For two hours they wandered about in woods and wilds, and then the wind did begin to blow.

Barclay was away on the top of one of the highest pine-trees, where a “hoody crow’s” nest swayed and swung; he had brought some morsels of meat for the poor bird, and these he deposited on a branch.

He stayed a little to look about him from his glorious elevation. Then he shouted, sailor-fashion—

“Below, there!”

“Ay, ay,” cried Davie Drake.

“Sail in sight.”

“Where away?”

“Just rounding the eastern point. Now she has her helm down, and is steering directly for the bay.”

“What does she look like?”

“A long, low, black barque, all sail set, and studsails low and aloft. Masts have a bit of a rake. Oh, she is a beauty.”

Davie Drake was by this time coming hand over hand up the tree, and it was not long before both boys came to the conclusion that the barque must belong to Captain Antonio, and to no one else.

They came down below now quickly enough, and soon stood once more on terra firma.

Then off they trotted down hill, and were at the pier-head just as the anchor was let go, the cable rattling and roaring overboard, and the barque swinging to the tide.

. . . . . .

What a happy meeting that was! The weird wee captain rubbed his hands in glee as he pointed to his bonnie barque.

“Isn’t she a beauty, boys, fore and aft? Look at her, lads. From stem to stern she’ll bear the scrutiny of the best sailor ashore or afloat.

“And that is your ship too, you know, and soon we’ll sail away to make our fortunes.

“Yes, insured to the full, and may be over. Oh, I know how to do business.

“Now we’ll go to the hotel and have breakfast, for both you boys look hungry.”

. . . . . .

On the very next day, Captain Antonio began to load up the good barque Zingara, for that was her romantic name.

For this purpose the sloop came in handy. All the apparatus he had been working at for more than a year was safely carried beachward, taken off, and shipped and stowed. Nothing was left behind.

To the landlord of the inn was given the key of his castle, as Antonio called the old windmill, with orders to have fires in it frequently, to keep out the damp.

A good rig-out or kit was bought for both boys, and handsome they looked therein.

Everything being ready, a few days after this farewells were said.

Poor Davie Drake was an orphan without a friend in the world, so he could leave the shore with dry eyes; but sad indeed was the parting between Barclay and his mother, and many were the tears that were shed.

I myself do not like farewells, I do not even like to describe them.

So we must drop the curtain just here, and, when we next raise it, we will find ourselves far far at sea.

The crew all told were thirty; the ship was not only well stored with provisions, and with beads, bright cotton cloth, and notions of every sort likely to captivate the savages’ fancy, but she was armed as well, both with rifles, cutlasses, and also with a good Armstrong gun, and war rockets.

They would probably have need of these in the wild seas and islands they were about to visit.

All the village assembled to see the good barque sail away, and as they moved slowly out of the bay they could hear the music and words of that grand old song, “Cheer, boys, cheer,” come quavering over the rippling sea.

END OF BOOK I

BOOK II

PEARL FISHING IN CANNIBAL ISLES

CHAPTER I

THE STOWAWAY

The men kept walking briskly up and down from the main-mast to the fo’cas’le, laughing and talking, but never in a loud key, for Antonio, though certainly no martinet, was a strict disciplinarian, and liked to see duty carried on with almost man-o’-war regularity and coolness.

It was the mate’s watch this morning. He was a sturdy, broad-shouldered, and fair-haired young Cornishman; and always did a sunny smile beam over his face when talking to one, unless, of course, when carrying on duty: then he stood no nonsense.

Never a speaking-trumpet needed Archie Webber. His stentorian voice could have been heard low and aloft in the wildest weather. One, to hear him shouting thus on deck, would have thought him angry. Not so; anger seldom found comfortable quarters in Webber’s breast.

The Cornishmen are a bold race and a hardy. They were, I am told, originally Celts. As I write, these lines, which I have heard or read somewhere, keep running in my mind—

I haven’t the faintest idea who Trelawney was, or what he had done; but it is pretty evident his plucky countrymen had made up their minds that he should not suffer death.

The mate, then, was a beau-ideal Cornishman, and wasn’t ashamed of it either.

As I have introduced the first mate, I may as well bring the second in front of the footlights. Antonio was not particular as to the nationality of his men or officers, so long as he was convinced they could do their duty, and were sober and obedient to command. So Patrick M‘Koy was an active and merry little Irishman. He was almost too active indeed, and when he went on watch things had to hum. He never lost his temper, except with any man he deemed a lubber, and then he did not confine himself to words. Perhaps on shore he was fond of the old game of Aunt Sally, a wooden image seen at shows, that you shy sticks at, you know, until you smash the short clay pipe in her old mouth.

Anyhow if a lubber—and there weren’t many on board—provoked him, Paddy, as he was called for short, would instantly draw out a wooden belaying-pin, and send it whizzing forward along the deck with such precision that it invariably hit the lubber on his bare foot or ankle, and sent him hopping all over the deck.

“That’ll tache ye, my boy,” he would say; then he would tell off another man to do the duty the lubber couldn’t.

Both mates were favourites with Antonio, but I think Paddy “bore the gree.”

On board the Zingara Pandoo took rank as steward and general factotum. He had a boy under him, however, who did his duty fairly well, despite the fact that he was as fat as a flounder.

Johnnie Smart’s eyes were never very large at the best, though his mouth was big enough almost to have taken the handle of a gardener’s spade; but when Johnnie smiled, and held back his head and towsy poll, those eyes simply disappeared entirely behind his rosy cheeks.

There would have been no good trying to convince Johnnie that he could possibly do any harm; and when, for example, Pandoo scolded him, he just held back his head and smiled, like a hippopotamus. If the joint slipped off the dish when he was bringing it aft from the cook, back went the head, the round fat face was turned skywards for a moment, and the broad hippopotamic smile took rank in open order, from ear to ear.

“My eye though!” he would say. “My eye and Betsy Martin!”

Then he would recover the joint from the leescuppers, replace it on the dish, and continue his journey.

Johnnie soon became a general favourite nevertheless.

But I wish now to tell you of a wonderful thing that happened on this bright and lovely morning.

For the first time since they had left shore, Pandoo had occasion to go to the storeroom, which lay right abaft the beautiful saloon on the starboard side.

As his hand was on the door-knob, to his intense surprise he thought he heard the sound of singing—sweet and low, inside.

Pandoo, like all his race, was superstitious in the extreme, and now his hair felt stirring beneath his turban.

He would have run right away to the other end of the ship if he could have done so, but he felt rooted to the spot. Nay, more, in spite of himself, he could not help applying his ear to the keyhole.

The music to his excited fancy appeared to be ineffably sweet and tender. The words he heard were these:—

A long-drawn sigh followed.

Pandoo listened no more, but flew straight on deck. He was trembling all over.

“Oh, sah,” he gasped, “de storeroom——”

“Yes, yes, not on fire, is it?”

“No, sah, no; but, sah, there is spirits in de storeroom.”

Antonio laughed.

“Of course; there is rum, a little brandy, and some wine, but what about that?”

“I not mean dat sort of spirit, sah, but spirit all same’s one angel, or cherub. Sing lubly too.”

Antonio and Archie Webber both began to think that poor Pandoo had gone out of his mind. Nevertheless the captain accompanied him down to the storeroom.

The singing had ceased, and so the weird wee man turned the key and walked boldly in. Next moment a barefooted little child in a short red dress had sprung into his arms.

“Oh, dear ’Tonio, I is so glad you is come. I think I soon die here all by myself in the dark.”

“But, my child and dearie, how on earth did you come here at all?”

He had led her out into the sunlit and beautifully furnished saloon, and seated her beside him on the sofa.

“Tell us your little story, dear.”

“Oh, that isn’t nothing, you know; I’ve just runned away to sea because I love you, and the sea, and everything.”

“I am puzzled what to do with you, dearie; I can’t send you back.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” cried Teenie pleadingly.

Then Antonio burst into a hearty laugh.

“We’ll do the best we can, dearie.”

“An’ I brought my best clothes in a box and all.”

“I must do all I can for you, anyhow. Luckily there is a spare cabin close to mine, and you shall have a nice bed there. Come and I’ll show you.”

Teenie ran back into the dark storeroom for her box.

“Here is the room. There is the bed, and yonder is the washstand,” said Antonio.

She clapped her hands with delight “All like a fairy’s house.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Antonio, “you’re the drollest little stowaway ever I had. Wash now, dress neatly, and then come on deck.”

. . . . . .

Just the night before the Zingara sailed away from Fisherton Bay, Teenie, whose parents gave her a good deal of her own way, left her humble home, saying she was going to the parsonage, and would not be home till morning.

She kissed her parents “Good night,” and they were somewhat surprised to see tears in her blue eyes. Her box was hidden in the garden, so away she went. Straight for the rectory she bent her tiny footsteps. Maud was all by herself in the best room.

She did not stay long here, but left a letter, making Maud promise—“just for fun,” she said—not to open it till next afternoon.

Maud promised.

Then away went Teenie. It was dark when a little boat brought her alongside. She told the boatman not to wait, as a ship’s dinghy would bring her on shore. Some men had seen her come on board, but naturally imagined she brought a message for the captain, who, however, was on shore.

The saloon was all dark, so she had had no difficulty in stowing herself away.

But the storeroom was afterwards locked, and she passed a dreary time. Then thinking she was going to die, she began to sing her “death-bed hymn,” as she termed it, and was thus engaged when Pandoo came upon the scene.

. . . . . .

It was not until next evening that Maud opened the envelope. It contained a letter for Mr. Ch. Norton, and that was Teenie’s father.

Then putting on her cloak, Maud at once hurried away with it to the fisherman’s humble cottage.

It was quite a child’s letter, but the tears trickled down the poor man’s face as he read it to his wife and Maud.

Yes, quite a bairnie’s letter, but sincere and frank in every respect.

Teenie was in the habit of carefully ruling her paper before she began to write—this kept things straight; but in the present case she had had no time to do it, so the caligraphy went sprawling, tack and half tack diagonally, across the sheet. The spelling of the words, too, was in some instances quite original, to say the least of it.

Our young heroes, Barclay and Davie, had been down below at lessons in the half-deck, or mess-place of the second-class officers, cooper, carpenter, bo’s’n, &c. The bo’s’n was, in ship-work, the teacher to these youngsters, while Antonio himself super-intended the higher branches of their nautical education.

“A stowaway found!” said the cooper, entering the half-deck. “The old man[7] has her. And a bonnie wee mite she is.”

Barclay went on deck soon after him, but his astonishment may be conceived when Teenie herself ran forward to meet him.

“Oh, Teenie, how could you have done it!”

“Just to see all, all the world. That’s how.”

“And your parents——”

“Oh, they is all right, ’cause I wrote a letter to them. Now, I’m going to play with pussy; and by-and-by I’ll come and play with you.”

Next moment, Teenie was flying up and down the deck, falling sometimes—but that didn’t matter—hauling a string and ball after her. Muffie the cat followed close behind, whacking the ball into the air whenever it alighted on deck.

Well, before four days were over, Teenie was the pet of the good ship Zingara. And sailors do like pets. The cat would have to play second fiddle, now.

In course of time they got into the trade winds, and the barque went bounding on; the same kind of wind day after day, and the same kind of rippling, half-choppy sea. But it sparkled like diamonds in the sun, though the shadow of each wave was of the darkest blue.

Few birds were seen at present, but now and then, to Teenie’s intense delight, an over-tired gull would alight on a topsail yard, and a sailor would climb cautiously up, and, catching it, bring it down for the girl to nurse and smooth and pet. Pussy too took an interest in these birds of passage, but it was an interest of quite a different kind.

She used to square her moustache and lips, and emit a series of short little mews.

“What a lovely bird, Teenie!” she seemed to say. “Just put it down on deck till I see it. I wonder how it tastes.”

When the bird had rested, Teenie kissed its poll, and let it fly away, to look for its mammy, as she phrased it.

But Mother Carey’s chickens—the stormy petrels—used to dart from wave to wave, much to Teenie’s delight. They were very beautiful, though as dark as ink, and the sounds they emitted were music to the child’s ears.

Only they never came on board.

Southward and southward went the Zingara, and every one in the best of spirits, until they reached that most beautiful isle of the sea, Madeira.

Not only is it beautiful, but wild and grand in the extreme.

Here the ship was brought to anchor, and Antonio went on shore, leaving the vessel in charge of the mate.

A beach of great sea-smoothed boulders hurtles back and fore on this coast night and day, so that landing would indeed be difficult, if it were not that there are always plenty of willing hands—Portuguese and half-castes—to rush forward and haul the boat high and dry.

Our young heroes—yes, we have three of them now—were enchanted with all they saw; and Antonio was delighted, because they were. The broad pavements shaded by awnings and green palm-trees, the curious shops, the strange but prettily dressed men and women—all were new to them, and put Barclay in mind of a scene in a pantomime he had once witnessed.

They had a light but well-cooked dinner in a beautiful hotel. The fruit itself was rich and rare.

But after dinner they were all carried in hammocks high up to the tops of the wild green mountains, and the view from here was like a scene of enchantment. Was ever sea so blue as that, though seemingly patched here and there with sunken islands of pearl, and green, and saffron? The sky above, with its pure white and filmy clouds, was a great factor in the scene; and afar off, seemingly afloat in the air above the horizon, were green islands, on which, Teenie at once told Barclay, fairies and elves must live.

“Oh,” said Teenie, clapping her tiny hands, “I is so glad I runned away from home.”

CHAPTER II

AT SEA

Then the landlord retires, and Antonio lights a huge cigar. He tells the boys and Teenie to stroll up the streets for half-an-hour, and they gladly obey. Meanwhile the little skipper sits and thinks.

The waiter—polite to a fault—brings him paper, pen, and ink, and he writes several letters. One is to the honest fisherman, Teenie’s father. You may easily guess what that was about. It finished up, however, with this sentence:—

“Be not uneasy. She is so happy night and day, and I will guard and protect her like the apple of my eye.”

He did not say which eye, but I dare say he did not refer to the demon eye, as some of the sailors on board were ill-mannered enough to call it.

Presently the affable little landlord returned, and with him a young lady of some twenty summers—a dark-eyed rather pretty brunette, with a tropically bronzed skin, and eye-lashes that swept her cheeks, and very neatly dressed.

“Not English?”

“No, Capitan, Español.”

“But you can talk good English?”

“Yes, I can both write and speak English, Señor.”

“Right! Has the good landlord told you everything?”

“Everything to me he has told; and I am willing to sail the seas. Been already to Rio and Buenos Ayres. Oh, good, all good! I shall teach and take care of your little child, and the wages will suit.”

She spoke volubly.

“See here,” she added, “characters from many sweet Angleese ladies whom I have served.”

Antonio just glanced at them, and was satisfied.

“You’ll get ready, then; and I will call for you to-morrow.”

Just then the children returned, and Antonio introduced Teenie to her maid and governess.

“You will love her, won’t you?”

Teenie looked her all over critically.

“Yes,” she said, “I think I can. I’ll try ever so hard.”

“That’s a dear,” said Miss Leona; “now kiss me.”

“Oh no,” cried Teenie: “much too soon. In a week—perhaps.”

The boat went back laden with grapes, bananas, and pine-apples.

The men had leave, and came on board sober, all save one or two, who were obstreperous. Captain Antonio put them in irons, to show he was not to be trifled with, and to encourage the others.

On the morning of the third day, Leona being now on board, the Zingara got up anchor, set sail, and put out to sea once more.

. . . . . .

They were bound now for the distant islands of the Pacific Ocean. You have but to look at a map of the world, reader, to note how numerous they are. Truly their name is legion. Have those beautiful isles of the sea been raised by volcanic agency, and will they in course of time be joined together to form one mighty continent; or are they the remains of some ancient land that has been broken up, by the constant action of the ocean currents, into what we now see them?

However, there they are. Many are wild and savage in the extreme, both as to their people and the land itself, and many are inhabited by implacable cannibals.

Captain Antonio held a council with his two mates. In what direction should they steer for these islands, at which they were to engage in sponge and pearl fishing?

“I’d favour the Cape of Good Hope route,” said the mate Archie; “there is less danger to the good old—no, new ship.”

“An’ I’d go by the Horn,” Paddy put in. “What about the danger to a grand strong barque like ours, and sure we ain’t ’long shore men, but sailors every inch.”

“Well,” said Antonio, “as you two differ, I suppose I have the casting vote, so round the Horn we go.”

“Hurray!” cried Paddy.

“I’m agreeable,” said Archie.

So this was decided.

Ah, little did they know of the dangers and difficulties that in a few months’ time they would have to encounter.

But there was no man on board this brave barque, that was likely to fear the danger he had not yet faced.

The course from Madeira lay almost south, skirting the beautiful Canary Islands and lofty Teneriffe to the west, then on to the Cape Verd Islands.

Thence, with a point or two of westerly in it, the course was still southward to the wild shores of South America.

The weather continued all that was desirable, till the time the vessel reached the region of equatorial calms, called by sailors the doldrums.

Here are great hills of seas, as smooth as glass, but all in constant motion. There is not a breath of wind. The sails may be set and ready to receive it, but it seldom comes, except in uncertain cats’-paws, that may move the good ship on a hundred yards, then die away, and leave the canvas to flap, or sheets to crack.

The motion of the ship is distressing at such times. Down below everything is tumbling about, though in a slow and uncertain manner. The chairs may take a journey from one side of the room to the other, but speedily return; and the piano, if not lashed, would do so likewise.

In these doldrums, of which a steamer is of course quite independent, a sailing ship may lie for weeks—

The sea has a glazed or greasy appearance, and but very little life is visible, except an occasional whale ploughing his solitary way through the silent and mysterious ocean; or from aloft at times you may witness a great patch of the water rippled as with rain-drops and sparkling with silver. This is caused by shoals—myriads and millions—of tiny fishes, a species of whitebait.

Or you may see the great black fin of a basking shark, high above the water, and in shape not unlike the upright hand of a sundial; and on these fins you may observe a beautiful seagull or two perching, and pitching also. Perhaps Mr. Shark likes it.

But there may be seen many sharks about and around the ship as well as these others, that if you fell into the water would disappear in all directions for a few seconds, but return in force, each one endeavouring to win the race and be the first to seize you. A man is often thus rent into ribbons by these tigers of the sea.

Great banks of rock-like towers roll up and lie on the horizon all night long. Seldom do you hear thunder muttering among these, but the play of the lightning behind them is incessant, so that in the darkest night their shape and form are easily made out. Sometimes the sea is splendidly phosphorescent. If you drop a piece of coal overboard, it seems like a lump of living, whirling fire sinking down, down into the unfathomable depths of the ocean. Even sharks themselves and other strange fishes stir up the phosphorescence, and dart about like fiery serpents.

By night flying fishes constantly flew on board, and flopped about the deck till pussy caught one, and the watch picked up the others.

Most tender and delicious tit-bits they are for breakfast, the taste and flavour being somewhat like that of a herring, only more delicate.

. . . . . .

Wishing to get on his voyage, Captain Antonio Garcia (pronounce Gartsia, please) ordered the boats out, and the ship was thus towed pretty nearly all day long.

At long, long last the wind began to blow. The good ship crossed the equator. She was becalmed another week, then it was all plain sailing to Rio de Janeiro.

I do not intend to describe Rio. Go and see it if you can before you die. It is—as seen from the sea, at all events—one of the most romantic cities in the wide, wide world. Edinburgh itself is not more romantic.

Here Antonio landed with the boys and little Teenie, and gave them one other delightful day in the city, and among the wild hills around, from which they not only had a bird’s-eye view of the city, with its marvellous land-locked harbour, but a view of the far-off blue Atlantic itself.

By the time they had reached Rio, the fisherman’s wee daughter was not only a favourite fore and aft, but she had thoroughly learned how to walk the deck, in even the roughest seas. In other words, she had gained her sea-legs. Of course Barclay and puss were her constant playmates when on deck, but this was not always; so in their absence she would bestow her affections, and impose her fun on some of the sailors, and ride at the gallop up and down, fore and aft, on their shoulders, like a little madcap, and screaming with delight.

She was very attentive, however, to the lessons given to her by her maid and governess every forenoon; but as soon as she did escape, the young lady had little more control over her.

The men had rigged her out in a very becoming sailor costume of serge, and with this she was delighted.

But she was as fearless as a young ocelot, and as nimble as an ape. Indeed, there were two beautiful monkeys on board, and they were as often in the rigging as not. They were mischievous, but affectionate. Teenie used to take the rigging too, and instead of going through the square opening called the lubber’s hole, she used to get up the thin ratlins that led round the edge, thus hanging for the time being back downwards, like a fly on the ceiling.

This was daring in the extreme. But one day, to the astonishment and terror of all, Teenie was found far, far above the maintop, sitting indeed on the maintop-gallant cross-trees, and beside the biggest monkey.

A sailor was sent up to fetch her down, for the position was fraught with extreme danger.

But in no other way would this wild fisher lassie consent to go below, except on the sailor’s back.

Luckily he was a strong hardy fellow, with all the daring of a steeple-jack, for, as soon as Teenie was fairly seated, the big monkey thought he might as well take advantage of this method of descent as Teenie, and so he too jumped on the good fellow’s shoulder.

As Teenie laughed and cheered all the way down, and the monkey yelled, there really was a good deal of fun on deck. But at last the sailor landed his crew safe and sound on deck.

“Oh dear me,” sighed Teenie, “Dosie” (the big monkey) “and I has had such fun, and, ’Tonio,” she added, “Dosie is just like a father to me.”

“To be sure, dearie; now will you promise me and Miss Leona that you won’t go up there again? You have given us all such a fright, you know.”

“Oh,” said Teenie, in a kind of patronising way, “if you is all feared, then I promise. Here is my hand.”

And Teenie kept her promise.

But this scene must change now to the far-off and wild islands of the Pacific Ocean.

CHAPTER III

WILD LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE

The weather was delightful now. True it is that terrible storms at times sweep over this lonely ocean, but at present all is quiet and serene—just the sea, the sky, and the breeze that every true sailor loves. But how lonesome! Day after day, starry night after starry night, yet never a sail in sight. All around, as far as the eye can reach, even from the main-top-mast cross-trees, nothing can be seen but that one mighty circle of dark blue water.

Not even a bird, save the frigate bird, or that great eagle of the sea—the albatross—is visible. The former bird, it is said, sleeps in the air, and may be on wing for days at a time.

But the flight of the albatross is marvellous. There is no breeze he cannot fly against. You may see him circling high in air one minute, and next he is rushing to leeward, like an arrow from a bow. So swiftly may he pass the ship, that you can scarcely make out his form and shape. He cares not for storm or tempest; he can surmount them, and, when tired of flight, then should he be thousands of miles from the place where his great nest is placed safely on some beetling crag, o’erhanging the dark deep ocean, a day or two takes him back to his own quiet home.

I can conceive of no existence so happy, so wild, so free as that of the albatross. The powers of man, with all his inventions—his steamers, his trains, his electric motors—sink into insignificance before the wondrous flight of this great eagle of the sea.

Everything on board the Zingara is going on, to all appearance, happily and well. Our young heroes, Barclay and Davie, are sailors now worth the name; for if a young man loves the ocean, as these lads did, and is willing to study and learn everything theoretical and manual, he soon develops the cleverness, the activity, and strength which is so conspicuous in the true British sailor.

The monkeys have been behaving themselves as well as could be expected from any member of the simian race. They seemed to be a compound of lovingness, affection, and downright humorous mischief. The men made much of them, and cuddled them in their arms, as if they had been babies, but this did not prevent them from picking up a sailor’s pipe next minute, and escaping right away into the rigging with it.

Once it was a silver-mounted meerschaum belonging to the cooper that the biggest monkey stole.

Such fun there was after that, and what daring and agility there was displayed by the Jack-o’-tars in an endeavour to catch the thief. Nearly all hands were employed, Barclay and Davie among the rest. Up the ratlins, down the stays, here, there, everywhere, poor Dosie was chased and assailed from every quarter, while down below little Teenie was screaming with delight, and Miss Leona herself was much amused.

“Oh, Miss Leona, isn’t it fun,” screamed Teenie, clapping her hands and dancing. “Good Jacko! Good Dosie! don’t let them take you. Oh, look! look!” she continued.

They well might look, for Jacko, or Dosie, as he was as often called, and his pipe had shinned up the main-top-gallant mast, and actually seated himself on the gilded truck.

Who would volunteer to “speel” up after him? Barclay would and did. Not a tree in all England he could not have got to the top of, and not a flagstaff either.

So up he goes, and, clasping the thin mast with hands and knees, commences the dangerous ascent. It is hard work, for high up here the mast is describing the arc of a circle, and the motion makes him giddy. He is not to be denied, however. A brave British heart beats within him, and so he does what brave Captain Webb did when swimming from England to France—he just keeps “pegging away.”

But the monkey even now has the best of it. Unconscious apparently of his danger, he is carefully examining the pipe. Then he puts it in his mouth and pretends to smoke, and very old-fashioned he does look. He tires of this, and pulls out a morsel of tobacco. This he puts in his mouth, then spits and splutters.

“Faugh!” he seems to say, “how can those big white sailor apes use such stuff? I’ll drop it into the sea.”

His little arm is lowered along the mast, and the pipe is dropped. It is a good half yard from Barclay, but he dashes out his body and arm, and never on cricket field was ball more deftly caught.

One wild cheer bursts from every part of the ship, low and aloft, and is three times repeated.

“Come on my shoulder, Jacko, old man,” says Barclay.

The old man does so, and down they come, but the poor monkey looks so thoroughly penitent and lovable, that not even the cooper has the heart to scold him.

“Oh, you good, brave Dosie,” cries Teenie, running aft with him in her arms.

Pussy is jealous, and, jumping up suddenly, warms both Jacko’s ears for him.

There is no love lost between Muffie and the monkeys. They pull her tail, and tease her so incessantly. Only the cat can take her own part.

One bright moonlight night though, while pussy was sitting on the top of the weather-bulwark forward, waiting for a flying-fish to spring on board, the two monkeys made a sudden spring, and pussy was hurled into the sea.

There would have been no more Muffie to skylark with Teenie or amuse the men had not a sailor at once shouted—

“Man overboard!”

The man at the wheel himself pulled a knob behind him. The beacon life-buoy was lit. He pulled another, and it fell into the sea.

He kept one hand on the wheel all the while, however, to prevent the ship from falling off.

“Man the life-boat!”

She was manned, lowered, and away in less than two minutes.

The captain was the first to rush on deck.

“Who is missing, and how did it happen?” he asked hurriedly at the man who had seen the whole affair.

“The monkeys sprang on her, sir, and walloped her into the briny.”

“It is a woman, then. Good Heavens! not Teenie, surely, nor Miss Leona?”

“No, sir, no. ’Twas honly the cat, sir.”

Antonio laughed now.

“But you were perfectly right, James,” he said, “and I hope they’ll save her.”

They did. They found Muffie clinging to the little mast that supported the beacon-light. She had had a narrow shave, for the sea appeared alive with sharks. I believe they all wanted to know how a cat would taste.

. . . . . .

Rounding the Horn had been for the officers and crew of the Zingara a weary and dangerous experience. It was in July, and this is the deadest, darkest month of winter in these regions. The days were short; the cold was bitter and piercing. Sometimes a snowstorm was raging on the deck itself, and the drift blowing as suffocatingly fierce as ever it does on a Highland mountain. The deck, too, was slippery with ice, and the bows so clogged with it that men had to be lowered with iron jumpers to dig it off.

Then contrary winds delayed them too, and once a gale of such fierceness raged, that although they lay to with very little canvas indeed, they were drifted far south, till they came in touch with the Antarctic ice.

Here was danger indeed—danger throughout all the short and gloomy days, and still greater danger throughout the black and starless nights.

The men became dull and dispirited; only the captain and officers kept up their hearts.

The monkeys slept all day in the men’s bunks, and pussy before the galley fire. Johnnie Smart held back his head and smiled as usual, only, instead of his cheeks being red, they were now both blue and red, like badly pickled cabbage.

Oar boys were as brisk as ever. It really needed the whole watch to pull the frozen sheets or ropes through the blocks; but Barclay and Davie Drake always bore a hand in this work, and the men respected them all the better for it.

It was terrible labour now to reef topsails, so hard were they frozen.

One poor fellow who was lying well out to the end of the yard, with bleeding hands and cold, got so benumbed that he fell off the yard into the black, black water.

All haste was made to lower a boat, but before this could be done, he threw up both arms, uttered a piercing scream, and suddenly disappeared.

The blood-red patch and bubbles told too plainly that he had been dragged down by some monster shark. For here, as in the far-off Arctic Ocean, they grow to an immense size.

The death of Tom Ritchie, who was a general favourite, cast an additional gloom on every one, fore and aft.

During their sojourn in these bleak seas, Miss Leona confessed herself crumpled up; but our Teenie, warmly clad, was every day on deck.

She clapped her hands with joy when they passed an iceberg, but shuddered somewhat if an enormous black seal, or a goggle-eyed sea-elephant lifted his head and stared wonderingly at the vessel as she passed.

. . . . . .

But all this was past now. The ship was in a far more genial climate, and the men had once again recovered their health and spirits.

As I have said before, there is nothing certain at all except the unexpected, and one night an event occurred of so startling a nature that it caused general terror throughout the ship.

CHAPTER IV

STRANGE STORY OF A STOLEN DIAMOND

These last are hardy, bold seamen, but not always to be trusted. The Dane also who used to help to man the sloop in Fisherton Bay had been kept on. Now many of those men, although excellent sailors, had been reduced by drink to mere dock loafers. They took care to be sober and smartly dressed, however, when they presented themselves before first mate Webber, and asked for a billet.

Webber questioned them, it is true; and if they stood the cross-examination, they were permitted to sign articles and join the ship.

One day an East Indian presented himself. He was tall, lithe, and smart, though there was a look in his eye that Webber hardly liked. He had been, he said, much at sea, as Lascar and even mate of an Englishman. Cross-questioned, and put to the test on board, he turned out to be really a master hand; so, despite his furtive looks, and a kind of tiger gleam that seldom or never left his dark eyes, the mate engaged him.

He thanked him profoundly, seized his hand, bent down, and pressed it to his brow.

The mate said, “Humbug!” pretty smartly, and Dungloo, as he called himself, retired, smiling, with gratitude—apparently.

This man was rather a picturesque figure on board the Zingara, for he was permitted to wear his native Indian dress and turban, for which latter a skull-cap was substituted when he was on duty.

He worked like a hero when on deck, but in the stormy weather off the Cape, and among the ice, he collapsed.

But now the warm weather brought him forth once more, as it brings the red admiral butterfly that has slumbered in some cosy cranny all the weary winter through.

Dungloo was once more his hardy, strong, athletic self.

. . . . . .

Now in this lonesome ocean, so far away from the route of trading ships, there was little to be feared during the night; the man at the wheel had just to keep his course, and keep the sails from shivering; so during the midnight watch the officer would often go forward, and yarn and smoke with the men around the bows.

One night in the dark week, that is, when the moon is in her last quarter, Paddy M‘Koy’s watch relieved the mate’s at midnight, and the others were soon sound asleep in bunk or hammock.

About two bells, there being nothing to do, Paddy went forward and joined the men. He was a right merry fellow, this Paddy M‘Koy, and he soon had them all laughing and listening to his yarns, which were now and then interlarded with snatches of rollicking Irish songs.

It was as good as a play, every one allowed, to hear the second mate spin a yarn.

A little past two bells, no one noticed a stalwart figure, muffled up in a dark cloak, come up through the half-deck companion and descend to the saloon.

The night was close and warm, and Antonio had been strangely restless.

The candle burned in jimbles at his head, and he had been reading.

But at last he had dropped off.

He always slept with a loaded revolver, not under his pillow, but by his side. A sturdy, short little weapon it was, but capable of carrying a bullet through a three-inch board, and doing mischief afterwards.

The captain’s dreams were uneasy.

He awoke with a start at last, for a hand had touched his shoulder.

To his horror, he saw the form of the tiger-eyed Dungloo standing by his bedside, with a glittering dagger in his hand, the hand quivering, as if with eagerness to plunge the fearful weapon into the captain’s throat or heart.

It was a terrible moment, but Antonio Garcia never moved, nor once lost his presence of mind.

“Dungloo!” he said, “you here!”

“Dungloo is here.”

Both men talked in the Hindustani language.

“Antonio Garcia, attempt but to move, attempt but to shout, and the next breath you breathe will be your last.”

“But what does it mean, Dungloo? Mutiny or murder?”

“It means both, if it be pleasing in your sight.”

“Dungloo, you are a fool or a madman. What is it you require, and why would you slay me?”

“The captain is brave, he quails not. Dungloo will tell the captain what he requires. If he is obeyed, his life will be spared, on one condition, that he keeps this interview a secret.

“See,” he continued, “if I have to murder you, I can cause it to appear but suicide. Ha! Ha! None saw me come here; none will see me go. You will be found dead in bed to-morrow with your own blood-smeared knife in your clay-cold hand.”

“Horrible!”

“True; but I must do my duty to the priests of my temple. I am a Thug.”

“A hired assassin!”

“Put it that way if so minded. I am a Thug, and my duty is to obtain the talismanic diamond you stole from the eye of the god.”

“You lie, Dungloo; it was not I who took the prize; nor was it theft, but loot.”

“But your brother stole it, and smashed the idol, and it came into your possession. Your brother is in that same temple-dungeon now. His companions are the rats, the gecko-lizards, slimy toads, and centipedes. Ha! ha! You tremble. But time presses. Quick, the diamond, or you are a dead man.”

“I have known for years,” said Antonio, as if to gain time, “where my dear, dear brother lies. Please God he shall yet be free.”

The tiger-gleam in the man’s eye was fierce now. The hand that held the twisted dagger quivered rather than shook; his white, clenched teeth gleamed like alabaster.

“Death or the diamond?” he cried once more. “Death or the diamond—I care not which!”

From under the sheet that covered Antonio came the crack of a revolver.

Dungloo tossed up his arms with a gasping scream, and fell in a heap on the floor.

The trampling sound of footsteps was heard on deck a minute after, and down below rushed the second mate, and the first mate was awakened and joined him.

“Mates,” said Antonio, “I have shot that fellow Dungloo. He attempted to murder me with the dagger that lies by his side. He is a Thug, and was specially commissioned by priests in India to murder me, or get possession of a talismanic diamond that my brother took as booty while the town of L—— was being looted by our soldiers, after a victory during the terrible Indian Mutiny.”

“Get men to take him forward. Is he dead?”

“He is dead enough, bedad! and sarve him roight,” said Paddy. “Oh, sir, but it is you that has had the nasty shave!”

The body of the dead Thug was taken forward to the fo’cs’le head, and a tarpaulin thrown over it.

When the sun was glimmering red across the sea, tingeing the waves a deep blood-red, the body of the Thug was laid on a grating; and just as Paddy M‘Koy said the words, “May the Good Father have mercy on his soul,” the grating was tilted, and with a sullen plash the body sank beneath the waves.

And so ended this sad tragedy!

Strangely enough, although bunked in the cabin or state-room adjoining the captain’s, both Miss Leona and little Teenie slept soundly all the night, and heard nothing.

There was a feeling of relief in every heart apparently, now that the murdering Thug was no more. The mate Archie Webber had always suspected and feared the man, and never could forgive himself for having taken him on board.

Antonio, too, seemed happier than ever; but the strangest thing remains to be told. Although he did not appear at breakfast, having had a cup of tea brought him by the fat boy, Johnnie Smart, the captain was well to the fore at the one o’clock dinner. But now, instead of wearing that weird uncanny eye in his head that used to jerk about and cut such strange cantrips, he wore a glass eye of the usual dimensions, one you could not have known from the other, nor pronounced glass at all. It was of exactly the same colour as its fellow, and followed its every movement.

Daft little Teenie was the first to note the marvellous change for the better. To think was to act with Teenie.

She sprung on his knee, and threw her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Captain ’Tonio,” she cried, “your eye has growed small, and good, and pretty, just like the other. Did God make it better?”

“Yes, dearie.”

“Well, you is quite bootiful now!”

“You are,” said Miss Leona.

“Yes, you are quite bootiful, Captain ’Tonio.”

. . . . . .

The story of Antonio Garcia’s glass eye may be told in a few words. He communicated it himself to Barclay and Davie next evening, while all alone in the saloon, and in the following words:—

“During the awful massacres that took place in India after the Mutiny had fairly broken out, I and my brother were merchants in L——. We talked like natives and dressed as such, we even pretended to adopt the religion of the country. This saved us; but the scenes we witnessed in that doomed country will haunt me till my dying day.

“After the relief arrived, there was a considerable deal of looting done by our soldiers, and also by European civilians who had escaped slaughter. My dear brother, who is younger than I, did smash the idol in the temple, and extract its eye, a splendid diamond of the first water.

“I had several glass eyes. One that I have worn for years, was a bungled job. It had been made by a native. But in this I concealed the talismanic diamond.

“My brother’s house and mine were attacked soon after, ransacked, and finally burned; and after being searched in vain, I was turned adrift, half naked, to begin the world again. I was very young then, but determined never to part with that diamond, which, strange to say, is worth several thousand pounds.

“I thought my brother dead, but for years I have known where he is imprisoned; and doubtless, boys, if we live to get home again, I will find out a plan to restore him to myself and his friends in England and in Spain. Money can do much.”

“And what did you do next?” said Barclay.

“I went to sea, dearie, and my life has been one long string of wild adventures ever since.

“But I managed to make money enough, without selling the diamond, to fit out this expedition; and before I return I shall have made a fortune, for I know where the pearls lie in thousands.

“I know the natives and their customs, and manners too, right well, and though many islands are inhabited by cannibals, they are willing to work for coloured cotton and for beads; and so, dearies, you will see what you shall see.”

“And that awful Thug, sir, was he really a detective sent by the priests to murder you?”

“He was, boy. But—my day hadn’t come.

“And, look, here is the diamond.” So splendid a gem the boys had never seen before. They were amazed at its brilliancy, even in the sunlit saloon.

But Antonio took them into the dark storeroom, and here its lustre and gleam were increased tenfold.

“You see, boys,” he said, “I’m a little bit superstitious myself, and I believe that what brought luck to those priests has brought luck to me. And so I mean to keep it for a time.”

. . . . . .

He further informed the boys that they were not on any account to divulge what they had been told.

They promised, and faithfully kept their word. Now something curious occurred.

Dungloo’s box was a very small one, and he kept his clothes in a bag. The latter were thrown overboard as a dainty morsel for the sharks, but the little box was sent aft to the captain’s cabin.

No key being found, he broke it open with a chisel.

Here were many strange amulets, little idol stones, &c., a copy of a portion of the Koran, and a log-book, giving an account of how he—the Thug—had shadowed Antonio for more than a year, without having a single chance of attacking him, but stating that he would sail with him in the Zingara to southern seas, and would, doubtless, obtain possession of the talisman, and bring it or send it.

But Antonio had occasion to open his eyes with astonishment when he found an exact facsimile of the brilliant in a tiny box, and with it a letter. This letter was in Hindustani, and brief. “I have slain Antonio,” it ran, “and rescued the diamond; but I have been stabbed and put on shore on the American coast to die. I am going fast. See to my wife and little ones. A faithful black will post the case and diamond. Adieu! for ever.”

But this so-called diamond was paste.

There were other idols in the temple that had been hidden, and so escaped during the general looting. These had eyes of precisely the same kind and cutting as the one in Antonio’s possession. So the Thug had one copied in paste.

It was evident enough then that this brutal Thug was not only a professional murderer, but a rogue and vagabond as well. He had meant to keep the real diamond, and send to the ignorant priests that composed of paste.

And this was precisely what Antonio did on the very first opportunity. He enclosed, not only the spurious diamond, but the Thug’s letter as well.

Thus ends for a time the story of Antonio’s diamond. He need now no longer fear the vengeance of the priests, or their hired assassins, the bloodthirsty Thugs.

. . . . . .

If there was any one more happy than another on board the good ship Zingara, I think it was Teenie herself.

The glorious weather and the sunshine acted like a special stimulant on her. She was here, there, and everywhere on deck and below, with her monkeys or pet cat.

She had grown browner, but this only added to her innocent and childish beauty.

A curious effect of this latter was felt by—why, whom do you think?—the fat boy, Johnnie Smart.

Johnnie had fallen head over heels in love with pretty Teenie.

Whenever she came towards him, he held back his head, and laughed with joy, while his little funny eyes disappeared entirely, for Johnnie was getting fatter and fatter every week. Sometimes, while bringing things aft on a tray, if Teenie popped suddenly up, he was sure to drop a plate or two.

He brought Teenie raisins, lumps of sugar, a skipping-rope which he had made himself, and a picture-book his grandmother had given him before he started from home.

Once he went so far as to say—

“I likes you, Teenie, I does, more’n honey. You is so nice-like, and you is just pretty enough to be framed and hung above the mantelpiece. Yes, you is a swatcher, Teenie. If ye up and told me to throw stones at my grandmother, blow me tight if I would not ’ave a shy at the old lady.”

Teenie was silent. Flattery was not altogether displeasing to the saucy little maiden.

Encouraged by her silence, the boy continued:—

“Which, Teenie, some fine mornin’ I’ll find myse’f a sea-captain on a big ship, and then I’ll ax ye to be my old ’oman, and we’ll sail the blue seas over and over, and you’ll never want lollipops and sweets.”

“Which, Teenie——”

The look of disdain, and the merry laugh of Teenie as she went running after pussy, put a speedy end to Johnnie’s wooing.

And it was never resumed.

That day Johnnie went below with a finger in his mouth, and looking very done indeed.

“Girls is curous critters,” he said to himself. “Ah! I don’t think there’s much to beat an old mother arter all.”