"Señor Duckie will not forget his Natina's little ring?"
* * * * * * * * * * *
Ships from all nations call at Ciudad Bolivar, although the population cannot be over seventy thousand, judging from memory. Then, though the streets are narrow in the business parts, Ciudad Bolivar looks charming as seen on a bright moonlight night—as seen from the river, I mean. The stream here makes an inward bend, forming a kind of bay, and is escarped by bold rocks, on which wave a few trees. Then the houses and mansions rise up and up the hill in rows or crescents, till they reach the top, where stands the lofty cathedral.
Creggan and his friend brought from Ciudad Bolivar many strange curios, and at the first chance that offered he sent these home to his mother, and many to Matty, for sailors when far away at sea never forget the dear ones at home.
After dropping down to the mouth of the river Orinoco, young Señor Miguel stood out to sea some distance to be clear of shoals. Then the wind being fair, though light, fires were banked on the little yacht, and slowly along the coast northwards they held a course.
All around here the sea is very lovely indeed—beyond compare.
When at Miguel's mansion our heroes had been startled by a shock of earthquake, accompanied by terrible thunder and lightning, more vivid than they had ever seen before. Miguel made light of it next day. He said it was only a baby-quake, and couldn't have rocked a cradle or basinette.
Anyhow, it seemed to have brought fine weather, and now the sky above and the sea below were both an azure blue, the wavelets sparkling like diamond dust, and now and then breaking into tiny caps of snow-white spray, as the gentle wind toyed with and fanned them.
Skip-jacks now and then darted from wave to wave; blue-black flying-fish, too, flew high into the sunshine, apparently singing I would I were a bird.
Sometimes these got on board at night, leaping high towards the lanterns. When Creggan saw them there, he picked them up and threw them safely back into the sea.
"Why should we," he said, "who have so many of the good things of this world, cruelly take the lives of those gems of the ocean wave?"
Shoals of porpoises were common enough, and occasionally a sea-cow with splendid eyes would raise her beautiful sleek, dark head above the water, and gaze long and curiously at the white-sailed passing yacht.
Sometimes Miguel laid to his vessel and lowered a boat, that he and his guests might enjoy a few hours' fishing. And it was fishing, too. The fish seemed as keen to be caught as they were in Duntulm Bay when Creggan, our hero, was a little boy, and this brought back to him sunny memories of days never to be forgotten, so that he often closed his eyes in the bright sunshine that he might think once more of the past, and long to be back again in Skye, the Island of Wings.
A week after this we find our heroes in the yacht anchored in the Caño Colorado—Caño meaning a creek; but in this case, at all events, it really is no creek, but the long quiet mouth of El rio del Guarapiche, a river that, rising afar among the wild hills and forests of the west and north, sweeps briskly on for many a league, forming here and there a cataract, and here and there a broad brown pool, where fishes love to bask in the sweet sunshine or leap gladly up to catch the passing flies.
It is all youth and sunshine and joy with the river at first. Beautiful wild flowers nod over its banks and use it as a mirror, bright-winged birds dip in it as they go skimming through the air, and cloudlands of trees bend down to kiss the gurgling stream. But after many more miles, it goes roaring through dark wild cañons, and is overhung by frowning rocks which narrow and deepen it. The river passes through jungle also, where nightly the wild beasts fight and roar. Then, getting broader now—its happy youth all gone,—less transparent old age seems to gather over its once glad waters, till, weary at last, it glides calmly, softly, into the great Atlantic Ocean.
Miguel landed at the Caño. The young fellow appeared to have friends everywhere, and to be everywhere as welcome as early primroses.
The owner of a property that lay up a creeklet, and had thereon a pretty wooden bungalow, was most happy to see Miguel and his friends. Of course they must stay to dinner, and that meal was one that Creggan could not despise. Delightful curry, most delicious fish, plantains, sweet potatoes, and the rarest of fruit.
And so with talk and song the evening passed away. Then down the creek in the starlight they dropped, and just about
"The wee short 'oor ayont the twal"
everybody was fast asleep—except the sentry—on board the yacht.
On next day towards Maturin.
In no hurry, however. 'Twas best to lounge and dawdle thus, enjoying the dolce far niente by the river's green wooded banks, or out amid-stream in the sparkling sunshine.
On shore many times and oft, however, to enjoy the scenery. Once a huge and insolent cayman attempted to seize a boatman where he sat. They were just then nearing the yacht. Almost instantly after the crack of a heavy rifle in the bows of the Queen sounded the death-knell of that terrible cayman. Even before the sound had ceased to reverberate from rock to rock, he was lashing the water with his tail like some fabled monster of a bygone age, and dyeing the water with his blood.
Once they landed on the north bank of the river, and after dragging the light boat a long way through a rough country, they launched her on a lovely lake of cerulean blue, that, extending far on every side, looked like some vast inland sea.
Miguel had brought along to-day an extra good luncheon. The water teemed with fish, so sport was excellent. They landed in a little cove,
"O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green",
and there in cool umbrageous shade they dined. Then romantic Miguel, who never went anywhere without his sweet-and-sad guitar, played and sang.
They returned not until the moon was shining high and clear over the mirrored lake. Some hands from the yacht met them in the landing-cove, and the boat was again dragged riverwards.
Not without adventure, however.
Creggan always took with him from his ship a Highland plaid, to be worn at night if belated. He was wrapped in that—happily for him—on this particular evening.
The boat was still being dragged along a terribly rough cattle-track, and Creggan was a little way behind. Suddenly from out the jungle came a roar that seemed to shake the earth, and next moment a huge dark beast sprang high in the moonlit air, and our hero was thrown violently to the ground.
The American lion, his yellow eyes glaring, his red mouth spitting spume, tore at the Highland plaid. But the beast's last hour had come, for with an activity but little less than his own, Miguel attacked him. It was a clear-shining dagger that shone aloft. It descended with a dull thud, and was lifted again wet with red blood. In less than ten seconds the wild beast was despatched.
His skin was taken as a trophy by the men, and presented, after being cured, to Creggan himself. That skin is now lying as a rug in the drawing-room of Creggan's mother's house at Torquay.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Half-way up the river Guarapiche lies the town or city of Maturin. Spanish, of course, with quaintly-tiled or thatched houses, laid out in terraces, streets, and squares.
The people are peaceable enough, though sometimes quarrels ensue in gambling or drinking dens, knives are drawn, and red blood spurts all over glasses, decanters, and counter.
There are many Europeans here, and, I think, they stand by Scotch or Italian. The latter may occasionally draw a stiletto, but Sandie doesn't. Sandie usually owns a fist as hard and big as the butt-end of an elephant rifle, and if a row begins, he finds that fist wondrous handy.
I believe that Miguel never thought anything about the cruelty of cock-fighting and bull-baiting; and at his invitation our young heroes went to see both. They were disgusted with the former, and even more so with the latter. The poor horses are often gored even to death, and on that night our Creggan and his friends saw one unhappy animal rushing wildly around the arena with—will it be believed?—a portion of his entrails gushing from his side. The only incident of this one-sided bull-fight which the Ugly Duckling really enjoyed, was when a bull picked a fallen matador airily up by the trews—the fellow was on his face—and flung him over into the crowd.
The twisting of the tails of the bulls is very cruel and shocking. The matadors want Britishers to believe that they throw the bull over by sheer strength of arm. Nothing of the sort. The nobler animal throws himself over to avoid the excruciating agony of the twist.
These matadors are, as far as I could ever judge, cowardly fellows, as all cruel men are. I asked one once to have a boxing round or two with me, for love. He excused himself prettily in Spanish, and I think he did well, because there was no hospital anywhere near to carry him to after the engagement.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Well, the time was getting on, flying fast indeed, but to return without seeing the strange, wild, and dreary scenery of the Llanos would have been out of the question.
The yacht was left in charge of its somewhat ragged crew, and the three friends with servants and plenty of arms for sport—well provisioned too—started at last, and after a long, stiff climb found themselves, full three hundred feet above the sea-level, on a wide and open plain.
It extended—oh, such a distance far away to the horizon! The sea itself seemed less extensive than these
"High plains......
And vast savannahs, where the wandering eye,
Unfixed, is in a verdant ocean lost".
The vast and lonesome uplands, called Llanos, on which our heroes now found themselves, are the pampas of the far southern districts of South America.
There is a weirdness about them, especially in the silence of the night, that strikes one with awe. But sometimes, indeed, day is more silent than night, for then the stillness is unbroken by howl of wild beasts or scream of birds of prey. So quiet is it then on some portions of the Llanos, that you can hear the sound of the human voice in ordinary conversation full two hundred yards away, while if you wander long here, so great is the strain on one's nerves that the slightest sound will make one start—a tiny snake rustling among the grass, a breaking reed, or lizard nibbling at a stalk of couch.
Humboldt, the great traveller, is not, I fear, much read nowadays, but he speaks about these solitary regions as follows:—
"Here in the Llanos, all around us, the plains seemed to rise to heaven; and this vast and silent desert appeared to our eyes like a sea that is covered with sea-weed, or the algae of the deep ocean. According to the inequality of the vapour floating on the atmosphere, and the alternate temperature of the breezes contending against each other, was the appearance of the horizon; in some places clearly and sharply defined, in others wavy, crooked, and, as it were, striped.
"The earth there seemed to mingle with heaven. Through the dry mist we sometimes perceived palm-trees in the distance. Stripped of their leaves and green feathery summits, these stems, rising out of the low-lying fog, resembled the masts of ships, which one descries on the horizon at sea."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Miguel's little party was accompanied by donkeys; some of these had panniers, on which the luggage or baggage was carried, as well as the general commissariat. But while two of Miguel's sailors trotted on foot, he himself with Creggan and his friends bestrode strong and agile donkeys.
As guides, they had two hardy Llaneros or plainsmen. These fellows are wilder far than your Mexican cow-boy,—who, by the way, is just as often as not a braggart and a coward. But your true Llanero, with his brown skin, his tattered clothes and cow-hide boots, and the ever-ready lasso across his chest, a knife or pistol in his belt, is as daring as a puma or panther itself. He knows no fear, and takes no hurt wherever he sleeps, or however hard his toil and poor his fare.
No need for a traveller to fear these men. Treat them fairly and squarely, and they will do their duty, ay, and fight to grim death for the man they have undertaken to watch and guide.
Our brave youngsters were marching southwards and west, and would so march for days, until, after crossing many a creek and cañon, and many a river that goes roaring, brown and awful, through gorges among the hills and woods, they should strike the River Tigre itself.
One of the rivers they crossed is wildly beautiful—the Mapiriti. They spent two nights and days near to its green banks, and in a bonny wooded and bosky glen. But they had shooting and fishing also.
Night alone was dreary—and dangerous too. To protect the donkeys from the attacks of wild beasts, they had to cut down branches and throw up a kind of laager, for after supper was cooked and eaten, and the fires burning low warned them that it was time to sleep, the cries and roaring of beasts of prey began, and the brutes came all too close to camp to be agreeable. But the sentries—two there were—had orders to fire if they heard but a bush stirring. The quick sharp ring of the rifles generally ensured peace for a time.
Miguel slept on some bundles of grass, with a pillow of the same material. Nor wild beasts, snakes, nor mosquitoes ever seemed to annoy him.
But the Ugly Duckling and Creggan had each a hammock, hung gipsy-fashion from crossed sticks a few feet above the ground.
After Creggan had said his prayers and lain down, he used to promise himself that he would lie awake for some time and think of his far-off Highland home. But he never succeeded in doing so with any degree of satisfaction. The fatigue of travel, the pure, fresh, and bracing air, to say nothing of a good supper, all tended to induce slumber, and soon indeed was he in the land of forgetfulness, seldom opening his eyes till breakfast was steaming and simmering over the fire.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I must draw in my horns, as the snail said to the blackbird; for it was not my intention to give an elaborate account of this great land of Llanos, of broad bright rivers studded with islands like emerald gems, of cayman-haunted creeks, of green savannahs, of waving palms, of deep dark forests surrounding many a lonesome gloomy leaden lake, and of mountains towering to the moon. No; see Venezuela for yourselves, boys. If you do, you can say afterwards that you have lived, should you never visit any other foreign land save itself.
Suffice it to say that, laden with the spoils of the chase, the Queen one beautiful forenoon brought our heroes safely back to the mouth of the great river Orinoco, and that their arrival was a scene of rejoicing.
Poor Admiral Jacko was worn and thin, for sadly had he missed his Ugly Duckling, and now sprang into his arms with a fond and plaintive cry, and in his own strange language told him a weary, weary tale.
It was delightful to get home again to the ship after all, and that night, after they had dined with the captain, Miguel being also a guest, our wanderers slept more soundly than they had done for many and many a day.
I may tell my would-be or will-be sailor-boys, that time flies fast enough when one is serving in a pleasant and happy ship on a foreign shore. Just a little weariness and longing there may be for the first month or two, then one settles down.
You do not cease to think of home, however. As regards love of home, absence really makes the heart grow fonder. You think of it often and often when keeping your lonesome middle-watch, as you gaze upwards at the star-studded sky, or outwards far across the darkling sea, and you dream of it while rocked in your hammock or tiny cabin-cot; and somehow these dreams are nearly always pleasant. Then again, a dear delight it is to receive letters from home. The next greatest pleasure is in writing them.
Writing letters home, as far as the Royal Navy is concerned, is an occupation one should engage in at all odd moments. The letters should be ready to go at any time, for you never know when a chance may occur. A homeward-bound ship may be sighted and lie to, then aft and forward rings the cry, "Letters for home!"
If the midshipman of the watch or a bo's'n draws aside the gun-room curtain, and shouts "Any letters for England, gentlemen?" and you have not got yours ready, owing to a spirit of procrastination that lately dominated you,—well, you will be ready to bite the tip off your tongue. You will feel just real mad with yourself.
But so many incidents and adventures, to say nothing of duty's strict routine, go to make up a sailor's life, whether young or not, that it is wonderful how speedily pass the months, ay, and the years too, until the "Ordered home" arrives.
Then indeed is there excitement. But once the jib-boom is pointing straight ahead towards our own beloved land, time no longer flies, it abjures the swift, darting flight of the swallow and lags along at the pace of a slug.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Well now, two whole years have passed away since Creggan and his friend made that memorable though all too brief tour in Venezuela with the kindly young landsman Miguel, and it would be difficult indeed to cram the story of all their ups and downs into even a dozen chapters. I have no such intention. In fact, though I tell this story from the life, it is impossible for me to remember all they did or didn't do in that time.
I will just inform you, that at the end of two years they were once more back again at the mouth of the great white rolling Orinoco, and, as history repeats itself, Miguel once more came on board, looking not a bit changed, and once more Creggan and the Ugly Duckling went with him up stream to his mother's beautiful mansion.
This time they intended going no farther, but they were accompanied by dear, kind little Sidney Wickens, and also by their two staunch friends, Hurricane Bob and Oscar.
Now, I must tell you something. Sidney was a genial but quiet young fellow, whose very manner appeared to invite the confidence of his fellows, and when, one evening, nobody but he and Duckie sat together in their little mess-room—this was shortly after their first visit to Venezuela,—the latter had suddenly begun to laugh.
"Oh," cried Sidney, "give us a chance to join you, old man. A good laugh is invaluable, from a health point of view."
"Well, I'll tell you, though I wouldn't tell everybody."
"No? Well, let me hear."
"Then," said the Duckling, "you wouldn't think that anyone so awfully ugly as I am would have a little sweetheart."
"My dear fellow," said Sidney soothingly, "I'll tell you the truth. As to beauty you are not an Adonis, but your manner is so good-natured and pleasant and humorsome and all that, one never thinks about your features. Besides, as a rule girls hate pretty faces on men; that is, sensible girls do."
"Well, but my sweetheart is only a child."
"Tell me."
The Ugly Duckling did, from the beginning of the story down to the parting and the promised engagement-ring.
Sidney was much interested.
Then getting up he said quietly, "I'll be back in a minute."
He drew aside, the curtain and disappeared. Down to his big sea-chest in the cockpit he dived, and soon returned singing low to himself, with his jewel-case in one hand. He placed it on the table, and opened his show of sparkling gems.
"Give me that bit of cardboard," he said, "with the size of Natina's finger in it. Ah!" he cried jubilantly a moment after, "this one will just fit. A trifle large, but her sweet wee finger will grow to it. See how it sparkles! Isn't it just too awfully lovely for anything?"
"But, dear Wickens, I—I—"
"Come now, none of that. If you won't have it, why, I'll keep it and give it to the pretty Natina myself, and so cut you out."
"I shall have it," cried his companion laughing as he stretched out his hand, "But, how can I thank you?"
"By not saying a word. If you thank me I'll shy a bit of biscuit at you. So there!"
Well, on this second visit the Ugly Duckling would not go up stream without Sidney, and they all spent a most happy week.
Of course Natina was greatly delighted with the ring, and just as pretty and affectionate as ever, only she divided her affections most impartially between the dogs and the Duckling.
Miguel gave a party and a dance or play every night. His guests stopped at the mansion, and when good-byes were said at last they were very sincere indeed, and, as far as innocent little Natty was concerned, accompanied by tears.
* * * * * * * * * * *
The Osprey had got her anchor up, and started now on a very long cruise indeed—all the way to New Zealand and Australia.
I always think the study of a really good map of the world is quite a delight. It gives one such a thorough insight as to the bearings of his own little land, to the seas and vast continents in other parts of the globe. Geography, I believe, should always be taught and learned in the easiest and most pleasant way possible.
Now, I suppose that if I were to tell you that Cape Horn was the southernmost point of land in South America, and that the ship was now going to coast down and round this stormy cape, you would naturally think her course would lie south all the way.
Not at all. Oblige me by looking at your map.
And now let us sail along in the jolly old frigate.
We leave, then, the mouth of the mighty Orinoco, and instead of steering south it is pretty nearly all easting until we reach Trinidad, the most southerly of all the West India islands, then our course is about south-east and by east till we cross the burning equator and round Cape St. Roque, then about south till we look in at Rio Janeiro.
Rio Janeiro stands next to Edinburgh as the most romantic in situation and surroundings in the world. The city itself perhaps looks best at a distance—well, Scot though I be, I must confess that there are some parts of Old Edinburgh itself that at best will hardly bear close inspection. Rio simply means a river, and Rio Janeiro is the city of romance.
We take a course now with a bit of westerly in it, and in time reach another Rio—the Rio de la Plata. Yonder on our starboard beam lies the great and painfully-neglected Argentine Republic.
Coasting still to the south we skirt the shores of Patagonia.
Somehow we associate everything big and large with this long stretch of wild country. Land of giants, land of the llama and swiftly-bounding guanaco. Land of the lasso, too, and stalwart men on fleet horses that can use it. Not a bad lot of fellows at all, if you take them the right way.
But here we are at the entrance to the Straits of Magellan. No, we are not going through this voyage. We pass between the coast and the lonely Falkland Islands. These islands of the far south are somewhat akin in climate to our Orkneys, healthy and bracing, though the country is subject to terrible storms. It has hills and dells and glens, with many a dark tarn and rippling stream, crowded with fish that are by no means shy. The islands number about eighty in all. The summer is very pleasant. If you and I go there to spend a few months, reader, we'll have excellent sport, and no letters or morning papers to worry over. The Falklands are almost treeless, but that does not signify much so long as one is happy and can eat a good breakfast.
Well, here is Staten Island. Rather different is this Argentine isle from the Staten of New York.
Ugh! how bitterly the north-western winds are howling around its rocks. And see, yonder—summer though it be—its dark gloomy cliffs, home of the penguin and many a strange bird besides, are capped with snow; so, too, are its mountains.
Occasionally now a sea-elephant looks up to stare at us, and now and then a shoal of the ubiquitous porpoises go dancing and cooing past, or a solitary whale ploughs across our hawse but deigns not even to look at us. He or she is intent only on her own business. Perhaps she has a calf alongside her sucking like an overgrown puppy—great, sweet innocent,—and she is taking it north to warmer water.
My conscience!—as they say in the north of bonnie Scotland,—how ships that can only sail have to rough it while rounding the Cape! Snow and fog, icebergs, and sometimes howling winds from the west-north-west!
"And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold;
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald."
Yes, green enough as to its sides sometimes, but all clad in deep, deep snow above.
And we now walk the icy decks carefully, blowing occasionally on our half-frozen though mitted fingers. The ear-lappets of our sou'-westers are pulled down, our faces being either blue or white according to the strength of the circulation.
Small pieces of ice rattle along our quarters and bump us, but we care not for that; we do but pray that in the darkness of night we may not foul the fore-foot of some fearful berg. Should we do so, backward our barque would reel and stagger, to sink all too soon in the deepest, blackest sea, that rolls anywhere around this terrestrial ball.
To our starboard, though we cannot see it, lies the terrible island of Tierra del Fuego, literally the Land of Fire. Land of the canoe islanders, the most implacable savages to be met with anywhere. Who is going to take his life in his hand and spend a year in exploring this wild country? Will you come with me, boy-readers? Why, we should make a name to ourselves, if not fortunes. We should come back, if the savages didn't roast and eat us, with a book. We should add much to the geography and the anthropology of the world, and discover—coals.
But our ship is clear away from the black stormy sea at last, and clear of the ice.
So we sail merrily on across a wide and trackless ocean on a beam wind for weeks and weeks, till, hurrah! we are past Bounty Island and reach bonnie Dunedin itself. And here let me tell you, that if there be a single drop of Scottish blood in your veins, you are sure of a Highland welcome.
The cruise described in this chapter is just as near to the life as I can make it, and pretty much what our bold crew of the Osprey found it. And the paddle-frigate soon after this came across the new flag-ship for the Australian station. Captain Leeward himself boarded her, accompanied by a lieutenant, leaving the other officers to wait impatiently for his return.
"I wonder," said the Ugly Duckling to Dr. Grant, "if we shall be ordered home."
"Not the ghost of a chance of that, mother's brave and beautiful boy," replied Grant; "but we'll have letters, and lots of further despatches sending us off wild-goose chasing all over the world."
"Well, I like it," said Creggan.
"So do I," said Sidney Wickens.
Creggan was twenty-one now, and a handsome sailor he looked in his jacket of blue, with his budding moustache of darkest down, his bright face, and happy smile that nothing could banish.
When Captain Leeward returned, they soon found that Grant was right in his surmise. There was no "Ordered home", but plenty of despatches for many parts of the world.
There were letters from home. It is needless to say that these were hailed with delight.
But there was something else as well, namely, an order addressed to sub-lieutenants Creggan Ogg M'Vayne and Sidney Wickens to repair forthwith on board the flag-ship and pay their respects to the admiral.
"Something good, I'll be bound!" said Grant. "Ah, you're lucky lads! The Lords Commissioners seldom think of us poor slaving surgeons. Heigho!"
The admiral received them on his quarter-deck with great affability. Then he asked them in to his own quarters and bade them be seated.
"I have good news for you both," he said, "and, not to go about the bush, you are both promoted to be lieutenants.
"And," he added, "you can go home in the D——, which will sail from Port Phillip a month hence, and take up your commissions."
Both the young fellows smiled joyously and thanked him.
"Well, sir," said Creggan, "is it absolutely necessary that I should go home? Could you not grant me leave to remain in the dear old Osprey, mess in the gun-room, and see all that is to be seen until the paddler is ordered home?"
The admiral laughed right heartily.
"Well," he said, "it is the drollest application ever I heard. What about you, Mr. Wickens?"
"Oh please, admiral, I'll go home."
"Then I grant you leave to stay, Mr. M'Vayne. But I have still better news to give you.
"Commander Flint," he added with that pleasant smile of his, "under whom you served, and whose life you saved in a particularly gallant way, has been moving heaven and earth, and Whitehall as well, to obtain for you the Victoria Cross for conspicuous bravery in presence of the foe. And I think I can assure you he will be successful, so you may look forward, Mr. M'Vayne, to having that grand decoration conferred on you by the hands of our dear Queen herself."
Creggan felt himself growing red and white by turns. He could only blurt out a few words which I dare say were very stupid. But the admiral laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.
"Go on board your own ship now, Lieutenant M'Vayne, and say no more. But you must both come and dine with me to-night. Till then, adieu."
Every man-Jack felt sad when Sidney Wickens sailed for home. He had endeared himself to all. And his mess-mates never saw him more. He was buried, I think, at sea, in the bosom of the blue Levant.
And now, if you will take one further wee glance at that prettily-coloured map of yours, you shall find Australia easily enough. But look at its northern shores, and you will be able to see a great gap there called the Gulf of Carpentaria, and on its eastern shore and point is Cape York, separated from the large island called New Guinea by the Straits of Torres. There! I am teaching you geography in a more pleasant way than you have it dished up at school.
Well, this vast island has never been really or thoroughly explored, for two reasons principally, because the inhabitants—a mixture of Papuans and aboriginal Australians—are never quite civil to white men, and because the climate is moist among the forests or tropical verdure that lies low along the shores, and fever, therefore, always ready to make a victim of the adventurer. But inland, if one gets safely through the regions of damp and forest fogs, will be found many a beautiful hill and dell, quite a mountain-land, exceeding in romantic grandeur some parts of Scotland itself.
It was in 1889 that brave Sir W. M'Gregor explored the island—to some considerable extent. New Guinea, he found, is almost everywhere clothed with rich and highly diversified flora. His party, after passing successively through the dominions of tropical plants, such as the cocoa-nut, sago, banana, mango, taro, and sugar-cane, and of such temperate or sub-tropical growth as the cedar, oak, fig, acacia, pine, and tree-fern, were gladdened in the higher slopes by the sight of the wild strawberry, forget-me-not, daisy, buttercup, and other familiar British plants; while towards the summit these were succeeded by a true Alpine flora, in which Himalayan, Bohean, New Zealand, and sub-Antarctic forms were all numerously represented.
And this was the strange wild island to which the Osprey was now to steer. On what business bent I never could say for certain. But I rather think it was to spy out the land; our own half that is, for we kindly and considerately permit the Germans and Dutch to do what they like with the other half. Neither make good colonists; the Dutch are too slow, the Germans too frightened at natives.
These savages are either quite peaceable and industrious, or wild and fierce, with a strong liking for "man-meat" or "long-pig". These terrible wretches like pork, but will lick the backs of their black hands, and declare to you, that there is nothing in the world to beat roast missionary, as a piece de resistance, or cold side-dish. The fiercest tribes live among the mountains.
* * * * * * * * * * *
The Osprey, with fine weather nearly all the way, reached Cape York, lying in for a few days at the port of Albany.
Then she stood right away north to Port Moresby, where is a British government-station—not of great consequence, it must be admitted. Here the anchor was let go, and boats came off from shore. Our people shook brown, sun-tanned hands with their countrymen, and a hearty welcome was accorded to all.
The blue-jackets were permitted to land in relays, on pain, however, of punishment if they interfered in any way with the Papuan natives. For really Jack's ways with niggers—as he calls all black or even brown people—are sometimes rather free and easy, to say the least of it.
Now, Captain Leeward was fully alive to the quiet pluck and bravery that Creggan and his friend the Ugly Duckling had ever exhibited in the presence of danger, and would have trusted them to go anywhere and do anything. And they were always so willing and cheerful, that it was a pleasure to the captain to let them go exploring whenever so minded. He knew they would not be foolishly rash.
Well, when Creggan and his friend landed, they determined to have a good look around, and even to make a dive into the splendid tropical forest behind the settlement.
They took Goodwin the mate with them for a bodyguard, with one sailor, bold Jack Hing—poor fellow, he was afterwards drowned on the China station. For a handful of coppers they obtained the guidance of a "boy". This "boy", however, was fully forty years of age, judging from appearance. But he seemed kindly disposed, showed a splendid set of teeth when he smiled, and looked generally jolly.
Both Hurricane Bob and Oscar went on this picnic, and how they did scamper around and enjoy themselves, to be sure! But I must add that they sadly frightened the black ladies and children, as the Ugly Duckling grandly called them. They ran shrieking away as soon as Bob's voice sounded along the beach, and hid themselves in the cool darkness of their leaf-and-bamboo huts.
This tribe seemed very industrious. They were allowed but little rum. It is that which turns the ordinary savage into a wild raving maniac, and causes him to run "amok" with knife, or spear, or nulla, slaying every man, woman, or child he meets till he himself is slain.
The people here made pretty baskets, and worked in clay also, even young children assisting. Then Creggan found near to the shore many cultivated fields surrounded by wattling and hedges. In these grew paddy, sweet potatoes, and the lordly yam.
The men, too, went out fishing. There are two species of boats here. One I might describe as a kind of Papuan gondola of large dimensions. About fifteen tons or over. These boats are low in the centre, but sweep upwards at the stern and bows, rather prettily too. Then there is the ordinary dug-out, which is simply a tree-trunk formed into boat-shape by axe and adze, the inside finished off with fire to harden it, after which thwarts are nailed, or rather pegged across. But your dug-out would turn turtle if not fitted on each side with long out-riggers. This dug-out is common also in most parts of savage Africa.
Creggan's guide on this occasion was a very good specimen of his tribe. When you see one grown man you know what the rest are like. The guide, then, was as black as—as—I was going to say soot, but that is really a black that has a rusty tinge in it. As black, then, as the inside of an empty tar-barrel with the bung in.
Well, Ephraim—as Creggan called him, though why I am sure I could not tell you—had, to begin with, such a mop of frizzly hair, that had you turned him upside down it might have been used to sweep the decks with. This hair was black, but intermixed with silvery threads. Both brows and nose were rather prominent. His nostrils were wide, and moved about with every word he said. He was most spirited too, emphasizing every voluble sentence with strange gestures and shrugging of shoulders.
Most of the men seen had their hair and beards stained with reddish clay, but not so Ephraim. He was proud of his gray hairs. His mouth was quite the same as the real African nigger; wide enough to have engulfed an ordinary-sized turnip, and the lips were very bulgy and thick. Armlets, bangles, and ear-rings of brass are common to both sexes.
Little children went about entirely naked. Ephraim's whole suit of wearing apparel could not have cost much anywhere. He had a bit of manilla rope round the waist, to which his sheathed knife was fixed, and to which also was attached what looked like a dirty towel. This was tied to the rope in front, passed between the limbs, and was tied to the rope again at the back. But there was nothing repulsive about this man. He looked bold, erect, and honest; nor would his glance have quailed before the Queen.
His wife, for he had one, was positively prepossessing; and I am really glad to testify to this, for the pictures of Papuans placed before our school-boys are terrible caricatures.
Ephraim's wife was certainly undressed from the waist upwards, with the exception of bangles and a necklace of teeth, and pretty shells, pink and snow-white. From the waist to the knees she wore a skirt of grass cloth, surmounted by a shorter one of fringed cocoa-nut fibre. She smiled affably and innocently when Creggan spoke to her, showing teeth as white as those of a six-months-old Newfoundland dog, and she glanced upwards at the handsome lieutenant with eyes that were certainly beautiful.
There was something truly good in Treekee's heart, I'm sure, for seeing the dogs pant, she brought a calabash of water, and lying down beside them in the shade of a tree-fern, made them drink from the half of a cocoanut-shell.
Honest Bob licked Treekee's black face to show his gratitude.
That day our heroes had a long tour through the forest with Ephraim and his wife. They had come armed, but did not find much to shoot, so they contented themselves by making a collection of splendid butterflies and beautifully-coloured beetles.
Ephraim got them back by three o'clock. He then proposed that they should be rowed over in dug-outs to visit a lake-village. Their own boat was hauled up safely under the banana-trees. So away they went.
It was certainly the strangest little town that Creggan had ever visited. It consisted of about sixty huts in all, each of which was elevated above the water on strong poles or scaffolding, fully nine feet above the surface.
The walls of these huts were of bamboo, that is, the framework. Over this slabs of pith were placed. The roofs were of grass and plantain leaves, and each was supplied with a shutter, generally open all day to admit light and air, and get rid of smoke. Into one of the largest of these huts our heroes crawled by a withy ladder, while Ephraim returned, promising to be back an hour before sunset.
Well, Creggan was quite astonished at the amount of room inside this lake-dwelling, although the walls from platform to eaves were only about five feet high.
The floor was of pith over bamboo, and spread with a charmingly-worked grass carpet. A fire could be lit, when needed for cooking purposes, on a red-clay hearth at one end. But at present it was out, so the room was delightfully cool.
Their welcome was a hearty one, and as Creggan had brought beads and ribbons and tobacco as gifts, the owner—a fine-looking specimen,—his young wife, and two toddling children were all delighted.
But Creggan, or rather Goodwin, had brought also a bountiful repast. There was quite enough for all.
The chief—if chief he was—nodded significantly to his wife, muttering something that our young fellows could not understand. She immediately arose and put both children to bed in a corner. They didn't require any undressing, for the dear wee black totties, as Ugly Duckling called them, wore nothing save a string of kangaroo teeth.
Then the good lady brought knives and spears, and other implements of savage warfare, and laid them down on the mat on which Creggan and his friends were squatting.
This was an act of good faith, and said plainly enough:
"Lo! you are safe in my hut. Behold I place all my weapons at your feet."
But this chief could talk fairly good English, and he spun some terrible yarns, about the fierce men who dwelt among the wild mountains. He entreated them not to venture there, else they would return "plenty dead, and much bloody".
This was not encouraging, so Creggan thought over a plan he had formed for visiting the hills, and finally gave it up, for a time at all events.
"Plenty bad mountain men. Plenty white men dey makee fat, den roast and gobble up. Brains smashee out wi' one club. Oh, mountain men plenty mooch big fellows!"
"But for all that," said Creggan to his friend, "I should like to go some day."
"Yes," replied the Duckling; "but I wouldn't like to be fed up and killed and cooked—eh, would you?"
"Roast duckling and green peas," said Creggan maliciously. "Come, sing these folks a song, old chap, and you sha'n't be cooked. There!"
The Duckling did as told, and the chief and his wife seemed charmed. Even the children sat up on one end in the corner, and rolled their white eyes in ecstasy.
So the time passed away very cheerfully indeed. But lo! just before the hour for the dug-outs to arrive a squall came on, the water or spray dashed high over the roof of the hut, and when Creggan peeped out it was all a-smother as far as he could see.
They hoped against hope that the weather would moderate, but squall succeeded squall, and soon darkness fell over land and water. It was evident, therefore, that our heroes were prisoners for one night.
Well, your true sailor always tries to make the best of every adventure. They had plenty to eat of their own, and lighting the fire the kindly Papuan lady cooked and placed fish before them on palm-leaf plates.
Then they had delicious fruit—bananas such as you never see in our land, guavas that tasted like strawberries smothered in cream, glorious rosy mangoes, and cocoanut-milk to drink.
They were happy.
More songs were sung, more stories told, and then, with the utmost confidence, our sailor-lads laid themselves back on their mats, using their jackets for pillows, and were soon sound and fast asleep.
Daylight was shimmering in through the crevices of door and shutter when Creggan awoke. The room was hot, so, seeing him wipe the perspiration from his brow, the chief, after nodding a kindly good-morning, opened the gable door.
The water was deeply blue, not a cloud was to be seen in the cerulean sky, and the wind was hushed. Beyond was the beautiful cloudland of forest trees and waving palms, and away on the horizon the everlasting hills.
The others were still asleep.
"No wake," said the chief. "No wake, poor boys. Plenty soon I catchee breakfast. Den my vife she cook. Ah! man-meat no good. Arrack no good. God heself he send de cocoa-nut and de fish. Missional man he tell me foh true."
Then down squatted this strange black man in his doorway, with his legs dangling over, outside. He had a short rod and line, and really the fish required but little coaxing, for he soon hauled up seven or eight big beauties.
These were sprinkled with salt and various kinds of pepper, placed on hot stones over the fire, and covered with fragrant wet leaves. They were soon done to a turn. So were yams and sweet potatoes. Then Creggan asked a blessing, and all declared that they had never eaten a more delightful breakfast in their lives.
By and by a strange kind of chant was heard coming nearer and nearer to the village, and presently the plash of paddles.
Lo! the dug-outs had arrived. So, bidding their kind host and hostess adieu, after filling the children's hands with sweets, they lowered themselves into the canoes and were quickly paddled on shore.
They reached their own ship that forenoon in safety, much delighted with all they had seen and heard, and now, business being transacted, steam was got up, and the Osprey went heading away for far northern China seas.
* * * * * * * * * * *
The letters from home which last mail had brought Creggan were very delightful reading, especially those from Daddy the hermit, from his mother, and little Matty Nugent. Nugent's own letter brought him sad enough news, however, to the effect that poor M'Ian the minister had been borne to his long home by his loving parishioners, and that all that country-side of Skye was plunged in grief.
Mrs. M'Ian and her children, Rory and Maggie, had gone to reside in Perth for the better education of the latter. Maggie, or Sister Maggie, wrote a sad little letter to Creggan—it was really blurred with tears, and grief was en evidence throughout every page of it.
The voyage to Chinese and Japanese waters was a very long but somewhat uneventful one. It took them westward through Torres Straits first, then across the bright and beautiful Sea of Arafura, all dotted with little green-fringed islands hung like emeralds on the horizon. Next, across the Sea of Banda, and so away and away past Molucca and Gilolo, till they skirted the Philippine Isles, Formosa, and Loo-choo, then they were indeed in Chinese waters.
But no storm or tempest had marred the pleasure of this almost idyllic voyage, and they reached Shanghai in safety.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Here they met several man-of-war ships, more than they expected to, and everybody had a real good time of it. Some of these ships of war were sent from the East India station hurriedly, their object being to protect British interests in these waters, and north beyond Corea, in the Sea of Japan.
Well, Japan seems, to look at it on a map, only a little, little island compared to that vast tract of land called China, that teems with its hundreds of millions. True, but Japan is civilized. Japan has a splendid army of fire-eating soldiers, and a navy fit to go anywhere and do anything, while China is still wrapped in the mists of heathendom, and ruled by a government as blind as it is ignorant. Foreigners are hated by the Chinese. Hated and hooted wherever they go. The country is two thousand years behind the age, and not even while I write is it yet opened up to commerce.
Well, Captain Leeward learned now for the first time that war-clouds were banking up in the eastern horizon, that the war-wind would blow from the east, and that soon the storm would burst in all its fury over Corea and the self-conceited Chinese.
No one knew the day or the hour when the first angry shot should go shrieking through the air.
It was a season of breathless suspense, like that which thrills the mariner's heart with its very silence, before the down-come of an awful hurricane at sea; when the stillness is a stillness that can be felt, when the very birds are silent and float listlessly on the smooth oily billows, or perch on the fins of some basking shark.
But a vessel was now sent round to Bombay, and here despatches awaited her which she was to carry back with her to the British fleet in Chinese waters.
We were, it must be remembered, quite neutral in this great and bloody war, but I think that the heart of every true-born Scot or Englishman went out towards the brave Japanese, and followed them with intense interest throughout all their glorious career.
I have no desire at this part of my story to be dry and technical. I am never so. I am built, I trust, on the keel of common sense, but I would rather laugh and be merry any day than talk politics, and would rather spin a good sailor's yarn than preach.
But still it will do the reader no harm to know somewhat of the provocation, that the brave Japanese received, before they let slip the dogs of war. I shall let the historian speak, however. The bone of contention really was the great Peninsula of Corea.
"The first complication in Corea," says the historian, "which threatened the peace of the three countries of the far east, happened in July, 1882. Kim-Ok-Kim and other Coreans had been over to Japan. Surprised and pleased at the wonders they had seen, they came back partisans of progress and enthusiastic supporters of Japanese influence. Their ideas were not favourably received by the ex-regent, or Tai-Wen-Kun, who was a hater of everything foreign, and he began to intrigue with the Min, a peaceful faction in Corea.
"It was then decided to drive the Japanese out of the country by violence. The soldiers were infuriated by having their rations diminished, and then malicious reports about the Japanese were spread about the capital. A furious mob began to hunt to death all the defenceless Japanese that could be found.
"A Japanese officer, who had been drilling the Corean troops, and seven others, were murdered in one day, the Legation was attacked and burned, and the minister with twenty-eight Japanese had to fight their way through the streets of Seoul (the capital), and through the country to the sea, where they embarked in a junk, and were picked up by the British gun-boat Flying Fish, which took them to Nagasaki.
"The Japanese government at once took measures to obtain redress for the outrage; troops were got ready for any emergency, and the minister was sent back to Seoul with a military force. The Chinese also sent troops to Corea. The Corean government had then to apologize to Japan, pay a large indemnity, and give pensions to the widows and relations of the slain.
"Moreover, Japanese soldiers were now stationed permanently at Seoul to protect the Legation."
China did not quite like this, and she sent a still larger detachment of her hen-hearted soldiers; a soldiery that cannot fight half so well as Newhaven fishwives, an opium-eating, deteriorated race, which but to look at makes one think that the end of the world cannot be far away, or that if these creatures called the Chinese are really descended from the ape—with apologies to the monkey tribe,—they are speedily "throwing back", as breeders say, to their ancestry.
Well, for two years longer things went smoothly enough in Corea, though the Min or old fogey party had all the best places.
In December, 1884, a great party was given to celebrate the opening of the post-office at Seoul. This was more than the Chinese could stand, an attack was made, the party was broken up, and there was a massacre of ministers. The old-fashioned Coreans, dominated by the Chinese, wouldn't have progress at any price. There were now the same murderous riots and scenes in Corea, though on a larger scale, that had taken place two years before, and not only were the Japs attacked by a Corean mob, but by Chinese soldiers also.
A convention was afterwards signed between China and Japan, and it was thought that peace would be permanent, but lo! in 1894, Kim-Ok-Kim, the leader in the awful massacres of 1884, was murdered. The facts are these. After the defeat of his party he had fled to Japan, but now he was prevailed upon to visit Shanghai by a Corean, whose front name was Hung. Perhaps he would have been better hung. But he received great provocation from his highness Kim, for the latter gave him a bogus cheque, for money owing, to the tune of five thousand dollars. Hung returned furious and made his way to Kim's bedroom, where he found the man who had fooled him lying down. He shot him twice, and on Kim springing up and rushing into the corridor, his assassin followed and completed the job. He then fled.
Both these men were Coreans, but till now, at all events, Corea was considered but a portion of China, subject to its rule and sway in every way.
Things went on from bad to worse. Two men nagging at each other usually come to blows, and it is the same with nations.
Japan proposed reforms in Corea, China refused to honour these. Corea was shilly-shallying. Corea was like the fat party who sits between two stools, and ultimately falls with legs in the air. Japan was discontented. The memory of the murders rankled in her mind, and she cared not how soon she drew the sword and went straight for stale old China—China the multitudinous, China the effete.
Then came an attack on the king's palace at Seoul.
While hostilities had really broken out war was not yet officially declared. But that lurid cloud hovering over Corea and the seas around, was soon to burst now, and terrible would be the results.
Next comes a brisk little naval action. Chinese men-of-war had been despatched to Corea, and three of the fastest Jap cruisers had at the same time left Sasebo. I don't want the reader to worry over the names of these, for though to my ear they are musical enough they are difficult to remember.
It was not very long before the Japanese cruisers met the two battle-ships of China, near to the island of Phung. (N.B.—So far as the Chinamen were concerned, Phunk would have been a better name for it.)
Now, although the Chinese knew of the doings in Corea and the attack on the king's palace at Seoul, the Japanese had been at sea for several days and didn't. They were, therefore, much surprised to note that the China captains did not return their salute, and that they had really cleared for action.
"Oh, if that's their game," said the commander-in-chief of the three cruisers, "it is one that we can bear a hand in!"
Now, I don't go in for cock-fighting—dog-fighting is worse, and bull-fighting is terribly cruel; but I must confess that the story of a neat little fight at sea makes my eyes sparkle, and I rub my hands with delight.
I sha'n't say much about this battle, however, but the Japs tried to get the Chinamen more into open water. They meant business. The former didn't like it. I suppose they thought the nearer to the land they were the better. Feather-bed sailors, you see. So they opened fire in a nasty, shabby kind of way.
Then at them went the Japs, hammer and tongs. Oh, it was just too awfully lovely for anything, as the Yankees express it. How the guns roared! How viciously the fire spat out through the clouds of white smoke! How I wish I could have seen it!
Well, boys, in a very short time the Kuang-yi (China) was hors de combat, and had to run ashore, and the other battle-ship put up helm and fled to Wei-hai-Wei, so riddled with shot that she looked like a pepper-box, while down from her scupper-holes trickled the blood of her wounded and slain.
But the Chinese—who are nothing if not distorters of the truth—spread the report, or rather tried to, that on the whole they had the best of it
It makes one laugh to read the Chinese report of the battle, especially that yarn about killing the Jap admiral. He was on the bridge, says John, when he was shot, and he leapt so high in the air that he turned three somersaults before descending, dead. Well, I have seen many a Chinaman turn somersaults, but Japanese are not so cowardly active and tricky.
But this brisk little action did not terminate here, for it ended in a fearful tragedy, thus. While the Jap cruisers were chasing the Chinamen, two other ships hove in sight. One was a Chinese gun-boat, acting as tender to the British S.S. Kowshing. This steamer had been chartered by the Chinese to carry troops to Corea, and had on board about twelve hundred Chinese officers and men, with guns, ammunition, &c. The gun-boat was at once captured, and the Kowshing overhauled.
The European officers declared their willingness to return, but the Chinese soldiers rushed to arms. Fools!
The commander of the Jap cruiser, Naniwa, ordered the Europeans to leave. They were not allowed to by the Chinese. Then after a reasonable time the Jap cruiser ranged alongside.
Oh, it was horrible! This great ship-load of helpless men was to be sacrificed to the goddess of war.
Hear the roar of the great guns and the swish of the awful torpedo!
An awful explosion follows on board the Kowshing, and the vessel is enveloped in black smoke and coal dust. The European officers spring overboard to swim for their lives, amidst a rain of Chinese bullets. Again and again the guns of the Naniwa roll their thunders over the sea, and in twenty minutes' time the Kowshing sinks.
No less than a thousand went down in that doomed ship. Nor can we altogether blame the Japs, but I do blame that British greed of gain that leads us to carry the troops of foreign nations, and defiantly run blockades. No one can pity such merchantmen when they come to grief.
The sinking of this ship probably went far to decide the future fate of China in Corea, for had these twelve hundred picked men, under the command of a skilful German general, landed in Corea, it would have gone hard with the Japs at Asar.
War was at length formally declared, and soon it raged fast and furious. But in almost every engagement the Chinese, though double, sometimes even triple in numbers, had to give way before the brave and well-drilled Japs.
I have now to relate an adventure of a somewhat extraordinary kind, and very sad in its way, which is more intimately connected with our story than any narrative of the China-Japanese war could be.
I do not really know how far the old-fashioned, out of-date paddler Osprey could have gone in for protecting British interests. In an engagement, even with a cowardly Chinaman, she would very soon have been paddle-less, and a good shell would have blown her two decks into one.
I grant all this, but the bonnie white flag with its red jack in the corner, that floats astern even on an unarmed man-o'-war officer's boat, is one to be respected, and one that has made many a tyrant tremble and pause thoughtfully, with, figuratively speaking, his hand at his pistol-pocket.
That flag is respected wherever it waves, in battle or in breeze. For behind it, though unseen, lies all the might and power of Britain. Moral suasion is often of more use than Gatling guns, and so here is the Osprey, while around her, many times and oft,
"The battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow".
One morning early, while lying off a Chinese river, it was necessary to send letters to some British families—traders who, with their wives and children, desired to be taken to a place of safety, the Chinese having threatened their lives.
The messages sent were to assure them of protection. They were told to hold themselves in readiness, and that as soon as the weather moderated they would be taken off.
Creggan was sent with this boat—the pinnace,—the Ugly Duckling also, and Goodwin went as interpreter. A good show of marines was also to the fore, and these were to be left with our poor countrymen by the river's brink.
Though the breakers ran mountains high on the bar, there was a gap, and after a long pull and a strong pull Creggan and his merry men got inside. They then hugged the bank, and were at their destination by seven bells in the forenoon watch.
They had come in time, for the Foo-kies, as our blue-jackets used to call the Chinamen, were in swarms, and threatening to fire the houses of the "foreign devils".
I may state here that they afterwards did so, and that our countrymen had to fight for their lives in a laager, till rescued some days afterwards.
Having dispersed the cowardly mob at the bayonet point, and received assurance from the head-man that nothing should happen to the Europeans, Creggan made all haste to join his ship.
They rushed the boat down-stream therefore, and were soon at the gap. Here great caution was necessary, for a boiling sea was being driven in on a high wind to fight with the quick-rolling river.
Alas! they had not gone far, ere a heavy sea struck the port bow and dashed the boat round, broad-side on, to the waves. At the same time three men were washed away and speedily sank.
The breakers rushed over them now, and almost filled the pinnace. To make matters worse, night had all but fallen, despite the haste Creggan had made. Through the mist of that turmoil of breaking water they could just descry the lights of the Osprey, and as Creggan had got the boat's head round again, hope once more began to rise in his heart.
Alas for hope in this case! She was speedily struck by a huge wave, and this time turned keel uppermost.
The officers and one man managed to cling to the upset boat, but so terrible was the war 'twixt river and sea on this dread bar, that the boat was sometimes keel uppermost, and sometimes right side up but swamped.
How they struggled for life no one can ever understand who has not been in the same fearful situation.
The sailor suddenly let go hold, and with a wild shriek threw up his arms and disappeared.
Creggan gave all up for lost. All his young life and loves arose before his mind's eye now, and he prayed, as perhaps he had never prayed before, that God in his mercy might spare them. He soon found that he could hold on no longer, but at that moment a light flashed across his eyes, and a cheery hail resounded loud over the roar of the breakers.
He knew no more until he opened his eyes and gazed bewilderingly around.
A surgeon—Japanese—was bending over him, bathing tenderly a wound in his temple.
"This is not the Osprey?" Creggan managed to mutter.
"No; your ship had dragged her anchor, and when nearly on the rocks got up steam in time and saved herself by putting out to sea."
All this in perfect English.
"Pray, rest quiet," he continued; "you will be safe and sound to-morrow. This is our flag-ship, the Matsushima."
"One word, sir; are any saved but me?"
"Yes, sir; one officer—young, not handsome—and one brave brown man. He would not permit himself to be saved until you and your friend were hauled on board our boat."
How glad was Creggan next morning to meet Goodwin and the Duck. All were fresh, though the memory of the terrible accident lay heavy at their hearts.
* * * * * * * * * * *
The Japanese officers were more than civil, they were the quintessence of hospitality. They would do all they could for our Osprey heroes, but meanwhile they were guarding a fleet of thirty transports, under the command of Marshal Yamagata, who was proceeding to Corea to land 10,000 men, 4500 coolies, and nearly 4000 horses.
The Chinese fleet was somewhere else similarly engaged, and the bold Japs were hoping to meet them.
"Ah!" said the surgeon laughing, as he addressed Creggan, "depend upon it, we shall give them battle and blazes both. You shall see how our bold iron-clad navy can fight."
Both Creggan and his companions were delighted.
"If an engagement does take place," said the former, "I greatly fear that we will not be able to resist the temptation to work a gun or two."
"I was thinking," said the Jap doctor, "that as you belong to a neutral nation, I should requisition your services to assist me with the wounded down below."
"Too tame, doctor, too tame; I'm a Scot, sir."
"Oh!" cried the Jap doctor, "I have read your splendid history, and of all your terrible struggles against the Saxons of the south, five times your number. I loved your Bruce, your Wallace, ay, and even your bold Rob Roy."
"If I may speak a word," said Goodwin, "I am equally unwilling to do cockpit duty."
"Well, well, well!" cried the bright, busy little doctor. "I shall address our admiral, and you all shall fight!"
Not as long as he lives will Creggan forget that memorable morning of September 17th, 1894. Both he and his true-hearted friends were up betimes. Time enough at all events to witness the rich and beautiful sunrise. The fleet, in fine order, was off Hai-Yang, in the estuary of the Yalu river, and were now under steam for Tahi Island, when there came a hail from aloft which, though couched in Japanese, even Creggan could understand.
"The Chinese fleet in sight!"
This was at 11.30.
How that shout made the pulses of every man and officer in the flag-ship, and in every other ship, thrill with joy—
"That stern joy which warriors feel
In foemen worthy of their steel!"
Bustle and excitement followed. Yet not to any very great extent, for in war-time the Japs are like the Britons, "Ready, aye ready".
Now, as far as my knowledge of the battle goes, I think that the fleets were well matched, although the Chinese fleet numbered two ships more (twelve against ten). The Japs had it somewhat in tonnage if not in guns.
But, boys mine, do not let anyone persuade you that because the dashing days of old have passed away, with its ship-to-ship fights and boarding cutlass in hand, men of heart and pluck count for nothing.
Indeed, indeed they do. Give me an admiral as courageous as a lion, smart and clever, and possessed of an eye like a Scottish eagle, with bold captains under him ready to obey every signal, and blue-jackets of the British type on every ship, then I should not care if, in action, the enemy's vessels outnumbered ours. We should capture, sink, or burn them,
"For England, home, and beauty".
The Chinese were well supplied with torpedo boats, and could handle them too, but in manoeuvring they did not show half the skill exhibited by the now cool-headed and calculating Japs.
The battle was almost like a game of whist, owing to the Japanese admiral's far-sightedness. There were also gallant fellows enough to work the signals.
The Jap fleet was divided into a flying and a main squadron. Admiral Ito had one disadvantage to contend against from the first, and I trust we British will not forget the lesson. The ships in his two squadrons were not of the same speed, so that the swift fliers had to wait for the slow.
It would be impossible, without diagrams, to give a correct notion of the evolutions. However, I can refer boys interested in this noble naval battle to books on the China-Japanese war.
It was one o'clock before the two fleets approached on deadly warfare bent. The Chinese in a single line, its strongest ships in the centre, which Ting the Chinese admiral thought would have to bear the brunt of Ito's awful onset.