Chapter Ten.

Chapter Ten.“What Must be Must—’tis Fate.”The old Laird McLeod possessed that true Christian feeling which we so rarely see displayed in this age, and as he left the door of the old mansion where he had lived so long and so happily he held out his hand to Francis.“God bless you, lad, anyhow. Be good, and you’ll prosper.”“The wicked prosper,” said Francis.“All artificial, lad, and only for a time. Never can they be said to be truly happy.”“Good-bye—or rather,au revoir.”“Au revoir.”Then the old man clambered slowly into the carriage. Poor Annie was already there. She cast just one longing, lingering look behind, then burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. But the day was beautiful, the trees arrayed in the tender tints of spring, while high above, against a fleecy cloud, she could see a laverock (lark), though she could not hear it. But his body was quivering, and eke his wings, with the joy that he could not control. Woods on every side, and to the right the bonnie winding Dee, its wavelets sparkling in the sunshine.Everything was happy; why should not she be? So she dried her tears, and while her uncle dozed she took her favourite author from her satchel, and was soon absorbed in his poems.After they had settled down in McLeod Cottage, as the snow-white pretty villa had now been called, I do believe that they were happier than when in the grand old mansion, with all its worries and work and trouble. They were not very well off financially, that was all.But it was a new pleasure for Annie and her maid to do shopping along Union Street the beautiful, and even round the quaint old New Market. She used to return happy and exultant, to show her uncle the bargains she had made.One night Annie had an inspiration. She was a good musician on piano and zither. Why not give lessons?She would. Nor was she very long in finding a pupil or two. This added considerably to the fund for household expenditure. But nevertheless the proud old Highlander McLeod thought it was somewhatinfra dignitate. But he bore with this because it seemed to give happiness to the child, as he still continued to call her.So things went on. And so much rest did the Laird now have that for a time, at least, his life seemed all one happy dream. They soon made friends, too, with their neighbours, and along the street wherever Annie went she was known, for she was always followed by a grand and noble dog, a Great Dane, as faithful and as true as any animal could well be.One evening she and Jeannie, her maid, were walking along a lovely tree-shaded lane, just as the beams of the setting sun were glimmering crimson through the leafy grandeur of the great elms. For some purpose of his own the dog was in an adjoining field, when suddenly, at the bend of the road, they were accosted by a gigantic and ragged tramp, who demanded money on the pain of death. Both girls shrieked, and suddenly, like a shell from a great gun, darted the dog from the hedge, and next moment that tramp was on his back, his ragged neckerchief and still more ragged waistcoat were torn from his body, and but for Annie his throat would have been pulled open.But while Jeannie trembled, Annie showed herself a true McLeod, though her name was Lane. She called the dog away; then she quickly possessed herself of the tramp’s cudgel. Annie was not tall, but she was strong and determined.“Get up at once,” she cried, “and march back with us. If you make the least attempt to escape, that noble dog shall tear your windpipe out!”Very sulkily the tramp obeyed.“I’m clean copped. Confound your beast of a dog!”Within a few yards of her own door they met a policeman, who on hearing of the assault speedily marched the prisoner off to gaol.When she related the adventure to her uncle he was delighted beyond measure, and must needs bless her and kiss her.They had parted with the carriage. Needs must where poverty and the devil drives! But they still had a little phaeton, and in this the old man and his niece enjoyed many a delightful drive. He would take her to concerts, too, and to the theatre also, so that, on the whole, life was by no means a galling load to anyone.But a very frequent visitor at McLeod Cottage was Laird Fletcher. Not only so, but he took the old man and Annie frequently out by train. His carriage would be waiting at the station, and in this they drove away to his beautiful home.The house itself was modern, but the grounds, under the sweet joy of June, looked beautiful indeed. It was at some considerable distance from the main road, and so in the gardens all was delightfully still, save for the music of happy song-birds or the purr of the turtle-dove, sounding low from the spreading cedars.“A pleasing land of drowsyhead it was,Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,For ever flushing round a summer sky.There eke the soft delights, that witchinglyInstil a wanton sweetness through the breast,And the calm pleasures always hovered nigh;But whate’er smacked of ’noyance or unrestWas far, far off expelled from this delicious nest.”Through these lovely rose-gardens and tree-shaded lawns frequently now wandered Annie, alone with Fletcher. He was so gentle, winning, and true that she had come to like him. Mind, I say nothing of love. And she innocently and frankly told him so as they sat together in a natural bower beneath a spreading deodar cedar. He was happy, but he would not risk his chance by being too precipitate.Another day in the same arbour, after a moment or two of silence, she said: “Oh, I wish you were my uncle!” Fletcher winced a little, but summoned up courage to say:“Ah, Annie, could we not be united by a dearer tie than that? Believe me, I love you more than life itself. Whether that life be long or short depends upon you, Annie.”But she only bent her head and cried, childlike.“Ah, Mr Fletcher,” she said at last, “I have no heart to give away. It lies at the bottom of the sea.”“But love would come.”“We will go to the house now, I think,” and she rose.Fletcher, poor fellow, silently, almost broken-heartedly, followed, and, of course, the Great Dane was there.That night she told her uncle all. He said not a word. She told her maid in the bedroom.“Oh, Miss Annie,” said Jeanie, “I think you are very, very foolish. You refuse to marry this honest and faithful man, but your mourning will not, cannot restore the dead. Reginald Grahame is happier, a thousand, million times more happy, than anyone can ever be on this earth. Besides, dear, there is another way of looking at the matter. Your poor Uncle McLeod is miles and miles from the pines, from the heath and the heather. He may not complain, but the artificial life of a city is telling on him. What a quiet and delightful life he would have at Laird Fletcher’s!”Annie was dumb. She was thinking. Should she sacrifice her young life for the sake of her dear uncle? Ah, well, what did life signify to her now?Hewas dead and gone.Thus she spoke:“You do not think my uncle is ill, Jeannie?”“I do not say he isill, but I do say that he feels his present life irksome at times, and you may not have him long, Miss Annie. Now go to sleep like a baby and dream of it.”And I think Annie cried herself asleep that night.“It becomes not a maiden descended from the noble clan McLeod to be otherwise than brave,” she told herself next morning. “Oh, for dear uncle’s sake I feel I could—” But she said no more to herself just then.Fletcher called that very day, and took them away again to his bonnie Highland home. It was a day that angels would have delighted in. And just on that same seat beneath the same green-branched cedar Fletcher renewed his wooing. But he, this time, alluded to the artificial city life that the old Laird had to lead, he who never before during his old age had been out of sight of the waving pines and the bonnie blooming heather.Fletcher was very eloquent to-day. Love makes one so. Yet his wooing was strangely like that of Auld Robin Grey, especially when he finished plaintively, appealingly, with the words:“Oh, Annie, for his sake will you not marry me?”Annie o’ the Banks o’ Dee wept just a little, then she wiped her tears away. He took her hand, and she half-whispered: “What must bemust—’tis fate.”

The old Laird McLeod possessed that true Christian feeling which we so rarely see displayed in this age, and as he left the door of the old mansion where he had lived so long and so happily he held out his hand to Francis.

“God bless you, lad, anyhow. Be good, and you’ll prosper.”

“The wicked prosper,” said Francis.

“All artificial, lad, and only for a time. Never can they be said to be truly happy.”

“Good-bye—or rather,au revoir.”

“Au revoir.”

Then the old man clambered slowly into the carriage. Poor Annie was already there. She cast just one longing, lingering look behind, then burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. But the day was beautiful, the trees arrayed in the tender tints of spring, while high above, against a fleecy cloud, she could see a laverock (lark), though she could not hear it. But his body was quivering, and eke his wings, with the joy that he could not control. Woods on every side, and to the right the bonnie winding Dee, its wavelets sparkling in the sunshine.

Everything was happy; why should not she be? So she dried her tears, and while her uncle dozed she took her favourite author from her satchel, and was soon absorbed in his poems.

After they had settled down in McLeod Cottage, as the snow-white pretty villa had now been called, I do believe that they were happier than when in the grand old mansion, with all its worries and work and trouble. They were not very well off financially, that was all.

But it was a new pleasure for Annie and her maid to do shopping along Union Street the beautiful, and even round the quaint old New Market. She used to return happy and exultant, to show her uncle the bargains she had made.

One night Annie had an inspiration. She was a good musician on piano and zither. Why not give lessons?

She would. Nor was she very long in finding a pupil or two. This added considerably to the fund for household expenditure. But nevertheless the proud old Highlander McLeod thought it was somewhatinfra dignitate. But he bore with this because it seemed to give happiness to the child, as he still continued to call her.

So things went on. And so much rest did the Laird now have that for a time, at least, his life seemed all one happy dream. They soon made friends, too, with their neighbours, and along the street wherever Annie went she was known, for she was always followed by a grand and noble dog, a Great Dane, as faithful and as true as any animal could well be.

One evening she and Jeannie, her maid, were walking along a lovely tree-shaded lane, just as the beams of the setting sun were glimmering crimson through the leafy grandeur of the great elms. For some purpose of his own the dog was in an adjoining field, when suddenly, at the bend of the road, they were accosted by a gigantic and ragged tramp, who demanded money on the pain of death. Both girls shrieked, and suddenly, like a shell from a great gun, darted the dog from the hedge, and next moment that tramp was on his back, his ragged neckerchief and still more ragged waistcoat were torn from his body, and but for Annie his throat would have been pulled open.

But while Jeannie trembled, Annie showed herself a true McLeod, though her name was Lane. She called the dog away; then she quickly possessed herself of the tramp’s cudgel. Annie was not tall, but she was strong and determined.

“Get up at once,” she cried, “and march back with us. If you make the least attempt to escape, that noble dog shall tear your windpipe out!”

Very sulkily the tramp obeyed.

“I’m clean copped. Confound your beast of a dog!”

Within a few yards of her own door they met a policeman, who on hearing of the assault speedily marched the prisoner off to gaol.

When she related the adventure to her uncle he was delighted beyond measure, and must needs bless her and kiss her.

They had parted with the carriage. Needs must where poverty and the devil drives! But they still had a little phaeton, and in this the old man and his niece enjoyed many a delightful drive. He would take her to concerts, too, and to the theatre also, so that, on the whole, life was by no means a galling load to anyone.

But a very frequent visitor at McLeod Cottage was Laird Fletcher. Not only so, but he took the old man and Annie frequently out by train. His carriage would be waiting at the station, and in this they drove away to his beautiful home.

The house itself was modern, but the grounds, under the sweet joy of June, looked beautiful indeed. It was at some considerable distance from the main road, and so in the gardens all was delightfully still, save for the music of happy song-birds or the purr of the turtle-dove, sounding low from the spreading cedars.

“A pleasing land of drowsyhead it was,Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,For ever flushing round a summer sky.There eke the soft delights, that witchinglyInstil a wanton sweetness through the breast,And the calm pleasures always hovered nigh;But whate’er smacked of ’noyance or unrestWas far, far off expelled from this delicious nest.”

“A pleasing land of drowsyhead it was,Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,For ever flushing round a summer sky.There eke the soft delights, that witchinglyInstil a wanton sweetness through the breast,And the calm pleasures always hovered nigh;But whate’er smacked of ’noyance or unrestWas far, far off expelled from this delicious nest.”

Through these lovely rose-gardens and tree-shaded lawns frequently now wandered Annie, alone with Fletcher. He was so gentle, winning, and true that she had come to like him. Mind, I say nothing of love. And she innocently and frankly told him so as they sat together in a natural bower beneath a spreading deodar cedar. He was happy, but he would not risk his chance by being too precipitate.

Another day in the same arbour, after a moment or two of silence, she said: “Oh, I wish you were my uncle!” Fletcher winced a little, but summoned up courage to say:

“Ah, Annie, could we not be united by a dearer tie than that? Believe me, I love you more than life itself. Whether that life be long or short depends upon you, Annie.”

But she only bent her head and cried, childlike.

“Ah, Mr Fletcher,” she said at last, “I have no heart to give away. It lies at the bottom of the sea.”

“But love would come.”

“We will go to the house now, I think,” and she rose.

Fletcher, poor fellow, silently, almost broken-heartedly, followed, and, of course, the Great Dane was there.

That night she told her uncle all. He said not a word. She told her maid in the bedroom.

“Oh, Miss Annie,” said Jeanie, “I think you are very, very foolish. You refuse to marry this honest and faithful man, but your mourning will not, cannot restore the dead. Reginald Grahame is happier, a thousand, million times more happy, than anyone can ever be on this earth. Besides, dear, there is another way of looking at the matter. Your poor Uncle McLeod is miles and miles from the pines, from the heath and the heather. He may not complain, but the artificial life of a city is telling on him. What a quiet and delightful life he would have at Laird Fletcher’s!”

Annie was dumb. She was thinking. Should she sacrifice her young life for the sake of her dear uncle? Ah, well, what did life signify to her now?Hewas dead and gone.

Thus she spoke:

“You do not think my uncle is ill, Jeannie?”

“I do not say he isill, but I do say that he feels his present life irksome at times, and you may not have him long, Miss Annie. Now go to sleep like a baby and dream of it.”

And I think Annie cried herself asleep that night.

“It becomes not a maiden descended from the noble clan McLeod to be otherwise than brave,” she told herself next morning. “Oh, for dear uncle’s sake I feel I could—” But she said no more to herself just then.

Fletcher called that very day, and took them away again to his bonnie Highland home. It was a day that angels would have delighted in. And just on that same seat beneath the same green-branched cedar Fletcher renewed his wooing. But he, this time, alluded to the artificial city life that the old Laird had to lead, he who never before during his old age had been out of sight of the waving pines and the bonnie blooming heather.

Fletcher was very eloquent to-day. Love makes one so. Yet his wooing was strangely like that of Auld Robin Grey, especially when he finished plaintively, appealingly, with the words:

“Oh, Annie, for his sake will you not marry me?”

Annie o’ the Banks o’ Dee wept just a little, then she wiped her tears away. He took her hand, and she half-whispered: “What must bemust—’tis fate.”

Chapter Eleven.The “Wolverine” Puts out to Sea.With the exception of theSunbeam, probably no more handsome steam yacht ever left Southampton Harbour than theWolverine. She was all that a sailor’s fancy could paint.Quite a crowd of people were on the quay to witness her departure on her very long and venturesome cruise. Venturesome for this reason, that, though rigged as a steam barque, she was but little over four hundred tons register.Seamen on shore, as they glanced at her from stem to stem, alow and aloft, criticised her freely. But Jack’s opinion was on the whole well embodied in a sentence spoken by a man-o’-wars-man, as he hitched up his nether garments and turned his quid in his mouth:“My eyes, Bill and Elizabeth Martin, she is a natty little craft! I’ve been trying to find a flaw in her, or a hole, so to speak, but there’s ne’er a one, Bill—above water, anyhow. Without the steam she reminds me of the old Aberdeen clippers. Look at her bilge, her lines, her bows, her jibboom, with its smart and business-like curve. Ah, Bill, how different to sail in a yacht like that from living cooped up in a blooming iron tank, as we are in our newest-fashioned man-o’-war teakettles! Heigho! Blowed if I wouldn’t like to go on board of her! Why, here is the doctor—splendid young fellow!—coming along the pier now. I’ll overhaul him and hail him. Come on, Bill!”Reginald Grahame was coming somewhat slowly towards them. It was just a day or two before the discovery of Craig Nicol’s murder and the finding of his body in the wood.Reginald was thinking of Bilberry Hall and Annie o’ the Banks o’ Dee. Sorrow was depicted in every lineament of his handsome but mobile and somewhat nervous countenance. Was he thinking also of the cold, stiff body of his quondam friend Craig, hidden there under the dark spruce trees, the tell-tale knife beside him? Who can say what the innermost workings of his mind were? Some of the most bloodthirsty pirates of old were the handsomest men that ever trod the deck of a ship. We can judge no man’s heart from his countenance. And no woman’s either. There be she-devils who bear the sweet and winning features of saints. Our Scottish Queen Mary was beautiful, and as graceful as beautiful.“If to her share some human errors fall,Look in her face, and you’ll forget them all.”“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” said Jack, touching his hat and scraping a bit, like a horse with a loose shoe, “we’re only just two blooming bluejackets, but we’ve been a-admiring of your craft—outside like. D’ye think, sir, they’d let us on board for a squint?”“Come with me, my lads. I’ll take you on board.”Next minute, in company with Reginald—who was now calledDr—Grahame, they were walking the ivory-white decks. Those two honest man-o’-war sailors were delighted beyond measure with all they saw.“Why,” said Jack—he was chief spokesman, for Bill was mute—“why, doctor, you havesailorson board!—and mind you, sir, you don’t find real sailors nowadays anywhere else except in the merchant service. We bluejackets are just like our ships—fighting machines. We ain’t hearts of oak any longer, sir.”“No,” said the doctor, “but you are hearts of iron. Ha! here comes the postman, with a letter for me, too. Thank you, postie.”He gave him sixpence, and tore the letter open, his hand shaking somewhat. Yes, it was from Annie. He simply hurriedly scanned it at present, but he heaved a sigh of relief as he placed it in his bosom. Then he rejoined the bluejackets.“Well, sir, we won’t hinder you. I see you’ve got the Blue Peter up. But never did I see cleaner white decks; every rope’s end coiled, too. The capstan itself is a thing o’ beauty; all the brasswork looks like gold, all the polished woodwork like ebony; and, blow me, Bill, just look at that binnacle! Blest if it wouldn’t be a beautiful ornament for a young lady’s boodwar (boudoir)! Well, sir, we wishes you a pleasant, happy voyage and a safe return. God bless you, says Jack, and good-bye.”“Good-bye to you, lads; and when you go to war, may you send the foe to the bottom of the ocean. There,”—he handed Jack a coin as he spoke—“drinkbon voyageto us.”“Ah, that will we!”The sailors once more scraped and bowed, and Reginald hurried below to read Annie’s letter. It was just a lover’s letter—just such a letter as many of my readers have had in their day—so I need not describe it.Reginald sat in his little cabin—it was only six feet square—with his elbow leaning on his bunk, his hand under his chin, thinking, thinking, thinking. Then an idea struck him. The skipper of the yacht—called “captain” by courtesy—and Reginald were already the best of friends. Indeed, Dickson—for that was his name—was but six or seven years older than Reginald.“Rat-tat-tat!” at the captain’s door. His cabin was pretty large, and right astern, on what in a frigate would be called “the fighting deck.” This cabin was of course right abaft the main saloon, and had a private staircase, or companion, that led to the upper deck.“Hullo, doctor, my boy!”“Well, just call me Grahame,mon ami.”“If you’ll call me Dickson, that’ll square it.”“Well, then, Dickson, I’m terribly anxious to get out and away to sea. If not soon, I feel I may run off—back to my lady love. When do we sail for sure?”The captain got up and tapped the glass.“Our passengers come on board this afternoon, bag and baggage, and to-morrow morning early we loose off, and steam out to sea—if it be a day on which gulls can fly.”“Thanks, a thousand times. And now I won’t hinder you.”“Have a drop of rum before you go, and take a cigar with you.”Reginald’s heart needed keeping up, so he did both.“When I am on the sea,” he said, “I shall feel more happy. Ay, but Annie, I never can forget you.”More cheerily now, he walked briskly off to the hotel to meet his patients. There were two, Mr and Mrs Hall, wealthy Americans; besides, there were, as before mentioned, Miss Hall and the child Matty. They were all very glad to see Reginald.“You are very young,” said Mr Hall, offering him a cigar.“I think,” he answered, “I am very fit and fresh, and you will find me very attentive.”“I’m sure of it,” said Mrs Hall.Little Matty took his hand shyly between her own two tiny ones.“And Matty’s su’e too,” she said, looking up into his face.They say that American children are thirteen years of age when born. I know they are precocious, and I like them all the better for it. This child was very winning, very pert and pretty, but less chubby, and more intellectual-looking than most British children. For the life of him Reginald could not help lifting her high above his head and kissing her wee red lips as he lowered her into his arms.“You and I are going to be good friends always, aren’t we?”“Oh, yes, doc,” she answered gaily; “and of torse the dleat (great) big, big dog.”“Yes, and you may ride round the decks on him sometimes.”Matty clapped her hands with joy.“What a boo’ful moustache you has!” she said.“You little flatterer!” he replied, as he set her down. “Ah! you have all a woman’s wiles.”Everything was on board, and theWolverinewas ready to sail that night. But the captain must go on shore to see his friends and bid them adieu first.The night closed in early, but the sky was studded with stars, and a three-days’-old moon shone high in the west like a scimitar of gold. This gave Reginald heart. Still, it might blow big guns before morning, and although he sat up pretty late, to be initiated by Mr Hall into the game of poker, he went often to the glass and tapped it. The glass was steadily and moderately high. Reginald turned into his bunk at last, but slept but little, and that little was dream-perturbed.Early in the morning he was awakened by the roar of steam getting up. His heart leaped for joy. It is at best a wearisome thing, this being idle in harbour before sailing.But at earliest dawn there was much shouting and giving of orders; the men running fore and aft on deck; other men on shore casting off hawsers. Then the great screw began slowly to churn up the murky water astern. The captain himself was on the bridge, the man at the wheel standing by to obey his slightest command.And so theWolverinedeparted, with many a cheer from the shore—ay, and many a blessing.As she went out they passed a man-o’-war, in which the captain had many friends. Early as it was, the commander had the band up, and sweetly across the water came the music of that dear old song I myself have often heard, when standing out to sea, “Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye.”By eventide they were standing well down towards the Bay of Biscay, which they would leave on their port quarter. They would merely skirt it, bearing up for Madeira. But a delightful breeze had sprung up; the white sails were set, and she was running before it, right saucily, too, bobbing and curtseying to each rippling wavelet very prettily, as much as to say: “Ah! you dear old sea, we have been together before now. You will never lose your temper with me, will you?” It is well, indeed, that sailors do not know what is before them.The dinner-hour was seven. Mr and Mrs Hall were seated on chairs on the quarter-deck. Neither was over-well, but Ilda and Reginald were pacing briskly up and down the quarter-deck, chatting pleasantly. I think, though, that Ilda had more to say than he. American girls are born that way.Wee Matty was making love to Oscar, the splendid and good-natured Newfoundland. Nobody more happy than bonnie Matty, bonnie and gay, for her happiness, indeed, was a species of merry madness. Only no one could have heard her childish, gleesome and silvery laugh without laughing with her.The bell at last! Reginald took Ilda down below, then hurried on deck to help his patients. Matty and Oscar seemed to come tumbling down.And so the evening passed away, the stars once more glittering like crystal gems, the great star Sirius shining in ever-changing rays of crimson and blue.It was indeed a goodly night, and Reginald slept to-night. The incubus Love had fled away.

With the exception of theSunbeam, probably no more handsome steam yacht ever left Southampton Harbour than theWolverine. She was all that a sailor’s fancy could paint.

Quite a crowd of people were on the quay to witness her departure on her very long and venturesome cruise. Venturesome for this reason, that, though rigged as a steam barque, she was but little over four hundred tons register.

Seamen on shore, as they glanced at her from stem to stem, alow and aloft, criticised her freely. But Jack’s opinion was on the whole well embodied in a sentence spoken by a man-o’-wars-man, as he hitched up his nether garments and turned his quid in his mouth:

“My eyes, Bill and Elizabeth Martin, she is a natty little craft! I’ve been trying to find a flaw in her, or a hole, so to speak, but there’s ne’er a one, Bill—above water, anyhow. Without the steam she reminds me of the old Aberdeen clippers. Look at her bilge, her lines, her bows, her jibboom, with its smart and business-like curve. Ah, Bill, how different to sail in a yacht like that from living cooped up in a blooming iron tank, as we are in our newest-fashioned man-o’-war teakettles! Heigho! Blowed if I wouldn’t like to go on board of her! Why, here is the doctor—splendid young fellow!—coming along the pier now. I’ll overhaul him and hail him. Come on, Bill!”

Reginald Grahame was coming somewhat slowly towards them. It was just a day or two before the discovery of Craig Nicol’s murder and the finding of his body in the wood.

Reginald was thinking of Bilberry Hall and Annie o’ the Banks o’ Dee. Sorrow was depicted in every lineament of his handsome but mobile and somewhat nervous countenance. Was he thinking also of the cold, stiff body of his quondam friend Craig, hidden there under the dark spruce trees, the tell-tale knife beside him? Who can say what the innermost workings of his mind were? Some of the most bloodthirsty pirates of old were the handsomest men that ever trod the deck of a ship. We can judge no man’s heart from his countenance. And no woman’s either. There be she-devils who bear the sweet and winning features of saints. Our Scottish Queen Mary was beautiful, and as graceful as beautiful.

“If to her share some human errors fall,Look in her face, and you’ll forget them all.”

“If to her share some human errors fall,Look in her face, and you’ll forget them all.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” said Jack, touching his hat and scraping a bit, like a horse with a loose shoe, “we’re only just two blooming bluejackets, but we’ve been a-admiring of your craft—outside like. D’ye think, sir, they’d let us on board for a squint?”

“Come with me, my lads. I’ll take you on board.”

Next minute, in company with Reginald—who was now calledDr—Grahame, they were walking the ivory-white decks. Those two honest man-o’-war sailors were delighted beyond measure with all they saw.

“Why,” said Jack—he was chief spokesman, for Bill was mute—“why, doctor, you havesailorson board!—and mind you, sir, you don’t find real sailors nowadays anywhere else except in the merchant service. We bluejackets are just like our ships—fighting machines. We ain’t hearts of oak any longer, sir.”

“No,” said the doctor, “but you are hearts of iron. Ha! here comes the postman, with a letter for me, too. Thank you, postie.”

He gave him sixpence, and tore the letter open, his hand shaking somewhat. Yes, it was from Annie. He simply hurriedly scanned it at present, but he heaved a sigh of relief as he placed it in his bosom. Then he rejoined the bluejackets.

“Well, sir, we won’t hinder you. I see you’ve got the Blue Peter up. But never did I see cleaner white decks; every rope’s end coiled, too. The capstan itself is a thing o’ beauty; all the brasswork looks like gold, all the polished woodwork like ebony; and, blow me, Bill, just look at that binnacle! Blest if it wouldn’t be a beautiful ornament for a young lady’s boodwar (boudoir)! Well, sir, we wishes you a pleasant, happy voyage and a safe return. God bless you, says Jack, and good-bye.”

“Good-bye to you, lads; and when you go to war, may you send the foe to the bottom of the ocean. There,”—he handed Jack a coin as he spoke—“drinkbon voyageto us.”

“Ah, that will we!”

The sailors once more scraped and bowed, and Reginald hurried below to read Annie’s letter. It was just a lover’s letter—just such a letter as many of my readers have had in their day—so I need not describe it.

Reginald sat in his little cabin—it was only six feet square—with his elbow leaning on his bunk, his hand under his chin, thinking, thinking, thinking. Then an idea struck him. The skipper of the yacht—called “captain” by courtesy—and Reginald were already the best of friends. Indeed, Dickson—for that was his name—was but six or seven years older than Reginald.

“Rat-tat-tat!” at the captain’s door. His cabin was pretty large, and right astern, on what in a frigate would be called “the fighting deck.” This cabin was of course right abaft the main saloon, and had a private staircase, or companion, that led to the upper deck.

“Hullo, doctor, my boy!”

“Well, just call me Grahame,mon ami.”

“If you’ll call me Dickson, that’ll square it.”

“Well, then, Dickson, I’m terribly anxious to get out and away to sea. If not soon, I feel I may run off—back to my lady love. When do we sail for sure?”

The captain got up and tapped the glass.

“Our passengers come on board this afternoon, bag and baggage, and to-morrow morning early we loose off, and steam out to sea—if it be a day on which gulls can fly.”

“Thanks, a thousand times. And now I won’t hinder you.”

“Have a drop of rum before you go, and take a cigar with you.”

Reginald’s heart needed keeping up, so he did both.

“When I am on the sea,” he said, “I shall feel more happy. Ay, but Annie, I never can forget you.”

More cheerily now, he walked briskly off to the hotel to meet his patients. There were two, Mr and Mrs Hall, wealthy Americans; besides, there were, as before mentioned, Miss Hall and the child Matty. They were all very glad to see Reginald.

“You are very young,” said Mr Hall, offering him a cigar.

“I think,” he answered, “I am very fit and fresh, and you will find me very attentive.”

“I’m sure of it,” said Mrs Hall.

Little Matty took his hand shyly between her own two tiny ones.

“And Matty’s su’e too,” she said, looking up into his face.

They say that American children are thirteen years of age when born. I know they are precocious, and I like them all the better for it. This child was very winning, very pert and pretty, but less chubby, and more intellectual-looking than most British children. For the life of him Reginald could not help lifting her high above his head and kissing her wee red lips as he lowered her into his arms.

“You and I are going to be good friends always, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yes, doc,” she answered gaily; “and of torse the dleat (great) big, big dog.”

“Yes, and you may ride round the decks on him sometimes.”

Matty clapped her hands with joy.

“What a boo’ful moustache you has!” she said.

“You little flatterer!” he replied, as he set her down. “Ah! you have all a woman’s wiles.”

Everything was on board, and theWolverinewas ready to sail that night. But the captain must go on shore to see his friends and bid them adieu first.

The night closed in early, but the sky was studded with stars, and a three-days’-old moon shone high in the west like a scimitar of gold. This gave Reginald heart. Still, it might blow big guns before morning, and although he sat up pretty late, to be initiated by Mr Hall into the game of poker, he went often to the glass and tapped it. The glass was steadily and moderately high. Reginald turned into his bunk at last, but slept but little, and that little was dream-perturbed.

Early in the morning he was awakened by the roar of steam getting up. His heart leaped for joy. It is at best a wearisome thing, this being idle in harbour before sailing.

But at earliest dawn there was much shouting and giving of orders; the men running fore and aft on deck; other men on shore casting off hawsers. Then the great screw began slowly to churn up the murky water astern. The captain himself was on the bridge, the man at the wheel standing by to obey his slightest command.

And so theWolverinedeparted, with many a cheer from the shore—ay, and many a blessing.

As she went out they passed a man-o’-war, in which the captain had many friends. Early as it was, the commander had the band up, and sweetly across the water came the music of that dear old song I myself have often heard, when standing out to sea, “Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye.”

By eventide they were standing well down towards the Bay of Biscay, which they would leave on their port quarter. They would merely skirt it, bearing up for Madeira. But a delightful breeze had sprung up; the white sails were set, and she was running before it, right saucily, too, bobbing and curtseying to each rippling wavelet very prettily, as much as to say: “Ah! you dear old sea, we have been together before now. You will never lose your temper with me, will you?” It is well, indeed, that sailors do not know what is before them.

The dinner-hour was seven. Mr and Mrs Hall were seated on chairs on the quarter-deck. Neither was over-well, but Ilda and Reginald were pacing briskly up and down the quarter-deck, chatting pleasantly. I think, though, that Ilda had more to say than he. American girls are born that way.

Wee Matty was making love to Oscar, the splendid and good-natured Newfoundland. Nobody more happy than bonnie Matty, bonnie and gay, for her happiness, indeed, was a species of merry madness. Only no one could have heard her childish, gleesome and silvery laugh without laughing with her.

The bell at last! Reginald took Ilda down below, then hurried on deck to help his patients. Matty and Oscar seemed to come tumbling down.

And so the evening passed away, the stars once more glittering like crystal gems, the great star Sirius shining in ever-changing rays of crimson and blue.

It was indeed a goodly night, and Reginald slept to-night. The incubus Love had fled away.

Chapter Twelve.“I say, Cap,” said Mr Hall, “I should Maroon a Fellow like that!”While the whole countryside—ay, and the Granite City itself—were thrilled with awe and horror at the brutal murder of poor unoffending Craig Nicol, theWolverinewas making her way on the wings of a delightful ten-knot breeze to the Isle of Madeira.Reginald had ascertained that there was nothing very serious the matter with Mr and Mrs Hall. They were run down, however, very much with the gaieties of Paris and London, to say nothing of New York, and thought rightly that a long sea voyage would be the best thing to restore them.Madeira at last! The beach, with its boulders or round sea-smoothed stones, was a difficult one to land upon. The waves or breakers hurled these stones forward with a hurtling sound that could be heard miles and miles away, then as quickly sucked them back again. Nevertheless, the boat was safely beached, and there were men with willing hands and broad shoulder to carry Mr and Mrs Hall and daughter safely on to dry land.Reginald was sure of foot, and lifting Matty in his arms as she crowed with delight, he bore her safe on shore. The great Newfoundland despised a boat, and hardly was she well off the yacht ere he leaped overboard with a splash. And he also landed, shaking himself free of gallons of water, which made rainbows and halos around him. He drenched his master pretty severely. But it was a fine joke to Oscar, so, grinning and laughing as only this breed can, he went tearing along the beach and back again at the rate of fifteen knots an hour. When he did come back, he licked his master’s hand and little Matty’s face. “Nothing like a good race,” he seemed to say, “to set the blood in motion after a long bath.”While the party sit in the piazza of a beautiful tree-shaded hotel, sipping iced sherbet, let me say a word about the nature of theWolverine’svoyage.The yacht did not belong to the Halls. She was lent them for the cruise round the Horn to the South Pacific, and many a beautiful island they meant to visit, and see many a strange and wondrous sight. For hitherto all their travelling experiences had been confined to Europe. But your true American wants to see all the world when he can afford it.It was health the Halls were in search of, combined with pleasure if possible; but they meant to collect all the curios they could get, and they also felt certain—so Mrs Hall said—that they would find the South Sea savages very interesting persons indeed.So have I myself found them, especially when their spears were whisking over my boat and they were dancing in warlike frenzy on the beach. In such cases, however, a shot or two from a good revolver has a wonderfully persuasive and calmative effect on even Somali Indians.We British have called Scotland and England an isle of beauty, but I question very much if it can cope with Madeira. Here not only have we splendid mountains, clad in all the beauty of tropical and sub-tropical shrubs and trees, tremendous cliffs and gorges, raging torrents and cataracts, with many a bosky dell, lovely even as those birchen glades in Scotia, but in this heavenly isle there is the sunshine that overspreads all and sparkles on the sea. And that sea, too!—who could describe the splendour of its blue on a calm day, patched here and there towards the shore with browns, seagreens, and opals? No wonder that after making several visits and picnics in shore and high among the mountains, borne there by sturdy Portuguese in hammocks, Mrs Hall should declare that she felt better already.It was with some reluctance that Mr Hall ordered the anchor to be got up at last, and all sail made for the Canaries. Near sunset was it when they sailed slowly away, a sunset of indescribable beauty. A great grey misty bank of cloud was hanging many degrees above the mountains, but beneath it was more clear and streaked with long trailing cloudlets of crimson, light yellow, and purple, the rifts between being of the deepest sea-green. But over the hills hung a shadow or mist of smoky blue.Then descended the sun, sinking in the waters far to the west, a ball of crimson fire with a pathway of blood ’twixt the horizon and the yacht.Then night fell, with but a brief twilight. There was going to be a change, however. The mate, a sturdy, red-faced, weather-beaten, but comely fellow, sought the captain’s cabin and reported a rapidly-falling glass, and the gradual obliteration of the stars, that erst had shone so sweetly.How swiftly comes a squall at times in these seas! A huge bank of blackest darkness was seen rapidly advancing towards the ship, and before sail could be taken in or steam got up she was in the grasp of that merciless demon squall.For a minute or two she fled before it and the terrible waves, quivering the while from stem to stern like a dying deer.Then high above the roaring of the wind, and booming and hissing of the waves, great guns were heard. It seemed so, at least, but it was but the bursting of the bellying sails, and platoon-firing next, as the rent ribbons of canvas crackled and rattled in the gale.To lie to was impossible now. With the little sail they had left they must fly on and on. Men staggered about trying to batten down, but for a time in vain.Then came a huge pooping wave, that all but swept the decks. It smashed the bulwarks, it carried away a boat, and, alas! one poor fellow found a watery grave. He must have been killed before being swept overboard. Anyhow, he was seen no more. Everything movable was carried forward with tremendous force. Even the winch was unshipped, and stood partly on end.The man at the wheel and the men battening down were carried away on the current, but though several were badly bruised, they were otherwise unhurt. Sturdy Captain Dickson had rushed to the wheel, else would theWolverinehave broached to and sunk in a few minutes.The water had poured down the companions like cataracts, and it drowned out the half-lit fires. Mr Hall and party had shut themselves up in their state-rooms, but everything in the saloon was floating in water two feet deep.However, this storm passed away almost as quickly as it had come, and once more the seas calmed down, and sky and waters became brightly, ineffably blue. The ship was baled out, and, as the wind had now gone down, fires were got up, and theWolverinesteamed away for the Canaries and the marvellous Peak of Teneriffe.But poor Bill Stevens’s death had cast a general gloom throughout the ship. He was a great favourite fore and aft, always merry, always laughing or singing, and a right good sailor as well.So next morning, when red and rosy the sun rose over the sea, orders were sent forward for the men to “lay aft” at nine o’clock for prayers. Then it was “wash and scrub decks, polish the wood, and shine the brasswork.”Right rapidly did the sun dry the decks, so that when Mrs Hall, who had received a bad shock, was helped on deck by Reginald, everything ’twixt fo’c’sle and wheel looked clean and nice. The winch had not been badly damaged, and was soon set to rights.I should not forget to mention that the only one not really alarmed during the terrible black Squall was that busy, merry wee body Matty. When she saw the cataract of waters coming surging in, she speedily mounted the table. The fiddles had been put on, and to these she held fast; and she told Reginald all this next morning, adding, “And, oh, doc, it was so nice—dust (just) like a swinging-rope!”But she had had a companion; for, after swimming several times round the table, as if in search of dry land, the beautiful dog clambered up on the table beside Matty. To be sure, he shook himself, but Matty shut her eyes, and wiped her face, and on the whole was very glad of his company.How solemn was that prayer of Mr Hall for the dead. Granted that he was what is so foolishly called “a Dissenter” in England, his heart was in the right place, and he prayed right from that Even his slight nasal twang in no way detracted from the solemnity of that prayer. Ilda Hall had her handkerchief to her face, but poor little cabin-boy Ralph Williams wept audibly. For the drowned sailor had ever been kind to him.The captain was certainly a gentleman, and an excellent sailor, but he had sea ways with him, and now he ordered the main-brace to be spliced; so all the Jacks on board soon forgot their grief.“His body has gone to Davy Jones,” said one, “but his soul has gone aloft.”“Amen,” said others.They stayed at Orotava long enough to see the sights, and Reginald himself and a sailor got high up the peak. He was on board in time for dinner, but confessed to being tired. He had not forgotten to bring a splendid basket of fruit with him, however, nor wildflowers rich and rare.A long lonely voyage was now before them—south-west and away to Rio de Janeiro—so ere long everyone on board had settled quietly down to a sea life.I must mention here that it was the first mate that had chosen the crew. He had done so somewhat hastily, I fear, and when I say that there were two or three Spaniards among them, and more than one Finn, need I add that the devil was there also?One Finn in particular I must mention. He was tall to awkwardness. Somewhat ungainly all over, but his countenance was altogether forbidding. He had an ugly beard, that grew only on his throat, but curled up over his chin—certainly not adding to his beauty.Christian Norman was his name; his temper was vile, and more than once had he floored poor boy Williams, and even cut his head. He smoked as often as he had the chance, and would have drunk himself to insensibility if supplied with vile alcohol.“I don’t like him,” said the captain one evening at dinner.“Nor I,” said Reginald.“I say, cap,” said Mr Hall, “I’d maroon a fellow like that! If you don’t, mark my words, he will give us trouble yet.”And he did, as the sequel will show.

While the whole countryside—ay, and the Granite City itself—were thrilled with awe and horror at the brutal murder of poor unoffending Craig Nicol, theWolverinewas making her way on the wings of a delightful ten-knot breeze to the Isle of Madeira.

Reginald had ascertained that there was nothing very serious the matter with Mr and Mrs Hall. They were run down, however, very much with the gaieties of Paris and London, to say nothing of New York, and thought rightly that a long sea voyage would be the best thing to restore them.

Madeira at last! The beach, with its boulders or round sea-smoothed stones, was a difficult one to land upon. The waves or breakers hurled these stones forward with a hurtling sound that could be heard miles and miles away, then as quickly sucked them back again. Nevertheless, the boat was safely beached, and there were men with willing hands and broad shoulder to carry Mr and Mrs Hall and daughter safely on to dry land.

Reginald was sure of foot, and lifting Matty in his arms as she crowed with delight, he bore her safe on shore. The great Newfoundland despised a boat, and hardly was she well off the yacht ere he leaped overboard with a splash. And he also landed, shaking himself free of gallons of water, which made rainbows and halos around him. He drenched his master pretty severely. But it was a fine joke to Oscar, so, grinning and laughing as only this breed can, he went tearing along the beach and back again at the rate of fifteen knots an hour. When he did come back, he licked his master’s hand and little Matty’s face. “Nothing like a good race,” he seemed to say, “to set the blood in motion after a long bath.”

While the party sit in the piazza of a beautiful tree-shaded hotel, sipping iced sherbet, let me say a word about the nature of theWolverine’svoyage.

The yacht did not belong to the Halls. She was lent them for the cruise round the Horn to the South Pacific, and many a beautiful island they meant to visit, and see many a strange and wondrous sight. For hitherto all their travelling experiences had been confined to Europe. But your true American wants to see all the world when he can afford it.

It was health the Halls were in search of, combined with pleasure if possible; but they meant to collect all the curios they could get, and they also felt certain—so Mrs Hall said—that they would find the South Sea savages very interesting persons indeed.

So have I myself found them, especially when their spears were whisking over my boat and they were dancing in warlike frenzy on the beach. In such cases, however, a shot or two from a good revolver has a wonderfully persuasive and calmative effect on even Somali Indians.

We British have called Scotland and England an isle of beauty, but I question very much if it can cope with Madeira. Here not only have we splendid mountains, clad in all the beauty of tropical and sub-tropical shrubs and trees, tremendous cliffs and gorges, raging torrents and cataracts, with many a bosky dell, lovely even as those birchen glades in Scotia, but in this heavenly isle there is the sunshine that overspreads all and sparkles on the sea. And that sea, too!—who could describe the splendour of its blue on a calm day, patched here and there towards the shore with browns, seagreens, and opals? No wonder that after making several visits and picnics in shore and high among the mountains, borne there by sturdy Portuguese in hammocks, Mrs Hall should declare that she felt better already.

It was with some reluctance that Mr Hall ordered the anchor to be got up at last, and all sail made for the Canaries. Near sunset was it when they sailed slowly away, a sunset of indescribable beauty. A great grey misty bank of cloud was hanging many degrees above the mountains, but beneath it was more clear and streaked with long trailing cloudlets of crimson, light yellow, and purple, the rifts between being of the deepest sea-green. But over the hills hung a shadow or mist of smoky blue.

Then descended the sun, sinking in the waters far to the west, a ball of crimson fire with a pathway of blood ’twixt the horizon and the yacht.

Then night fell, with but a brief twilight. There was going to be a change, however. The mate, a sturdy, red-faced, weather-beaten, but comely fellow, sought the captain’s cabin and reported a rapidly-falling glass, and the gradual obliteration of the stars, that erst had shone so sweetly.

How swiftly comes a squall at times in these seas! A huge bank of blackest darkness was seen rapidly advancing towards the ship, and before sail could be taken in or steam got up she was in the grasp of that merciless demon squall.

For a minute or two she fled before it and the terrible waves, quivering the while from stem to stern like a dying deer.

Then high above the roaring of the wind, and booming and hissing of the waves, great guns were heard. It seemed so, at least, but it was but the bursting of the bellying sails, and platoon-firing next, as the rent ribbons of canvas crackled and rattled in the gale.

To lie to was impossible now. With the little sail they had left they must fly on and on. Men staggered about trying to batten down, but for a time in vain.

Then came a huge pooping wave, that all but swept the decks. It smashed the bulwarks, it carried away a boat, and, alas! one poor fellow found a watery grave. He must have been killed before being swept overboard. Anyhow, he was seen no more. Everything movable was carried forward with tremendous force. Even the winch was unshipped, and stood partly on end.

The man at the wheel and the men battening down were carried away on the current, but though several were badly bruised, they were otherwise unhurt. Sturdy Captain Dickson had rushed to the wheel, else would theWolverinehave broached to and sunk in a few minutes.

The water had poured down the companions like cataracts, and it drowned out the half-lit fires. Mr Hall and party had shut themselves up in their state-rooms, but everything in the saloon was floating in water two feet deep.

However, this storm passed away almost as quickly as it had come, and once more the seas calmed down, and sky and waters became brightly, ineffably blue. The ship was baled out, and, as the wind had now gone down, fires were got up, and theWolverinesteamed away for the Canaries and the marvellous Peak of Teneriffe.

But poor Bill Stevens’s death had cast a general gloom throughout the ship. He was a great favourite fore and aft, always merry, always laughing or singing, and a right good sailor as well.

So next morning, when red and rosy the sun rose over the sea, orders were sent forward for the men to “lay aft” at nine o’clock for prayers. Then it was “wash and scrub decks, polish the wood, and shine the brasswork.”

Right rapidly did the sun dry the decks, so that when Mrs Hall, who had received a bad shock, was helped on deck by Reginald, everything ’twixt fo’c’sle and wheel looked clean and nice. The winch had not been badly damaged, and was soon set to rights.

I should not forget to mention that the only one not really alarmed during the terrible black Squall was that busy, merry wee body Matty. When she saw the cataract of waters coming surging in, she speedily mounted the table. The fiddles had been put on, and to these she held fast; and she told Reginald all this next morning, adding, “And, oh, doc, it was so nice—dust (just) like a swinging-rope!”

But she had had a companion; for, after swimming several times round the table, as if in search of dry land, the beautiful dog clambered up on the table beside Matty. To be sure, he shook himself, but Matty shut her eyes, and wiped her face, and on the whole was very glad of his company.

How solemn was that prayer of Mr Hall for the dead. Granted that he was what is so foolishly called “a Dissenter” in England, his heart was in the right place, and he prayed right from that Even his slight nasal twang in no way detracted from the solemnity of that prayer. Ilda Hall had her handkerchief to her face, but poor little cabin-boy Ralph Williams wept audibly. For the drowned sailor had ever been kind to him.

The captain was certainly a gentleman, and an excellent sailor, but he had sea ways with him, and now he ordered the main-brace to be spliced; so all the Jacks on board soon forgot their grief.

“His body has gone to Davy Jones,” said one, “but his soul has gone aloft.”

“Amen,” said others.

They stayed at Orotava long enough to see the sights, and Reginald himself and a sailor got high up the peak. He was on board in time for dinner, but confessed to being tired. He had not forgotten to bring a splendid basket of fruit with him, however, nor wildflowers rich and rare.

A long lonely voyage was now before them—south-west and away to Rio de Janeiro—so ere long everyone on board had settled quietly down to a sea life.

I must mention here that it was the first mate that had chosen the crew. He had done so somewhat hastily, I fear, and when I say that there were two or three Spaniards among them, and more than one Finn, need I add that the devil was there also?

One Finn in particular I must mention. He was tall to awkwardness. Somewhat ungainly all over, but his countenance was altogether forbidding. He had an ugly beard, that grew only on his throat, but curled up over his chin—certainly not adding to his beauty.

Christian Norman was his name; his temper was vile, and more than once had he floored poor boy Williams, and even cut his head. He smoked as often as he had the chance, and would have drunk himself to insensibility if supplied with vile alcohol.

“I don’t like him,” said the captain one evening at dinner.

“Nor I,” said Reginald.

“I say, cap,” said Mr Hall, “I’d maroon a fellow like that! If you don’t, mark my words, he will give us trouble yet.”

And he did, as the sequel will show.

Chapter Thirteen.The Breakdown—Savages!Captain Dickson was just as kind to Norman, the Finn, as he was to anyone else. Perhaps more so. Not that he dreaded him. Dickson would have shot him with as little compunction as shooting a panther had he given him even a mutinous answer. But he often let him have double allowance of rum. “You’re a big man,” he would say; “you need a little more than the little ones.”Norman would smile grimly, but swallow it. He would even buy the men’s, for he seemed to have plenty of money. When half-seas-over Norman would swagger and rant and sing, and with little provocation he would have fought. The other Finns and the Spaniard, besides an Englishman or two, always took Norman’s side in an argument.So things went on until Rio was reached. What a splendid harbour—ships of all nations here; what a romantic city as seen from the sea, and the surroundings how romantic, rivalling even Edinburgh itself in beauty!It was early summer here, too. They had left autumn and the coming winter far away in the dreary north. I shall make no attempt to describe the floral grandeur of the country here. I have done so before. But not only Reginald, but all the Halls, and Matty as well, were able to walk round and admire the tropical vegetation and the gorgeous flowers in the gardens; and in the town itself the fish-market and fruit-market were duly wondered at, for everything was new and strange to the visitors.Further out into the country they drove all among the peaked and marvellous mountains and the foliaged glens, and Matty, who sat on Reginald’s knee, clapped her hands with delight to see the wee, wee humming-birds buzzing from flower to flower “like chips of rainbows,” as Ilda phrased it, and the great butterflies as big as fans that floated in seeming idleness here, there, and everywhere.A whole week was spent here, and every day afforded fresh enjoyments. But they must sail away at last. The captain had half-thought of leaving the Finn Norman here, but the man seemed to have turned over a new leaf, so he relented.South now, with still a little west in it. The good ship encountered more bad weather. Yet so taut and true was she, and so strong withal, that with the exception of the waves that dashed inboards—some of them great green seas that rolled aft like breakers on a stormy beach—she never leaked a pint.Captain Dickson and his mate paid good attention to the glass, and never failed to shorten sail and even batten down in time, and before the approach of danger.But all went well and the ship kept healthy. Indeed, hardly was there a sick man among the crew. Little Matty was the life and soul of the yacht. Surely never on board ship before was there such a merry little child! Had anyone been in the saloon as early as four, or even three, bells in the morning watch, they might have heard her lightsome laugh proceeding from her maid’s cabin; for Matty was usually awake long before the break of day, and it is to be presumed that Maggie, the maid, got little sleep or rest after that.Reginald used to be on deck at seven bells, and it was not long before he was joined by Matty. Prettily dressed the wee thing was, in white, with ribbons of blue or crimson, her bonnie hair trailing over her back just as wild and free as she herself was.Then up would come Oscar, the great Newfoundland. Hitherto it might have been all babyish love-making between Reginald and Matty.“I loves ’oo,” she told him one morning, “and when I’se old eno’ I’se doin’ (going) to mally ’oo.”Reginald kissed her and set her down on the deck.But the advent of the grand dog altered matters considerably. He came on deck with a dash and a spring, laughing, apparently, all down both sides.“You can’t catch me,” he would say, or appear to say, to Matty.“I tan tatch ’oo, twick!” she would cry, and off went the dog forward at the gallop, Matty, screaming with laughter, taking up the running, though far in the rear.Smaller dogs on board ship are content to carry and toss and play with a wooden marlin-spike. Oscar despised so puny an object. He would not have felt it in his huge mouth. But he helped himself to a capstan bar, and that is of great length and very heavy. Nevertheless, he would not drop it, and there was honest pride in his beaming eye as he swung off with it. He had to hold his head high to balance it. But round and round the decks he flew, and if a sailor happened to cross his hawse the bar went whack! across his shins or knees, and he was left rubbing and lamenting.Matty tried to take all sorts of cross-cuts between the masts or boats that lay upside down on the deck, but all in vain. But Oscar would tire at last, and let the child catch him.“Now I’se tatched ’oo fairly!” she would cry, seizing him by the shaggy mane.Oscar was very serious now, and licked the child’s cheek and ear in the most affectionate manner, well knowing she was but a baby.“Woa, horsie, woa!” It was all she could do to scramble up and on to Oscar’s broad back. Stride-legs she rode, but sometimes, by way of practical joke, after she had mounted the dog would suddenly sit down, and away slid Matty, falling on her back, laughing and sprawling, all legs and arms, white teeth, and merry, twinkling eyes of blue.“Mind,” she would tell Oscar, after getting up from deck and preparing to remount, “if ’oo sits down adain, ’oo shall be whipped and put into the black hole till the bow-mannie (an evil spirit) tomes and takes ’oo away!”Oscar would now ride solemnly aft, ’bout ship and forward as far as the fo’c’s’le, and so round and round the deck a dozen times at least.When dog and child were tired of playing together, the dog went in search of breakfast down below, to the cook’s galley. There was always the stockpot, and as every man-jack loved the faithful fellow he didn’t come badly off.But even Norman the Finn was a favourite of Matty’s, and he loved the child. She would run to him of a morning, when his tall form appeared emerging from the fore-hatch. He used to set her on the capstan, from which she could easily mount astride on his shoulders, grasping his hair to steady herself.How she laughed and crowed, to be sure, as he went capering round the deck, sometimes pretending to rear and jib, like a very wicked horse indeed, sometimes actually bucking, which only made Matty laugh the more.Ring, ding, ding!—the breakfast bell; and the child was landed on the capstan once more and taken down—now by her devoted sweetheart, Reginald Grahame.The ship was well found. Certainly they had not much fresh meat, but tinned was excellent, and when a sea-bank was anywhere near, as known from the colour of the water, Dickson called away a boat and all hands, and had fish for two days at least. Fowls and piggies were kept forward. Well, on the whole she was a very happy ship, till trouble came at last.It was Mr Hall’s wish to go round the stormy and usually ice-bound Horn. The cold he felt certain would brace up both himself and his wife. But he wished to see something of the romantic scenery of Magellan’s Straits first, and the wild and savage grandeur of Tierra del Fuego, or the Land of Fire. They did so, bearing far to the south for this purpose.The weather was sunny and pleasant, the sky blue by day and star-studded by night, while high above shone that wondrous constellation called the Southern Cross. Indeed, all the stars seemed different from what they were used to in their own far northern land.Now, there dwells in this fierce land a race of the most implacable savages on earth. Little is known of them except that they are cannibals, and that their hands are against everyone. But they live almost entirely in boats, and never hesitate to attack a sailing ship if in distress.Hall and Dickson were standing well abaft on the quarter-deck smoking huge cigars, Mr Hall doing the “yarning,” Dickson doing the laughing, when suddenly a harsh grating sound caused both to start and listen.Next minute the vessel had stopped. There she lay, not a great way off the shore, in a calm and placid sea, with not as much wind as would lift a feather, “As idle as a painted ship, upon a painted ocean.”In a few minutes’ time the Scotch engineer, looking rather pale, came hurrying aft.“Well, Mr McDonald, what is the extent of the damage? Shaft broken?”“Oh, no, sir, and I think that myself and men can put it all to rights in four days, if not sooner, and she’ll be just as strong as ever.”“Thank you, Mr McDonald; so set to work as soon as possible, for mind you, we are lying here becalmed off an ugly coast. The yacht would make very nice pickings for these Land of Fire savages.”“Yes, I know, sir; and so would we.”And the worthy engineer departed, with a grim smile on his face. He came back in a few minutes to beg for the loan of a hand or two.“Choose your men, my good fellow, and take as many as you please.”Both Hall and Dickson watched the shore with some degree of anxiety. It was evident that the yacht was being swept perilously near to it. The tide had begun to flow, too, and this made matters worse. Nor could anyone tell what shoal water might lie ahead of them.There was only one thing to be done, and Dickson did it. He called away every boat, and by means of hawsers to each theWolverinewas finally moved further away by nearly a mile.The sailors were now recalled, and the boats hoisted. The men were thoroughly exhausted, so the doctor begged the captain to splice the main-brace, and soon the stewardess was seen marching forward with “Black Jack.” Black Jack wasn’t a man, nor a boy either, but simply a huge can with a spout to it, that held half a gallon of rum at the very least.The men began to sing after this, for your true sailor never neglects an opportunity of being merry when he can. Some of them could sing charmingly, and they were accompanied by the carpenter on his violin. That grand old song, “The Bay of Biscay,” as given by a bass-voiced sailor, was delightful to listen to. As the notes rose and fell one seemed to hear the shrieking of the wind in the rigging, the wild turmoil of the dashing waters, and the deep rolling of the thunder that shook the doomed ship from stem to stern.“Hullo?” cried Hall, looking shorewards. “See yonder—a little black fleet of canoes, their crews like devils incarnate!”“Ha!” said Dickson. “Come they in peace or come they in war, we shall be ready. Lay aft here, lads. Get your rifles. Load with ball cartridge, and get our two little guns ready and loaded with grape.”The savages were indeed coming on as swift as the wind, with wild shouts and cries, meant perhaps only to hurry the paddle-men, but startling enough in all conscience.

Captain Dickson was just as kind to Norman, the Finn, as he was to anyone else. Perhaps more so. Not that he dreaded him. Dickson would have shot him with as little compunction as shooting a panther had he given him even a mutinous answer. But he often let him have double allowance of rum. “You’re a big man,” he would say; “you need a little more than the little ones.”

Norman would smile grimly, but swallow it. He would even buy the men’s, for he seemed to have plenty of money. When half-seas-over Norman would swagger and rant and sing, and with little provocation he would have fought. The other Finns and the Spaniard, besides an Englishman or two, always took Norman’s side in an argument.

So things went on until Rio was reached. What a splendid harbour—ships of all nations here; what a romantic city as seen from the sea, and the surroundings how romantic, rivalling even Edinburgh itself in beauty!

It was early summer here, too. They had left autumn and the coming winter far away in the dreary north. I shall make no attempt to describe the floral grandeur of the country here. I have done so before. But not only Reginald, but all the Halls, and Matty as well, were able to walk round and admire the tropical vegetation and the gorgeous flowers in the gardens; and in the town itself the fish-market and fruit-market were duly wondered at, for everything was new and strange to the visitors.

Further out into the country they drove all among the peaked and marvellous mountains and the foliaged glens, and Matty, who sat on Reginald’s knee, clapped her hands with delight to see the wee, wee humming-birds buzzing from flower to flower “like chips of rainbows,” as Ilda phrased it, and the great butterflies as big as fans that floated in seeming idleness here, there, and everywhere.

A whole week was spent here, and every day afforded fresh enjoyments. But they must sail away at last. The captain had half-thought of leaving the Finn Norman here, but the man seemed to have turned over a new leaf, so he relented.

South now, with still a little west in it. The good ship encountered more bad weather. Yet so taut and true was she, and so strong withal, that with the exception of the waves that dashed inboards—some of them great green seas that rolled aft like breakers on a stormy beach—she never leaked a pint.

Captain Dickson and his mate paid good attention to the glass, and never failed to shorten sail and even batten down in time, and before the approach of danger.

But all went well and the ship kept healthy. Indeed, hardly was there a sick man among the crew. Little Matty was the life and soul of the yacht. Surely never on board ship before was there such a merry little child! Had anyone been in the saloon as early as four, or even three, bells in the morning watch, they might have heard her lightsome laugh proceeding from her maid’s cabin; for Matty was usually awake long before the break of day, and it is to be presumed that Maggie, the maid, got little sleep or rest after that.

Reginald used to be on deck at seven bells, and it was not long before he was joined by Matty. Prettily dressed the wee thing was, in white, with ribbons of blue or crimson, her bonnie hair trailing over her back just as wild and free as she herself was.

Then up would come Oscar, the great Newfoundland. Hitherto it might have been all babyish love-making between Reginald and Matty.

“I loves ’oo,” she told him one morning, “and when I’se old eno’ I’se doin’ (going) to mally ’oo.”

Reginald kissed her and set her down on the deck.

But the advent of the grand dog altered matters considerably. He came on deck with a dash and a spring, laughing, apparently, all down both sides.

“You can’t catch me,” he would say, or appear to say, to Matty.

“I tan tatch ’oo, twick!” she would cry, and off went the dog forward at the gallop, Matty, screaming with laughter, taking up the running, though far in the rear.

Smaller dogs on board ship are content to carry and toss and play with a wooden marlin-spike. Oscar despised so puny an object. He would not have felt it in his huge mouth. But he helped himself to a capstan bar, and that is of great length and very heavy. Nevertheless, he would not drop it, and there was honest pride in his beaming eye as he swung off with it. He had to hold his head high to balance it. But round and round the decks he flew, and if a sailor happened to cross his hawse the bar went whack! across his shins or knees, and he was left rubbing and lamenting.

Matty tried to take all sorts of cross-cuts between the masts or boats that lay upside down on the deck, but all in vain. But Oscar would tire at last, and let the child catch him.

“Now I’se tatched ’oo fairly!” she would cry, seizing him by the shaggy mane.

Oscar was very serious now, and licked the child’s cheek and ear in the most affectionate manner, well knowing she was but a baby.

“Woa, horsie, woa!” It was all she could do to scramble up and on to Oscar’s broad back. Stride-legs she rode, but sometimes, by way of practical joke, after she had mounted the dog would suddenly sit down, and away slid Matty, falling on her back, laughing and sprawling, all legs and arms, white teeth, and merry, twinkling eyes of blue.

“Mind,” she would tell Oscar, after getting up from deck and preparing to remount, “if ’oo sits down adain, ’oo shall be whipped and put into the black hole till the bow-mannie (an evil spirit) tomes and takes ’oo away!”

Oscar would now ride solemnly aft, ’bout ship and forward as far as the fo’c’s’le, and so round and round the deck a dozen times at least.

When dog and child were tired of playing together, the dog went in search of breakfast down below, to the cook’s galley. There was always the stockpot, and as every man-jack loved the faithful fellow he didn’t come badly off.

But even Norman the Finn was a favourite of Matty’s, and he loved the child. She would run to him of a morning, when his tall form appeared emerging from the fore-hatch. He used to set her on the capstan, from which she could easily mount astride on his shoulders, grasping his hair to steady herself.

How she laughed and crowed, to be sure, as he went capering round the deck, sometimes pretending to rear and jib, like a very wicked horse indeed, sometimes actually bucking, which only made Matty laugh the more.

Ring, ding, ding!—the breakfast bell; and the child was landed on the capstan once more and taken down—now by her devoted sweetheart, Reginald Grahame.

The ship was well found. Certainly they had not much fresh meat, but tinned was excellent, and when a sea-bank was anywhere near, as known from the colour of the water, Dickson called away a boat and all hands, and had fish for two days at least. Fowls and piggies were kept forward. Well, on the whole she was a very happy ship, till trouble came at last.

It was Mr Hall’s wish to go round the stormy and usually ice-bound Horn. The cold he felt certain would brace up both himself and his wife. But he wished to see something of the romantic scenery of Magellan’s Straits first, and the wild and savage grandeur of Tierra del Fuego, or the Land of Fire. They did so, bearing far to the south for this purpose.

The weather was sunny and pleasant, the sky blue by day and star-studded by night, while high above shone that wondrous constellation called the Southern Cross. Indeed, all the stars seemed different from what they were used to in their own far northern land.

Now, there dwells in this fierce land a race of the most implacable savages on earth. Little is known of them except that they are cannibals, and that their hands are against everyone. But they live almost entirely in boats, and never hesitate to attack a sailing ship if in distress.

Hall and Dickson were standing well abaft on the quarter-deck smoking huge cigars, Mr Hall doing the “yarning,” Dickson doing the laughing, when suddenly a harsh grating sound caused both to start and listen.

Next minute the vessel had stopped. There she lay, not a great way off the shore, in a calm and placid sea, with not as much wind as would lift a feather, “As idle as a painted ship, upon a painted ocean.”

In a few minutes’ time the Scotch engineer, looking rather pale, came hurrying aft.

“Well, Mr McDonald, what is the extent of the damage? Shaft broken?”

“Oh, no, sir, and I think that myself and men can put it all to rights in four days, if not sooner, and she’ll be just as strong as ever.”

“Thank you, Mr McDonald; so set to work as soon as possible, for mind you, we are lying here becalmed off an ugly coast. The yacht would make very nice pickings for these Land of Fire savages.”

“Yes, I know, sir; and so would we.”

And the worthy engineer departed, with a grim smile on his face. He came back in a few minutes to beg for the loan of a hand or two.

“Choose your men, my good fellow, and take as many as you please.”

Both Hall and Dickson watched the shore with some degree of anxiety. It was evident that the yacht was being swept perilously near to it. The tide had begun to flow, too, and this made matters worse. Nor could anyone tell what shoal water might lie ahead of them.

There was only one thing to be done, and Dickson did it. He called away every boat, and by means of hawsers to each theWolverinewas finally moved further away by nearly a mile.

The sailors were now recalled, and the boats hoisted. The men were thoroughly exhausted, so the doctor begged the captain to splice the main-brace, and soon the stewardess was seen marching forward with “Black Jack.” Black Jack wasn’t a man, nor a boy either, but simply a huge can with a spout to it, that held half a gallon of rum at the very least.

The men began to sing after this, for your true sailor never neglects an opportunity of being merry when he can. Some of them could sing charmingly, and they were accompanied by the carpenter on his violin. That grand old song, “The Bay of Biscay,” as given by a bass-voiced sailor, was delightful to listen to. As the notes rose and fell one seemed to hear the shrieking of the wind in the rigging, the wild turmoil of the dashing waters, and the deep rolling of the thunder that shook the doomed ship from stem to stern.

“Hullo?” cried Hall, looking shorewards. “See yonder—a little black fleet of canoes, their crews like devils incarnate!”

“Ha!” said Dickson. “Come they in peace or come they in war, we shall be ready. Lay aft here, lads. Get your rifles. Load with ball cartridge, and get our two little guns ready and loaded with grape.”

The savages were indeed coming on as swift as the wind, with wild shouts and cries, meant perhaps only to hurry the paddle-men, but startling enough in all conscience.

Chapter Fourteen.Against Fearful Odds.Hardly a heart on board that did not throb with anxiety, if not with fear, as that fiendish-looking cannibal fleet drew swiftly nigh. Armed with bows and arrows and spears were they, and Dickson could see also the glitter of ugly creases in the bottom of each canoe. Not tall men were any of them; all nearly naked, however, broad-shouldered, fierce, and grim.The yacht was now stern on to the shore, but at a safe distance. Nevertheless, by the soundings they could tell that the water just here was not so deep as that further in; so both anchors were let go, the chains rattling like platoon-firing as these safeguards sank to the bottom.There was no fear about Matty. To the astonishment of all she had clambered up into the dinghy that hung from davits abaft the binnacle.“Hillo!” she was shouting, as she waved a wee red flag. “Hillo! ’oo bootiful neglos! Tome twick, Matty wants to buy some-fink!”These dark boats and their savage crews were soon swarming round theWolverine, but they had come to barter skins for tobacco, rum, and bread, not to fight, it seemed.Peaceful enough they appeared in all conscience. Yet Dickson would not permit them to board. But both he and Hall made splendid deals. A dozen boxes of matches bought half-a-dozen splendid and well-cured otter skins, worth much fine gold; tobacco bought beautiful large guanaca skins; bread fetched foxes’ skins and those of the tuen-tuen, a charming little rodent; skins, also well-cured, of owls, hawks, rock-rabbits, and those of many a beautiful sea-bird.The barter, or nicker, as the Yankee called it, pleased both sides, and the savages left rejoicing, all the more so in that, although the skipper would give them no rum to carry away with them, he spliced a kind of savage main-brace, and everyone swallowed a glass of that rosy fluid as a baby swallows its mother’s milk.“The moon will be shining to-night, Hall,” said the captain, “and we’ll have a visit from these fire-fiends of another description. Glad we have got her anchored, anyhow.”Soon after sunset the moon sailed majestically through the little fleecy clouds lying low on the horizon. She soon lost her rosy hue, and then one could have seen to pick up pins and needles on the quarter-deck. She made an immense silver triangular track from ship to shore. Matty was then on deck with Oscar, both merry as ever. But Reginald now took her in his arms and carried her below for bed. Both Dickson and Hall went below to console and hearten the ladies.“Those fire savages will pay us a visit,” said Hall, “but you are not to be afraid. We will wipe them off the face of the creation world. Won’t we, skipper?”“That will we!” nodded Dickson.But neither Mrs Hall nor Ilda could be persuaded to retire. If a battle was to be fought they would sit with fear and trembling till all was over.Out from under the dark shadows of the terrible snow-peaked mountain, that fell far over the water, just before eight bells in the first watch—the midnight hour—crept a fleet of canoes, silently—oh, so silently! But presently they got into that track of moonlit sea, so that they could be counted. Thirteen! Ominous number—but ominous for whom?In twenty minutes the plash of the paddles could be distinctly heard, and the warriors could be seen, armed with spear and bow and deadly crease.“Standoff! Standoff!”It was a shout from Dickson.But it was answered by a wilder shout of defiance and rage, and a cloud of arrows flew inboards.“Now then, lads!” cried the captain, “give them fits! Quick is the word!”The six-pounder Armstrong was trained on the foremost boat, with terrible effect. “Bang!” went the gun. Heavens! what a sight! No less than three canoes went down, with the dead and the shrieking wounded. The others but sped onwards the faster, however. A rifle volley now. Then the other gun was fired almost straight down among them, with awful results so far as the savages were concerned.Hall was coolly emptying his revolvers as soon as his fingers could fill them. Had it been daylight his practice would have been better; as it was, there was nothing to be ashamed of.But now the canoes were close under the ship’s bows and sides. They would attempt to board.They did, and partly succeeded, cutting through the netting easily with their knives. The sailors fought like true British tars, repelling the fiends with revolvers, with the butts of their rifles, and smashing many a chest and skull even with capstan bars. The officers defended the bows.No less than six savages managed to get inboards. The Newfoundland was slightly wounded; then he was like a wild beast. He downed one savage, and, horrible to say, seizing him by the windpipe, drew it clean away from the lungs. The others were seen to by the sailors, and their bodies tossed overboard.The fire-fiends had had enough of it, and prepared to retire. Grape was once more brought to bear on them, and two more canoes were sunk.The loss to theWolverinewas one man killed and three wounded, but not severely. As long as a canoe was visible, a determined rifle fire was kept up, and many must have fallen.When Hall and Reginald went below to report the victory, they found the ladies somewhat nervous, and there was little Matty on the table-top, barefooted and in her night-dress. The strange little Yankee maiden wouldn’t stop in her state-room, and even when the battle was raging fiercest she had actually tried to reach the deck!Then Oscar came down, laughing and gasping, and Matty quickly lowered herself down to hug her darling horsie, as she called him.“Oh, look, auntie!” she cried, after she had thrown her little arms around his great neck and kissed him over and over again, “my pinny is all bluggy!”The night-dress was indeed “bluggy,” for poor Oscar had an ugly spear wound in his shoulder. But the doctor soon stitched it, the faithful fellow never even wincing. Then he licked the doctors red hands and Matty’s ear, and then went off on deck to bed.Next morning broke bright and crisp and clear, but it was cold, for autumn reigned in this dreary land. Once more a service for the dead, and as the body sank into the deep the poor sailor’s messmates turned sadly away, and more than one brought his arm to bear across his eyes.As another attack was to be feared, it was determined to punish the islanders—to carry the war on shore, in fact—and so the four large boats were called away, only a few men being left on board to defend the ship. The guns were too heavy to take, but every man had a rifle, two revolvers and a cutlass.For so small a vessel, theWolverinewas heavily manned, for from the beginning Captain Dickson had expected grim fighting.This attack was more than the natives had calculated on. They did not stand the onset an instant, but fled from their village helter-skelter to the almost inaccessible mountains beyond, dropping their spears and bows to accelerate their flight. But the fire which was poured on them was a withering one, and brought many to the ground.Emboldened by their success, Hall, with Dickson and his brave fellows, made a journey of several miles into the interior. The mountains were everywhere rugged and stern, and covered on their summits with snow that no doubt was perpetual.But in the valleys beneath, which were quite uninhabited except by wild beasts and birds, were beautiful forests of dark waving cypresses, lofty pines, and beeches, their leaves tinted now with rose and yellow. Very silent and solemn were these woods; but for the savages that even now might be hidden in their dark depths, they seemed to woo one to that peace that only a forest can give.A stream was meandering through the valley here, and many a glad fish leaped up from the pools, his scales shining like a rainbow in the sunlight.All haste was now made to regain the shore, where but a few sailors had been left to guard the boats. Only just in time, for the savages were gathering for another attack, and coming down the hillsides in streams.A hot volley or two dispersed them, however, and they once more hid behind the rocks.Here in the village was evidence that these fire-fiends had been sitting down to a terrible feast of roasted human flesh! Doubtless they had killed the wounded and cooked them. It is a terrible thing to think of, but I have proof that a woman will eat of the dead body of either husband or brother, and the children too will ravenously partake. I dare not tell in a story like this the horrors of savage life that I have witnessed. I wish to interest, but not to horrify, my readers.This village was probably one of the largest in the islands which constitute the Tierra del Fuego group. It consisted of nearly nine hundred huts in all, some well-built and comparatively comfortable. First and foremost it was looted, a large cargo of precious skins being secured. Some bows and arrows, spears, etc, were taken as curios; then, just as the sun was sinking red behind the sea, every hut and house was fired.The blaze was tremendous; and back to the ship, by means of its light, the boats were steered. A breeze having sprung up increased the magnificence of the conflagration, and the sparks, like showers of golden snow, were carried far inland and up the mountain sides.No wonder that Matty was clapping her wee hands and crowing with delight at the beauty of the “bonfire,” as she called it.Happy indeed were the adventurers when the breeze waxed steadier and stronger. It blew from the west, too. The anchors were quickly hoisted, the ship’s head turned to the east, and before two days had fled she had wormed her way out once more into the open ocean. The engines had by this time been repaired, but were not now needed, for the breeze, though abeam, was steady, and good progress was made.A few days more, and the wind having died down, clear sky by day, star-studded at night, and with sharp frost, theWolverinewas once more under steam and forcing her way round the storm-tormented Horn. For the waves are ofttimes houses high here when no wind is blowing, and they break and toss their white spray far over the green and glittering sides of the snow-clad bergs.“And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold;And ice mast-high came floating by,As green as emerald.“The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around;It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,Like noises in a swound.”But at this time a greater danger than that from the ice was threatening, for Norman the Finn was hatching mutiny. Verily a curse seemed to follow the ship wherever she went.

Hardly a heart on board that did not throb with anxiety, if not with fear, as that fiendish-looking cannibal fleet drew swiftly nigh. Armed with bows and arrows and spears were they, and Dickson could see also the glitter of ugly creases in the bottom of each canoe. Not tall men were any of them; all nearly naked, however, broad-shouldered, fierce, and grim.

The yacht was now stern on to the shore, but at a safe distance. Nevertheless, by the soundings they could tell that the water just here was not so deep as that further in; so both anchors were let go, the chains rattling like platoon-firing as these safeguards sank to the bottom.

There was no fear about Matty. To the astonishment of all she had clambered up into the dinghy that hung from davits abaft the binnacle.

“Hillo!” she was shouting, as she waved a wee red flag. “Hillo! ’oo bootiful neglos! Tome twick, Matty wants to buy some-fink!”

These dark boats and their savage crews were soon swarming round theWolverine, but they had come to barter skins for tobacco, rum, and bread, not to fight, it seemed.

Peaceful enough they appeared in all conscience. Yet Dickson would not permit them to board. But both he and Hall made splendid deals. A dozen boxes of matches bought half-a-dozen splendid and well-cured otter skins, worth much fine gold; tobacco bought beautiful large guanaca skins; bread fetched foxes’ skins and those of the tuen-tuen, a charming little rodent; skins, also well-cured, of owls, hawks, rock-rabbits, and those of many a beautiful sea-bird.

The barter, or nicker, as the Yankee called it, pleased both sides, and the savages left rejoicing, all the more so in that, although the skipper would give them no rum to carry away with them, he spliced a kind of savage main-brace, and everyone swallowed a glass of that rosy fluid as a baby swallows its mother’s milk.

“The moon will be shining to-night, Hall,” said the captain, “and we’ll have a visit from these fire-fiends of another description. Glad we have got her anchored, anyhow.”

Soon after sunset the moon sailed majestically through the little fleecy clouds lying low on the horizon. She soon lost her rosy hue, and then one could have seen to pick up pins and needles on the quarter-deck. She made an immense silver triangular track from ship to shore. Matty was then on deck with Oscar, both merry as ever. But Reginald now took her in his arms and carried her below for bed. Both Dickson and Hall went below to console and hearten the ladies.

“Those fire savages will pay us a visit,” said Hall, “but you are not to be afraid. We will wipe them off the face of the creation world. Won’t we, skipper?”

“That will we!” nodded Dickson.

But neither Mrs Hall nor Ilda could be persuaded to retire. If a battle was to be fought they would sit with fear and trembling till all was over.

Out from under the dark shadows of the terrible snow-peaked mountain, that fell far over the water, just before eight bells in the first watch—the midnight hour—crept a fleet of canoes, silently—oh, so silently! But presently they got into that track of moonlit sea, so that they could be counted. Thirteen! Ominous number—but ominous for whom?

In twenty minutes the plash of the paddles could be distinctly heard, and the warriors could be seen, armed with spear and bow and deadly crease.

“Standoff! Standoff!”

It was a shout from Dickson.

But it was answered by a wilder shout of defiance and rage, and a cloud of arrows flew inboards.

“Now then, lads!” cried the captain, “give them fits! Quick is the word!”

The six-pounder Armstrong was trained on the foremost boat, with terrible effect. “Bang!” went the gun. Heavens! what a sight! No less than three canoes went down, with the dead and the shrieking wounded. The others but sped onwards the faster, however. A rifle volley now. Then the other gun was fired almost straight down among them, with awful results so far as the savages were concerned.

Hall was coolly emptying his revolvers as soon as his fingers could fill them. Had it been daylight his practice would have been better; as it was, there was nothing to be ashamed of.

But now the canoes were close under the ship’s bows and sides. They would attempt to board.

They did, and partly succeeded, cutting through the netting easily with their knives. The sailors fought like true British tars, repelling the fiends with revolvers, with the butts of their rifles, and smashing many a chest and skull even with capstan bars. The officers defended the bows.

No less than six savages managed to get inboards. The Newfoundland was slightly wounded; then he was like a wild beast. He downed one savage, and, horrible to say, seizing him by the windpipe, drew it clean away from the lungs. The others were seen to by the sailors, and their bodies tossed overboard.

The fire-fiends had had enough of it, and prepared to retire. Grape was once more brought to bear on them, and two more canoes were sunk.

The loss to theWolverinewas one man killed and three wounded, but not severely. As long as a canoe was visible, a determined rifle fire was kept up, and many must have fallen.

When Hall and Reginald went below to report the victory, they found the ladies somewhat nervous, and there was little Matty on the table-top, barefooted and in her night-dress. The strange little Yankee maiden wouldn’t stop in her state-room, and even when the battle was raging fiercest she had actually tried to reach the deck!

Then Oscar came down, laughing and gasping, and Matty quickly lowered herself down to hug her darling horsie, as she called him.

“Oh, look, auntie!” she cried, after she had thrown her little arms around his great neck and kissed him over and over again, “my pinny is all bluggy!”

The night-dress was indeed “bluggy,” for poor Oscar had an ugly spear wound in his shoulder. But the doctor soon stitched it, the faithful fellow never even wincing. Then he licked the doctors red hands and Matty’s ear, and then went off on deck to bed.

Next morning broke bright and crisp and clear, but it was cold, for autumn reigned in this dreary land. Once more a service for the dead, and as the body sank into the deep the poor sailor’s messmates turned sadly away, and more than one brought his arm to bear across his eyes.

As another attack was to be feared, it was determined to punish the islanders—to carry the war on shore, in fact—and so the four large boats were called away, only a few men being left on board to defend the ship. The guns were too heavy to take, but every man had a rifle, two revolvers and a cutlass.

For so small a vessel, theWolverinewas heavily manned, for from the beginning Captain Dickson had expected grim fighting.

This attack was more than the natives had calculated on. They did not stand the onset an instant, but fled from their village helter-skelter to the almost inaccessible mountains beyond, dropping their spears and bows to accelerate their flight. But the fire which was poured on them was a withering one, and brought many to the ground.

Emboldened by their success, Hall, with Dickson and his brave fellows, made a journey of several miles into the interior. The mountains were everywhere rugged and stern, and covered on their summits with snow that no doubt was perpetual.

But in the valleys beneath, which were quite uninhabited except by wild beasts and birds, were beautiful forests of dark waving cypresses, lofty pines, and beeches, their leaves tinted now with rose and yellow. Very silent and solemn were these woods; but for the savages that even now might be hidden in their dark depths, they seemed to woo one to that peace that only a forest can give.

A stream was meandering through the valley here, and many a glad fish leaped up from the pools, his scales shining like a rainbow in the sunlight.

All haste was now made to regain the shore, where but a few sailors had been left to guard the boats. Only just in time, for the savages were gathering for another attack, and coming down the hillsides in streams.

A hot volley or two dispersed them, however, and they once more hid behind the rocks.

Here in the village was evidence that these fire-fiends had been sitting down to a terrible feast of roasted human flesh! Doubtless they had killed the wounded and cooked them. It is a terrible thing to think of, but I have proof that a woman will eat of the dead body of either husband or brother, and the children too will ravenously partake. I dare not tell in a story like this the horrors of savage life that I have witnessed. I wish to interest, but not to horrify, my readers.

This village was probably one of the largest in the islands which constitute the Tierra del Fuego group. It consisted of nearly nine hundred huts in all, some well-built and comparatively comfortable. First and foremost it was looted, a large cargo of precious skins being secured. Some bows and arrows, spears, etc, were taken as curios; then, just as the sun was sinking red behind the sea, every hut and house was fired.

The blaze was tremendous; and back to the ship, by means of its light, the boats were steered. A breeze having sprung up increased the magnificence of the conflagration, and the sparks, like showers of golden snow, were carried far inland and up the mountain sides.

No wonder that Matty was clapping her wee hands and crowing with delight at the beauty of the “bonfire,” as she called it.

Happy indeed were the adventurers when the breeze waxed steadier and stronger. It blew from the west, too. The anchors were quickly hoisted, the ship’s head turned to the east, and before two days had fled she had wormed her way out once more into the open ocean. The engines had by this time been repaired, but were not now needed, for the breeze, though abeam, was steady, and good progress was made.

A few days more, and the wind having died down, clear sky by day, star-studded at night, and with sharp frost, theWolverinewas once more under steam and forcing her way round the storm-tormented Horn. For the waves are ofttimes houses high here when no wind is blowing, and they break and toss their white spray far over the green and glittering sides of the snow-clad bergs.

“And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold;And ice mast-high came floating by,As green as emerald.“The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around;It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,Like noises in a swound.”

“And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold;And ice mast-high came floating by,As green as emerald.“The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around;It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,Like noises in a swound.”

But at this time a greater danger than that from the ice was threatening, for Norman the Finn was hatching mutiny. Verily a curse seemed to follow the ship wherever she went.

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