CHAPTER XIX.

THE BURNING SHIP.

"At twelve o'clock," continued Goodwin, "I went below to call old Deadlight, our first mate.

"When he came up, I stopped a few minutes to talk to him and tell him what we'd seen, and the captain's orders in case of getting too near the Sargasso Sea.

"I was just slueing round to go below, when I couldn't help thinking I felt smoke, like.

"At first the mate wouldn't have it. It was my imagination, he said. I'd been thinking too much about St. Elmo's fire, and all that rot. I'd better go and turn in, I should be better in the morning. He were just agoin' on like this and laughin' low to hisself, when up the fore-hatch comes the bo's'n.

"'Beggin' your pardon, sir,' he said, 'but I think the cargo is a-fire on the port side.'

"Deadlight and I hurried below now. Yes, sure enough, there was smoke coming up from the hold through the crevices of the hatchway.

"The cap'n was called, and was on deck afore you could have said 'binnacle'.

"He and the mate were very cool. So was all hands; and, cap'n, I always think it is a blessing when the ship and precious lives are in danger not to have any ladies on board, or longshore passenger swells. They beat creation with the fuss they make.

"I was precious sorry now that I hadn't got steam up instead of waitin' for the wind, for then we could have turned it into the hold and soon put out the fire.

"All hands were called and the pumps were manned.

"We cut a hole in the fore-hatch of the hold, and poured tons of water down. But even there where we stood our soles burned with heat, and we walked cautiously lest we should fall through the under-charred deck and be devoured by the fire below.

"I guess, cap'n, that the water we poured in just sunk through a portion o' the cargo, like, and lay at the bottom.

"It was an anxious time,—you bet your last rupee on that, sir!—but all hands worked like grim death in cholera times, and we hadn't time to funk.

"Hours and hours, taking turn and turn about. Provisions and rum were got to the upper deck, and water too, for it was evident that the skipper feared the worst. At the same time the boats were hoisted to the davits and hung over the sea, all ready to let go. And they were provisioned, every one of the three o' them, for ten days.

"Nothing was forgotten, gentlemen, that seamanship could suggest.

"To our dismay we found that the fire was now working farther aft, so we determined to clear the after-hold of cargo.

"A working-party was at once organized, but, cap'n, when the hatch was opened, such a stream of sparks and such stiflin' clouds of smoke rolled up, that glad was we when we got that hatch back in position.

"Fires was now well lit, though, and steam was turned into the hold.

"This seemed to do good at first, and we worked with redoubled vigour, singing merry sea-songs as we did so. But while so engaged, suddenly not only did volumes of smoke roll up, but tongues of flame ten feet high, that soon would have fired the middle-deck had we not succeeded in battening it down.

"Our object was to keep the fire confined to the hold, until we should succeed, if possible, in reaching some of the islands of the Azores, there to beach her and escape in our boats.

"It was not to be, although the boys worked like African slaves.

"We scuppered the decks now in the cabin, and down through the hole made thus, cap'n, we put the nozzle of the hose.

"And so we worked away all that fearful night and long into next forenoon. We didn't think much o' rest, gentlemen, nor food either. We just choked down a bit o' junk now and then, or a morsel o' biscuit, and kept it down with a peg o' rum. But, bless you, sir, our eyes was burnin', our faces hangin' in bags of blisters, and our mouths so dry by this time that there was no good trying to sing, for we were hardly fit to talk.

"Soon, now, the deck all along became so hot that the men had to leave in relays to put their shoes on.

"The end came so suddenly that we was thunderstruck. Somewhere near the fore-hatch the deck blew up with the force of the steam.

"Ah, what a sight! The clouds of smoke risin' as high as the foretop, and the tongues of red flame following and licking them up!

"About the same time the fire spread up out of the scuppered hole, and the saloon was all in a blaze 'fore ye could have said 'marling-spike'. It was all over now.

"But, next minute, and just as we was preparin' to lower the boats, a white squall came thunderin' over the sea, took the Ossian aback, and for five minutes at least we stood holding on to the riggin' or stays, while she went ploughin' astern. We 'xpected, cap'n, to see her go under, stern foremost, every minute. Mebbe I was a bit white, cap'n. I don't know, but my pals was."

"It was really a fearful situation," said Captain Leeward.

"Yes, sir, and gettin' worse as the time went on, for so long as the squall lasted the smoke and fire and sparks flew over us. But it stopped at last, and the breeze came round the other way.

"Then we worked like devils, cap'n, to get her afore it, and when we did it weren't quite so bad.

"Well, you know, gentlemen, a squall often brings on dirty weather. So did this. Seemed to me it was a choice o' deaths—to stay on board and sink with the burnin' ship, or lower the boats to go to Davy Jones in them. There was more hope in the last idea, so we lowered the boats one by one. I insisted on the skipper goin' in the gig—she was a good boat,—and then came the lowerin' o' the last, and that was the one, sir, that God's mercy enabled us to fetch you in.

"The lowerin' o' a boat, as you know, sir, is a ticklish thing in a heavy sea-way. Somehow our boat didn't take the water on an even keel, but stern first, but we got her righted and scrambled in at last. Night were a-comin' on now, cap'n, fast and dark, and a dirty night it were bound to be.

"We had a compass in each boat, but not a rag of a sail, just the oars; and so wild was the sea that, what with keepin' her head on to the big coombing waves that else would have sunk us, precious little progress was made, I can assure you.

"We saw that burning ship an hour after we'd left her. Then she suddenly disappeared, and at the same moment the roar of an explosion, louder 'n thunder, rolled over the sea, and for the time being the waves hadn't a chance o' bein' heard.

"About the beginning of the middle watch the wind began to go down, and the sea too. 'I think, boys,' I said to my pals, 'we can have a bite and a sup, now.' But, mercy on us, sir! when I bent down to scramble for the provisions—none was there! The tack must have slipped overboard as we lowered the boat stern first.

"There was a bottle o' rum, that was all. I poured out just a little, in the shell of an old silver watch my poor mother had given me, and the men was thankful.

"But they was mostly exhausted, and I was feared they'd sleep. So, getting hold of some lanyard, I made 'em make the oars fast to the rowlocks, with freedom to move and no more.

"In an hour's time the storm had passed away, and the night was clear. I put just two to the oars, leaving two men to sleep and to relieve their pals when they began to nod. Good thing I'd tied the oars, cap'n, for by an' by one poor beggar fell off the thwart and I kicked up a sleeping chap to take his place.

"Well, now that the sea was quiet, steerin' was of no account like. I just told 'em to go on and keep their weather eye on a certain star I pointed out.

"Then I curled up and slept like a stone. It was daybreak when I awoke. There was a glittering blood-red path across the waters where the crimson sun was shinin'. The sea was lumpy now, but the day promised fine."

"Where were the other boats?"

"Not one, sir, to be seen near or far, and we've never seen or overhauled them since. This was a terrible trial for us, as we had no food. No, nor water. On'y the rum, that could only excite us and make us by and by more wretched and unhappy.

"I put it to the vote, cap'n. Should we drink the rum or leave it till it was more wanted? Right bravely came the answer, ringing from for'ard:

"'We won't touch or taste it, till we ain't able to sit up.'

"All that day we rowed as well as we could, watchin' sea, watchin' sky, for a sight of a boat of our own, for sight of a sail. But the sun went down like a great blood orange, and weary and faint now, we hardly cared to row.

"There was neither moon nor stars that night, and so I just lashed the helm so as to keep her driftin' a kind of in her course.

"We stepped a little mast for'ard, and hung up our lantern. We blessed God that we had this, anyhow.

"Then we tumbled down to sleep, and long and sound that sleep must have been, for it was the short gray gloamin' o' mornin' when we pulled ourselves together again.

"And what think you was the first thing my hot eyes caught sight of?

"Why, cap'n, as sure as,—thanks to you!—I'm now a livin' man, it was our own biggest boat—a kind o' pinnace. She was stove in at the bows, and bottom up."

"How could it have happened?" said Captain Leeward, sympathetically.

"She must have fouled the other boat, sir, and without doubt both of the crews went to Davy Jones together. The skipper had been in the big boat. Poor chap! he leaves a young wife and three pretty kids.

"Our hearts sunk down, down after this. No one cared to speak much above his breath, and I noticed more'n once that day, cap'n, the tears quietly streamin' over the cheeks of a young sailor. Our fate, we feared, would be worse by far than that of our other brave shipmates.

"I told out a watch-shell of rum all round at eight bells, and we were a little heartened after this.

"But now, cap'n, the wind began to rise and moan over the sea once more, and though it was right for us, if it increased we couldn't keep her long afloat. Well, what does we do, sir, but tie two jackets together to make a sail, and bent them on two oars.

"The poor fellows were half-dead now, and couldn't have rowed two hours longer. After a rest and a kind of dreamy doze, we found the wind still higher, and the seas breakin' on board of us all the time.

"Nothing for it now but bail her out. We had two pannikins and our sou'-westers, and wi' these we just managed to keep her afloat till the second dog-watch.

"Another little tot o' rum at eight, and when the sea and most o' the wind went down we bailed her out once more, and then just tumbled down in the bottom, wet, shivery, wretched.

"When day dawned, and there was still no sail nor land in sight, we kind o' gave up in despair. The young sailor,—Tom Ball were his name,—sort of went dotty, cap'n, and tried to eat the flesh oft the ball of his thumb. I gave him four watch-shells of rum, and he sunk like a wet swab down between the thwarts. Bill Jones took off his own coat and covered him up.

"We suffered more from thirst than hunger, though, and Tom had drunk salt water, which sent him nearly mad, you see. So none o' the others touched it.

"I dozed again several times that day, and always my dreams, cap'n, was the self-same. I was wanderin' among beautiful woods, near my own old home in Berkshire, birds was singin' in the trees, there was wild flowers all along the banks of a stream, and again and again I stooped to drink, then all became dark and dreadful and I awoke with a shriek.

"You don't mind me quotin' pottery, cap'n, do you? For I really is main fond of it.

"'All in a hot and copper sky,
    The bloody sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand.
    No bigger than the moon.

"'Water, water everywhere,
    And all the boards did shrink:
Water, water everywhere,
    Nor any drop to drink.'

"And again, sir, I may say:

"'There passed a weary time. Each throat
    Was parched, and glazed each eye;
A weary time, a weary time,
    How glazed each weary eye!'

"How that night wore along I cannot tell you, cap'n. No one rowed, no one steered.

"Next day our sufferings were fearful. Oh, cap'n, may you never know what it is to be afloat in a foodless boat on the bosom of a deserted ocean.

"'And every tongue, through utter drought,
    Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
    We had been choked with soot.'

"I served out more rum towards evening.

"Having swallowed it, Mearns, an able-bodied seaman, leant forward towards me and said hoarsely, with a mad gleam in his bloodshot eyes:

"'Mate, we must cast lots who shall die, or shall we chance it and kill the young un?"

"I knew this man would soon be a raving maniac, so I gave him four more shells of the rum; then he slept.

"Another sunset.

"Another weary night begun.

"I prayed then, cap'n, as I'd never prayed before, that God in his mercy would let us pass from life before we woke.

"Then once more I dozed, once more I dreamt, and again the green summer woods all a-wavin' in the sunshine, the bird-song and the purlin' brook.

"But I had not slept long ere I was aroused. It was the young Tom Ball shriekin' in a strange high-pitched voice—for his throat was as dry as emery paper.

"'Mate, mate, mate!'

"'Yes, yes, here am I, boy.'

"'A ship, sir,—away down yonder!"

"I rubbed my eyes for a time, then saw your lights through a kind of haze.

"'The lantern—quick!' I cried.

"It was handed me, and with my hand all a-shakin' I brought out my match-box.

"O God, cap'n, there was but one lucifer there! On this our lives depended, and I felt that, if I did not succeed in lightin' that lamp, I myself should go mad and throw myself into the sea, to be devoured by the shark that, all throughout this weary time, had followed in our wake. I stood the hurricane-lantern under the stern-sheets; then I put one hand holdin' the empty box inside, lest a breath of air should blow out our only hope.

"Then I struck the match. A flare at first, then only a tiny blaze of blue. I turned it round, and its light grew brighter and whiter.

"The lantern was lit, and Bill Jones seized it from me, just as I fell down in the bottom of the boat in a dead faint.

"Young Tom Ball crept aft to me, while Bill kept waving the lantern on high.

"I was all doubled up, with my chin on my breast, and but for that young fellow Tom I should have died. But he laid me flat out, and rubbed my chest with rum, and when I sighed—a sad, sobbing kind of sigh it were, so he says—he got me to swallow a mouthful, and just as we got alongside your ship, cap'n, I was able to sit up.

"And I knew we was saved, though I didn't know then that the two hands lying asleep, like, in the bottom of the boat, was dead."

CHAPTER XX.

GUN-ROOM FUN.

If the reader—who I sincerely hope is going to be a sailor, for there is no life like that on the ocean wave—will take a glance at a map of the world and ferret out Venezuela, he will note that by sailing south-west by west in almost a bee-line for about 4700 miles, he would strike this land of beauty, and land of flowers and forests.

After leaving Azores, if his ship called there, he would find himself in a long and lonesome sea indeed, and after some weeks the Caribbean Islands would heave in sight, and our young sailor would know then he was far, far away from home.

Our own land—God bless it, and wouldn't you and I fight for it just?—is but like the cloud of fog that hangs over a city, compared to the loveliness of many of these fairy isles. The blue sky is fringed with the tall palm-trees that shoot from the soil, the islands themselves as you approach them appear to hang on the horizon, and so azure is the ocean, so cerulean the sky, you scarce can tell in fine weather where they meet and kiss.

The water around one's yacht or ship is sometimes so clear, so pellucid, that you see the bottom full ten fathoms beneath, where corals lie deep, where gorgeous and magnificently coloured shell-fish move slowly about, where marine gardens—more lovely far than any on earth,—planted and attended to by mermaids one would think, dazzle the eyes and delight the senses, and where on clear yellow patches of sand you may see flat fishes float, their sides so bedecked with patches of bright crimson, orange, and blue, that you cannot help thinking there must be a fish's fancy-dress ball on.

Then between you and the bottom float medusæ or jelly-fishes—bigger and more transparent than even those in Skye, for the limbs of these seem to be rainbow-tinted, or studded with gems of purest ray serene, diamonds, rubies, and amethysts. Yet all the creatures in that submarine garden wide and wild are not beautiful. Perhaps you are lying in a boat, gazing down through your water-telescope entranced, and half believing you will presently see a mermaid come out of a little cave combing her bonnie yellow hair, when, instead of the tiny mermaid, some patches of black-brown weeds are visibly stirred, and an awful head with fore-fins or fore-feet and claws, you cannot tell which, is protruded. Oh that deformed, scaly, warty head and these awful eyes, bearing some faint resemblance to a nightmarish caricature of man or fiend! If you are a nervous lad you will think and dream about this slimy apparition for weeks.

Well, all around Bermuda the rocks and sea-gardens are almost quite as lovely. Had the Osprey been going straight to Venezuela it would have been out of her course to stop here, but she had despatches to leave.

Two of the Ossian's shipwrecked crew were left there, but the mate begged to be allowed to remain and the captain had no objections. Goodwin was a naval reserve man, and even a lieutenant in that service.

This mate of a merchantman was in some ways a singular being, for although I think that the English he spoke was often rude, he could talk the language purely when he chose. Moreover, he was a student of gunnery, and could have worked a gun with any officer afloat. He was made an honorary member of the warrant officers' mess, and having no particular duties to perform, he spent most of his time making models of the newest guns and machinery of great iron-clads. Having got together, with the aid of the gunner and carpenter, some nice models, he announced in the gun-room that he was willing to give lessons to the midshipmen therein which would be of use to them when war's pennant floated red and bloody over the main. And many availed themselves of the kind offer, chief among them being Creggan himself and the Ugly Duckling—more about the latter presently. But even some of the ward-room officers, and now and then the captain himself, would look on as this ultra-enthusiast in naval warfare described the play of a battle of giant iron-clads, and the use of the terrible guns.

"Ah, boys," he would say, "there was much romance attached to the glorious days of Nelson, when hostile fleets lay in rows, mebbe two deep, one to support t'other like. When it was ship to ship, and hammer and tongs till one blazed, blew up, and sank, or when the skipper of a Britisher shouted through his trumpet to the master at the wheel: 'Lay us aboard that frog-eating Frenchman!' When the master steered so close to the foe that guns met muzzle to muzzle, and high o'er the din o' battle rang out the order: 'Away, boarders! Give the beggars Rule Britannia, lads!' The days when our brave blue-jackets used to swarm over the sides of the enemy's ship, or creep in through the ports, pistol in hand, cutlass in mouth perhaps, and lay the Frenchees dead at their guns.

"Yes, boys, these were the dashin' days of old, and somehow I sighs w'en I think they're gone.

"But the future sea-fights, young gents, are goin' to be fought with cool heads on sturdy shoulders. Excitement or rashness will mean annihilation; manoeuvring will be prominent, ay, and pre-eminent."

Here Goodwin would pause perhaps, look funnily down at his models and smile.

"You may think it a droll remark o' me to make, lads, but I do believe that, given two hostile battleships, encountering each other, then that skipper who is a good whist player, and has a long head that can see a bit into futurity as it were, or guesses before-hand what t'other chap will do when he, the whist man, plays his next card, will win the game o' war.

"This will kind o' knock some o' the romance out o' naval warfare. But not so much as we may think. Moral courage, mind you, boys, is of a far higher sort of quality than physical. And altho' the poet asks—

"'And how can man die better,
    Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers
    And the temples of his gods?'

one might answer him thus: He may die more truly courageously, more bravely too, if calm, if he meets his fate on a sinking iron-clad man-o'-war."

* * * * * * * * * * *

After their visit to Bermuda, and a delightful ramble through the beautiful island, Creggan was glad enough to find himself steering south and away via Puerto Rico, and bearing up for Venezuela. For the sea had already cast a glad glamour over the young man's life and soul.

Whenever he had time he wrote long delightful letters to his mother, to Daddy the hermit, to Archie, and to the Nugents, as well as to the manse. Perhaps his best and dearest of letters were those received by Matty. For Creggan couldn't help loving the child, and often he used to dream of her when far away at sea. Somehow she always appeared to him sitting in the stern of the skiff, her bonnie yellow hair toyed with by the breeze, and her eyes glistening with joy and happiness.

It was not pleasant, however, to be awakened from such a delightful dream at the dark hour of midnight to go on deck to keep watch on an angry sea.

It is needless to say that Creggan's letters were received at home with joy, read over and over again, and even laid aside for future perusal.

Goodwin was frequently invited to spend an evening in the gun-room mess, and these were red-letter nights for the middies, for this warlike mate of a merchantman could even make the sallow-faced young clerk smile. As for the Ugly Duckling, he smiled aloud till the beams rung and the plates on the table wanted to skip like lambs.

This midshipman's mess was always a merry one. Guns may change their form in the service, and ships as well, but our bold blue-jackets, and our daft, fun-loving and gallant middies, will never change as long as Britain's flag is unfurled,

"To brave the battle and the breeze".

Creggan, though somewhat older than midshipman Robertson, the plain-faced lad whose sense of humour nevertheless carried his mess-mates by storm, liked the droll boy very much, and they were together on shore whenever there was a chance. Along with them usually went the gentle Sidney Wickens.

Poor Sidney—he is dead and gone now—enjoyed a joke but never played one, but his smile was very pleasant, and at times even sad. He had, however, a quiet, quaint way of putting things that often made his mess-mates laugh. His fad during this cruise, as well as in the flag-ship at Sheerness, was the collection of beautiful gold rings. He often asked one or two of the warrant officers to look at these of an evening. And if the bo's'n, for instance, particularly fancied and admired one, Sidney would quietly hand it over his shoulder, saying, "Here, will you accept it, and wear it for my sake?"

Gun-room officers are fond of chaff, and unsparing in the use of it, no matter how it gives offence or how it is taken. But they always like best when the banter is returned. There is the banterer and the banteree, and woe betide the latter if he gets angry!

I believe Sidney—he was always called by his Christian name in a kindly, brotherly way, and somehow no one ever chaffed him—Sidney, I was going to say, was often sorry for the Ugly Duckling. But nothing could possibly upset the Ugly Duckling himself. Not even Bobbie's chaff. So good-natured was this droll duckling, that his extreme and quaint ugliness was really never observable. And his manner was as soft and gentle as that of a young girl, except when his soul was just bursting with fun and merriment, then he used to take to the rigging with Admiral Jacko to expand his extra steam, and allay his feelings.

A question whether Admiral Jacko or Duckie was the uglier, at times arose in the mess, even in the lad's presence. One day midshipmite Bobbie had the cheek to ask the Duckling to sit side by side with the Admiral during dinner, so that the right conclusion might be arrived at, and our friend did so readily and good-naturedly.

The Ugly Duckling is, you will readily believe when I tell you, a sketch from the life, and now that my memory brings him once more up before my mind's eye, I believe I am right in asserting that poor Mr. Duckling's face was more droll than ugly. Somewhat difficult to describe too. Forehead receded somewhat; nose nowhere, or hardly anywhere; eyes half-shut and full of fun; plenty of cheek, moral and physical; a longish, protruding upper lip; and an immense square jaw. His ears stuck out too, like lug-sails.

"Mind, Mr. Ugly Duckling," Bobbie told him one day at mess, "you must never get lost on the coast of Benin."

"Why, Scottie?"

"Why? How can you ask? Forgotten all your history? The king of Benin, you know, always nails his captives by the ears to a tree, and your ears you know, mon ami, are wonderfully suggestive!"

That day when the Duckling sat beside Admiral Jacko there was a good deal of amusement. The Admiral, I may tell you, was a very large and by no means handsome species of ape, and though he could not use a knife and fork, he ate most contentedly from the plate that M'Carthy the steward always placed before him, and he even used a table-napkin. On this particular day he more than once put his head cheek-by-jowl with the Duckling's, and the merriment increased.

The Admiral was exceedingly fond of the Ugly Duckling.

"Oh, look, mess-mates, look, now that their heads are together!" This from Bobbie. "Why, I declare that Jacko takes the cake!"

"For ugliness?"

"No; for beauty, boys!"

But Admiral Jacko had another very dear friend, namely, the ship's cat, a beautiful, half-bred brindled Persian.

After every meal Jacko used to collect tit-bits and stuff them into his jowl till his cheek stuck out, then he went at once in search of pussy and fed him. The action was almost human. Indeed it might have been called more so, for the "lower animals", as we are all too fond of calling them, often exhibit more kindness to each other than mankind does to any of them.

There was something quite out of the common about Jacko in many ways. He really had less mischief in his mental composition than monkeys generally. Hurricane Bob and Oscar used to be washed regularly once a week. The gun-room steward, superintended by Creggan himself, used to perform this operation. After the rubbing and rinsing with warm water and soap, they were always deluged with pailfuls of clear, soft water, and after they were dried down with half a dozen towels—the dogs' own property—they were combed and brushed.

Then ensued a wild scamper round and round the Osprey's decks, that made everyone laugh who saw it.

Admiral Jacko used to squat on top of the capstan while the doggies were being washed, and from the long, doleful face he wore, it was evident he pitied them. But as soon as the scamper up and down the decks after belaying-pins that the men threw to them was over, both dogs went and lay down on the quarter-deck in the sunshine. And now Jacko considered that his duties had commenced. He would leap solemnly down from the top of the capstan, Creggan would hand him the comb, then off he went to his friends the dogs. No peasant woman in Normandy could have combed her boy's hair more carefully than did Jacko go over Hurricane Bob's coat first, and then honest Oscar's, with finger-nails and brush. Well, if he did catch an errant flea it was executed on the spot; but the earnestness with which Jacko did the work, and the exceeding gravity of his face while at it, would have drawn laughter from a California mule.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I myself have never yet seen a more active middy on board a British man-o'-war than the Ugly Duckling was. No part of the ship's rigging was inaccessible to him. He would climb to the main-truck and wave his cap to those below.

One day, however, he attempted a feat that, although he had often performed it in harbour, was undoubtedly dangerous at sea, even on the calmest day. The sea all around that forenoon was as still and quiet as the grave, and the Osprey was on an even keel. They were now nearing the north coast of South America, and though steam was up, and the ship churning up a long wake of froth that trailed for miles in the rear, it made no other motion save vibration. Well, Jacko and the Ugly Duckling had been having fine fun that forenoon, much to the delight of those below. Up aloft they went, to top after top, and down again to deck by a back-stay. Hand over hand up that back-stay again, and so on, seeming to have no tire in them. But at last, to the horror, it must be said, of the officers on the quarter-deck, the Ugly Duckling slowly drew himself up to the top of the gilded truck, and then slowly and cautiously stood up.

There was no laughing now among those below, all were mute with fears for the poor boy's fate. This daring middy balanced himself first on one foot and then on the other, and then—will it be believed?—he took from his jacket pocket a tiny ebony fife, at playing which he was a great adept, and commenced to pipe The Girl I left behind me.

He never finished the tune, however.

Something had suddenly unnerved him, and well he knew that to fall deckwards would be death. He was seen, therefore, to suddenly crouch, and putting his hands in swimming fashion above his head, to spring into the air. He came down like a flash, and sunk far into the water, many yards on the port side of the ship.

"Away, life-boat's crew!"

Never, perhaps, was that life-boat launched more speedily. A life-buoy, too, had been thrown overboard.

The Ugly Duckling was too good a swimmer, however, to need such assistance, only he kept close to it, as he did not wish it to be lost.

Now the great danger was the sharks, cruel tigers of the seas, that in these hot latitudes swarm.

But the boat picked the middy up just at the very moment that two monster sharks sprang at the life-buoy and hauled it down.

The Ugly Duckling had stuck to his fife all the time, and now much to the amusement of the life-boat's crew commenced once more to play The Girl I left behind me, and continued to play till the boat got alongside. Then up ran the still dripping Duckling, and on gaining the quarter-deck first saluted it and then saluted Captain Leeward.

"Come to report myself, sir," he said, "for leaving the ship without leave."

"And I ought to punish you, sir," said the captain, trying in vain to suppress a smile; "but I will forgive you if you promise not to stand on the truck again."

"I promise, sir, readily; for, sir, it wouldn't be half good enough to be swallowed by a shark, fife and all."

And down below dived this queer middy to change his dripping garments.

CHAPTER XXI.

JACKO STEALS THE CAPTAIN'S PUDDING.

It would take a good many chapters to tell my readers all the tricks that this favourite of the gun-room mess played.

The surgeon, Dr. Grant, and he were excellent friends, and were often together; and sometimes if one of his mess-mates was a bit off colour, the Ugly Duckling would prescribe or pretend to prescribe for him, and his prescriptions were at times droll, to say the least.

One day, for instance, the white-faced young clerk was ailing. He frequently was.

"No use you going to Dr. Grant," said the Duckling; "he'll only give you black-strap and make you worse. Here, out with your note-book and I'll dictate a prescription. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Duckie."

"Well then, heave round: 'Recipe'. Got that down? It's Latin, you know, so have a care, but all the rest is English. Place a saucepan on the galley fire, and when it is heated to redness pour therein seven ounces of spirits of wine."

"Yes."

"When it comes to the boil place therein the tail of a toad—"

"But toads have got no tails."

"Well, a frog's tail will do."

"And frogs have no tails, Duckie. You're a bit off your natural history."

"Well," cried the Duckling, "a garden worm will do. That's all tail. Got 'im down?"

"Yes."

"Next, place in your cauldron a hair of the dog that bit you."

"Yes."

"And next—mind, this is very important, and will greatly aid the efficacy of the medicine—five drops of the sweat of a murderer's right hand."

The white-faced young clerk glared up aghast.

"Wh—wh—why," he faltered, "there is no murderer on board!"

"Well then, kill somebody yourself!" shouted the Ugly Duckling. "Ta-ta! I'm off to give the doctor a dancing lesson on the main-deck."

Well, that was precisely what he was doing five minutes after.

Dr. Grant was a splendid dancer of Highland flings and reels, &c., but, good-looking fellow though he was, he would have told you himself that he always felt a fool at an English ball or hop, and he hated being a wall-flower.

So the Ugly Duckling had offered to teach him, and had you come forward on the fighting-deck during practising-time, you would have seen a sight to amuse you. There was the chief bo's'n, a capital violinist, seated astraddle on one of the big guns, and playing some sweet, sad waltz, and yonder the little Duckling and the great Scotch doctor floating round and round the deck, with an awkwardness, however, that caused all the onlookers to shout with merriment.

The doctor didn't laugh a bit. It was a very serious matter for him indeed. His happiness was at stake; so he stuck to it, and tripped on the not very light fantastic toe.

His assiduity was finally rewarded, however, and he became one of the best dancers on board, and on shore was quite a favourite with the ladies.

* * * * * * * * * * *

At first the great monkey had been simply called Jacko, or Able-seaman Jacko. But the Duckling determined to raise him to the rank of admiral. First and foremost, however, he took no small pains in teaching his simian friend to walk erect. This he soon learned. Then to salute, &c.

After he was perfect in these accomplishments Jacko's promotion came. Well, you know, reader, it isn't the first time one of a ship's crew has risen from powder-monkey to admiral.

Then why shouldn't Jacko? Why not indeed?

The Duckling took up some nice ship's serge and buttons and gold-lace from the paymaster, and then he made friends with the ship's tailor. In less than a week after this, behold Jacko rigged out in the full-dress of a rear-admiral, cocked-hat, sword, and all.

No ward-room officer except Dr. Grant was "in the know", and the doctor good-naturedly gave the Duckling the use of the sick-bay for training purposes, and for the practice of their evolutions.

I verily believe, from the aptitude to learn which Jacko evinced, that the droll rascal was not a little proud of his splendid uniform and epaulettes.

Anyhow, his education was soon complete. So one evening, as the captain, all alone in his quarters, was bending over a chart—the ship being then not far from land,—Bobbie, the wee Scotch midshipmite, who was a great favourite with Captain Leeward, knocked smartly at his door and quickly entered.

"An admiral come off to see you, sir!" he squeaked. "Shall I show him in?"

"Most certainly, Mr. Robertson. But—"

And the captain rose in some agitation, and pushed back his chair.

The state of his feelings may be better conceived than printed when in marched Admiral Jacko.

Jacko took off his cocked hat, and bowed.

"Ah—ha—ah—ha," the monkey said, for all the world like a nervous man beginning a speech, and held out his little black hand as if to shake.

Bobbie stuffed his mouth with his handkerchief. It would have been rude to laugh before his captain, but when the latter threw himself down in his chair in an apparent state of convulsions, then the midshipmite laughed too, and even the captain's steward could not refrain from joining the chorus.

Five minutes after this the ship seemed shaken from stem to stern by the wild hilarity of the ward-room officers. They had been at their dessert when Bobbie introduced the Admiral.

The best of it all was, that Jacko himself looked as grave as an Oxford don. Never a smile was on his face. Not even the ghost of one.

But the new admiral was given a chair and a plate, and, behaving himself with all decorum, enjoyed a hearty feast of nuts and raisins. After this, accompanied by Bobbie, he bowed and took his leave. He had taken good care, however, to stuff one of his cheeks with nuts before he got down off his chair, till it stuck out like—so the doctor phrased it—a very bad case of inflammation of the parotid gland.

Admiral Jacko, it must be admitted, was a very funny fellow, but I fear I could not certify that he was strictly honest. Real rear-admirals would never, for instance, do what Admiral Jacko did once. He was on the fighting-deck one day, and noticed the captain's steward pass into the saloon with a nice little plum-pudding.

Jacko, in full uniform, walked past the door several times and had a sniff, the sentry smiling and presenting arms to him. But presently an officer entered to inform the captain that a strange man-o'-war was in sight, and leaving his luncheon he went on deck to have a look at her. This was the Rear-admiral's chance. He rushed in and as quickly came out again, hugging the brown and savoury pudding in his arms.

The sentry didn't present arms to him this time, only he determined not to tell upon poor Jacko.

"Bring in the pudding, steward," said Captain Leeward.

"Oh, sir, I brought it!"

"Then where is it?"

"That's what I should like to know, sir!"

He clapped his hand to his head, and for a moment looked confused.

"Oh, sir," he cried next minute, "I'd lay my life if you'd let me, sir, that Admiral Jacko has collared it! Shall I run and hunt him up and recover it?"

"No, no, steward; it wouldn't be much worth by this time."

And, sure enough, there was Admiral Jacko in the main-top discussing that delicious "plum-duff", with half-shut eyes and all the airs and graces of an epicure. After he had eaten all he could swallow, he stuffed both cheeks, pitched the remains down on the head of an able seaman, then slid down a stay to find and feed the cat.

* * * * * * * * * * *

On the whole, then, I think it must be admitted that the Osprey was rather a happy ship.

When they neared the coast of Venezuela they had the good luck to fall in with the flag-ship of the station. Captain Leeward delivered his despatches and letters for officers and crew, and then to his surprise found that the admiral had a cablegram for him. It was to the effect that he, Captain Leeward, was to join the South American fleet for a few months. This was on account of a cloud that was gathering in Venezuela concerning disputed British possessions on the borders. At that time the cloud was no bigger than a man's hand, but it might spread till it covered all the sky, and darken even our relations with the United States of America, whose president was apparently spoiling for a fight with Britain.

The fleet was to hold itself in readiness to land blue-jackets and marines at any moment.

So they all went cruising together.

The poor Irish "stupidnumerary" was transferred for service to a tiny gun-vessel, and very sorry indeed he was to part with his mess-mates. For, bar chaff, they had all been as happy together as a summer's day is long.

* * * * * * * * * * *

For months the fleet hovered around the coast, only putting out to sea now and then if a storm threatened to blow them on to a lee-shore. But there was much intercourse between the various ships, and at the towns they anchored near, the inhabitants were most hospitable. The flag-ship often gave a dinner or a dance on the upper deck, which was tented over in its after part, and gay with flags and flowers and perfumed foliage.

What a happy, jolly life is that of a young naval officer on occasions like these, and how quickly, while waltzing with some lovely young girl to dreamy music, does he forget all the dangers of the ocean that he has come through!

He just lives for the present. And oh! that present glides far, far too quickly away, yet it is something to look back to with pleasure when once more he is out upon the lone blue sea!

CHAPTER XXII.

IN THE WILDS OF VENEZUELA.

Although the Osprey's visit to Venezuela may have but little interest for the reader, still it would be unfair to drag him away from that land without first inviting him on shore to have a look at some of its wild and lovely scenery.

A young fellow—a Spaniard, though he talked capital English—came off one forenoon. He was received by Creggan and the Duckling at the gangway, and after talking for a short time on deck they invited him below.

This Spaniard was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and possessed of all that old Castalian courtesy and urbanity which you see so little of in these matter-of-fact days. He owned, too, that he was independent, if not indeed rich.

"Oh, señor," he said to Creggan, "think you that your captain would permit you to spend a few weeks on shore with me? And your dear friend here? I will do all I can to make you happy."

"I do not doubt that for a moment," said Creggan, "and if we can succeed in getting leave we are at your command."

"Oh, I rejoice!" cried young Miguel.

"I myself," he added, "am bound up in botany, in sport, and in natural history. Ah! we will enjoy our little selves, see if we don't!"

Leave was asked for and granted that very day. The Osprey was going down the coast and would leave them here, returning again in three weeks' time.

"Ah!" said dark-eyed young Miguel, "that does mean six, my capitan. You look good, and good you must be."

The captain smiled.

"Oh, señor, Venezuela is a vast country!"

"Well, well, Miguel, I'll let the young fellows oft for five or six weeks. I think they will be safe with you, and it will do them both good."

"Oh, safe, sir, as the everlasting mountains. And I have two houses—one is my yacht, and the other my dwelling on shore on the banks of the great Orinoco. You have no such rivers in Britain, I believe, señor capitan?"

"Well, no," replied Leeward, smiling. "You see, we are somewhat cramped for space, and a river broader than any of our two counties we should find somewhat inconvenient, to say the least."

"A thousand thanks for the leave, sir!" cried Creggan impulsively.

Then he added:

"Pardon me, sir, but you are so different from Commander Flint."

Well, Creggan and the Ugly Duckling had as many good-byes and hand-shakings given them as if they had been going off for a whole year to fight for their Queen and country.

The Duckling's parting from Admiral Jacko was quite affecting, as far as feeling on the part of this strange but clever ape went. Perhaps from his excessive and droll ugliness Jacko looked upon the middy as a brother. Be that as it may, he hung with his arms around his neck and his cheek against the Duckling's, and the expression of his face was so sad that the gun-room officers would not have been at all surprised had he burst into tears.

"Take care of my brother Jacko, boys!"

These were the Ugly Duckling's last words as he seated himself in Miguel's boat, and the sturdy semi-Spanish sailors bent bravely to their work. Out there, where the Osprey lay at anchor near to a small but beautiful island, there was a kind of "jabble" of small waves, caused by cross seas and currents. But after bearing in towards the green-fringed shore for about three miles, the men singing as they rowed to the sweet, soft notes of a guitar touched by the fingers of Miguel himself, they rounded another island, and were soon lost to view from the deck of the Osprey.

The water was now more smooth, though the outward current ran high. The tide in fact was ebbing. When it flows here it flows fast and furiously, and there are times when the battle betwixt sea and river is so furious, that no boat could float in the turmoil of breaking waters.

The Orinoco is undoubtedly a grand river, though certainly not so wide as Captain Leeward would lead one to infer. It is a grand stream, and a wildly romantic one too—higher up, I mean, for, like the river Nile, it forms a delta. This is about one hundred and thirty miles from the wide Atlantic, and here it divides itself into a great number of mouths, most of them navigable.

The principal mouth or main-stream is called the Boca de Navios, and it was up this great stream that our heroes went with Miguel next morning, in his pretty little steam-yacht, of which the young fellow was so justly proud.

So light was this craft and so little water did she draw, that she could go anywhere, and being strong even in a buffeting sea-way, could have done anything. She was not, however, quite so light as the Yankee's boat that was warranted to sail wherever there was a heavy dew.

I am writing from memory only, so I cannot give the exact tonnage of the Orinoco Queen, but fifty tons is near enough. Her beam was broad, though. Her little cabin or cuddy quite a lady's boudoir, adorned and perfumed with the rarest tropical flowers, through which at night peeped coyly the glow of fairy-lights. The one great lamp that swung from the skylight had a crimson shade, and thus the cabin looked like a scene from dream-land.

At night Miguel played his guitar, and sang wild and martial ballads of the romantic Spain of years gone by, or soft lullaby-like love ditties. The music of these latter seemed to breathe o'er the strings. You could have told it was a serenade, and in imagination you might have seen a beautiful girl-face appear one moment at an open lattice-window above, and next, from a white and shapely hand extended, you might imagine a flower drop down, to be rapturously caught and pressed to the lips of the serenader. Spain, deprived of its romance, were nothing now.

Hammocks were hung on deck, and surrounded, as far as Miguel's guests were concerned, by mosquito curtains. But the captain, Miguel himself, slept on a grass mat.

The crew of the Orinoco Queen consisted of five men and a boy, two of the men being engineers. This little river craft, however, had a main and fore mast, on which were carried, alow and aloft only, fore-and-aft sails. The men were lanky and brown, dark in hair and eyes, with bare necks and chests, and legs all exposed below the knees. But they were as lithe and active as panthers.

From the very first Creggan and the Duckling knew that they were going to have a real good time of it. Miguel believed in taking life easy. With half-shut eyes, while the yacht steamed slowly up the river, he would lie or recline on a grass hammock on deck, a small perfumed cigar between his lips, making little else save interjectional remarks for an hour at a time.

Miguel had no middle-mind, if I may so express it; that is, he was either dreamy happy in a kind of lethargy, or as active as a pole-cat on the war-path.

In this respect he resembled the monster caymans, or huge alligators with which the yellow-white waters of the river swarmed. Terrible monsters indeed these are! You can see their great heads protruding over the moon-lit water, if you are keeping the middle watch. So lazy look they, that scarcely could you believe that anything could excite them, or wake them into activity. But let a man fall overboard, or—awful accident!—a boat capsize, and they cleave the water, quick as seals, and Heaven have mercy on the mariners, for the caymans have none!

In five days' time, taking it very easy, and often-times landing on wooded islands, or at the mouths of rivers—tributaries to the "Mother of Waters",—they reached Ciudad Bolivar.

Both the Ugly Duckling and Creggan were fond of the beautiful in nature, and everything they saw on the pretty arboreal islands which they touched at was new and strange. Many of these were inhabited, and the languid natives, who lived in thatch huts of wattle and clay, existing for the most part on fish, I think, were exceedingly kind to them. They brought them light wine, fruit, eggs, fish, and goat's milk.

Sometimes on a day of racing clouds and sunshine, Miguel would cast anchor at the mouth of a tributary river, and in his boat would start up stream with his guests.

Such rivers were wondrously beautiful. The overhanging trees, laden down with green foliage till the tips of the branches touched the water, were cloud-lands of a beauty that was rich and rare. For not only were their leaves a sight to see, but the climbing flowers that often bound them into great crimson, blue, or orange garlands, dazzled the eyes with their loveliness.

I said the branches bent downwards, yes, and formed cool sylvan arbours, in which the boat could lie for luncheon.

Miguel—kind-hearted he was and thoughtful—had forgotten nothing that could minister to the comfort of his guests, and serve to make this visit to Venezuela an ever-memorable one.

The mosquitoes of these regions are very lively little persons, and very fond of British blood, but a tincture that Miguel gave to the boys with which to rub face and hands, kept them well at bay.

After luncheon Miguel would sing and play for an hour.

Meanwhile the great snakes that lay sometimes all their length on the branches above, or hung head down therefrom, were no source of comfort either to Creggan or his friend. They could not keep from looking at them at first, fearful lest they might drop into the boat; and these serpents are deadly monsters.

"Do not look, my friends," said Miguel; "they may fascinate you."

"Is that story about fascination not all a myth?" said Creggan.

Miguel leaned forward and lit another cigarette before he replied: "Not so, Creggan. I have heard many stories of the power these monsters possess over the minds of men.

"Antoine was in a state of mesmeric fascination—visage pale as death, staring upturned eyes, arms straight down by his side, and clenched hands.

"I fired at once, and the snake fell with shattered head, but writhing, leaping, and dancing body.

"A snake, my friends, never looks more hideous than when, headless, he twists and coils in the thraldom of death.

"My friend Antoine had fainted, but though he soon revived I noted something strange in his manner. It put me in mind of the childish hysterical nervousness of speech and movement a wine-bibber sometimes exhibits.

"But I marked also, that whenever that day he saw a huge snake hanging on a tree, he would stop and gaze at it with dilated eyes, and even after passing on he would turn again and again to look once more into the ever-open glassy eyes of the serpent.

"My friends, the worst was to come. I may tell you first, that the nights at this time were brightly moonlit. Well, we supped and turned into our hammocks, but after I had slept for hours I awoke suddenly with a strange kind of fear and coldness at my heart.

"I naturally glanced towards Antoine's hammock. It was too loose and puckered to have anyone in it.

"My friend had fled!

"I turned out at once and roused my men, and together we hurried down through a bit of savannah to the jungle. I was hoping against hope. But to all our shouting no response was given, except from the throats of wild beasts. We returned to camp now disheartened, to await the coming of daylight.

"At last, dear friends, the sun's crimson rays darted through the deep orange hue on the horizon, and after a hasty breakfast we hastened back to the jungle.

"We had not entered far, when, O Dios! my friends, the sight that met our gaze seemed to turn our hearts to ice. I shall never, never forget it.

"Antoine lay on his back; his face and hands were purple and swollen; on his brow were two vivid spots of vermilion; while his open glassy eyes were staring unmeaningly heavenwards through the trees.

"Dead? Yes, my friend was dead, and coiled around his neck was a large and fearful snake!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

As Miguel finished his little story, Creggan gazed upwards at the overhanging boughs and the ever-present snakes. But his host hastened to reassure him.

"Do not fear," he cried, "do not dread. Snakes are never vicious. They are good and kindly creatures, and at no time will they strike unless attacked, or in defence of their homes and their progeny."

I—the author—have had in my time a larger experience of snakes than I ever at any time desired, and I can quite believe the story that Miguel told his guests that day. Nevertheless, Creggan was never very sorry when the boat was once more out in the open stream.

The bird and insect life in these lonely dreamy woods it would be impossible for me to describe. Suffice it to say, that they were beautiful beyond compare. And yet the birds—that looked like flying flowers—had but little song. Their beauty of colour is granted them by God that they may resemble the orchids, and so deceive their reptile foes. If they sang much their presence would be revealed.

CHAPTER XXIII.

DOLCE FAR NIENTE.

Few authors bother themselves, or their friends either, with maps. But I am an exception. Wherever my bark may be, in whatever part of the globe, on whatever sea, I like to know my bearings and view my position on the chart. It is the same if I journey inland.

Then, when writing my tales, I like my boy and girl readers to be with me, and each of them to keep his or her weather eye lifting, as I do mine. Indeed, as to my latitude and longitude in any portion of this small world, I am as particular and as "pernicketty" as any old maid is over her cat, or her cup of brown tea.

So—if thou lovest me, lad or lass,—just take your atlas and turn to the northern parts of South America, and you shall speedily find Venezuela, and the great Orinoco river also. Cast your eyes inland, along this mighty stream, and you will strike Ciudad Bolivar (Angostura) on the south bank and Soledad on the other.

It was for Soledad that Miguel made tracks first, and here he and his guests went on shore and dined at the poseda or hotel. It was a brisk time here at this business season. For to Soledad come now many a well-laden wain, and many a string of hardy, loaded mules, bringing with them the produce of the northern interior to ship over across stream for Ciudad Bolivar itself.

Tobacco, cereals, horns, hoofs, and hides, with cotton, corn, and rice, great cheeses, poor ill-used pigs, and quacking ducks with fowls in bundles and baskets.

Our heroes were lucky to arrive at such a time, and the landlady, though busy, set aside her best rooms and cooked her best dishes to please the "boy" Miguel, as she fondly called him. The boy had brought his guitar with him, and rejoiced the hearts of many lads and lasses from up country, who had come down with their fathers' wains to buy their dresses and bonnie things, and so go back again happy to the solitude of upland and forest.

Heigho! I fear Miguel was a sad flirt. He wasn't going to play the guitar all the evening, I can assure you. No, he must needs hand the instrument to a friend, while he mingled in the glad, the mad, the merry fandango. Well, those beautifully graceful girl dancers, with their innocent sweetness of face and dark languishing eyes, were enough to make a less susceptive young fellow than Miguel flirt. I cannot say whether Creggan flirted or not—I shouldn't like to say he didn't, but I know he danced, though it was hot work.

Poor Duckling! He was sitting half-hidden in a bank of flowers that adorned one end of the hall.

"I'm too ugly," he told Creggan, "to get a partner. I'll be a wall-flower for one night."

But—think of it—a sweetly pretty girl, after waltzing past through several dances, eyed him many times and oft. I'm sure from what followed that she pitied the poor sailor-boy in his sad loneliness. For presently, fanning herself prettily, she sat near to him.

She peeped shyly over the top of her fan a few times, then summoned courage to say:

"You no can dance—valse?"

He smiled drolly.

"Oh yes, dear, I can dance well. But—but—I think I am too ugly to find a partner."

"No, señor; no, no. A good heart is yours. I see it in your eye. Come, dance with me."

And she waltzed with him almost continually till the poseda closed.

Kind-hearted was she not?

* * * * * * * * * * *

Well, after a few days spent here the yacht was taken over to Ciudad Bolivar, in the neighbourhood of which was Miguel's house. Here dwelt this rich roving lad's mother, and he was the only son. The father had been a man who for many years held very high rank in the country, but the excitement of business and politics killed him at last.

I wish I had time and space to linger over the happy life those young sailors spent for over a fortnight at Miguel's mansion. His little sister—strange to say, she was blue-eyed—took quite a fancy to the Ugly Duckling. It might have been a case of Beauty and the Beast! Some ill-natured beings would not have hesitated to say so, but Natina saw only the boy's mind, and his kindly ways and manners.

She was only twelve. But in her innocence and naïveté she told him once that if he returned in a few years she would love him still more, and that then the padre should join their hands, and they would and should live happy ever after.

Creggan had never seen the Duckling blush before, but he did so now. Still, he held out his brown sailor hand and clasped Natina's wee white one:

"I'll come back, Natina, and marry you.

"Ah!" thought true-hearted Duckie, "shall I ever get here again? Do sailors e'er return?"

However, he ratified the agreement in the most natural way possible, and this precocious little lady henceforward considered herself of no small account, being engaged, you know.

Duckie, as his mess-mates often called him, mostly for fun but partly for fondness, measured her finger and promised to send her a ring. I may as well add here that he did, and that the correspondence kept up between them was, on her part anyhow, of a somewhat gushing description.

The temptation to remain longer at this beautiful house, with its terraced lawns, its tropical gardens, in which were fountains through the spray of which rare and beautiful birds dashed backwards and forwards all day long, and with the grand old forest stretching away behind to the far-off Llanos, was very great indeed, but time pressed, and there was yet very much to be seen in this land of delight. As to the parting between Natina and Duckie, I must tell you that Natina cried a good deal in a quiet way, wiping her eyes with her bonnie black hair, and that, woman-like, one of the last things she said was: