest for excitement and gain.

And Dennis halted as one dazed when the full sense of his calamity was borne in upon him. He was alone!—alone! There might be, for all he knew, thousands of people almost within hail of him; but he was none the less alone, for they would be of another race, speaking another tongue, unfriendly, hostile. He sat down on a smooth rock and, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, stared moodily out to sea. Between him and all that he held dear stretched this wide ocean for thousands of miles. In utter hopelessness he wondered why it had not swallowed him up with all his comrades, instead of casting him here, a battered miserable body.

The mood passed. He had escaped the perils of the sea, not by his own strength, but by the hand of Providence. If perchance he had more to fear from man than from nature—why, it behoved him, an English boy, and a Devon boy to boot, to face his destiny with a stout heart. After all, he was of the same stuff as Master Walter Raleigh and Master Francis Drake and many another bold man of Devon. He could not think that any one of them, in his situation, would give way to black despair; and, lifting his aching body from the shore, he walked on: he would at least learn somewhat of his surroundings.

The beach, he found, bore gradually to the left, so that he could see but a short distance ahead. Still he encountered no signs of life, save here and there a scuttling crab, and the rank plant growths above him, whence now and again a bird fluttered out and wheeled screaming about his head, and then soared clattering into the foliage. Soon he tired of this monotonous tramping over sand, which appeared to lead no whither; and observing at length a cleft in the rocks, whence a shallow stream swiftly poured itself upon the beach, he bethought himself he might more quickly make a discovery if he pushed his way up the water-course, which must by and by lead to higher ground. He turned in obedience to this impulse, waded through the stream, that wound this way and that between banks thickly covered with vegetation, and after what seemed an eternity to his aching limbs, found himself upon a cliff overlooking the sea. His wandering had brought him by a circuit to a point north of the spot where he had awoke to consciousness.

The cliff on which he stood was much higher than the surrounding country. To right and left the ground shelved downwards, and he now perceived that the coast on both sides had an inward trend; that, in fact, the cliff was also a promontory. Turning round, he found that his view was blocked by the trees except in one direction, where a sudden dip in the ground gave him an outlook over several miles. And there, surely, at the far end of the vista, was the sea again. For the first time the suspicion occurred to him that he had been cast upon an island.

He went to the farthest point of the cliff to scan more carefully the horizon. Looking across the sea, which from the beach had seemed an unbroken plain, he now saw in the far distance several dark vague shapes rising a little above the surface. These must be islands. To the north, somewhat nearer to him, and somewhat more definite, were similar forms, which seemed to grow in size during the hour or more he watched them, no doubt owing to the fall of the tide. Far to the south he descried a long dark bar upon the horizon; this must be land, many miles away, probably the mainland. His view to the east being almost entirely shut out by the foliage, he could feel no certainty that his suspicion was justified; but he felt a stirring of interest and excitement now: supposing it were indeed an island, how did the discovery bear upon his lot?

Once more he turned and gazed along the valley at whose end he saw the sea. It could not be many miles away; perhaps in an hour or so he could reach it. The island, apparently, was not a large one, so that he could not go far without meeting its inhabitants. He looked around for any signs of habitation—a roof-top, a column of smoke; but there was none. Next moment he reflected that, if the island were small, it would not take him long to make its circuit and search every yard of the beach for tracks of his late comrades—of the Maid Marian too. Still cherishing a hope that some might have survived like himself, he set off to descend the cliff towards the beach, every downward step racking his bruised limbs and strained joints. When he gained the beach, he once more tramped southward, his eagerness lending him speed. He passed the water-course up which he had struck inland, and soon after came upon scattered articles of wreckage, among them the broken topmast of the Maid Marian. With a sigh for his lost comrades he passed on.

The sun had risen high in the heavens, and Dennis was fain to rest.

"I'm a poor battered hulk," he said aloud, finding some little solace in the sound of his voice, "and hungry—how hungry I am!"

He looked around for food, spied some shell-fish and ate them raw, quenching the ensuing thirst at another stream that rippled down from the interior. The feeling of nervousness lest he should encounter strangers again took hold upon him, and he felt a desire to hide. He found himself casting uneasy, almost terrified glances around him from the nook in which he was now resting, somewhat sheltered from the sun's fierce rays. Then, conquering the feeling, he rose again to continue his search of the beach. He must by and by, he thought, come upon some quay or harbour. When he should see it, he would halt and consider his course of action: whether to advance and risk the meeting with strangers, or to retreat until with recovered strength and a clearer mind he could prepare himself for what might be in store.

As he proceeded, he noticed that the jungle frequently approached to within a few feet of the mass of weed that marked high-water. At one spot he discovered, almost buried in the sand, the worm-eaten stern-post of a vessel. He could distinguish one or two letters of her name. Many a ship, he doubted not, had been wrecked on this coast, many a hapless wight had been cast up by the tide, alive or dead. By and by he came, on the southern side of the island, to high cliffs, and he set about scaling that which offered the easiest ascent, to obtain a view of sea and land from this point of vantage also. It was densely wooded, and as he mounted he heard, besides the cries of startled birds, other sounds that struck uncannily upon his ear. In his weakened state any new note in these sounds set his nerves tingling, and more than once he stopped, and could scarcely prevent himself from turning and speeding back to the beach, where at least there was nothing to cause him fresh tremors.

Near the top of the cliff the wood thinned away somewhat, and when he reached its highest point he found himself on a stretch of greensward. Northward the ground sloped gently down to a clump of trees, of a species unknown to him, tall, with slender trunks, which it seemed to him he could climb as easily as the masts on the Maid Marian. He made his way to them, half minded to swarm up the tallest of the group, so that from its summit he might gain a view, possibly, over the whole island, and solve the question that troubled him—whether somewhere upon it there was a settlement of men. Only when he reached the foot of the trunk did he remember his weakness. He stood leaning against it, and gazing up its length felt that at present his muscles were incapable of the feat.

All at once his eyes became fixed in his head. Travelling to the top, where a mass of foliage crowned the towering stem, they had lighted upon a face, that seemed to be peering at him from between the leaves. The feeling of fright that had before almost paralysed him seized him again. But next moment he laughed aloud.

"Ninny that I am!" he murmured. "Afraid of a monkey!"

He looked again. The monkey, a large long-tailed specimen of its kind, was gazing at him gravely, with a look so human that it reminded him of his old schoolmaster at Winchester. With the sportive instinct of a boy—Dennis was not yet seventeen—he stooped, picked up a stout piece of fallen branch, and flung it upward.

"Stir, Sir Monkey!" he cried. "I hail thee as the lord of this island!"

The wood struck the branch on which the monkey was perched. Chattering angrily, it flung its long arms around the branch above, and swung itself up, resting there, blinking and showing its teeth at this unmannerly intruder.

"A big fellow indeed!" said Dennis to himself. "I will not climb. If the beast is angered, as he seems, he would be no mean foe in his high perch. I'll not try a bout with you, Sir Monkey. For this time, farewell!"

And he went on, smiling a little as he became conscious that the meeting with the monkey had cheered him.

CHAPTER II

Sea-Girt

Besides the birds, and the ground animals which he heard at times scurrying through the undergrowth, the sole inhabitant of the island that Dennis had yet discovered was a monkey. Though he was beginning to suspect that his fears of encountering hostile human folk had been needless, he still felt a timid reluctance to leave the coast-line for the interior; and having given up for the present his idea of climbing a tree to obtain a wider view, he contented himself with walking to the top of the cliff, to continue his observations from that point. His native courage was returning; yet, as he mounted the cliff, he moved for the most part under cover of the trees; the dread of possible enemies still made him wary, though every now and then he forgot his precautions, only remembering them again when the sense of his loneliness forced itself upon him, or when he was momentarily startled by a sudden sound.

Panting a little from his exertions when he gained the summit, conscious of his bodily weakness, of bruised limbs and strained sinews, he looked eagerly around. Eastward stretched an illimitable expanse of sea; he scanned it longingly, yet doubtfully, for while it was from that quarter, or from the channel between the island and the mainland, that he might hope for rescue from a friendly ship, it was thence also that he might be descried perchance by an enemy. He sat down on the grass, once more yielding to the heavy sense of forlornness, and thinking sadly of his lost companions. How long he remained there he knew not; his mind wandered a little: he thought afterwards that he had probably slept, for he suddenly awoke to the consciousness of a gnawing hunger. He had walked far, and the few shell-fish he had picked up on the shore gave but meagre sustenance. Stiff and cramped, he rose to search again for food.

There was nothing edible in his immediate neighbourhood. The trees sprang to a lofty height, and bore no fruit. Plucking up his courage, he made his way slowly down the slope towards the middle of the island. The vegetation grew thicker as he proceeded; there was no path or road; all was a wild tangle. At first he saw nothing wherewith to ease his pangs; never in his life had he taken a thought for his next meal; it was a new experience. Often enough at home he had plucked fruits as they grew; he remembered with a strange homesick feeling many a boyish depredation upon neighbouring orchards, out of sheer mischief, not from a longing for food. But there were no apple-trees or plum-trees here. And when at last he came upon a broad-leaved tree upon which grew huge clusters of a yellowish fruit, in shape like monstrous pea-pods, he hesitated, wondering whether this might not be one of those evil trees of which he had heard, one taste of which would turn his skin black, and fire him with a raging thirst, and afflict him with a madness whose end was death. But his natural appetite would not be gainsaid. With hope and misgiving mingled he at last stretched up his hand and plucked one of the tempting pods, and stripped off the skin, and nibbled a morsel of the soft fruit within. It was delicious; but so was the devil's fruit of mariners' tales—the more delicious the more poisonous. Somewhat anxiously he waited; there was no change in the colour of his skin; he watched it through the rents of his tattered garments; and indeed it seemed to him that any change would be for the better, for he perceived for the first time that he was already black and blue with bruises. He bit off another and a larger piece; then, with the ravenous haste of one long fasting, he let prudence fly, and ate the whole fruit, and another, and another, until he saw with surprise and qualms that his feet were encircled by a ring of empty skins. But he felt astonishingly refreshed and invigorated; he must eat one more; and thus, timorously and recklessly, he made acquaintance with the banana.

Of water for drink there was abundance. He drank gladly at a stream, and wandered on. It was strange that he no longer felt alone. He saw no man, nor any trace of one; he had become accustomed now to the rustle of birds and the swish of four-footed creatures moving amid the greenwood; what then caused him to look apprehensively around? What was this odd feeling of expectation that possessed him? There was nothing to account for it, and by and by the nervousness which had left him during his search for food returned in greater force. It was not lessened when he suddenly became aware that the sun was setting. Darkness, he knew, would soon envelop him, and there came with a rush upon his mind the memory of his early childhood, when night, with its silence, its blackness, had filled him with terror. He felt that a night in the solitude of these unfamiliar trees would be unbearable, and, guiding himself by the sunset glow, he hurriedly plunged through the jungle towards the shore. There, under the open sky, he could feel more at ease.

His course brought him to the beach on the southern side, where, in the morning, he remembered having seen, though in his despondency he had not heeded, a number of half-rotten staves of casks. These might, he thought, serve him for making a rude shelter. He soon found the spot, and then noticed, what had escaped his dazed observation before, that close by the staves there lay a medley of stripped branches. Had some one, at some time, built himself of these materials a shelter in that very place? He gathered the stuff together and rigged up a crazy hut, such as he had seen erected by shepherds on the moors of Devon. The day had been hot, but he knew from his experience on shipboard that the nights were cold; already he felt a sharpness in the air, and shivered in his tatters. The hut would defend him somewhat from the chill of night.

Another fear seized upon him with the approach of dark. His mind had been so occupied with thoughts of human enemies that the possibility of the island harbouring wild beasts had not, in the daylight, occurred to him. The darkness, he knew, brought forth small and great beasts; and he remembered with a shudder the tales told him by one of the hardy adventurers on board the Maid Marian—of packs of wild dogs that scoured these tropic woods, devouring sleeping men; of the hideous cayman, that lurked upon the shore, and, having swallowed hundredweights of stones to increase its heaviness, seized upon some unwary creature, and dragged it down into the watery depths, to feast upon it at leisure. All wild beasts, he had heard, were afraid of fire; he had his flint and steel, secure in a leather pouch upon his girdle; but he had no dry timber; the sodden wood of the staves and branches of which he had built his hut would be useless, and he shrank from issuing forth into the now darkening woods to find material that would serve. He comforted himself with the recollection that not once during his tramp around the island had he seen any animal larger than a hare, save the monkey; and he resigned himself to make the best of what he feared would be a cheerless night.

The dark fell rapidly, again he had that strange feeling that he was not alone. He went to the entrance of the hut, where he had drawn some of the worm-eaten branches, strung together with a few creepers, across as a door. Peering out, he saw nothing but the darkened cliffs and the sea, heard nothing but the wash of the surf, the rustle of the breeze, and the soft tones of wood-pigeons. He returned to the rear of the cabin, where he had strewed leaves for his couch. As he lay back upon it and looked up to the roof he started, and instinctively seized a branch for protection: above him shone two greenish eyes peeping through one of the many gaps. His hasty movement disturbed the watcher, and Dennis heaved a sigh of relief as he heard a shrill chattering above, and knew it for the gibber of a monkey. Springing up he dashed out of the cabin to drive the intruder away. He was just in time to see the monkey springing up the nearest tree.

It was long before he fell asleep. Then his rest was fitful and disturbed, not only through his over-wrought nerves, but by the nocturnal cries of creatures in the forest, and the attentions of insects, which nipped and stung with importunate malice. In spite even of them, however, he slept; and when with the rising of the sun they betook their satiated bodies elsewhere, he lay till the morning was drawing towards noon in the sound sleep of exhausted nature.

Opening his eyes upon bright day, he was tempted by the smoothness of the sea to bathe. When he flung off his clothes he laughed to see the parti-coloured patches on his skin. Blue, and yellow, and black, the bruises reminded him of his battering in the storm, and his laughter turned to sighing as he thought once more of his comrades and their hapless fate. But in the physical joy of swimming he again plucked up heart, and he left the stinging water with a most healthy hunger. The recollection of his feast of fruit drew him into the woodland. He wandered long before he lighted upon the banana grove, and though, in the course of roaming, he saw other fruit-bearing trees, he resisted for the present the temptation to climb and taste; when once his hunger was appeased by the fruit he knew, he could more safely make an experiment on the unknown.

He saw, too, many animals which had escaped his notice previously. There were hedgehogs, and tortoises, and giant spiders, and scorpions to which he gave a wide berth; but he caught no glimpse of any four-footed beast to cause him dread, and having by this time made up his mind that there were no human beings on the island, he went more fearlessly, with a readier eye to note the features of his new abode.

Happening once to halt and glance back he saw, perched in the branches of a tree not many yards away, a monkey. Was it the same, he wondered, as that which had peered at him out of the tree he had thought of climbing, and pried upon him in his humble cabin? It seemed to be of the same size; it had spindly limbs and a long slender tail; but probably there was a colony of the strange creatures on the island.

"Good morrow, Sir Monkey," he said, again finding a pleasure in the sound of his voice. "Are you lonely too? You were not, surely, cast like me upon this island, far away from kith and kin. You have a wise and solemn look: what secrets do you harbour in that shallow skull of yours? And what do you think of me, I wonder, when you look at me with those cunning little eyes? I wish you could speak, for here am I prating to myself like an old gossip of eighty."

As he moved on it was very soon clear that the monkey was dogging him. He amused himself by putting the matter to the test. When he sat down, the monkey stopped, and remained almost perfectly still, partially concealing itself among the leaves. When Dennis rose and went on his way the monkey followed, springing from branch to branch with amazing dexterity, always keeping at a distance. Dennis became interested, fascinated, as he watched the movements of the agile creature.

"Truly, Sir Monkey," he said, "I begin to wish I had a tail."

And as the day wore on, and the monkey kept pace with him wherever he went, he began to find in its presence something of the comfort of human companionship. Once, as he sat resting under a tree, the broken skin of a fruit he had eyed longingly fell within a couple of yards of him, and looking up he saw the monkey sucking with relish at another of the same kind.

"Aha! my fine fellow," said Dennis, "you have something of a man about you, and mayhap what is good for you is good for me too."

And he climbed a tree on which the pale yellow fruit was hanging, and plucked one, and made a wry mouth at his first taste of the tartish lime.

Thus the day passed in aimless yet not unprofitable wandering. Warned by his experience of the previous night, he resolved to prepare his shelter somewhat earlier. Where should it be? He was determined not to go back to the cabin, for the insects had plagued him there unmercifully, and he could only ward them off by means of a fire. But flame by night and smoke by day rising from the shore would assuredly provoke curiosity among the crew of any passing ship; and since, of the vessels likely to pass in these latitudes, the most would undoubtedly be Spaniards, he was loath to attract visitors who might prove so eminently undesirable. Yet, as he knew from his experience in woods at home, the insects would be even more numerous inland than at the shore. A fire he must have, and it struck him that if he could find, somewhere in the middle of the island, a sheltered hollow, he might safely kindle there a few sticks, trusting that the over-arching foliage would prevent a glow in the sky, and that the smoke, in the night-time, would pass unobserved.

About a mile from the edge of the eastern cliff was a spring whence a little stream flowed westward. At its source but an inch or two wide, it gathered volume on its winding course, and Dennis, tracking it, wondering by what circuit it would finally reach the sea, discovered that it ran at length into a somewhat extensive marsh. He knew nothing about rainfall and land drainage, but being a lad of some powers of observation and reasoning, he was not long in coming to the conclusion that the marsh collected as in a cup the water that fell on the surrounding high ground during such torrential rains as had fallen on the night of the storm. It was clear that there must be an outlet, or the marsh would be a lake, and this outlet he found amid thick undergrowth towards the western cliff near which he had been thrown by the sea.

Penetrating the dense jungle, he discovered that the outflow poured through a channel some three feet deep. Only a small stream now trickled down its centre; the banks were sandy and dry, and the interlaced foliage so arched it over, that Dennis decided he might rest in it secure from observation, and even run the risk of kindling a fire at night. It seemed scarcely necessary to bring the staves of his cabin over several miles of difficult country to this spot; the trees themselves formed a sufficient shelter; but with his clasp-knife he cleared away some of the undergrowth, and lopped off a few low-growing branches to make a little enclosure; and by the time the natural shade deepened at the approach of night, he had fenced in a few square yards and scooped out a hollow in the middle for his fire.

All the time he was working the monkey watched every movement from a branch overhead. Dennis was not at first aware of the animal's presence, so closely hidden was it by the foliage. Only when he struck a spark from his flint, and after some ineffectual attempts succeeded in blowing up a flame, did the monkey reveal its hiding-place by a little gibber of amazement.

"So ho! my friend," cried Dennis, looking up vainly. "You haunt me like a familiar. Have you never seen a fire? Do not let your curiosity tempt you too far, for, much as I value your company, I had rather you remained at your present comfortable distance until I know you a little better. Play the sentinel, Sir Monkey, if you will."

Dennis felt very well satisfied with his contrivance as he sat by the fire, eating a supper of bananas before laying himself down on a bed of leaves. The smoke defended him somewhat from the insect pests; the warmth was comforting; and the cheerful glow gave him a sense of homeness and well-being. He fed the fire more than once during the night, waking, it seemed, when the diminished heat warned him that the fuel needed replenishing, And when he awoke from his longest spell of sleep the dawn was stealing through the trees, birds were cooing, whistling, chattering overhead, and the monkey, on a low branch, was watching him with unalterable gravity.

CHAPTER III

A Wreck—and Mirandola

Dennis, as he made his breakfast, pondered deeply on the situation, taking the monkey in to his confidence. "Could we change parts, Sir Monkey—if I were you, and you were Dennis Hazelrig, what would you do? This is your island: we will call it yours; I am your guest. You seem to be a solitary creature like myself: are you miserable, I wonder? Does your loneliness trouble you? There is food for us both: it is so warm that for the present, at least, I need no more clothes than you; neither of us will starve. How old are you? You look wise enough to be very old. Am I to remain on this island until I have a beard as long and white as Sir Parson's at home? Oh, you cannot understand what I say, for all your wise look: you cannot know what a wretched mortal I am. What can I do?"

The monkey only blinked at him, and plucked a dark plum-like fruit from the bough and munched it.

For a time Dennis sat listless, feeling too wretched even to move from the spot. Then he got up and made his way back to the cliff. He stood on the summit, scanning the whole circumference of the shining sea. Not a sail was in sight. He scarcely knew whether he was disappointed or not. Supposing a vessel hove into view, he durst not try to attract the attention of some one on board. If it were English it would be welcome as a spar to a drowning man. If it were Spanish, he might as well jump into the maw of some sea monster. Yet how could he discover its nationality without at the same time betraying his presence? Several times during that third day he climbed to the same spot, and looked out with the same eagerness; not one glimpse did he catch of a white wing upon the water; and he always turned away with the same uncertainty.

He spent hours in roaming, as aimlessly as before, along the beach and through the woodland. Coming in the course of the day to the cliff near which he had been cast ashore, he remembered that hitherto he had not made a complete circuit of the island; the beach northward appeared to be barred by huge masses of rock. In his present mood he had no curiosity to see what lay beyond; he supposed indeed that, if he did care to clamber toilsomely over the barrier, he would simply arrive at a point of the beach which he had already reached from the other side.

But later in the day, when the tedium of inaction had become unbearable, he started to explore the lower course of the streamlet on whose bank he had slept. He found that the channel gradually widened, the banks growing higher as he neared the sea. By and by he came upon a wide pool on whose rim a mass of seaweed lay rotting in the sun, and stooping out of sheer curiosity he dipped his finger and, tasting, discovered that the water was salt, as he had supposed. Clearly at high tide the sea came thus far up the gully. The entrance was as yet hidden from him by the jutting shoulder of the cliff, but he could hear now the light rumble of surf upon the beach, and he went on, feeling some curiosity to learn whereabouts on the shore he would arrive.

He had taken but a few more steps when, rounding the projecting cliff, he came upon a scene which petrified him with astonishment. Docked in the sand, lying over on her side, was the battered hulk of a two-masted vessel. Her stern was somewhat towards him, and he read, painted there, the word Maid; but so familiar was he with her lines that he needed not the rest of the name; this was in very truth the wreck of the Maid Marian. Of her two masts only the stumps remained: her deck, inclined towards him, was littered with a medley of rigging; her rudder was gone, part of her bulwarks torn away.

There was an uncanny look about the hapless vessel as she lay there on the sandy beach, at the head of a small bay bounded by the cliffs on either side. Dennis felt just such a thrill as he might have felt had he come suddenly upon the body of a friend. The solitude, the silence, intensified by the rustling wash of the surf, the background of boundless sky and ocean, combined to affect him with a sense of desolation. He felt a shrinking reluctance to approach, and when he had conquered this and stood beneath the vessel's quarter, it was some time before he summoned up the resolution to climb on board. Then he mounted slowly, hesitatingly, by the aid of a loose shroud, holding his breath as if fearful of disturbing a sleeper.

All was intensely still. Multitudinous insects were crawling this way and that among the litter of rigging: save for these there was no sign of life—where for two months as merry a company as ever trod deck had talked and laughed and jested. Dennis felt a lump in his throat as he recalled the little incidents of the voyage: quarter-staff bouts with old Miles Barton, wrestling matches with Harry Greville, sword-play sometimes with the captain himself.

The hatchways were battened down. He shrank from going below. Evening was drawing on; he would leave the wreck now, and return in the morning. And as he set his foot once more on the beach, and began to retrace his steps up the gully, he saw the monkey grinning at him from a tree on the cliff, and was surprised to find how pleasant and consoling was the creature's company.

Hard on his discovery of the wreck came another discovery. Retracing his way up the chine, he noticed a green ledge on the cliff, some few feet above his head, on the right-hand side. The thought occurred to him to rest there for a little; he could reach it by an easy climb. When he gained the ledge, he found that it ran back for a longer distance than he had supposed below. At its further end grew a wild mass of bushes and trees, some of which bore a plum-like fruit that he had seen the monkey eating with enjoyment.

He went to pluck some of the fruit, and penetrating a little way into the thicket, he suddenly perceived that the bushes appeared to grow across an opening in the rock. He pulled the strands aside, and looked into the dark entrance of a cave. The discovery interested him. Might he not find here a better lodging than the rude shelter he had made on the bank of the stream? It was far above high-water mark, and conveniently placed for refuge, being accessible landwards only by the rocky channel, and wholly hidden from observation at sea. Yet he paused before stepping into the cave. Might it not be a wild beast's lair? True, he had seen no animals which he could have any cause to fear, but at this moment of overstrung nerves he felt a child's dread of the dark.

"A proper adventurer, in good sooth!" he said to himself. "The skirts of a nurse would befit me better than an island in the Spanish Main."

And without more ado he took a step forward and entered.

The daylight was quenched within a few feet of the opening. Striking a spark from his flint, he kindled a mass of dried grass he had stowed in his pouch for this purpose, and started as the brief flame lit the interior, for there, almost at his feet, lay a human skeleton. Incontinently he dropped his torch and fled,—scoffing, when once more in the free air, at his lack of courage. But the wish to make this his abode was vanished. He had no fancy to consort with skeletons, and besides, the damp and musty atmosphere of the cave was unpleasant. Without delay he set off to regain his former resting-place.

These new discoveries had introduced a disturbing element into his life on the island. Uninhabited as it apparently was now, clearly it had not always been so. What was the history of that skeleton? Were there others further within the cave? It was not the remains of a castaway, for not even in the fiercest hurricane could the sea penetrate so far. Had some poor wretched fugitive fled there for refuge from a human enemy, and been slain or starved? These questions kept him wakeful long that night, and haunted him even while he slept.

With morning light he thought less of the cave and more of the wreck. The Maid Marian had left Plymouth well equipped with stores; the hatchways had been battened down in the storm, and unless the sea had poured in through holes stove in her sides, there must be below decks a considerable quantity of materials that would prove serviceable if his stay on the island was to be lengthened. As soon as he had finished his breakfast he set off to return to the chine. It was no surprise to him now to observe the monkey following, like an attendant lackey.

"Come, Sir Monkey," he said, with an attempt at gaiety, "let us go together and inspect our treasure trove."

He felt again a strange sense of awe as he climbed into the vessel's waist, and trod her planks delicately. But remarking that her position had been shifted slightly by the incoming tide during the night, and that little streams of water were escaping from holes on to the sand, he reflected that it behoved him to lose no time if he wished to secure her contents, for any day a tempest might spring up and shatter the hulk irretrievably. Gulping down the timidity that still troubled him, he climbed to the quarter-deck, and went forward through the broken doorway into the main cabin.

The floor was littered with the possessions of his dear lost comrades. Here was Harry Greville's sword; near it a pistol-case that had belonged to Philip Masterton. He stepped over these and other relics and entered the captain's cabin beyond. Here, too, all was ruin and disorder. Garments, instruments of navigation, an ink-horn, trumpets, a drum, Sir Martin's arms and breastplate, the big leather-bound book in which he wrote his diary of the voyage, lay pell-mell on the floor. Dennis could hardly bear to look upon these mementoes of the lost, and he soon turned his back on them and returned to the open part of the vessel, where he sat for a time, given up to melancholy brooding.

At last he rose, threw off the oppression, and ventured to force up the main hatch forward of the mainmast and descend.

Even now he could not bear to remain long below. He explored the whole length of the vessel in sections, returning at short intervals to breathe the fresh air and enjoy the cheerful sunlight. On one of these occasions he was amused to see that his faithful attendant had now ventured to quit the security of its tree, and was sitting on a rock within a few yards of the vessel, an interested spectator.

His inspection of the contents of the vessel fully rewarded him. In the steward's store abaft the mainmast he found a large number of utensils—an iron pease-pot, a copper fish-kettle, a skimmer, several wooden ladles, a gridiron, a frying-pan, a couple of pipkins, a chafing-dish, a fire-shovel, a pair of bellows, trays, platters, porringers, trenchers, drinking-cans, two well-furnished tinder-boxes, candles, and candlesticks. There were casks of beer and wine, great boxes of biscuits, bags of oatmeal, pease, and salt, whole sides of home-cured bacon, several cheeses, a tierce of vinegar, jars of honey and sugar, flasks of oil, pots of balsam and other salves, a pledget for spreading plasters, a pair of scissors, and several rolls of linen, these last evidently provided for the exigencies of fighting. In the carpenter's store forward there were hammers, awls, chisels, files, a saw, hundreds of nails, both sixpenny and fourpenny. In the armoury were half-pikes, cutlasses, muskets, with bandoliers, rests, and moulds, calivers, barrels of gunpowder and tar, and leaden bullets, such as were to be bought at Plymouth six pounds for threepence. And as to the other appurtenances of a well-found ship, Dennis was almost bewildered by the quantity of them—bolts, and chains, and pulleys, buckets, mops, sand-glasses, horn lanterns, faggots for fuel, fishing-nets, articles of apparel, things for trade and barter: the list would fill a page or two. And he rejoiced exceedingly to find that all were in good condition, even the cheeses: there could not be even a rat on board to commit depredations.

Surveying this great and substantial store, Dennis rubbed his head in puzzlement.

"'Tis a month's work," he said ruefully, "and for one pair of hands. The grave and reverend signor yonder will scarce assist, I trow, indeed, 'tis to be feared he may be thievishly inclined, and needs must I bestow the goods skilfully. Well, to it; time and tide, they say, waits for no man."

He began by carrying the biscuits and other perishables from the hold to the bulwarks, where he rigged up a running tackle, and lowered the bags and boxes to the sand beneath. So intent was he upon his task that it was with a start of surprise and alarm he noticed that the tide was flowing in, and had almost reached the vessel. Threatened with the loss of the precious stores, he was hard put to it to drag and carry and roll them up the beach beyond the reach of the waves, and the sun was far down towards the western horizon before he had them high and dry. By this time the sea was several feet deep around the vessel, and the thought struck him: what if the wreck were to float away on the tide and all the remaining salvage be snatched from him? So grave a misfortune must be prevented. At once he swam out to the ship, and securely fastening to the stump of the broken mast one of the stout cables he found below, he again plunged into the sea, and in a little had wound the other end about two sturdy trees growing out from the cliff.

While the wreck remained in its present position it was desirable that he should have his lodging close by. There was no shelter on the shore itself, nor did the cliff promise a comfortable abiding place; and his thoughts returned to the cave, which was a good deal nearer than the spot where he had rested the previous night.

Among the things he had brought ashore were a lantern, a tinder-box, and a candle. Fortified with a light, he entered the cave with less tremor than on the previous evening, and looked about him. The cave was deep: his light did not reach the further extremity. The roof was damp and green with moss. There was the skeleton, stretched on the rocky floor. By its side, as he now saw, lay a hatchet of curious shape: a little beyond were some coloured beads. But within the circle of light he discovered no other remnants of humanity; these were not very terrible after all, and he might have taken up his abode there but for the fusty, humid atmosphere. He gave up the idea of sleeping in the cave, but made for himself, just outside and across the entrance, a couch of cloaks taken from the wreck.

Before settling himself for the night, he returned to the base of the cliff, opened with the hatchet one of his precious boxes of biscuits, and taking a handful, sat on a flat rock to make an unaccustomed supper. He had barely eaten a mouthful when he saw a brown figure leap from somewhere above his head, swoop on the still open box, clutch one of the biscuits, and spring away with a long chatter of delight.

"Ah, knave!" he exclaimed, "my prophetic soul avouched that your gravity cloaked an evil bent. You are a thief, Sir Monkey. But I do not grudge you the biscuit; your constancy in attendance merits some reward. A toothsome morsel, is it not? It pleases me to see your pleasure, and—yes, I have it! You are my sole companion on this island; why should we not be friends? You must learn a rightful humility, to be sure. Regarding me as the dispenser of luxuries, will you not love me, with the respectful love of a dependent? Come, let us see."

Rising from his seat in time to forestall a second application to the biscuit box, he went to it, took half a dozen, shut down the lid, and returned to the rock.

"Now, Mirandola," he said—"I name you Mirandola for your wisdom, not your larceny—here in my hand I hold one of the twice-cooked, the fellow of the one you found so delectable. Come and take it, and give thanks."

But the animal sat motionless on its branch, grinning and gibbering.

"You do me wrong to suspect me," Dennis went on. "Well, this is to prove my good faith."

He flung the biscuit on to the sand a few yards away, and laughed quietly to see what ensued. The monkey chattered volubly with excitement, swung itself to a lower branch, then back to its former perch, where it sat for a moment blinking and grinning. Then it descended with extraordinary rapidity to the foot of the tree, crouched behind the trunk while a man might count ten, and with frantic haste, as though fearful its courage would not endure, it darted on all fours across to the biscuit, looking in its movements like a gigantic spider. Seizing the delicacy, it sped back to the tree, squatted on the lowest branch, and set its jaws right merrily to work.

"That is your first lesson, Mirandola," said Dennis, placing the remaining biscuits in his pouch, in full sight of the animal. "The second begins at once; it enjoineth patience."

And heedless of the loud outcry made by the monkey when it saw these choice comestibles disappear, Dennis returned to his couch, and laid himself down for the night.

CHAPTER IV

Salvage

Rising with the sun, Dennis set about making a more careful examination of the hull of the Maid Marian. The leaks in her timbers were rather more serious than he had supposed. Clearly they would prevent her from drifting out to sea on the tide, but they would also render her final break-up inevitable in the event of a violent storm from the north-west. There were signs on the face of the cliff that at times the waves dashed over the narrow beach of sand against the wall of rock beyond. In these latitudes, as the fate of the Maid Marian proved, storms arose without warning, and with incredible swiftness; and it behoved Dennis to make all speed in saving the ship's stores.

At low tide on this day, and on many that followed, he worked hard at his task. He rigged up a block and pulley in the waist, by means of which he was able to hoist casks and other heavy objects up the hatchways and lower them over the side of the vessel. It was more difficult to convey them from the vessel to a place of safety beyond the reach of the tide. At first he tried to haul them by a rope, but finding soon that he succeeded only in working up a ridge of sand which rendered haulage exhausting and in some cases impossible, he bethought himself of the device of employing rollers, such as he had seen used by fishermen on the beach at home. It was an easy matter, with the tools now at hand, to lop off and strip some straight boughs suited to his purpose, and upon these he brought, slowly and not without pains, the bulkier goods to safe harbourage. The tide always rose about the vessel too soon for his impatience; but the work was arduous, the intervals were really needed for rest, and they gave opportunities of furthering his acquaintance with the monkey.

His relations with Mirandola, indeed, were placed on a sound and satisfactory footing long before he had emptied the hull. The biscuits were invaluable. At intervals, now long, now short, he would throw one towards the monkey, which watched all his doings at the wreck day by day with unfailing regularity. Little by little he diminished the length of his throw, until, on the third day after his first lesson, Mirandola had gained sufficient confidence to approach him to within a few inches. On the fourth day, after keeping the monkey waiting longer than usual, Dennis took a biscuit from his pouch, held it for a moment between his fingers, then put it back again.

"It is time, Mirandola," he said, "that your education was completed. You are, I verily believe, as wise as a serpent; will you not believe that I am harmless as a dove? This is the same biscuit I stowed but now in my pouch; it is for you; it is yours if you will take it mannerly. No, I will not cast it on the sand; it is more seemly to take it from my hand, and, I do assure you, it will be no less relishable. Come, then, dear wiseacre; have I ever deceived you? Show a little confidence in your true friend and well-wisher."

He held forth the biscuit, with an alluring smile. Mirandola cocked his head on one side, gazed at this dispenser of delectable things with a searching solemnity, and then crawled forward with watchful eye, dubiously halting more than once. At length he came to Dennis's feet, and sat up, with so gravely sad an expression that Dennis found it hard not to laugh. Then, thrusting up his long arm, he made a grab at the biscuit.

"Not so, Mirandola," said Dennis, holding it beyond the monkey's reach. "Manners maketh man; assuredly they will not mar monkeys. Ape the gentle philosopher your namesake; be courteous and discreet. Now, once more."

He lowered the biscuit slowly, keeping his eyes on the creature's face. But with a suddenness that took him aback, Mirandola raised himself on his hind legs, flung out an arm, and, before Dennis could withdraw it, held the biscuit in his skinny paw.

"Wellaway!" laughed Dennis. "I may keep my breath to cool my porridge, for all the effect my words have upon your savage nature."

Then, to his surprise, the monkey came to him again, and held out his hand.

"You shall not be disappointed," he said. "Not for the world would I reject your advances. Here is a biscuit, and with this, shall we say, our friendship is sealed."

And it was not long before Mirandola would sit upon his knee, and take food from his hand with all mannerliness; and, its distrust gone, showed itself to be as affectionate and devoted as a dog.

Dennis availed himself in other ways of the hours when the tide interrupted his labour with the stores. There was no lack of planking and tarpaulin in the vessel; these he utilized in building on the ledge, and near a fresh spring that ran out of the cliff, a little hut about two trees that grew near enough together to form uprights for his roof. Then he erected two small sheds close by, wherein to shelter his goods from the weather. At first he fumbled with the unfamiliar tools, not omitting to pinch his fingers as he hammered in the nails. But he soon acquired a certain dexterity, and was indeed mightily pleased with his handiwork.

Every now and again he made a trip across the island, to discover whether any vessels were in sight. Once or twice he descried a sail on the horizon; once, indeed, he felt some excitement and anxiety as he saw a bark under full sail bearing straight, as he thought, for the shore. But in this he was mistaken; the vessel altered her course, and Dennis, watching her diminishing form, hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. He was in truth too busy for self-commiseration: work filled his days, unbroken sleep his nights. His feeling of loneliness had almost entirely passed away, for Mirandola was his inseparable companion, and it pleased his fancy to talk to the monkey as to a human being.

So engrossing had his labour been that he had taken no account of the passage of time. It came upon him with a shock, once, that the unnumbered days were flitting away. The idea that he was doomed to grow old upon this island, and linger out his years in endless solitude, struck his imagination with a chill, and set him climbing the cliff in a kind of frenzy, to scan once more the wide horizon for a sail. If at that moment a vessel had hove in sight, he would have flown a flag, fired a musket, to attract attention, reckless what crew it bore, so deep was his yearning to see a fellow man. When the fit passed, it left him with a new desire. Never yet had the possibility occurred to him of leaving the island. Could he construct a raft, or build a boat—nay, was there a chance of making the Maid Marian herself, battered as she was, seaworthy? The absurdity of attempting to navigate single-handed a bark of near a hundred tons set him laughing; but the idea suggested a new outlet for his energy, just at the time when the conclusion of his salvage work had bereft him of occupation.

He became fired with the purpose of saving the vessel. The weather hitherto had been perfect; but sooner or later a storm must come, and then the ship would be ground to splinters against the cliff. Was it possible to float her? He had unloaded what he imagined to be a good many tons of stores; thus lightened, could she be moved? If he could succeed in floating her, whither could she be taken? His tour of the island had failed to discover any harbour; there was little to gain and much to lose by allowing himself to drift about aimlessly in such a hulk. Suddenly an idea struck him. Would it not be possible to devise some means of floating her up the gully, round the shoulder of the cliff? Her draught was not great: at high tide the water was deep enough to carry her many yards beyond her present position, to a point where she would be at once invisible from the open sea and protected from the weather.

At the next fall of the tide he made a thorough inspection of the wreck. It was easy to find the leaks, for at every ebb the water that had entered the vessel at the flood gushed out in tiny cascades. Many a time he had seen ships careened and caulked in the dockyard at Plymouth. He had plenty of rope of which to make oakum, and of tar more than enough to meet his needs; in his search through the vessel he had lighted on no caulking iron, but a long nail would serve, and it should go hard with him, he thought, but he would make the old hulk sound and seaworthy ere many days were gone.

He found an unexpected assistant in Mirandola. He had teased out but an inch or two of rope when the monkey squatted down by his side and began with his strong nimble fingers to copy him, looking up in his face with an air of such busy importance that Dennis was fain to lie back and laugh.

"By my troth, Sir Mirandola," he said, "this is friendship indeed. And you outdo me, on my soul; you pick two inches to my one. 'Tis not the daintiest of work for fingers untrained to it, and if it pleases you, why, I will e'en leave it to you, and admire this unwonted usefulness in a philosopher."

But he found that when he ceased, the monkey ceased also.

"Poor knave!" he said. "You see not the end. 'Tis but an apish trick after all. Well, God forbid that I should judge your motive; I am thankful for your help, and we will work together."

Between them the two collaborators soon had a fine heap of oakum ready for use, and a couple of days' hard work at low tide sufficed to caulk all the seams. Mirandola's share in this second part of the job gave Dennis more amusement. The busy creature solemnly dabbed tar on sound parts of the timbers, and chattered with disgust when he discovered that the stuff clung to his hairy skin, defying all his efforts to get rid of it.

"I' faith, I named you more fittingly than I wot," quoth Dennis. "Pico, your illustrious namesake, was a gentleman of rare and delicate taste. Touch pitch and thou art defiled. But a little turpentine, mayhap, will cleanse the outward spots; and as for your inward hurt—what think you of a spread of honey on your biscuit?"

Mirandola thought nobly of the new delicacy, and came in time to look for honey whenever he had imitated Dennis with more than usual energy.

The leaks having been well caulked, Dennis proceeded to pump the water from the lower parts of the hold. He awaited the next high tide with great eagerness. To his joy the vessel floated, and rode fairly upright on her keel. The tide carried her several yards up the beach, leaving her again high and dry at the ebb.

But Dennis now found himself faced by a difficulty. He wished to get the vessel round the shoulder of the cliff, so that the tide might carry her up the chine to the pool below his hut and sheds. The distance was barely eighty yards, but he had noticed, from the movement of a log floating some little way out, that the set of the current was from north to west; so that if once she were allowed to float free, and felt the force of the current, she would probably drift away in the opposite direction from what he desired. On the other hand, if she were driven too high on the beach, she might stick so firmly in the sand that it would be impossible to move her, and then she would lie at the mercy of the first north-west gale.

His little nautical knowledge was at first at a loss.

"Mirandola, your speechless wisdom is of no avail," he said ruefully, as he sat at his fire one evening, feeding the monkey with pease porridge. "You and I are both landsmen; unlike you, I adventured forth, to gain gold, and fight the don Spaniards, if so the fates should ordain. Here is never a Spaniard to fight, and as for gold, the wealth of Croesus would not at this moment benefit me a jot. If I had been bred to the sea, now, I should not be at this pass."

But long cogitation, and another visit to the ship, determined a course of action. The windlass, he discovered, was uninjured, and though it was very stiff, he could still manage to turn it. A big jagged rock jutted out from the cliff near the shoulder round which the vessel must be warped. To this rock he carried a rope from the stump of the mainmast and securely fastened it. This would prevent the vessel from drifting out to sea. Then, with a hatchet from the ship's stores he cut a number of thick branches from the trees along the gully, and pitching them into the pool floated them one by one on to the beach alongside the wreck. There was plenty of rope on board to fashion these into a stout raft, on to which, with the aid of the windlass, he lowered a kedge anchor just sufficiently heavy to hold the vessel in a calm. It was a matter of some difficulty to get the anchor so evenly adjusted on the raft that the latter would not turn turtle; but after some patient manoeuvring Dennis arranged it squarely in the centre, and when the tide came in the whole floated with a fair appearance of stability. Then with a long pole Dennis cautiously punted the raft out beyond the gully, paying out as he went a stout cable, connecting the anchor with the windlass. Some thirty yards beyond the gully, at a point near enough in shore to be beyond the reach of the current, he prepared to drop the anchor. It was too heavy for him even to move; the only plan that suggested itself was to bring about what he had up to that moment been most anxious to prevent—the raft must now be intentionally upset. One by one he cut away the lashings of the outermost logs on the seaward side. At last he felt by the movement of the raft that only his own weight prevented the crazy structure from turning over. He slid from the raft into the sea; the far side sank and the anchor slipped over and went with a thud to the bottom. Then the raft righted itself, and Dennis scrambled aboard.

The rest was easy. When the tide ebbed it carried the wreck inch by inch towards the anchor, for with the aid of the windlass Dennis was able to keep the cable constantly taut, while at the same time he paid out the rope connecting the vessel with the shore. A couple of tides brought him in this way up to the anchor; then, transferring the shore cable to a stout tree some distance up the gully, he slacked off the kedge line when the tide was running up, and allowed the wreck to be carried shorewards. In this way the Maid Marian floated slowly up the gully on the flood, and another couple of tides brought her within a few yards of the pool, which he designed for her permanent harbourage.