"And that is?"——
"That is to return with you to America, and see this Señor Sarpinto for myself."
"Oh, daddy," cried Toddie, "you will not leave me."
"Nay, child, you too shall go. I feel we will not be separated."
"That you won't, sir."
"So cheer up, darling, you shall see a little of the world yet."
"And, oh, daddy, I feel sure of one thing."
"What, dear?"
"That we shall find Fred and Frank too."
"The Lord send that your words may come true," said Eean piously.
Then all three returned slowly along the cliff-top.
There was much talk and wonderment in the wee village of Methlin, when it got bruited abroad that Eean and his daughter, as Toddie was always called, were going off with the strange sailor gentleman to America.
And almost the first to hear of it was Bunko, the herd.
Now of late years, through the earnest and indefatigable teaching of Eean, a very great change had come over this strange lad. Simple he might still have been called, but half-witted no longer. He went straight away now and sought audience of Eean.
"I hear," he said, "you're going off to the lands o' America. Well, sir, I've saved ten golden pounds, and I'm goin' too to tak' care o' Toddie. No, no, you canna shake me off."
Eean smiled, and Bunko won.
So it came to pass that when Captain Cawdor, with Eean and Toddie, took passage at Liverpool for Baltimore, Bunko was booked also.
"Heigho," said Bunko, as soon as they were embarked, "I can hardly believe I'm no' dreaming. And we really are going down to the sea in ships, to behold the wonders o' the Lord in the mighty deep."
* * * * * *
Just one month after the sailing of the steamer that bore old Eean and his party to the new world, and early on a beautiful forenoon, Señor Sarpinto was lounging in the gardens of a splendid hotel in San Francisco. At such a time of day as this very few people are to be found lounging anywhere, in this great busy, bustling city, for those who are not engrossed in the work of their lives are intent on pleasure.
But Sarpinto was an idler to-day, and a dreamer as well—that is, if so restless a spirit as his ever could be idle.
He had smoked two or three cigarettes, and lit a fourth, but presently he threw this away, and throwing himself back in his chair, allowed his eyes to rest on a fleecy cloud that was speeding across the blue sky on the wings of a western breeze. There was not another morsel of cloudlet to be seen anywhere.
"All alone! All alone!" he was saying half aloud, "alone like a ship at sea, or like my own time-tossed barque of life. How different, how very different it would all have been had Helena loved me! Ay, it is just seventeen years to-day since I dared my fate, and in these very gardens too, and not very far from this spot. Heigho! how the time flies! How——."
He had not heard the sound of light footsteps advancing, nor noted that anyone was near him, till a sweet soft voice said:
"Oh, please sir, can you tell me which is the path that leads to the gate? I——."
She ceased speaking, and stood before Señor Sarpinto, shy, half-frightened, but wholly surprised. And well she might be. For Sarpinto had clutched the arms of the chair with both hands, and was bending forward, gazing into her face as one might who has suddenly awakened from a strange dream.
"Good heavens! girl," he cried. "Tell me what or who you are, and how you came here."
"Oh, sir!" Toddie began, "I'm sorry—I didn't know, Pray forgive me, sir—but, ah! here come father and Captain Cawdor."
"O, Daddy!" she shouted, running towards the group, and forgetting all about Sarpinto. "I'm so glad you have come. I had lost you."
"But, my dear child," cried the jolly old captain, "I do declare you've found your uncle before us."
"My uncle? My uncle Sarpinto, Captain Cawdor!"
"Ay, ay, lass, and nobody else. Señor Sarpinto, you got my letters explaining all; and here, my dear sir, stands your little niece."
The Señor took a step forward with half-open arms, and next moment Toddie's head was pillowed on his breast. He kissed her brow, then held her at arm's length, that he might feast his eyes on her rare young beauty. The tears came welling up. He struggled to suppress them.
"How like your mother!" he sighed.
Then he kissed her again, and smiled.
"We shall all be very happy," he said. "How pleased I am to meet you, Mr. Arundel," he continued, turning now to Eean and shaking hands right heartily. "But, sir, you are to me no stranger. Many and many a night, when frozen up in the southern sea of ice, I have heard about you, and about Fred Arundel too."
"Yes," he added, looking at Toddie, "and about you, my dear, also, and your Water Baby, and all about your adventures on your desert island. Oh, I assure you, Carissima, Frank was never tired talking about you."
"Oh, sir! oh, uncle! do you think we shall ever see Fred and Frank again?"
"I dreamt we should, mia Carissima, and I have chartered the sturdy old San Salvador for a cruise in southern seas to look for them—for I cannot, will not, believe them dead—and to look also for survivors, if any there be, of my good ship Resolute."
Señor paused for a moment. Then, once more turning to Eean and extending his hand, he said with a pleasant smile:
"Come with me as my guest, friend Arundel, and bring my niece as well. There, I will not be denied."
"In that case I will not refuse," said Eean, "and I shall write to my wife to-night."
"Oh, your wife shall know all about it in an hour! I shall cable."
* * * * * *
Very much surprised indeed was honest, kindly Eppie to receive that cablegram all the way from San Francisco—over three thousand miles of land, across three thousand miles and more of ocean. And the reply was paid for; so that Eean and Toddie had that very evening the pleasure of reading Eppie's message back, and her blessing.
And thus then it happened that, when the San Salvador left the Pacific slope, and once more spread her canvas wings out before the ocean breeze, on her ivory-white quarter-deck sat old Eean, the bard, and Toddie, the latter dressed in the most bewitchingly yachty costume it is possible to imagine, and looking every inch a sailor.
And not very far off, leaning over the bulwarks, was Bunko himself, not looking very like a sailor, it must be confessed, but a well-dressed and interesting figure nevertheless.
Captain Cawdor was in uniform now, and he had not only the same mate, but pretty much the same men, as he had sailed into port with more than a year and a half ago.
One other person deserves a word of introduction. Yonder he is, talking now to Bunko, a Scottish missionary, one of those fearless young men who take life in the left hand, the Bible in the other, and carry the gospel of peace and goodwill to the most savage tribes on earth.
* * * * * *
South and south sailed the good barque San Salvador, and every day a new life seemed to be opening out before Toddie. Her young heart was full of hope; it was therefore full of joy, and she seemed to be part and parcel of all the beauty she saw around her—beauty of sea, beauty of sky, beauty of wild wheeling birds of the ocean wave, and beauty of green islands that seemed to move and float and flit on the world of waters, as the ship sailed past them and away—south, south, ever south.
"And now Frank," said Fred, as the Island Queen stretched away out into the more open sea, and the round moon was rising and casting its silvery rays athwart the waves, "everything depends upon the wind holding. If we get becalmed we'll be boarded by swarms of those savages, in spite of all we can do."
"I don't think," replied Frank, "that there is much fear of a calm taking place. Why, the wind seems to increase every minute since we have left the shore."
"How thankful I am though that we dared all! Ah, Frank, old man! there is nothing like a bit of dash."
"No; dash does it. I've always thought so. First feel yourself fit, and then do a dash."
"That's it, Frank."
The poor fellows who had been delivered from slavery on the island of savages had eaten a hearty supper, and were now one and all fast asleep. Even the Yankee skipper had gone to sleep, with a quid in his mouth.
The breeze in two hours' time had increased to quite half a gale, and Fred began to grow seriously uneasy. The little craft was very much deeper in the water now, for the addition of ten men made a vast difference in so small a ship.
She pitched and rolled to a tremendous extent—she took in water over the bows, she shivered and shook like an old clothes basket when on the top of a wave, and wallowed when in the trough of the seas. In fact she did not behave at all prettily now she was put fairly on her mettle.
By-and-by Fred found it necessary to batten down, although he had to leave a portion of one hatchway open, in order to let those below have a sufficiency of fresh air.
Frank relieved Fred about four o'clock, or eight bells in the middle watch, and feeling completely exhausted, Fred lashed himself to the mast, covered himself up as well he could with a piece of canvas, and was soon fast asleep.
He never stirred, nor, knowing his condition, did Fred permit him to be disturbed until two bells in the forenoon watch.
Though he pretended to be cross with Frank for having allowed him to oversleep himself, he knew that his friend Had done all for the best.
The wind was still roaring through the rigging; but had veered round several points, and the yacht was now close hauled. Far away astern were the green islands they had left on the previous night.
"Whither away, mate?" said Fred.
"'Pon my honour, captain, I haven't the ghost of a notion."
"But you've been steering for the east?"
"Yes, all the watch."
"And I guess that's about as near right as a toucher," said Silas the skipper. "'Cause don't you see we're bound to come among islands o' some kind, and shiver me if they can be a bit worse than those we've left."
"True enough," said Frank.
About five bells that forenoon a heavy sea struck the Island Queen on the weather quarter, and almost laid her on her beam ends.
She slowly righted, however, but hardly was she once more on an even keel than there was a shout from the men below.
"We've sprung a leak!"
Fred handed the tiller to Silas, and rushed down. It was only too true. The water was coming pouring in, in three different places at the bows.
"All hands to bail her out," cried Fred.
And the men set merrily enough to work. Those below filled calabashes, and handed them to others on deck to be emptied overboard.
They kept the water under for a while. But it was soon evident enough she could not float for any length of time.
The question now arose, What was best to be done? and a consultation was held.
"I see nothing for it, young men, except put about and just run back for them same islands," said Silas.
"And beach her?"
"Aye, aye, but look you here, Frank," continued Silas. "I've no great inclination to be crucified alive, and eaten afterwards. I'd rather drown, and be done with it. So we better beach her at the little island to the nor'ard. There is only one landing, and we can hold that again' all the savages in creation."
The skipper's advice was certainly good. So the Island Queen was put about.
It was sad, disheartening work, but there was no other chance of life, so Fred never uttered one single complaining word, and "Heigho!" was all that Frank said.
Towards sundown the savages in Ota's isle must have been considerably surprised to see the white man's little ship standing in again towards the land. But she disappeared all at once, and in all probability they imagined she had sunk with all hands.
The fact is the Island Queen had got in behind the island, and was now in comparatively calm water. But the poor wee ship that our castaways had been so proud of was settling down fast.
It was an anxious half hour.
Every minute they expected she would take the fatal plunge, and the boat was all ready on deck to launch, if indeed they were not sucked down with the yacht. The land had almost taken the wind out of their sails.
But at long last the clear sandy bottom became visible all around them, and a big rolling wave carried them far up on the beach, receded, and left them almost high and dry.
They were safe for one night. That at least was certain, for no canoe could live in the sea that was running outside.
Safe for a night. Yes, perhaps safe for a week; but as soon as the wind should change, and the waves dash into the little land-locked bay, the Island Queen would break up.
So no one thought of sleep to-night. They worked in the dark by pandanus torch and lantern light, and even before the moon rose they had landed all the arms and ammunition, and all the stores as well.
The boat was now hauled well up, and the shipwrecked crew at once set about fortifying their position. It was a curious little bay, and a curious little beach, not thirty yards in width, and flanked at each side by dark frowning rocks, fifty feet high at least. Away into the interior the island was densely wooded, and the land rose into quite a mountain peak, while all around, with the exception of the little bay, the cliffs rose sheer up out of the deep, dark sea.
A barrier of sand and gravel was speedily thrown up across the bay just beyond reach of the waves, and over this they commenced to build a rampart, with a front that was almost inaccessible towards the sea.
Well those poor fellows knew they were working for dear life, so on they toiled all night long, and far into the next forenoon, emulating each other in their feats of strife, and never thinking of either food or drink.
But the barricade was completed at last, and little Cassia-bud, with his friend Hurricane Bob, were set to watch, while the others retired under the shade of the trees to obtain rest and enjoy some refreshment.
Being entirely worn out by their terrible hardships and exertions, nearly all slept till far into the day, when, after another slight meal, a party was detailed to spy out the resources of the island.
It was far better provisioned than they could have believed possible. That it had been at one time inhabited was also evident, for yams were still found growing, and several wild pigs were seen in the woods. The wind continued to blow high all that day and next; but towards night it fell dead calm, and early on the following morning the enemy's fleet was reported in sight, and in full force. This was signalled by a man on the outlook to those below.
By the time breakfast was finished the canoes were in sight. Quite a cloud of them there were, with King Ota himself leading.
Now it suddenly occurred to Fred that the enemy could easily possess itself of the Island Queen, and thus have a coign of vantage from which to hurl their spears and other missiles at the fort. So he called for volunteers to help him to fire the craft.
There were hardly twenty minutes to spare. Indeed, they were not sure of even this time. Quambo sprang forward; but little Cassia-bud was before him.
"You no go," he cried to Fred, "you no go, sah. Nobody go. Cassia-bud fire de ship all by hisse'f."
"You can, boy?"
"Yes," he cried energetically, "I can, plenty quick." He quickly made up a parcel of combustibles, which he tied knapsack-fashion over his shoulders. Then, almost before they could have counted six, the brave little fellow had scaled the ramparts and disappeared towards the beach.
They next saw him boldly paddling through the surf, then climbing cat-like over the vessel's bows, and so along the deck and down the main-hatchway.
It was an anxious time now for those on the ramparts. Every eye was turned at one moment towards the enemy's quickly approaching fleet, that seemed to near the bay with startling rapidity, and next towards the deck of the Island Queen, in momentary expectation of seeing Cassia-bud re-appear.
It appeared a lifetime to Fred since he had gone below.
"Stand by now, lads, to give the foremost boats a volley!" he cried presently. "Don't throw away a single shot."
Onwards swept the boats. They were not seventy yards from the stern of the Island Queen now; but look, smoke comes curling up from both the fore and main hatchways, and then Cassia-bud himself appears. But instead of coming straight over the bows again he rushes aft, and waves his jacket in proud defiance at the savage fleet.
Those on the ramparts shout to him to come on. A shower of spears flies over the decks, and Kashie is seen leaping forward. He falls! He is killed!
No; up again, and bounding along through smoke and flames and flying spears. Over he leaps, on through the surf, and next moment he is on the barricade. A dozen arms are stretched towards him, and next moment he is safe and sound.
"Thank God!" says Fred right fervently.
From stem to stern the Island Queen is soon sheeted in flames, and through the smoke which rolls slowly seaward the canoes appear.
"Give it to them now," cries Fred, "to show them we're not dead!"
A single volley had a startling effect on those sable warriors. Instead of advancing with shouts of terror the foremost rowers threw themselves pell-mell into the sea, and the other canoes beat a hasty retreat.
With a rifle each, Fred, Frank, Quambo, and Mac now betake themselves to the cliff top. They want to prove to those savages that it will be best in future not to venture within a radius of half a mile at least. And this they do in the most satisfactory manner imaginable.
Baffled and defeated where he had expected an easy victory, the greatest king in all the world retires to his island home, and the coast is once more clear.
For five days the savages made no sign, and the beleaguered garrison occupied itself in strengthening the position.
The main anxiety would soon be want of water. Not a drop was to be found in the island except one little trickling rill, that hardly supplied them with a pint a day each. And even this might dry up.
There was now no moonlight, but every night sentries were placed all along the ramparts.
Early on the morning of the sixth day there was not a canoe to be seen anywhere on the sea, and so the men sat down to breakfast cheerfully enough, and even the sentries, completely off their guard, were chatting gaily together on the ramparts.
Suddenly, without a moment's warning, the whole front of the barricade was found to be alive with swarming spear-armed savages.
Luckily every man's revolver was by his side, but the fight that now ensued was terrific. Hand to hand they fought, savages and whites, till the former disappeared at last in the same mysterious way they had come, leaving their dead behind them, and spearing or clubbing all the wounded lest the whites should torture them.
But where had they come from? This was easily explained. They had approached the island under cover of the darkness, and arranged their canoes close under the rocks, and thus out of sight. As soon as this was discovered they were speedily dislodged by the simple expedient of hurling down stones, and as soon as they had put out to sea rifles were once more brought to bear on them.
But by placing sentinels at night here and there on the cliff top no such ruse was again possible.
In this battle the garrison lost two men killed, and had three wounded.
One day Cassia-bud returned from the rock with an empty calibash. The water had given out. Then the sufferings of those unhappy men began in earnest.
The cocoanut supply still held out, however, but the water at last failed to quench the thirst, and the men began to fall sick.
The three wounded men died, and so weak were the others that they could not bury them. All they could do was to drag them to the cliff top and let them roll over into the sea—unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
With the exception of Quambo, Cassia-bud, and Fred himself, not a soul could walk or even creep at last. Their tongues, their very faces, were swollen, their voices were reduced to the hoarsest of whispers, and their red eye-balls burned like fire.
Death was staring everyone in the face, when one morning Hurricane Bob, the faithful dog, was seen coming bounding joyfully from the bush.
He shook himself, and water flew in a shower from his jacket.
"Get the calabash," cried Fred. "Quick, Quambo, quick. Go on, good dog. Find it, boy. Find the water, lad."
The honest fellow gave one quick sharp bark and trotted off in front, the rest following as quickly as they could. He led them straight to a rock in the midst of a wood, and here, pushing a bush aside, he disappeared entirely. It was a cave, and in the centre thereof was a large pool, clear, cool, and sparkling.
Then down beside the cave's mouth knelt Fred, his arm across the great dog's neck, and there and then, with uplifted, tearful eyes, returned thanks to heaven.
* * * * * *
The garrison was now snatched from the very brink of the grave.
But greater joy was to come, for on the very next day, behold, bearing down towards their island, a stately barque under full sail.
Would she see their signals, their frantic signals? Yes, she does, and seems to understand them too. She alters her course, and bears right down towards the bay, and lets go her anchor. And not till then did they discover that the vessel was none other than the good ship San Salvador.
Surely such joy as those poor fellows exhibited when the boat landed on the beach, and honest Captain Cawdor and Señor Sarpinto leapt on shore, was never before, witnessed.
You see they were all in a very weak and exhausted condition, so they wept and laughed by turns, and even sang and danced for joy, till the tears rose up in Captain Cawdor's eyes, and even Sarpinto was fain to turn away his head to hide his emotion.
But when Fred and Frank got on board at last, and found Eean and Toddie there, to say nothing of Bunko, then indeed their cup of joy was full, and in the bliss of that meeting they felt rewarded for all the dangers, trials, and sufferings they had gone through.
* * * * * *
In less than a week both Frank and Fred had recovered their strength, and so had all the others.
All this time they had lain at anchor in the bay off King Ota's island, endeavouring to re-establish friendly relations with that mighty potentate.
He was dead set against them, however. He would not trust the white man, nor would he receive any presents or favours from him. When boats' crews were landed, they found only a deserted shore, with no one to hold a palaver with; for King Ota and his fierce spearmen, afraid that revenge was sought for, and dreading the terrible fire-sticks of the pale warriors, had sought the deepest shades of their forests, and climbed for safety into the highest hills.
So the ship left Ota's shores, and sailed away to another island some miles to the westward. This was a very much larger one, and looked even more prolific and beautiful than Ota's.
Here they were more successful. Although the canoes held aloof for a time, yet by a display of kindness, and by sending them presents, which had first to be left on the beach, the savages became gradually more and more bold. At last the king himself paid the ship a visit. He came unarmed and almost alone, explaining to the captain through Quambo that he knew the white men were all-powerful, and that if they chose to slay him they could find him wherever he happened to hide.
His majesty marvelled very much at all he saw, especially at the firearms and the telescope. When invited to look through this at his distant palace on the hills, he did so with fear and even superstitious dread. Why yonder squatted his favourite wife in front of the palace door, so very near that he could apparently almost touch her and talk to her!
And Captain Cawdor made him a gift of one of these telescopes, or magic glasses as he called them, fixing it for him at the right focus.
The king got even chatty and garrulous at last; and when Fred made him look through the glass with the wrong end towards him, and he saw his wife reduced in size to a mere midget, and so very far away, his merriment was as boisterous as that of an infant-school-boy.
He had plenty to eat and drink on board, and went away at last dressed in a scarlet robe—it really was a spare dressing-gown of Señor Sarpinto's—and loaded with presents. I do not believe there was a happier king in all the South Pacific Ocean.
The men of the San Salvador could now go on shore without fear of molestation, and all but unarmed.
One day the king brought his queen on board, and Toddie presided at the tea-table on the quarter-deck. There was chocolate as well as tea, and it was a good thing there was, for as soon as the queen had taken a huge gulp of tea she found she did not like the flavour of it; so she simply gaped, and it all ran out again over her robe of cocoa-fibre. But she liked the cocoa, and passed her cup fifteen times in succession, for Cassia-bud assured Fred he had counted every cup.
And Toddie, with an armed escort under the charge of Frank and Fred, went next day to visit the king's kraal. The view from the doorway was truly superb. All the rich and fertile island, with its flowering trees, with its orange groves and waving cocoa-nut and banana plantations, its woods and waters, its silvery shores and the bright blue sea itself, patched here and there with opal or green, lay down below at their feet; and up here, so high was the hill, a cool and delightful breeze was blowing.
"Oh," cried Toddie, "I think I should like to stay here for ever and ever!"
When Quambo translated this remark of Toddie's to the king, that potentate gallantly offered to club, cook, and eat his queen that Toddie might reign in her stead. And Toddie, the little witch, nodded smilingly to him, and assured him, through the interpreter, that she would "ask mamma."
This king was asked his opinion of Ota. He gave it very brusquely indeed, and in two or three words.
"He is an old woman, only fit to pound bread-fruit."
On the beach a day or two after this Toddie and her guard were assembled to see a review of the cannibal warriors, and a very fearful sight she thought it. The review was followed by a warrior dance, with wild, unearthly music from tom-toms and conch-shells, and then there was a great bonfire at night, with another dance around this.
Toddie dreamt about what she had seen all night long.
However, complete amity was secured with these people, and so much were they trusted that when the ship sailed away on a visit to the Isle of Good Hope, Quambo, the missionary, Bunko, and a party of whites were left with the king to show him how to build better huts or houses.
Toddie's delight on arriving at the Isle of Good Hope knew no bounds.
When she stood on the beach and gazed around her at the bay with its peaceful waters, the waves breaking with low and mournful boom on the reef outside, the feathery cocoanut palms stirred by the breeze, the flowery pandanus groves, the little cottage, with its rustic porch and its walks of silvery sand, across which the wild flowers were now trailing, she smiled and sighed, and tears filled her eyes.
"Oh, how romantic!" she said, "and yet how mournful!" "Still," she added, "I think I should have liked the life."
"Had you been here," said Frank gallantly, "had you been here, Toddie, perhaps we should not have been in such a hurry to leave."
They spent the whole day in wandering through the forest, and on their return they found dinner ready in the little cottage, cooked by little Cassia-bud, just as it used to be when Fred and Frank were Crusoes.
When the sun began to get very low in the western horizon, they left the island in the Salvador's boat, and were rowed towards the gap.
During a lull in the conversation, and as the boat was speeding over the placid lake, "Oh, Miss Toddie," said Cassia-bud, "hab massa Fred told you ob de big debbil-fish that fly ober de boat, and hab nuffin on but his head?"
Fred had not told her, and very much puzzled she was; but when Frank explained all about this debbil-fish, and the fright they had when it flew over the reef, she laughed right merrily.
"I think," said Eean, "there must have been a good deal of mystery as well as romance about this island of yours, Frank and Fred. I suppose you are half sorry you are leaving it."
"Not quite half, sir," said Frank, "and yet we spent some very pleasant days here. Didn't we, Fred?"
* * * * * *
The party next visited the little coral reef island and once again Toddie was told the story of the strange and wonderful mirage, which had so nearly cost our heroes their lives.
When, after an absence of some days, they returned to the islands, they found that matters had progressed very pleasantly indeed. The king was delighted with the huts which the white men had thrown up for him, and still more delighted with a little church which had been built.
This king, savage though he certainly was, possessed a good deal of common-sense, and over and over again he had asked the missionary to explain why he seemed to take so much interest in his people. What did he expect in return?
He could understand, he said, white men coming to his island to trade. They brought one thing and they took away another. But this man, this missionary, wanted to do all for the islanders, yet receive nothing in return. Was he a true man, or did he harbour some deep-laid scheme against the king and his people, which he was skilfully trying to hide?
The answer to all this was not easily understood by this savage people. But to the best of his ability, and with the aid of the two savages who had been so faithful and so true all along, he told them all the gospel story, and then he in his turn put a question to the king. "If," said the missionary, "the Saviour of mankind, and Son of the Lord of all, could give his life for us, was it any marvel that he—the missionary—a mere human being and mortal, should humbly try to follow in the great Master's footsteps, and do all he could for the salvation of these islanders?" The missionary triumphed.
That which never, never, could have been effected by the sword and force, was easily accomplished by one man, Bible in hand.
When the San Salvador was ready to start away on her homeward voyage it did not seem at all strange that the missionary should express his desire to remain here, or that Quambo, Magilvray, and five other white men resolved to keep him company. But when Bunko came up to Eean on the quarter-deck, and said:
"This is my home now, kind master. There's many and many a poor, dark soul in this island I can do some good for. Bunko hasna the gift o' tongues. He canna preach the Word, but he can act it."
Then, I say, the old bard marvelled not a little, but he took the young man's hand kindly in his, and replied:
"Yes, lad, you can act it, and example is better than precept. Stay, my friend, stay. We are sorry to lose you; but as you think you can do good we will not gainsay you. Farewell, and God bless you, Bunko."
And as the ship sailed away from the island the last figure seen was Bunko's, standing on a knoll, waving his bonnet in the air, till the San Salvador passed round a wooded cape, and they saw him no more.
* * * * * *
Five years have passed away. Five years! What changes a space of time, even of this brief span, may work in the lives of all! Think of it, boys of fifteen. Why, in five years' time you will be men, and must ere then have chosen your career in life for better or for worse.
Five years! But they have been busy ones with Fred and Frank. They have not been at home all that time, you may be sure. No, for Señor Sarpinto, restless ever, saw fit to return to those islands, and in a much larger and finer ship, of which the young sailors were chief officers.
From San Francisco he took out with him a colony of busy bees of Americans, with everything necessary to develop the resources of those cannibal islands. They are cannibal islands now no longer. A church stands on the largest, where once dreadful orgies used to take place, that are too revolting even to think of. There is a busy and prosperous little village near the sea, and fields of rice and roots and sugar-cane stretch over the rolling hills far away to the woodlands. The islands are rich too in spices and in gums, as well as some forms of mineral wealth, and ships call many times during the year to buy and barter goods.
The black population is industrious, the white men and their families are well-to-do. Fred is governor, and honest Bunko is his overseer.
But of all professions in the world what should Frank adopt in the end but farming?
I will tell you how it turned out. Señor Sarpinto, after a visit to the little village of Methlin, was so enamoured with the quiet peace and repose that reign around it, and with the simple ways of the fisher population, that he determined to make it his home. He was growing old, he said, and he should like to be near to Toddie. He had plenty of money, he told Eean. What was the good of money if it did not bring happiness? So he set about "building himself happiness"—these are his own words.
First and foremost he found out his old friend, Captain Cawdor, who had retired, and was living in the city of Glasgow.
"My good captain," he said, "I cannot understand why you should like to live among stones and mortar, quite away from the sound of the sea."
"Ah! my friend, I'd fain spend my life, or what remains of it, where I could hear and see the waves; but I am not wealthy enough to do as I please."
"But the rent you pay for this house," said the Señor, "would, I think, get you a charming villa surrounded by pretty gardens, close to the woods, and close to the western ocean."
"When you find such a place, my friend, come and tell me, and I will rejoicingly take it," the captain said, laughing.
Now there was land to be sold at Methlin, and around it, and the Señor quickly became the purchaser, and in six months' time not only did a lovely mansion spring up in the glen behind the village, but a pretty cottage close to the sea.
In the former soon dwelt the Señor Sarpinto, and in the latter, who but Captain Cawdor; and one of the largest wings of the Señor's house was given to Frank, on condition that he should farm the Señor's land on a handsome salary.
Frank was very happy now, and his altered circumstances in life gave him an opportunity of taking care of his mother, who still resided in town, but was getting old.
Yes, it was a strange freak of Fortune to make Frank a farmer. After this no one would be surprised to know that Cassia-bud left the sea also, after officiating as steward for some years, and became butler to Señor Sarpinto at Helena House.
One day, about the end of the five years, Frank and Toddie might have been seen walking together on the beach near the igloo, or the house that Bunko had built with the skeleton of the Johnnie Whale. They seem in very earnest conversation indeed. It would be obviously unkind, however, for me to play the eaves-dropper; but one thing I do know, and must tell the reader. Just six weeks after that earnest conversation at the igloo a very interesting event was the subject of general conversation among the villagers—the marriage of Miss Arundel. And every one confessed that a more beautiful bride than Toddie never was seen, nor a more handsome and manly bridegroom than Frank Fielding.
Fred happened to be at home at the time, and the marriage was celebrated in the fisherman's humble cot.
Before stepping into the carriage that awaited the happy pair at the door, Frank held out his hand, and right heartily did Fred Arundel grasp and press it.
"Brothers yet," said Frank.
"Brothers ever," said Fred.
And so they parted.
* * * * * *
Alone in his romantic cave Eean, the bard, still writes his charming verses, still sings his wild lays, soothed by moan of wind and murmur of sea; there has come a peace and repose to the mind of the Señor Sarpinto he had never known before; old Captain Cawdor is very contented, and very jolly too, in his cottage by the sea. And oftentimes, on summer evenings, may the trio be seen strolling together on the beach, or when the wild wintry winds are raving through the woods, seated perhaps round Eean's cottage hearth with Eppie near by, birr-birr-ing at her wheel.
And many a reminiscence is theirs to tell of their strange eventful lives, and of dangers gone through by sea and land.
Thus calmly pass their peaceful lives away.