Young Peggy McQueen

Thus Fitzroy, with gestures suited for the occasion. But poor old Mother Molly took Father Fitzroy down a peg.

“Which ye doesn’t get Molly to sail for no furrin parts, ’cept heaven itself when her day comes; there’s no tide but that for her.” And Molly resolved now to reside with a sister.

The caravans would not be sold, but left in comfortable quarters. A show like this, Fitzroy said, might be something to fall back upon.

The expenses would all fall on Macgilvray’s agent. He pooh-poohed them. Fitzroy would be able to pay him back out of his first week’s gate-money.

No wonder hope rose high. They were

going in a sailing-ship, though. This would be quieter, and though a longer voyage, it would be a healthier; and Fitzroy was just old enough to begin to think of his health and comfort.

A smart little barque enough, and a kindly skipper; a trader, however, and ordered to make straight for Rio first, then Buenos Ayres, etc.; and, at each town he visited, the Wandering Minstrels were to give their great entertainment.

Nothing succeeds like success, and had Fitzroy elected to stay on with his company even at Rio, he might have made a pile.

But he didn’t. There was a golden future before them all, he told himself, when they should reach the land of the Southern Cross.

They had troublesome times weathering Cape Horn, and the barque leaked badly. Often and often it was all hands to the pump. Pump or drown, Fitzroy phrased it. The children were told nothing about their danger, and the stormier the weather the merrier they were. Why, in two months’ time, somewhat to Fitzroy’s consternation, Willie grew a whole quarter of an inch!

“If he starts growing,” said Fitzroy to the giant, “he’ll ruin himself, and hurt me also.”

“But,” said Gourmand, “I suppose you don’t mind me growing, do you?”

“Goodness sake, Gourmand!” cried Fitzroy; “grow a foot if you want to, or a yard even would be better.”

Somehow, when the ship was stretching up north and west into sunnier seas, she stopped leaking. Seaweed sometimes gets sucked into a leak and stops it. Ah! then it was a happy and a merry time on board!

But another storm arose which drove them far out of their course, which split the sails, and smashed the bulwarks to pieces.

One night the mate came to the skipper’s state-room.

“The ship is sinking, sir, and the men have seized the boats. They are going to leave her, you better come.”

“You cowards!” cried the captain, springing up and seizing his revolver. “I will shoot the first man who attempts to leave the vessel.”

This was only what the scoundrel of a mate expected. He darted out of the state-room and locked the door.

The captain was a prisoner, probably to be drowned like a rat in its hole.

When the sun rose about six next day, like a big, blood orange shimmering red through the horizon’s haze, the good barque Vulture lay like a log upon the water, and reeled like a drunken man. The waves were high, but there was not a breath of wind. Only those smooth, oily-looking billows.

The children had to be told of the danger now, for at any time the Vulture might take her final plunge. But they bore up most bravely.

The captain had been set free again, and he, with Fitzroy himself and the giant, set about cutting away every stick. Few sailors could wield axe or adze as Gourmand did. It was splendid to see the splinters fly! But thus relieved, and the rolling seas going down, the vessel recovered herself.

She might float a long time yet. But for a time she was at the mercy of the currents, or of any breeze that might blow.

Two little jury-masts were rigged just to catch the wind, which soon came from the south-east, only bits of staysails, but they served the purpose of keeping her head before it.

Every day they kept looking out for the ship that never passed their way, and every night they burned a light.

They spent a terrible time. The sun was so hot that the pitch between the planks of the quarter-deck boiled and stuck to the shoes. There were plenty of provisions, but the mutinous mate and crew had taken most of the water and all the rum away in the boats. The remainder of the water went bad, and both Peggy and Willie began to pine. Oh, it was pitiful to see them, and even to hear the poor, faithful blood-hound appealing in his own canine fashion for the water that was not forthcoming. To make matters worse, the captain found he was far out of the track of ships, far away from any of the ocean’s great highways.

“But,” pleaded poor Peggy, hopefully, “a ship may come. God may send a ship.”

Alas! God seemed to have forgotten them, if that indeed were possible.

One night, the sky bright with heaven’s jewels, sheet-lightning playing behind the low, rocky clouds on the horizon, that seemed to forebode a storm, and a phosphorescent light upon the waves, something happened. There was a rasping noise coming from beneath the keel, and all motion suddenly ceased.

The Vulture had grounded on a reef! No one slept two consecutive hours, and everyone was astir before the sun leapt out of his ocean bed. But it was not an ocean bed this morning, for in the east, and but a short distance off, lo and behold! a green and beautiful island, with a beach of coral sand, and strange round huts built under tall and stately poplar trees. A cry of joy burst from every lip. They were saved!

Yes, saved from the sea!

But on those sands spear-armed savages danced and yelled, brandishing their weapons and waving their naked arms as if to keep them off.

What now would be the fate of the Wandering Minstrels?

CHAPTER III.

When the Worst Comes to the Worst.

It was long past midnight, however, before anything occurred. The stars were burning very brightly, specially the Southern Cross, when suddenly Ralph gave warning voice. A fleet of dug-outs was approaching, although nothing could be seen distinctly, and the gun was immediately pointed in its direction.

First the savages were warned off: they only came on faster. A rifle fired into their midst had merely the effect of stopping their progress for a moment. In a few minutes they would be swarming up the sides, knives in hand, and murder in their fierce and fearful eyes.

It is hard to have to take the lives of even savages, but needs must now, and so the gun gave voice. It was fired into their very midst, its canister-shot doing dreadful damage, as the yells of the foe fully testified. There were loud shrieks and groans, and speedily all that was left of the dark fleet retreated shorewards. But just as speedily the gun was now loaded, and once more discharged with deadly effect.

The natives had probably never heard a gun fired before, nor ever seen the face of a white man.

Presently, when all was still, a rasping on the ship’s side told that a canoe was rubbing against her, and Johnnie himself ventured down. There was no one in it, and the paddles were gone. But a large calabash of pure water was found. How glorious! God had not forgotten these shipwrecked wanderers after all, and the savages who had come off thirsting for blood had brought life instead.

Ralph kept watch. The others slumbered on deck, with the exception of Peggy, who was hard and fast asleep on the cabin sofa.

Morning revealed another marvel.

The tide had risen and floated the Vulture off the reef and into a creek!

When they awoke, to their astonishment, our heroes found woods all round them, composed of a species of mangrove, and a far taller, more spreading tree laden with beautiful, peach-like fruit. The anchor was at once let go, lest the returning tide might drift the old barque once more out to sea.

* * * * *

A council of war was assembled, and it was agreed that unless they could make peace with these savages or save themselves by stratagem of some sort, in all probability they would be unable to hold out many days, and indeed the tragedy might be but a few hours distant.

The wiles of black men, into whose breasts the civilising influence of religion has never entered, are many. In this case they must be met by the stratagems of whites.

To fight for any length of time was impossible. To fight at all was but to invite death in its ugliest form. If fighting, therefore, must take place, it must be a last resource, and to sell their lives as dearly as they could. It was for Peggy that all feared most, and dreadful though the resolve was, Fitzroy determined that she should not fall alive into the hands of those fearful blacks, to be tortured to death, and probably devoured afterwards. Though he said nothing of this to Johnnie, he spoke his mind quietly to the skipper of the Vulture, as well as to Giant Gourmand.

They each pressed his hand. They knew well what he meant. Had they put it in words it would have ran thus: When the worst comes to the worst, the last shot shall be for Peggy McQueen.

* * * * *

Savages are very superstitious, and next morning when they found the Vulture gone—no signs of her anywhere—they must have jumped to the conclusion that the men on board were evil spirits and possessed the power of disappearing whenever they had a mind to. They evidently visited the creek but seldom, or this part of the island was uninhabited, for the whole forenoon passed away without a sign of a savage.

The captain of the Vulture determined, nevertheless, to explore his surroundings. This man had been a blackbirder in his time, and knew all the tricks and the manners of these islanders. The blackbirder is, or was, a man who fitted out a vessel in some Australian harbour, and sailed for these islands, taking the natives off with them, nolentes volentes, to be used as black labourers. These poor labourers are terribly treated, and the blackbirder is a meaner, more despicable wretch than even the slaver.

So after the guns were loaded and every preparation made to repel an attack, he slid over the side and swam on shore.

The time passed wearily by on board the Vulture, and it wanted barely an hour to sunset when the captain returned. He came hand over hand up the side, smiling, and as soon as he had changed his wet garments he made his report.

“I think,” he told them, “it will be all right for one night at least, whatever may happen another day. I have had a strange experience, for I have captured an outlying savage.”

“Was he asleep?”

“Sound, and I questioned him in his own language, which, as it happens, I know right well. This part of the island, for miles around, is uninhabited. It has a bad name. The blackbirders and the natives, he told me, had a battle here, and their spirits (gooboos) still haunt the woods. This is all in our favour, though gooboos or not gooboos, if they find we are here in the flesh they will attack us.”

“Captain Stransom,” said Fitzroy, “you didn’t murd—— well, kill the poor savage, did you?”

“Not much, though I’ve shot many a prettier bird. No, I have him tied up with withies—sailors’ knots—in the wood here, and we’ll have him on board to-morrow; I expect we can make him useful later on. But to-morrow we must fortify our position here, and prepare ourselves for whatever may happen. Luckily, there is a stream of pure water not far from this, and fruit enough for a line-of-battle ship.”

This was good news, and innocent little Peggy was happy once more, if nobody else was.

“Oh,” she cried; “I should like to go and sing and dance to these poor people.”

“Ah! my Peggy, you would never sing or dance any more after that,” said Fitzroy.

Ralph, who slept with one eye open, was on duty again that night.

About two bells in the morning watch, everyone was suddenly aroused by the hound’s deep baying. All hands rushed to arms at once, prepared to repel boarders. But no attack was made, and no sound was audible to human ear, so the skipper concluded it must have been Tootaker, the savage, trying to make his escape.

“He can’t, though,” he added; “not if he were the devil. Sailors’ knots and plenty of them!”

The only arms these savages possessed were knives and ugly spears, which they could throw with great precision.

The sun rose in another hour’s time, and, after breakfast, wood was got up from below and a barricade was built around the quarter-deck. The saloon was provisioned, and all the other hatches were battened down. They were now in a position to stand a siege, if need were.

Luck was in their favour, for they noticed two canoes beached near by, and Stransom, the skipper, with Johnnie, swam over the creek and took possession of them. There was a shot-hole in the gunwale of each, so no doubt those canoes had formed part of the hostile fleet. The paddles were in both.

“The natives,” said Stransom, “must have jumped overboard and left these.”

First the prisoner was taken on board, and so well was he treated that he told the skipper he never wanted to leave the ship any more, for if he returned his people would cook him alive, then gobble him all up, and lick their lips afterwards. He was a well-formed man, this savage, with a high skull and somewhat full lips, but most intelligent eyes. He wore only one garment, of coarse hair stuff. But Peggy liked him from the first, and it seemed to delight the child to play and sing to him.

Tootaker glared at her with his black eyes and said, “Oo! oo! Yum! yum!” but whether he was enraptured with the music, or was thinking how nice Peggy would be to eat, I cannot say for certain. “Yum! yum!” means so much.

The two canoes came in very handy, and that forenoon the ship’s chief water-tank was filled.

At first the blood-hound was very suspicious of Tootaker, and Tootaker looked upon the dog as some fearful wild beast. But they soon became friends.

This savage, in conversation with Stransom, said his people had taken the ship for a blackbirder, and were determined to slay every man on board. This was not very comforting, and for the present, at all events, the best thing that our heroes could do was to lie perdu. “Defence not defiance” must now be their motto. Stratagem might come in afterwards.

* * * * *

To say the least—the position of Fitzroy and his friends was one that could not be envied.

On the one hand they had water and provisions enough to last them for a very long time indeed, but they were literally in a stage of seige. There was no saying what might occur at any moment. Not less than five hundred wild natives lived on this lonesome isle of the Pacific, which was so far out of the usual track of trading vessels that there was little chance of its being visited, unless a ship should happen to be driven out of its course as the Vulture had been.

The island was certainly not a large one, probably only about five miles in any one direction, very irregular and wooded in parts. Although the sea was swarming with sharks, there were no wild beasts in it larger than a species of rock-rabbit, but turtles abounded, and there were thousands of wild-fowl. Bar an accident to their magazine, there was but little danger of their being starved, and the ship was now dry and trustworthy, being no longer strained and buffeted by the waves.

But oh! the lonesomeness of the situation; for they were afraid even to put out a little way to sea in the canoes, lest their position should be discovered.

When a whole fortnight passed away and absolutely nothing occurred, except one tropical storm, which served to break the monotony, all agreed that the life was becoming unbearable. The giant became morose, Willie looked as sad as if he had been heat-struck, and would sit forward in the fo’c’sle for two hours at a time silently gazing into the water. Even Peggy lost heart and seldom touched her mandoline. And Johnnie, who was evidently forcing himself to keep up his spirits, tried in vain to rouse Peggy from her lethargy. Ralph would get up often and stretch himself and yawn, but he had no heart to romp. He would walk over to Peggy, and placing his great head in her lap, look up in her face with his beautiful, beseeching eyes, as much as to say: “Dear little mistress, how long is this going to last? When are we going back to the wild woods, the tent, and the little caravan?” The child believed she knew what he was thinking about, and as she bent down to kiss his noble brow, her eyes were wet with tears.

“And is this to be the end of all my ambition?” thought Fitzroy. “Are we never to reach Australia, the land of all my hopes?”

“I tell you what it is, Stransom,” he said one day to the skipper, “something has got to be done, else I shall go out of my mind.”

As the skipper made no reply—

“I say,” he continued, “couldn’t something be done with the ship herself? Couldn’t we put to sea again and try to make some land, somewhere? She seems trustworthy now.”

“You are no sailor, Mr. Fitzroy. We are shorthanded, and the ship once strained by a heavy sea would certainly sink. No; I myself think something should be done, else we’ll get as cowardly as rats in a hole. I’ll think it over and let you know. Are you ready to follow my advice?” he added.

“Yes!” cried Fitzroy and Johnnie both in one breath. And even Gourmie wakened up out of his lethargy and smiled a ten-inch smile. “I’m on for anything, from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter,” he cried, rubbing his hands; “and if it comes to a fair stand-up fight Gourmie’ll do two men’s share at least.”

The giant rubbed his hands again. The skipper lit his pipe and threw himself down on the deck to think. And Johnnie ran forward to see Willie.

“Willie, Willie; don’t sit and mope there like a baby owl. Something is going to be done. Father and the captain said so. We’re going to get out of this hole by hook or by crook.”

“Wowff—wow—ow—ow!” bayed Ralph, and Willie jumped joyfully up, and five minutes afterwards he and Peggy and Johnnie were having a concert together in the saloon.

Everybody had more appetite for dinner that day, and after it Stransom said, carelessly—

“I’m going on shore to-night with Tootaker. Don’t worry if I don’t come back till sunrise.”

Johnnie liked that speech, and couldn’t help admiring the captain for his coolness.

“I couldn’t have made a better speech myself,” he told Willie, in confidence.

But everyone wondered what was going to happen next.

CHAPTER IV.

On the Cannibal Isle.

The guide darted forward. Stransom looked at his revolvers. He meant to shoot that guide through the head if he exhibited even a trace of treachery or fear. The only thing to dread in this wood was the snakes. Creatures of marvellous beauty, small, slender, green or crimson, they crept and twined everywhere. Among the reeds by pools, in the pools themselves, and in the branches of the trees, Stransom had often to dash them aside with his brown hands. Yet beautiful though they were, a single bite would mean an agonising death.

This jungle was a most intricate one. The trees did not grow from roots underground: the roots were above, so that one had to climb over them, or creep under them. It was a swamp and a labyrinth combined, and if Tootaker had wished to be unfaithful, he had a good chance now, even in spite of Stransom’s revolvers. But the white man had won his affection; and, above all, the wondrous beauty of the child Peggy had so stolen around his savage heart, that he had lost all desire to live longer among his own people.

The sun was almost down before they got clear of the forest. They were on a bare green hill now, and far below on the east side of the island they could see the waving cocoa-palms and the green banana banks near to which the savages dwelt.

“Halt!” cried Stransom.

Then he took out a long piece of rope and tied the guide’s arms to his side and his wrists to one another, bidding the wondering Tootaker watch exactly how it was done. Tootaker had cute eyes, and he needed them to follow this wondrous intricacy of knot.

“Now,” said Stransom, laughing, “pull your hands apart.”

Tootaker did so, and to his amazement every knot was instantly loosed and the rope fell to the ground.

“Now bind me, Tootaker.”

The black was a little awkward at first, but he soon managed the whole trick.

By this time the moon had risen, and in less than half an hour Tootaker marched with bold strides into the camp, and right up to the great kraal of the king, leading a white captive, apparently bound and helpless.

There were shouts of savage joy, but Tootaker held up his hand authoritatively and commanded silence. The natives followed as far as the verandah of the palace, but on being told that he and his captive must first hold chik-chak with the chief, they retired.

Critical moments followed. Stransom was staking his life and the life of all on board the Vulture on one bold stroke. If it failed—well, after all, people have only once to die!

But Tootaker had been well instructed how to play his part, and forgot nothing.

The king was squatting on a daïs, from which he did not rise, but received Tootaker with great joy, and asked him question after question, while with bowed head Stransom stood before the throne. He smiled to himself though, when he heard this cannibal king telling Tootaker how his body was to be cut up, and what joints should be roasted for the royal table, and what apportioned to his under-chiefs and people. The king evidently intended that all the most toothsome and appetising portions of Stransom’s body should fall to his own share.

“Now,” cried the king, “bring him here that I may drink the white man’s blood.”

He seized an ugly knife as he spoke. But he certainly was not prepared for what followed. With a sharp kick Stransom struck the knife from the savage hand, and next moment he stood before him a free man armed with a revolver in each hand. Stransom spoke hurriedly now, but with excellent effect.

“One loud word, King Karoo, and you are a dead man.”

Their eyes met. The king cowered before his captive.

“Ah, you know me now? I am Stransom the blackbirder. How you came here I know not, but you were chief of the Luttoo Isles, five hundred miles to the west, and you and your fellows massacred every man of the brig Ranger. Don’t be afraid, old friend. I was her captain, and the only man saved.”

“I saved you!” cried the king, excitedly, as he glanced down the barrel of that revolver in evident dread that it might go off. “I saved you!”

“Yes, you thundering old scoundrel, you saved me, to be tortured and thus made more tender, and so to serve as a side dish for your own table. But, listen! I did not come here to have revenge and kill you! Your people did nothing wrong in massacring the blackbirders. They had come to drag you into bondage worse than slavery. I would have done the same had I been in your place. No, I don’t come now to take revenge, else I’d shoot you like a rabbit right off. I’m no longer a blackbirder.”

Then in far simpler language he told the story of the storm, the mutiny, and the desertion of the ship, and the wreck.

“The blackbirders will come to your island by and by, but if you now make friends with the remainder of my people we will give you and your fellows and your women wonderful gifts and beautiful beads. See, here are some of them.”

He emptied his pockets as he spoke, of strings of beads that quite dazzled the savage king.

“Oh-h-h!” he cried, “and you will give me all this?”

“Yes, if you will come with me to-night, at once, through the moonlight in your big canoe to the creek where lies our ship.”

“And you will not kill me and eat me?”

“Eat you, King Karoo! I’d be precious hungry before I touched a morsel of such a tough old rascal as you. Be true to me as Tootaker has been, and you and your island will be spared when the great ship comes. For I can save you.”

“You are a white devil?” asked the king.

“Angel or devil, I’ll keep my word. Now, which do you choose, death or life?”

And Karoo bent his head in submission, only begging leave to take in his boat ten trusty warriors.

Stransom, by way of reply, coolly counted the number of chambers in his revolvers, going round them with his finger-tips—“One life, two lives, three lives,” etc., up to ten; then he nodded and smiled.

* * * * *

Neither Fitzroy nor his boy were easy enough in their minds to-night to sleep.

The moon was at its height, when suddenly Ralph started up and bayed in anger. A huge war-canoe had swept round the point and was entering the creek.

The big gun was directed at it immediately.

“Who goes there? Speak quick, or I fire!”

“All right, Fitz. It’s Stransom. Prepare to receive royalty.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Gourmand, seizing his big bass instrument which had been made specially for him, and wound right round his shoulder like a Highlander’s plaid. The mouthpiece of it was so big that Willie could get inside easily. He blew a blast that would have awakened the dead.

When with considerable difficulty, for he was very fat, the old king got up the side, and saw Gourmand, he started back and nearly went heels over head into the sea again.

“Don’t be afraid, old boy,” said Stransom, hitting him a smack on the back that almost took his breath away. “That’s only one of my little boys.”

Then Stransom gave Tootaker orders not to let anyone else up the side, for savages are arrant thieves, and took the king below to the saloon. The king’s eyes were now like bull’s eyes with amazement mingled with fear.

But Stransom made him sit down, and gave him a stiff glass of whisky. Hand in hand with Willie, Peggy herself came in, all smiles. Stransom introduced them.

“Two babies,” he said, “just three days old.”

Johnnie entered next.

“Born four days ago,” said Stransom, coolly.

“How do, old block? Delighted, I’m sure!”

The king took Johnnie’s extended hand, but holloed with pain immediately after, for the athletic boy had given him what he called an artistic squeeze. It was artistic enough, anyhow, to make the blood ooze from under his nails. No wonder he holloed.

Meanwhile Fitzroy entertained the men in the canoe. They ate like ogres of the good things handed down to them—a bushel of biscuits and about fifteen pounds of salt beef. Fitzroy could see them, their stomachs swelling even in the moonlight. Then he threw them down beads, and coloured cloth.

They fought over this till they nearly capsized the great war-canoe. But the fittest survived: the rest were hors de combat between the thwarts.

The king had more whisky!

He grew happy and fought all his battles over again, and told of all the wondrous cannibal feasts he had taken part in. He even volunteered a song, though he had no more music in him than a carrion crow.

He had some more whisky, and was then induced to go on deck, and walk forward, or rather totter, gibbering all the time like a blithering idiot. Here he lay down, and Fitzroy threw a tarpaulin over him.

Tootaker stood sentry over his king all night, and the savage emperor was a different man in the morning, and a sadder.

But in this strange way was friendship established between the white men and this terrible tribe of cannibals.

CHAPTER V.

A Bloodless Battle.—Life on the Island.

“I’m a little afraid for Peggy,” replied Fitzroy; “she is the strength of the company; besides, we all love her, and——”

But Fitzroy’s scruples were soon overcome, and so, after dressing like an angel—this was Johnnie’s expression—Peggy was the first to get into the war-canoe, much to the astonishment of the savages. Peggy had no fear. All were armed with revolvers. But there did not seem very much to dread. They took quite a bale of goods with them, and Gourmand had his great duck-gun: so big and heavy was it, that few ordinary men could have wielded it.

On his way to the king’s camp, and while still at sea, Gourmand raised the piece and brought down a bird of the hawk species. The report was so awful and so unexpected, that most of the crew fell backwards with alarm, and lay there with their naked legs in the air.

The king himself almost fainted, but when he saw the great bird lying dead on the water—

“Oh, good, good!” he exclaimed, in his own language. “The big boy clever, clever. When we get back, the big boy shall shoot my old fat wife. She is good for nothing now—only for soup.”

The landing was very impressive. The savages crowded round their king, and it was evident from his gestures that he was telling all his adventures, and speaking in favour of these white men.

When a few minutes after this the pigmy Willie led Peggy on shore, and Peggy smiled and bowed to them, and then quietly ran, chattering and laughing, into the very midst of the wildest-looking group, those cannibals were completely vanquished.

But when Gourmand jumped on shore with his marvellous trombone, they fell back, and would have turned pale with superstitious terror, if it were possible for a negro to do so. Then Gourmand blew a blast from the instrument, and twenty men at least fell flat on their faces. But seeing the king laughing, they took heart and advanced, and in less than five minutes the giant was so great a favourite that they would willingly have killed and eaten Karoo in order that Gourmand might reign in his stead. And so this bloodless battle was won.

* * * * *

The child Peggy had brought her mandoline, and was invited by the king to sing, in order that his people, he said, might rejoice.

Peggy needed no second bidding. She mounted a grassy mound beneath a spreading tree and sang her best and sweetest song. It did seem strange, this crowd of listening, spear-armed savages, around the one little mite of a white child who had the power to enthral them with the music of her voice!

But when, with Willie as a partner, she danced a fandango, the natives grew wildly excited, and they too must dance. Before Peggy knew exactly what was the matter, behold, a triple ring of them were whirling madly round the tree, shouting, screaming, and yelling, while they brandished their spears aloft!

“Give them a solo,” shouted Stransom to Gourmand; “it will help to quicken the beggars.”

And at the very first blast from that marvellous instrument, a scene of panic ensued, such as is seldom witnessed. The savages darted back in all directions, knocking each other down, falling on each other, with legs, arms, heads and spears, in such a mad comminglement, the wonder is that many were not killed; and before Gourmand had finished his gigantic solo, there wasn’t a soul to be seen.

“‘Music hath charms,’” cried Gourmand, doing an attitude, “‘to soothe the savage breast.’”

The king almost went into a fit with laughing, while Peggy and Willie joined in the general merriment, and the giant added his bass “Ho! ho! ho!” and his deep “Ha! ha! ha!” till the very welkin rang.

But the natives soon returned, and “Little Gourmie,” as Willie called him, gave an exhibition of his strength and skill that astounded his audience.

The giant was then requested by the king to shoot his fat old wife.

“No,” said Gourmie; “I’ve never been used to shooting fat old wives, and I’m too old to learn. Thank you, all the same.”

* * * * *

Peggy and Willie had described all their picnic that evening at dinner to Johnnie, and Johnnie sighed because he hadn’t been there.

The friendship between the savages and the whites soon ripened into something very real and lasting.

The king gladly gave his people permission to build a fort for the Wanderers, and they worked so hard under Stransom’s supervision that it was soon completed. It was erected close to the wood, and was to all intents and purposes impregnable.

In boats, round from the creek, all provisions and everything of value was brought. The Vulture, indeed, was now dismantled, for she had begun to leak again.

About a month after our heroes had settled down in their strange wild home, a cyclone swept over the island; so terrible was its force, that trees were torn up by the roots and carried high into the air. The sea rose and threatened to sap the very foundations of the fort, and hundreds of the native huts were scattered about like so much hay.

Next day all was calm again, and the savages quietly commenced to rebuild their huts. But the Vulture had sunk at her moorings. Well was it for our people that they had left her in time.

* * * * *

Long months passed with no signs of deliverance from this beautiful island-life, which was, after all, but exile; and Fitzroy and Stransom were now the greatest of friends with the savages, and really nothing else save friendship and love ruled the place.

Yes, they were cannibals, but what one eats is merely a matter of taste, and I have known many respectable cannibals, though I never accepted the invitations to dinner they sent me. Her majesty the fat queen had somehow disappeared.

“Haven’t seen her majesty of late,” said Stransom, one day, to the king.

“What!” was the reply. “You are sorry, then, I did not send you a joint?”

That was the answer put into English. It was really a much more gruesome one. “It was a shuddery reply,” Johnnie said.

The lives of Johnnie, Willie, and Peggy (with noble Ralph, of course) were nearly all woodland and wave now. They had canoes, one each, in which they rowed races, or from which they fished, whenever it was fine, and around this enchanting island, cannibalistic though it was, the seas were nearly always smooth and blue.

They all carried revolvers wherever they went, not that there was much danger, but one should always be prepared. “Peggy was an excellent shot,” so said Willie; “because,” he added, “she always manages to hit the thing she isn’t aiming at.” By the way, the cannibals made a canoe for this dear little dwarf boy, and it wasn’t much bigger than a pocket dictionary—well, it might have been a little larger. It is best to be exact in matters of this sort.

The king dearly loved to have Peggy and the dwarf to play and sing to him, and usually went to sleep during the performance. This was very “sweet” of him, Peggy said, and “quite complimentary.”

Peggy’s influence over this cannibal king was very great. She twined him round her little finger, so to speak. He had to do everything the pretty little minx told him, and take her and her companions out in the royal canoe whenever she wanted a picnic or an airing. The king would sit patiently on his daïs sometimes, as calm and serene as a summer sunset or a stucco cat, while she dressed him from top to toe in flowers and leaves and strings of beads, and finally crowned him with her oldest tartan Tam o’ Shanter. He looked so droll in this get-up that Peggy had to clap her hands and laugh and run round and round about him, to view him from every quarter. If there had been a missionary on the island and Peggy had asked the king to throw a stone at him, the king would have obeyed, unhesitatingly.

There had been a missionary there once, the king allowed. The missionary said Providence had sent him. The king believed him, for that missionary, his majesty told Johnnie, made the best curry ever he had tasted!

“The missionary was a good cook, then?” said Johnnie.

“Good cook!” cried the king. “No, no, my fat old wife the cook. My wife cookee he!”

The king was being taught English, but it wasn’t the best.

“Oh, I see,” said Johnnie, “I see now. Your wife cookee he, and you cookee she. Well, you’re a queer lot, you cannibal fellows.”

At first Ralph the blood-hound used to terrorise the whole population, specially the little pickaninnies or children, who all ran from him when he appeared on the white sandy beach where they played.

It made our young heroes laugh till their sides were sore to see a crowd of these naked little black children fleeing from Ralph, who, by the way, never condescended to chase them. It was a crowd of whirling legs and arms, and each tiny cannibal looked like the three-legged wheel you see on a Manx half-penny, only without stockings or bootlets on.

The king delighted to see the giant exhibit his strength. But when one day the tiny dwarf boy, unknown to the king, hid inside the bell-shaped end of Gourmand’s enormous brass basoon and jumped out with a wild shriek when the giant began to play, his majesty nearly went into a fit with laughing.

It was fun! And some fresh fun was invented every day for the purpose of making this great big baby of a king laugh and shake.

Ah! well, but after all, our shipwrecked Wandering Minstrels did long for home often enough too, and at supper-time or after, while by themselves in the fort, they were never tired of talking about their adventures in dear old England—in wayside camp and caravan.

One morning early, Johnnie, who had been out shooting rock-rabbits, came back into the fort with a rush or a run.

“Oh!” he cried; “the ship! the ship!”

Then indeed there was excitement in the little fort.

CHAPTER VI.

White Wings upon the Waves.

This was done, but the blackbirders had the cruelty to fire a volley at the retreating cannibals, killing and wounding several. The men from the fort now hurried up, making a slight detour through the bush in order to keep out of sight. Gourmand carried the swivel gun. Fitzroy and the other two, rifles and the ammunition. There was a battery in front of the native village, and behind this they quickly hid.

The blackbirders landed in three well-armed boats, and forthwith commenced the attack, stopping every now and then to fire a volley at the trenches. This was harmless enough, and Stransom would not permit the savages to show themselves, although they were now burning for revenge.

Probably the blackbirders—a more cutthroat-looking crew it would have been impossible to conceive—suspected an ambuscade, for they now advanced somewhat more slowly.

Again they fired.

And immediately the trenches replied—a regular peppering volley that both astonished and staggered these accursed slave-hunters.

“Back to your boats, you villains,” shouted Stransom, “or we’ll blow you to Jericho.”

A volley was all the reply, and on came the blackbirders with a rush. They thought to carry the trench by storm.

The swivel gun was emptied into their very midst, and the slaughter was terrible: what had been a crowd of living men seemed now but a mangled mass of dead and dying. For even those unwounded threw themselves down and shouted for mercy.

It needed all the skill of the cannibal king to prevent his men from utterly wiping out the enemy. They were restrained, however, after a fashion, yet nearly all the wounded were speared.

Stransom and his men gathered round the rest and made them prisoners.

As the fight took place well out of sight of the few men left in charge of the barque, these had no idea what had occurred.

The leader of the raid was the captain of the ship himself. He was wounded, but had sufficient strength to sit up, and his eyes met those of Stransom. The man was Allison, first mate of the old Vulture.

“Allison, it is you!”

“It’s me, skipper. I deserve my fate. Let me now die in peace.”

“Die in peace, you shall,” answered Stransom, “but, my good fellow, had you not been wounded I should have hanged you!”

“Thank you,” sneered Allison.

Fitzroy now advanced. The playwright had some knowledge of surgery, and at once applied a tourniquet to the mutineer’s bleeding limb, and dressed it as well as he could.

The man was very faint, and begged for water. A negro lad climbed a cocoa-nut tree and threw down some of the greenest fruit.

After Allison had drunk, he appeared to fall asleep, and Fitzroy got the giant to carry him gently in under the shadow of the banana shrubs.

Presently he opened his eyes. Fitzroy was kneeling by his side.

“Don’t leave me,” he moaned. “Don’t let me die just yet. I have that on my mind I would fain confess—and it concerns yourself—and Peggy McQueen.”

Meanwhile Stransom, with Johnnie and the giant, had gone off in one of the boats, towards the barque. They had the swivel gun in the bow.

As soon as they were near enough they hailed, “Ship ahoy!”

“Ay, ay. What’s in the wind?” cried a black-bearded, cut-throat-looking man over the stern.

“You’ve got to surrender, that’s all, my sweet little seraph. Your game’s up. Surrender quietly and your innocent life will be spared. If you make a bit of bobbery, I’ll hang you from your own jibboom.”

“We surrender.”

“Does you now? Well, that is really very thoughtful of you. Been a blackbirder myself, though, darling. So just fire your guns in the air to please me, and to show us all is safe.”

“Curse you!” cried the ruffian.

The rifles rang out, and immediately after were flung on the deck.

Next minute, Stransom and Johnnie stood on the blackbirder’s poop.

“Good-morning,” said the former, with provoking coolness. “Sulky was he? Eh? Ah, but his mother’s darling mustn’t. Your new captain, that’s me, doesn’t like sulky boys. Ah! he smiles! See this little thing? Look, this is a revolver. His new captain doesn’t want to shoot, but must now send all hands below, prisoners—four of you? Eh? All right, down all of you to the hold. And when your new captain comes back he’ll let you all free and not hang anybody if everybody will be good and do as he is told.”

In five minutes more all four blackbirders were under lock and key.

“She’s safe enough,” said Stransom, as they pulled back shorewards. “They can’t weigh anchor and give us the slip.”

Allison’s Strange Story.

Fitzroy poured a little brandy from his flask into the man’s mouth. He swallowed it, and presently he felt strong enough to raise himself slightly and to sit supported in the arms of a native.

“Mr. Fitzroy,” he said, “you must bear with me, and you must forgive me for what I have done. Can you? Do you?”

“I do,” said Fitzroy, solemnly, “as I hope to be forgiven when as close to the shadow of the grave as you are now.”

“You remember, sir, when Peggy McQueen first came into your charge?”

“I remember when I first adopted the dear child.”

“You were paid to do so. The money you received helped to set you up in life.”

“If there has been any setting up in it,” answered Fitzroy.

“You have been successful ever since.”

“Till now, yes, fairly so.”

“And you knew, Peggy had a history which you did not trouble your head much to inquire into?”

“Perhaps, perhaps; but come, what has this to do with your confession?”

The man had fainted, but was soon restored, and went on again.

He was weaker now, however, and again Fitzroy held a little more brandy to his lips.

“In my pocket—feel,” he said, slowly, “a key.” The left jacket pocket. Yes, that is it. When you go on board, open my private drawer, and you will find letters to testify to the truth of all I tell you. Peggy McQueen is a stolen child—stolen that she might not reap the benefits of an uncle’s will. This uncle was an old bachelor and lived with his sister-in-law—yes, the address is in my drawer—the estate, it is a fine one, would be his only brother’s had he died without a will. His only brother was his greatest enemy. He loved the child, and left her all his fortune. But the very night on which he died this evil brother came to me. I was poor, and fell an easy prey to bribery.

“Oh, horrible!” continued the dying man. “I was told off to steal Peggy and throw her down a disused well.”

A light began to dawn on Fitzroy’s mind now, for he remembered the story poor Peggy had told him about her meeting with the beautiful, white-haired lady in her own park, and about everything that happened.

He grasped Allison by the cold hand.

“And you—you murdered another child and threw her into the well—you stole Peggy and—sold her to me!”

“No—no—there was no murder. I could not do that, but—God forgive me, I robbed a grave of its little girl inmate. It was a ghoulish thing to do. It was her corpse in Peggy’s clothes that was found down the well.”

“Yes, but——”

“Listen, for I feel I am going fast. When the money I received for the—the deed—was squandered—I blackmailed the evil brother! He laughed at me first, but when I told him that Peggy was still alive, and threatened to bring her up, he trembled like the coward he was, but promised that if I brought the child to him—but I would not—I was bribed again—but my men failed to kidnap her. Then came the plot to get you and her out of the country to a place where she would never likely be heard of again.”

“Hold a moment! There was no Macgilvray?”

“No—no—it was all a plot to ruin you—forgive—I—I——”

It was no faint this time. The brandy Fitzroy tried to pour into his mouth ran out again over his cheeks and chin.

Only one brief spasm, and the jaw dropped. The eyes were fixed for ever.

Fitzroy lowered him slowly to the ground and left the place, sad, though he did not know why, and wondering if all this could be true.

But he had the key, and before nightfall he would know everything.

CHAPTER VII.

She Sailed Away in the Middle Watch.

Only five of the blackbirders had escaped intact, and to these Stransom offered life and liberty if they would help to work the ship to the nearest British port.

They were only too glad to do so. As far as regards their share of blackbirding, they could hardly be called free agents. Allison himself was the only man who could have been brought to account. And he was gone.

Stransom and Fitzroy spent the next few weeks in determining the latitude and longitude, and studying the topography of the island, taking soundings, and surveying generally.

Very pleasant indeed were these little picnics, as the young people called them. They were made in the barque’s own boats. Stransom was an old sailor, and knew well the tricks and manners of the blackbirders. He knew that they would not hesitate to get up anchor and sail away with the ship if he gave them but half a chance. But he kept his weather eye lifting, and while cruising round the island he only left one hand on board.

Is it strange that Peggy felt really sorry when the time drew near when she would have to part for ever with the cannibal king? But she really was so.

This curious being, however, was offered his passage to England, if he chose to accept it.

“No,” he replied, in his broken English; “no goodee fo’ me. Plap Eenglan’ moochee too small place! Den ebery man haf on’y one wife. King Karoo stop ’long his people. When King Karoo too old, his people knockee on de head and truly bury him, plenty.”

“Bury him in the usual way, I suppose,” said Fitzroy, smiling.

“Plaps,” said the king, laconically.

Feeling perfectly safe now, the girl with Johnnie and their friend the dog made many excursions into the far interior of this beautiful island.

There were hills here of rare beauty, green wooded, almost to their summits, between which glimpses could be caught on every side of a sea more blue and lovely than any other in all this wide world—a sea in which many a little island was afloat apparently ’twixt ocean and sky, islands with white and silvery sands along the beach, but bedecked with many a waving tree-fern and feathery palm, among which fairies and elves must play in the starlight if any such there be in this world of ours.

No doubt those seas are wild and stormy enough at certain times and seasons. Indeed I myself have found them so, but placid and peaceful enough were they all the time our heroes were there.

The birds were numerous enough and beautiful, yet all but songless. Everywhere the flowers were gorgeous. And butterflies as large as fans, but far more radiant in their rainbow beauty, flitted from bush to bush revelling in the warm sunshine.

Being somewhat of a naturalist, Johnnie determined to make a collection of these. It is a delightful fancy, this of butterfly hunting, for although it is against my own principles to take life, or deprive a summer’s day of anything that is beautiful, still these creatures are numerous enough, and hardly suffer pain when caught and killed by pinching the thorax, or with chloroform.

Anyhow, with their nets, Peggy and Johnnie, sometimes Willie being with them, and always Ralph, spent many a happy hour.

But one day they wandered farther a-field than usual, and presently found themselves nearing a wood, where the trees were higher than any they had yet seen, and where there was but little undergrowth, the stems rising tall and pillar-like straight into the air, and mingling their palm-like leaves to form a canopy of green.

Had they taken the faithful hound’s advice they would have turned back at once, for he stopped at the entrance of the forest, and sniffed the air suspiciously, and it was with something like terror in his eyes, and with evident reluctance, that he followed his little master and mistress into the gloomy depths.

Nor was it long before the two became conscious of a sickly, death-like odour that went straight round their hearts.

Then all at once they found themselves in one of the most awful places that pen can describe, a temple built of human bones. They felt a kind of terrible fascination steal over them as they gazed with fear and terror at the walls around them.

Ghastly designs with long bones and spines and ribs, a fearful species of rude architecture; the walls of the avenue that led to the oval interior, the walls of the temple itself, and even a raised platform—no need to say for what dread purpose this had been built—all were built of human bones. Climbing wild flowers trailed here and there over the walls, little lizards crept in and out of eyeless sockets, and bright-winged birds perched innocently on rain-bleached skulls!

No wonder Peggy clutched Johnnie’s hand.

“Oh, lead me on, lead me out of this,” she cried.

It was a sight she would never forget, a sight she would dream of many a night in after life when on a bed of sickness. Ugh!

* * * * *

That very night Peggy McQueen formed a resolution. Some may call it a childish one. Perhaps it was, yet even from the mouths of babes and sucklings wisdom at times may come.

She would try to convert that blood-stained cannibal king.

She now spent an hour or two each day with him at his palace of huts, and surely no preacher ever expounded the doctrines of Christianity in language more simple and beautiful, yet forcible, than did our little heroine. Its loveliness, its truths, and its terrors, she told him all.

Did she succeed? Ah, that I cannot tell, but the king’s soul, it must be remembered, was like that of a little child. The souls of all savages are, and if the guileless prattle of child Peggy did not appeal to it and touch a chord, the sterner, though more learned logic of no missionary may hope to succeed.

The Wandering Minstrels gave one more performance the night before they left, and every one of Fitzroy’s troupe excelled himself and broke all former record.

Johnnie never felt in better form; Willie had never been so funny before; Peggy never sang nor played more sweetly; the giant’s great brass bassoon made echoes ring from tree to tree; then good-byes were spoken.

Fireflies were flitting from bush to bush, and moon and stars shone softly on the sea when the boats took all hands back to the barque.

When poor King Karoo looked seaward at sunrise next morning, never a sign of ship was there, nor on the distant horizon.

She had sailed away in the middle watch.

* * * * *

The owners of the blackbirding barque, which had been so cleverly captured off the cannibal island, served their own interests, I think, by denying all knowledge of her, when written to on the subject. She was a splendid clipper, and must have cost a deal to build. But she now became the property of her captors, and when paid off in Southampton waters, the black-bearded mate and his men were very glad to get off scot-free. They had not expected such leniency.

The vessel herself was sold at a good figure, and Stransom had his share, which was a good and a solid one. He disappears from our story, and so, too, does the barque.

Fitzroy and his people had their shares also, and Johnnie’s father was now able to set up as a music publisher in London.

He is there now, in winter that is. If you want to know where he is in summer, reader, you must read on.

* * * * *

Dr. Annandale was sitting in his easy-chair one summer evening, when his servant entered with a silver salver in his hand, on which lay a card with the simple inscription—

“Reginald Fitzroy.”

“Show him in, James.”

Next minute Fitzroy himself and Peggy, now a beautiful, ladylike girl of thirteen, entered.

The white-haired old physician rose, and bowing, prayed them to be seated.

“Is this to be my little patient?” he said. “She does not look ill.”

“No,” answered Fitzroy; “she is not ill, but we have a strange story to tell, which will interest you; at least I believe so.”

The doctor touched the bell.

“James,” he said, when the man re-entered, “I am not to be disturbed until I ring. Let callers wait. Now, Mr. Fitzroy, I am at your service.”

“You have been physician, I believe, for many years to Mrs. Wycliffe of Wycliffe Park here, in your neighbourhood?”

The doctor folded his thin white hands and leaned back complacently in his chair.

“For over twenty years,” he said.

“It is of her we would speak, doctor. And I must be brief. She had one child, sir?”

“Alas! yes, a dear, sweet little girl, who disappeared mysteriously, and was found many weeks afterwards at the bottom of a well.”

“Did—did you make a post-mortem, doctor?”

“I did.”

“Was there any evidence of foul-play?”

“Nothing that we could hinge a case upon. The poor little tot had wandered away and fallen into this terrible place. So we believe, at least.”

“Was there any birth-mark?”

“There was, or rather, had been before death, a curiously-shaped mark on the right arm above the elbow.”

“Did you find this mark on the little body which had fallen into or been thrown into a pit?”

“The body, sir, had lain too long to distinguish this. The identification was simple. The clothes and even trinkets were those the child had worn on the very morning of her disappearance.”

“Doctor, look at my adopted child here. Can you say that you have never clapped eyes on her before?”

The physician scrutinised Peggy for a short time.

“The same hair and eyes,” he said, slowly.

“Was the child found in the well auburn-haired?” asked Fitzroy.