Chapter Twenty.“Oh, awful! What can it be?” cried Reginald.I do not hesitate to say that the possession of unprotected wealth maketh cowards of most people. The anxiety connected therewith may keep one awake at night, and bring on a state of nervousness that shall end in a break-up of the general health. But no thought of ever losing the precious nuggets and pearls that had cost him so much hard work came into the mind of Reginald Grahame, until an event took place which proved that gold may tempt even those we trust the most.Harry Jenkins was a bright little sailor, the pet of his mess. He was always singing when at work in the diggings, and he generally managed to keep his comrades in excellent humour, and laughing all the time. In their messroom of an evening they were all frank and free, and hid nothing one from the other. For each believed in his pal’s honesty.“I have a thousand pounds’ worth of nuggets at least!” said Harry one evening.“And I,” said Bill Johnson, “have half as much again.”They showed each other their gold, comparing nuggets, their very eyes glittering with joy as they thought of how happy they should be when they returned once more to their own country. Then they each stowed away their wealth of nuggets and pearls, placed in tiny canvas bags inside their small sea-chests.This was about a week after that pleasant Saturday night which was so suddenly broken up by the muttering of subterranean thunder and the trembling of the earth.But earthquakes were frequent in the island, though as yet not severe. The Queen was by no means alarmed, but Ilda was—terribly so.“Oh,” she cried, “I wish I were away and away from this terrible island!”The Queen comforted her all she could.“I have a presentiment,” replied the poor girl, “that this is not the last nor the worst.”But when days and days passed away, and there were no more signs of earth-tremor, she regained courage, and was once more the same happy girl she had been before.Then the occurrence took place that made Reginald suspicious of the honesty of some of those British sailors.One morning Harry was missing. They sought him high, they sought him low, but all in vain. Then it occurred to Johnson to look into his box. The box, with all his gold and pearls, was gone!Harry’s box had been left open, and it was found to be empty. No one else had lost anything. However, this was a clue, and the officers set themselves to unravel the mystery at once. Nor was it long before they did so. Not only was one of the largest canoes missing, with a sail that had been rigged on her, but two of the strongest natives and best boatmen.It was sadly evident that Harry was a thief, and that he had bribed these two savages to set out to sea with him.There was a favouring breeze for the west, and Harry no doubt hoped that, after probably a week’s sailing, he would reach some of the more civilised of the Polynesian islands, and find his way in a ship back to Britain. Whether he did so may never be known, but the fact that the breeze increased to over half a gale about three days after he had fled, makes it rather more than probable that the big canoe was swamped, and that she foundered, going down with the crew and the ill-gotten gold as well. Only a proof that the wicked do not always prosper in this world.Poor Johnson’s grief was sad to witness.“On my little store,” he told his messmates, wringing his hands, and with the tears flowing over his cheeks, “I placed all my future happiness. I care not now what happens. One thing alone I know: life to me has no more charms, and I can never face poor Mary again.”He went to the diggings again in a halfhearted kind of way, and for a day or two was fairly successful; but it was evident that his heart was almost broken, and that if something were not done he might some evening throw himself over a cliff, and so end a life that had become distasteful to him.So one morning Reginald had an interview with his messmates.“I myself,” he said, “must have already collected over twenty thousand pounds in nuggets and pearls, and will willingly give of this my store five hundred pounds worth of gold by weight, if you, Captain Dickson, and you, Hall, will do the same. Thus shall we restore reason and happiness to a fellow-creature, and one of the best-hearted sailors that ever lived and sailed the salt, salt seas.”Both Dickson and Hall must need shake hands with Reginald, and, while the tears stood in his eyes, the former said:“That will we, my dear boy, and God will bless your riches, and restore you all your desires whenever we reach our British shores again.”And so that very night there was no more happy man than Johnson.Another Saturday night in the men’s mess. Dickson willingly spliced the main-brace twice over, and the night passed pleasantly on with yarn and song till midnight. But the thief Harry was never mentioned. It was better thus. Already, perhaps, the man had met his doom, and so they forgave him. Yet somehow this incident rankled in Reginald’s bosom, and made him very uneasy.“I say,” he said to Dickson one day, “I confess that the flight of Harry Jenkins with poor Johnson’s gold has made me suspicious.”“And me so as well,” said Dickson.“I mean,” said Reginald, “to bury my treasure, and I have already selected a spot.”“You have? Then I shall bury mine near yours. I have ever liked you, doctor, since first we met, and we have been as brothers.”They shook hands.Appealed to, Mr Hall said straight:“I am a wealthy man, and, if ever I reach America, I shall have more than I can spend. I shall leave mine in the box where it is. I admit,” he added, “that if there be one thief among six men, there may be two, and gold is a great temptation. But I’ll go with you at the dead of night, and help to carry, and help you to bury your treasure.”They thanked him heartily, and accepted his kindly assistance.The spot at which Reginald had chosen to hide his gold and treasure was called Lone Tree Hill. It was on a bare, bluff mountain side. Here stood one huge eucalyptus tree, that might have been used as a landmark for ships at sea had it been in the track of vessels. But this island, as I have already said, was not so.Strangely enough, all around this tree the hill was supposed to be haunted by an evil spirit, and there was not a native who would go anywhere near it, even in broad daylight. The spirit took many forms, sometimes rushing down in the shape of a fox, or even wild pig, and scaring the natives into convulsions, but more often, and always before an earthquake, the spirit was seen in the shape of a round ball of flame on the very top of the tree.This was likely enough. I myself have seen a mysterious flame of this kind on the truck or highest portion of a ship’s mast, and we sailors call it Saint Elmo’s fire. I have known sailors, who would not have been afraid to bear the brunt of battle in a man-o’-war, tremble with superstitious dread as they beheld that mysterious quivering flame at the mast-head. Some evil, they would tell you, was sure to happen. A storm invariably followed. Well, generally a gale wind did, owing to the electric conditions of the atmosphere.A bright scimitar of moon was shining at midnight when Dickson and Reginald, assisted by Hall, stole silently out and away to the hills to bury their treasure.There were few sounds to be heard to-night on the island. Far out in the bay there was at times the splash of a shark or the strange cooing of a porpoise, and in the valley the yapping of foxes in pursuit of their prey. The mournful hooting of great owls sounded from the woods, with now and then the cry of a night bird, or shriek of wounded bird.It was a long and stiff walk to Lone Tree Hill; but arrived there, they set to work at once to dig at the eucalyptus root. The holes made—Dickson’s to the east, Reginald’s to the west—the nuggets, enclosed in strong tarpaulin bags, were laid in, and next the pearls, in small cash-boxes, were placed above these. The earth was now filled in, and the sods replaced so carefully and neatly that no one could have told that the earth had ever been broken or the sods upturned.Then, breathing a prayer for the safety of their treasure, on which so much might depend in future, they walked silently down the hill and back to the camp.But that very night—or rather towards morning—an event took place that alarmed all hands.The earth shook and trembled, and finally heaved; and it felt as if the house were a ship in the doldrums crossing the Line. Everyone was dashed on to the floor, and for a time lay there almost stunned, giddy, and even sick. It passed off. But in an hour’s time a worse shock followed, and all hands rushed into the open air to seek for safety.Outside it was not only hot and stifling—for not a breath of wind was blowing—but the air had a strange and almost suffocating sulphurous odour. And this was soon accounted for. Now, not far from Lone Tree Mountain was a high and conical hill.From this, to the great astonishment of all, smoke and flames were now seen issuing. The flames leapt in marvellous tongues high up through the smoke. There was the whitest of steam mingling with the smoke, and anon showers of dust, scorai, and stones began to fall.For a minute or two the sight quite demoralised the trio. But the men, too, had run out, and all had thrown themselves face down on the ground while the heaving of the earth continued. It was a new experience, and a terrible one. Dickson went towards them now.“I do not think, boys, that the danger is very extreme,” he said. “But I advise you to keep out of doors as much as possible, in case of a greater shock, which may bring down our humble dwelling. And now, Hall, and you, Reginald,” he added, “the ladies at the palace will, I fear, be in great terror. It is our duty to go to them. Our presence may help to cheer them up.”Daylight was beginning to dawn, though from rolling clouds of smoke in the far east the sun could only be seen like a red-hot iron shot. It was evident enough to our heroes when they had climbed the highest intervening hill, that the island from which the Armada had come was far more severely stricken than this Isle of Flowers was.But as they still gazed eastward at the three or four blazing mountains on that island, they started and clung together with something akin to terror in every heart.“Oh, awful! What can it be?” cried Reginald.
I do not hesitate to say that the possession of unprotected wealth maketh cowards of most people. The anxiety connected therewith may keep one awake at night, and bring on a state of nervousness that shall end in a break-up of the general health. But no thought of ever losing the precious nuggets and pearls that had cost him so much hard work came into the mind of Reginald Grahame, until an event took place which proved that gold may tempt even those we trust the most.
Harry Jenkins was a bright little sailor, the pet of his mess. He was always singing when at work in the diggings, and he generally managed to keep his comrades in excellent humour, and laughing all the time. In their messroom of an evening they were all frank and free, and hid nothing one from the other. For each believed in his pal’s honesty.
“I have a thousand pounds’ worth of nuggets at least!” said Harry one evening.
“And I,” said Bill Johnson, “have half as much again.”
They showed each other their gold, comparing nuggets, their very eyes glittering with joy as they thought of how happy they should be when they returned once more to their own country. Then they each stowed away their wealth of nuggets and pearls, placed in tiny canvas bags inside their small sea-chests.
This was about a week after that pleasant Saturday night which was so suddenly broken up by the muttering of subterranean thunder and the trembling of the earth.
But earthquakes were frequent in the island, though as yet not severe. The Queen was by no means alarmed, but Ilda was—terribly so.
“Oh,” she cried, “I wish I were away and away from this terrible island!”
The Queen comforted her all she could.
“I have a presentiment,” replied the poor girl, “that this is not the last nor the worst.”
But when days and days passed away, and there were no more signs of earth-tremor, she regained courage, and was once more the same happy girl she had been before.
Then the occurrence took place that made Reginald suspicious of the honesty of some of those British sailors.
One morning Harry was missing. They sought him high, they sought him low, but all in vain. Then it occurred to Johnson to look into his box. The box, with all his gold and pearls, was gone!
Harry’s box had been left open, and it was found to be empty. No one else had lost anything. However, this was a clue, and the officers set themselves to unravel the mystery at once. Nor was it long before they did so. Not only was one of the largest canoes missing, with a sail that had been rigged on her, but two of the strongest natives and best boatmen.
It was sadly evident that Harry was a thief, and that he had bribed these two savages to set out to sea with him.
There was a favouring breeze for the west, and Harry no doubt hoped that, after probably a week’s sailing, he would reach some of the more civilised of the Polynesian islands, and find his way in a ship back to Britain. Whether he did so may never be known, but the fact that the breeze increased to over half a gale about three days after he had fled, makes it rather more than probable that the big canoe was swamped, and that she foundered, going down with the crew and the ill-gotten gold as well. Only a proof that the wicked do not always prosper in this world.
Poor Johnson’s grief was sad to witness.
“On my little store,” he told his messmates, wringing his hands, and with the tears flowing over his cheeks, “I placed all my future happiness. I care not now what happens. One thing alone I know: life to me has no more charms, and I can never face poor Mary again.”
He went to the diggings again in a halfhearted kind of way, and for a day or two was fairly successful; but it was evident that his heart was almost broken, and that if something were not done he might some evening throw himself over a cliff, and so end a life that had become distasteful to him.
So one morning Reginald had an interview with his messmates.
“I myself,” he said, “must have already collected over twenty thousand pounds in nuggets and pearls, and will willingly give of this my store five hundred pounds worth of gold by weight, if you, Captain Dickson, and you, Hall, will do the same. Thus shall we restore reason and happiness to a fellow-creature, and one of the best-hearted sailors that ever lived and sailed the salt, salt seas.”
Both Dickson and Hall must need shake hands with Reginald, and, while the tears stood in his eyes, the former said:
“That will we, my dear boy, and God will bless your riches, and restore you all your desires whenever we reach our British shores again.”
And so that very night there was no more happy man than Johnson.
Another Saturday night in the men’s mess. Dickson willingly spliced the main-brace twice over, and the night passed pleasantly on with yarn and song till midnight. But the thief Harry was never mentioned. It was better thus. Already, perhaps, the man had met his doom, and so they forgave him. Yet somehow this incident rankled in Reginald’s bosom, and made him very uneasy.
“I say,” he said to Dickson one day, “I confess that the flight of Harry Jenkins with poor Johnson’s gold has made me suspicious.”
“And me so as well,” said Dickson.
“I mean,” said Reginald, “to bury my treasure, and I have already selected a spot.”
“You have? Then I shall bury mine near yours. I have ever liked you, doctor, since first we met, and we have been as brothers.”
They shook hands.
Appealed to, Mr Hall said straight:
“I am a wealthy man, and, if ever I reach America, I shall have more than I can spend. I shall leave mine in the box where it is. I admit,” he added, “that if there be one thief among six men, there may be two, and gold is a great temptation. But I’ll go with you at the dead of night, and help to carry, and help you to bury your treasure.”
They thanked him heartily, and accepted his kindly assistance.
The spot at which Reginald had chosen to hide his gold and treasure was called Lone Tree Hill. It was on a bare, bluff mountain side. Here stood one huge eucalyptus tree, that might have been used as a landmark for ships at sea had it been in the track of vessels. But this island, as I have already said, was not so.
Strangely enough, all around this tree the hill was supposed to be haunted by an evil spirit, and there was not a native who would go anywhere near it, even in broad daylight. The spirit took many forms, sometimes rushing down in the shape of a fox, or even wild pig, and scaring the natives into convulsions, but more often, and always before an earthquake, the spirit was seen in the shape of a round ball of flame on the very top of the tree.
This was likely enough. I myself have seen a mysterious flame of this kind on the truck or highest portion of a ship’s mast, and we sailors call it Saint Elmo’s fire. I have known sailors, who would not have been afraid to bear the brunt of battle in a man-o’-war, tremble with superstitious dread as they beheld that mysterious quivering flame at the mast-head. Some evil, they would tell you, was sure to happen. A storm invariably followed. Well, generally a gale wind did, owing to the electric conditions of the atmosphere.
A bright scimitar of moon was shining at midnight when Dickson and Reginald, assisted by Hall, stole silently out and away to the hills to bury their treasure.
There were few sounds to be heard to-night on the island. Far out in the bay there was at times the splash of a shark or the strange cooing of a porpoise, and in the valley the yapping of foxes in pursuit of their prey. The mournful hooting of great owls sounded from the woods, with now and then the cry of a night bird, or shriek of wounded bird.
It was a long and stiff walk to Lone Tree Hill; but arrived there, they set to work at once to dig at the eucalyptus root. The holes made—Dickson’s to the east, Reginald’s to the west—the nuggets, enclosed in strong tarpaulin bags, were laid in, and next the pearls, in small cash-boxes, were placed above these. The earth was now filled in, and the sods replaced so carefully and neatly that no one could have told that the earth had ever been broken or the sods upturned.
Then, breathing a prayer for the safety of their treasure, on which so much might depend in future, they walked silently down the hill and back to the camp.
But that very night—or rather towards morning—an event took place that alarmed all hands.
The earth shook and trembled, and finally heaved; and it felt as if the house were a ship in the doldrums crossing the Line. Everyone was dashed on to the floor, and for a time lay there almost stunned, giddy, and even sick. It passed off. But in an hour’s time a worse shock followed, and all hands rushed into the open air to seek for safety.
Outside it was not only hot and stifling—for not a breath of wind was blowing—but the air had a strange and almost suffocating sulphurous odour. And this was soon accounted for. Now, not far from Lone Tree Mountain was a high and conical hill.
From this, to the great astonishment of all, smoke and flames were now seen issuing. The flames leapt in marvellous tongues high up through the smoke. There was the whitest of steam mingling with the smoke, and anon showers of dust, scorai, and stones began to fall.
For a minute or two the sight quite demoralised the trio. But the men, too, had run out, and all had thrown themselves face down on the ground while the heaving of the earth continued. It was a new experience, and a terrible one. Dickson went towards them now.
“I do not think, boys, that the danger is very extreme,” he said. “But I advise you to keep out of doors as much as possible, in case of a greater shock, which may bring down our humble dwelling. And now, Hall, and you, Reginald,” he added, “the ladies at the palace will, I fear, be in great terror. It is our duty to go to them. Our presence may help to cheer them up.”
Daylight was beginning to dawn, though from rolling clouds of smoke in the far east the sun could only be seen like a red-hot iron shot. It was evident enough to our heroes when they had climbed the highest intervening hill, that the island from which the Armada had come was far more severely stricken than this Isle of Flowers was.
But as they still gazed eastward at the three or four blazing mountains on that island, they started and clung together with something akin to terror in every heart.
“Oh, awful! What can it be?” cried Reginald.
Chapter Twenty One.A Terrible Time.Never until the crack of doom might they hear such another report as that which now fell upon their ears. At almost the same moment, in a comminglement of smoke and fire, a huge dark object was seen to be carried high into the air, probably even a mile high. It then took a westerly direction, and came towards the Isle of Flowers, getting larger every second, till it descended into the sea, end on, and not two miles away. It was seen to be a gigantic rock, perhaps many, many acres in extent.The waters now rose on every side, the noise was deafening; then in, landwards, sped a huge bore, breaker, or wave, call it what you please, but darkness almost enveloped it, and from this thunders roared and zigzag lightning flashed as it dashed onwards to the island shore. The men they had left behind had speedily climbed the rocks behind the camp, for although the wave did not reach so high, the spray itself would have suffocated them, had they not looked out for safety.It was an awful moment. But the wave receded at last, and the sea was once more calm. Only a new island had been formed by the fall of the rock into the ocean’s coral depths, and for a time the thunder and lightning ceased. Not the volcanic eruptions, however. And but for the blaze and lurid light of these the enemy’s isle, as it was called, must have been in total darkness. Truly a terrible sight! But our heroes hurried on.Just as they had expected, when they reached the Queen’s palace they found poor Miss Hall, and even little Matty—with all her innocent courage—in a state of great terror. The Queen alone was self-possessed. She had seen a volcanic eruption before. Ilda was lying on the couch with her arms round Matty’s waist Matty standing by her side. The child was now seven years of age, and could talk and think better. Reginald, after kissing Ilda’s brow, sat down beside them, and Matty clambered on his knee.Meanwhile, the darkness had increased so much that the Queen called upon her dusky attendants to light the great oil lamp that swung from the roof. The Queen continued self-possessed, and tried to comfort her guests.“It will soon be over,” she said. “I am assured of that. My experience is great.”But Matty refused all consolation.“I’se never been a very great sinner, has I?” she innocently asked Reginald, as she clung round his neck.“Oh, no, darling,” he said; “you are too young to be much of a sinner.”“You think God won’t be angry, and will take you and me and Ilda and Queen Bertha straight up to Heaven, clothes and all?”“My child,” said Reginald, “what has put all this into your head?”“Oh,” she answered, “because I know the Day of Judgment has come.”Well, there was some excuse for the little innocent thinking so.Without the thickest darkness reigned. Dickson and Hall went to the door, but did not venture out. Scoria was falling, and destroying all the shrubs and flowers in the beautiful valley. The river was mixed with boiling lava, and the noise therefrom was like a thousand engines blowing off steam at one and the same time. Surely never was such loud and terrible thunder heard before; and the lightning was so vivid and so incessant that not only did the island itself seem all ablaze, but even the distant sea. Crimson and blue fire appeared to lick its surface in all directions.But the burning mountain itself was the most wondrous sight eyes of man could look upon. The smoke and steam rose and rolled amidst the play of lightning miles high apparently. The peak of the mountain itself shot up a continuous stream of orange-yellow flame, in which here and there small black spots could be seen—rocks and stones, without a doubt.But the cone of the great hill itself was marvellously beautiful. For rivers of lava—Dickson counted nine in all—were rushing down its sides in a straight course, and these were streams of coloured fire, almost every one a different hue—deep crimson, green, and blue, and even orange.Were it not for the terror of the sight, our heroes would have enjoyed it. Reginald carried Matty to the door to see the beauty of the burning mountain. She took one brief glance, then shudderingly held closer to Reginald’s neck.“Take me back, take me back!” she cried in an agony of fear. “That is the bad place! Oh, when will God come and take us away?”All that fearful day and all the following night scoria and ashes continued to fall, the thunder never ceased, and the lightning was still incessant. There was no chance now of getting back to camp, and they trembled to think of what might have taken place.Towards morning, however, a wondrous change took place. The sky got clearer, a star or two shone through the rifts of heavy, overhanging clouds. The fire no longer rose from the mountain, only a thick balloon-shaped white cloud lay over it. Then the rain began to fall, and, strangely enough, mingled with the rain, which felt warm, were gigantic hailstones and pieces of ice as large as six-pound shells. Then up rose the glorious sun. Like a red ball of fire he certainly was; but oh, what a welcome sight!That forenoon, all being now peace and quiet, Dickson and his comrades determined to march back to camp and ease their minds. After a long and toilsome journey over the hills, many of which were covered with ashes, they reached camp, and were glad to find the men alive, and the house intact. A rampart had been built around the barracks, as Hall called it, and inside was a large drill-yard.Dickson served out rum to the men, and they soon were cheerful enough once more. The guns had been mounted on the walls, and all rifles were stowed away inside. This was at a suggestion from Hall.“You never can trust those niggers,” he said quietly, shaking his head.And well it was, as it turned out, that Dickson had taken Mr Hall’s advice.That same afternoon, about two o’clock, the same savages who had fought with rifles from the bush against the invaders came hurriedly and somewhat excitedly into camp. The spokesman, a tall and splendid-looking native, gesticulated wildly, as he almost shouted in the officers’ ears:“To-mollow molning dey come! All dis island rise! Dey come to kill and eat!”The officers were astonished. What had they done to deserve so terrible a fate?“Dey blame you for all. Oh, be plepared to fight. Gib us guns, and we too will fight plenty much. Foh true!”A very uneasy night was passed, but the yard and guns had been cleared of cinders and scoria, the bulwarks strengthened, and before the sun once more shone red over the sea Dickson was prepared for either battle or siege. Everyone had been assigned his quarters.The day was still, hot, and somewhat sultry. Luckily the little garrison was well provisioned, and the water would last a week or even longer. Low muttering thunders were still heard in the direction of the volcano, and sometimes the earth shook and trembled somewhat, but it was evident that the subterranean fires had burnt themselves out, and it might be a score of years before another eruption occurred.It was evident that the savages did not think so. For as long as the cloud hung over the peak they did not consider themselves safe. About twelve o’clock that day distant shouts and cries were heard in the nearest glen, and presently an undisciplined mob of nearly a thousand howling savages, armed with bows and spears and broad black knives, appeared on the sands, in their war-paint. It was evidently their intention to storm the position, and determinedly too. They halted, however, and seemed to have a hasty consultation. Then a chief boldly advanced to the ramparts to hold a parley. His speech was a curious one, and he himself, dressed partly in skins and leaning on a spear like a weaver’s beam, was a strangely wild and romantic figure.The officers appeared above the ramparts to look and to listen.“Hear, O white men!” cried the savage chief, in fairly good English; “’tis you who brought dis evil on us. We now do starve. De rice and de fruit and de rats and most all wild beasts dey kill or hide demselves. In de sea all round de fish he die. We soon starve. But we not wish to fight. You and your men saved us from the foe that came in der big black war canoe. Den you try to teach us God and good. But we all same as before now. We must fight, eat and live, if you do not leave the island. Plenty big canoe take you off. Den de grass and trees and fruit will grow again, and we shall be happy and flee onct mo’.”“An end to this!” cried Dickson angrily. “Fight as you please, and as soon as you please. But mind, you will have a devilish hot reception, and few of you will return to your glens to tell the tale. Away!”As soon as the chief had returned and communicated to his men the result of the interview, they shrieked and shouted and danced like demons. They brandished their spears aloft and rattled them against their shields. Then, with one continuous maddened howl, they dashed onwards to scale the ramparts. “Blood! blood!” was their battle cry.Well knowing that if once they got inside the little garrison would soon be butchered, Dickson immediately had both guns trained on them. He himself did so.“Bang! bang!” they went, and the grape made fearful havoc in the close and serried ranks of the cannibals. The rifles kept up a withering fire. Again, and quickly too, the guns were loaded and run out, and just as the enemy had scaled the brae they were once more met by the terrible fire, and positively hewn down before it.Not even savages could stand this. They became demoralised, and fled incontinently. And they soon disappeared, carrying many of their dead with them. Far along the beach went they, and as stakes were placed in the ground, large fires built around them, and one or more of the dead thrown on each, it was evident that they had made up their minds not to starve.One of the blacks was now sent out from the fort to make a circuit round the hills, and then, mingling with the savages, to find out out what was their intention.He returned in a few hours, and while the awful feast was still going on. A night attack was determined on, and they believed they would inherit strength and bravery by eating their dead comrades. That was the scout’s report.
Never until the crack of doom might they hear such another report as that which now fell upon their ears. At almost the same moment, in a comminglement of smoke and fire, a huge dark object was seen to be carried high into the air, probably even a mile high. It then took a westerly direction, and came towards the Isle of Flowers, getting larger every second, till it descended into the sea, end on, and not two miles away. It was seen to be a gigantic rock, perhaps many, many acres in extent.
The waters now rose on every side, the noise was deafening; then in, landwards, sped a huge bore, breaker, or wave, call it what you please, but darkness almost enveloped it, and from this thunders roared and zigzag lightning flashed as it dashed onwards to the island shore. The men they had left behind had speedily climbed the rocks behind the camp, for although the wave did not reach so high, the spray itself would have suffocated them, had they not looked out for safety.
It was an awful moment. But the wave receded at last, and the sea was once more calm. Only a new island had been formed by the fall of the rock into the ocean’s coral depths, and for a time the thunder and lightning ceased. Not the volcanic eruptions, however. And but for the blaze and lurid light of these the enemy’s isle, as it was called, must have been in total darkness. Truly a terrible sight! But our heroes hurried on.
Just as they had expected, when they reached the Queen’s palace they found poor Miss Hall, and even little Matty—with all her innocent courage—in a state of great terror. The Queen alone was self-possessed. She had seen a volcanic eruption before. Ilda was lying on the couch with her arms round Matty’s waist Matty standing by her side. The child was now seven years of age, and could talk and think better. Reginald, after kissing Ilda’s brow, sat down beside them, and Matty clambered on his knee.
Meanwhile, the darkness had increased so much that the Queen called upon her dusky attendants to light the great oil lamp that swung from the roof. The Queen continued self-possessed, and tried to comfort her guests.
“It will soon be over,” she said. “I am assured of that. My experience is great.”
But Matty refused all consolation.
“I’se never been a very great sinner, has I?” she innocently asked Reginald, as she clung round his neck.
“Oh, no, darling,” he said; “you are too young to be much of a sinner.”
“You think God won’t be angry, and will take you and me and Ilda and Queen Bertha straight up to Heaven, clothes and all?”
“My child,” said Reginald, “what has put all this into your head?”
“Oh,” she answered, “because I know the Day of Judgment has come.”
Well, there was some excuse for the little innocent thinking so.
Without the thickest darkness reigned. Dickson and Hall went to the door, but did not venture out. Scoria was falling, and destroying all the shrubs and flowers in the beautiful valley. The river was mixed with boiling lava, and the noise therefrom was like a thousand engines blowing off steam at one and the same time. Surely never was such loud and terrible thunder heard before; and the lightning was so vivid and so incessant that not only did the island itself seem all ablaze, but even the distant sea. Crimson and blue fire appeared to lick its surface in all directions.
But the burning mountain itself was the most wondrous sight eyes of man could look upon. The smoke and steam rose and rolled amidst the play of lightning miles high apparently. The peak of the mountain itself shot up a continuous stream of orange-yellow flame, in which here and there small black spots could be seen—rocks and stones, without a doubt.
But the cone of the great hill itself was marvellously beautiful. For rivers of lava—Dickson counted nine in all—were rushing down its sides in a straight course, and these were streams of coloured fire, almost every one a different hue—deep crimson, green, and blue, and even orange.
Were it not for the terror of the sight, our heroes would have enjoyed it. Reginald carried Matty to the door to see the beauty of the burning mountain. She took one brief glance, then shudderingly held closer to Reginald’s neck.
“Take me back, take me back!” she cried in an agony of fear. “That is the bad place! Oh, when will God come and take us away?”
All that fearful day and all the following night scoria and ashes continued to fall, the thunder never ceased, and the lightning was still incessant. There was no chance now of getting back to camp, and they trembled to think of what might have taken place.
Towards morning, however, a wondrous change took place. The sky got clearer, a star or two shone through the rifts of heavy, overhanging clouds. The fire no longer rose from the mountain, only a thick balloon-shaped white cloud lay over it. Then the rain began to fall, and, strangely enough, mingled with the rain, which felt warm, were gigantic hailstones and pieces of ice as large as six-pound shells. Then up rose the glorious sun. Like a red ball of fire he certainly was; but oh, what a welcome sight!
That forenoon, all being now peace and quiet, Dickson and his comrades determined to march back to camp and ease their minds. After a long and toilsome journey over the hills, many of which were covered with ashes, they reached camp, and were glad to find the men alive, and the house intact. A rampart had been built around the barracks, as Hall called it, and inside was a large drill-yard.
Dickson served out rum to the men, and they soon were cheerful enough once more. The guns had been mounted on the walls, and all rifles were stowed away inside. This was at a suggestion from Hall.
“You never can trust those niggers,” he said quietly, shaking his head.
And well it was, as it turned out, that Dickson had taken Mr Hall’s advice.
That same afternoon, about two o’clock, the same savages who had fought with rifles from the bush against the invaders came hurriedly and somewhat excitedly into camp. The spokesman, a tall and splendid-looking native, gesticulated wildly, as he almost shouted in the officers’ ears:
“To-mollow molning dey come! All dis island rise! Dey come to kill and eat!”
The officers were astonished. What had they done to deserve so terrible a fate?
“Dey blame you for all. Oh, be plepared to fight. Gib us guns, and we too will fight plenty much. Foh true!”
A very uneasy night was passed, but the yard and guns had been cleared of cinders and scoria, the bulwarks strengthened, and before the sun once more shone red over the sea Dickson was prepared for either battle or siege. Everyone had been assigned his quarters.
The day was still, hot, and somewhat sultry. Luckily the little garrison was well provisioned, and the water would last a week or even longer. Low muttering thunders were still heard in the direction of the volcano, and sometimes the earth shook and trembled somewhat, but it was evident that the subterranean fires had burnt themselves out, and it might be a score of years before another eruption occurred.
It was evident that the savages did not think so. For as long as the cloud hung over the peak they did not consider themselves safe. About twelve o’clock that day distant shouts and cries were heard in the nearest glen, and presently an undisciplined mob of nearly a thousand howling savages, armed with bows and spears and broad black knives, appeared on the sands, in their war-paint. It was evidently their intention to storm the position, and determinedly too. They halted, however, and seemed to have a hasty consultation. Then a chief boldly advanced to the ramparts to hold a parley. His speech was a curious one, and he himself, dressed partly in skins and leaning on a spear like a weaver’s beam, was a strangely wild and romantic figure.
The officers appeared above the ramparts to look and to listen.
“Hear, O white men!” cried the savage chief, in fairly good English; “’tis you who brought dis evil on us. We now do starve. De rice and de fruit and de rats and most all wild beasts dey kill or hide demselves. In de sea all round de fish he die. We soon starve. But we not wish to fight. You and your men saved us from the foe that came in der big black war canoe. Den you try to teach us God and good. But we all same as before now. We must fight, eat and live, if you do not leave the island. Plenty big canoe take you off. Den de grass and trees and fruit will grow again, and we shall be happy and flee onct mo’.”
“An end to this!” cried Dickson angrily. “Fight as you please, and as soon as you please. But mind, you will have a devilish hot reception, and few of you will return to your glens to tell the tale. Away!”
As soon as the chief had returned and communicated to his men the result of the interview, they shrieked and shouted and danced like demons. They brandished their spears aloft and rattled them against their shields. Then, with one continuous maddened howl, they dashed onwards to scale the ramparts. “Blood! blood!” was their battle cry.
Well knowing that if once they got inside the little garrison would soon be butchered, Dickson immediately had both guns trained on them. He himself did so.
“Bang! bang!” they went, and the grape made fearful havoc in the close and serried ranks of the cannibals. The rifles kept up a withering fire. Again, and quickly too, the guns were loaded and run out, and just as the enemy had scaled the brae they were once more met by the terrible fire, and positively hewn down before it.
Not even savages could stand this. They became demoralised, and fled incontinently. And they soon disappeared, carrying many of their dead with them. Far along the beach went they, and as stakes were placed in the ground, large fires built around them, and one or more of the dead thrown on each, it was evident that they had made up their minds not to starve.
One of the blacks was now sent out from the fort to make a circuit round the hills, and then, mingling with the savages, to find out out what was their intention.
He returned in a few hours, and while the awful feast was still going on. A night attack was determined on, and they believed they would inherit strength and bravery by eating their dead comrades. That was the scout’s report.
Chapter Twenty Two.More Fearful Fighting—Golden Gulch—“A Ship! A Ship!”Forewarned is, or ought to be, forearmed. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that Dickson and the others greatly dreaded an attack by savages under cover of the moonless darkness of a tropical night. All was done that could be done to repel the fury of the onslaught. But come it must and would.Just as the sun was sinking behind the western mountains, amidst lurid and threatening clouds, a happy thought occurred to one of the sailors.“Sir,” he said to Dickson, “the darkness will be our greatest foe, will it not?”“Certainly. If these demon cannibals would but show front in daylight we could easily disperse them, as we did before. Have you any plans, McGregor?”“I’m only a humble sailor,” said McGregor, “but my advice is this. We can trust the honest blacks we have here within the fort?”“Yes.”“Well, let them throw up a bit of sand cover for themselves down here on the beach and by the sea. Each man should wear a bit of white cotton around his arm, that we may be able to distinguish friend from foe. Do you follow me, sir?”“Good, McGregor. Go on.”“Well, captain, the cannibals are certain to make direct for the barracks and attempt to scale as they did before. I will go in command of our twenty black soldiers, and just as you pour in your withering grape and rifle bullets we shall attack from the rear, or flank, rather, and thus I do not doubt we shall once more beat them off.”“Good again, my lad; but remember we cannot aim in the darkness.”“That can be provided against. We have plenty of tarry wood here, and we can cut down the still standing brush, and making two huge bonfires, deluge the whole with kerosene when we hear the beggars coming and near at hand. Thus shall you have light to fight.”“McGregor, my lad, I think you have saved the fort and our lives. Get ready your men and proceed to duty. Or, stay. While they still are at their terrible feast and dancing round the fires, you may remain inside.”“Thanks, sir, thanks.”The men had supper at eleven o’clock and a modicum of rum each. The British sailor needs no Dutch courage on the day of battle.The distant fires burnt on till midnight. Then, by means of his night-glass, Dickson could see the tall chieftain was mustering his men for the charge.Half an hour later they came on with fiendish shouts and howling. Then brave McGregor and his men left the barracks and hid in the darkling to the left and low down on the sands.The enemy advanced from the right. Their chief was evidently a poor soldier, or he would have caused them to steal as silently as panthers upon the fort. When within a hundred yards, Dickson at one side and Reginald at the other, each accompanied by a man carrying a keg of kerosene, issued forth at the back door.In three minutes more the flames sprang up as if by magic. They leaped in great white tongues of fire up the rock sides, from which the rays were reflected, so that all round the camp was as bright as day.The astonished savages, however, came on like a whirlwind, till within twenty yards of the brae on which stood the fort. Then Mr Hall, the brave and imperturbable Yankee, “gave them fits,” as he termed it. He trained a gun on them and fired it point-blank. The yells and awful howlings of rage and pain told how well the grape had done its deadly work, and that many had fallen never to rise again.The tall, skin-clad chief now waved his spear aloft, and shouted to his men, pointing at the fort. That dark cloud was a mass of frenzied savages now. They leaped quickly over their dead and wounded, and rushed for the hill. But they were an easy mark, and once again both guns riddled their ranks. They would not be denied even yet.But lo! while still but half-way up the hill, to their astonishment and general demoralisation, they were attacked by a terrible rifle fire from the flank. Again and again those rifles cracked, and at so close a range that the attacking party fell dead in twos and threes.But not until two more shots were fired from the fort, not until the giant chief was seen to throw up his arms and fall dead in his tracks, did they hurriedly rush back helter-skelter, and seek safety in flight.The black riflemen had no mercy on their brother-islanders. Their blood was up. So was McGregor’s, and they pursued the enemy, pouring in volley after volley until the darkness swallowed them up.The slaughter had been immense. The camp was molested no more. But at daybreak it was observed that no cloud hung any longer on the volcanic peak. The savages were still grouped in hundreds around their now relighted fires, and it was evident a new feast was in preparation.But something still more strange now happened. Accompanied by two gigantic spear-armed men of the guard, the Queen herself was seen to issue from the glen, and boldly approach the rebels. What she said may never be known. But, while her guard stood like two statues, she was seen to be haranguing the cannibals, sometimes striking her sceptre-pole against the hard white sand, sometimes pointing with it towards the volcanic mountain.But see! another chief approaches her, and is apparently defying her. Next moment there is a little puff of white smoke, and the man falls, shot through the head.And now the brave and romantic Queen nods to her guards, and with their spears far and near the fires are dispersed and put out.This was all very interesting, as well as wonderful, to the onlookers at the fort, but when the Queen was seen approaching the little garrison, a little white flag waving from her pole, and followed by all the natives, astonishment was at its height.Humbly enough they approached now, for the Queen in their eyes was a goddess. With a wave of her sceptre she stopped them under the brae, or hill, and Dickson and Reginald hurried down to meet her floral majesty.“Had I only known sooner,” she said sympathisingly, “that my people had rebelled and attempted to murder you, I should have been here long, long before now. These, however, are but the black sheep of my island, and now at my command they have come to sue for pardon.”“And they will lay down their arms?”“Yes, every spear and bow and crease.”“Then,” said Dickson, “let them go in single file and heap them on the still smouldering fire up yonder.”Queen Bertha said something to them in their own language, and she was instantly obeyed. The fire so strangely replenished took heart and blazed up once more, and soon the arms were reduced to ashes, and the very knives bent or melted with the fierce heat.“Go home now to your wives and children,” she cried imperiously. “For a time you shall remain in disgrace. But if you behave well I will gladly receive you once more into my favour. Disperse! Be off!”All now quietly dispersed, thankfully enough, too, for they had expected decapitation. But ten were retained to dig deep graves near the sea and bury the dead. There were no wounded. This done, peace was restored once more on the Island of Flowers.Three weeks of incessant rain followed. It fell in torrents, and the river itself overflowed its banks, the fords being no longer of any use, so that the men were confined to their barracks.It was a long and a dreary time. Very much indeed Reginald would have liked to visit the palace, to romp with little Matty, and listen to the music of Ilda’s sweet voice.“As for Annie—she must have given me up for dead long ere now,” he said to himself. “Why, it is two years and nine months since I left home. Yes, something tells me that Annie is married, and married to—to—my old rival the Laird. Do I love Ilda? I dare not ask myself the question. Bar Annie herself, with sweet, baby, innocent face, I have never known a girl that so endeared herself to me as Ilda has done. And—well, yes, why deny it?—I long to see her.”One day the rain ceased, and the sun shone out bright and clear once more. The torrents from the mountains were dried up, and the river rapidly went down. This was an island of surprises, and when, three days after this, Reginald, accompanied by Hall and Dickson, went over the mountains, they marvelled to find that the incessant downpour of rain had entirely washed the ashes from the valley, and that it was once more smiling green with bud and bourgeon. In a week’s time the flowers would burst forth in all their glory.The ford was now easily negotiable, and soon they were at the Queen’s palace. Need I say that they received a hearty welcome from her Majesty and Ilda? Nor did it take Matty a minute to ensconce herself on Reginald’s knee.“Oh,” she whispered, “I’se so glad you’s come back again! Me and Ilda cried ourselves to sleep every, every night, ’cause we think the bad black men kill you.”Ilda crying for him! Probably praying for him! The thought gave him joy. Then, indeed, she loved him. No wonder that he once again asked himself how it would all end.The weather now grew charming. Even the hills grew green again, for the ashes anddébrisfrom the fire-hill, as the natives called it, had fertilised the ground. And now, accompanied by Ilda and Matty, who would not be left behind, an expedition started for the valley of gold. The road would be rough, and so a hammock had been sent for from the camp, and two sturdy natives attached it to a long bamboo pole. Matty, laughing with delight, was thus borne along, and she averred that it was just like flying.Alas! the earthquake had been very destructive in Golden Gulch. Our heroes hardly knew it. Indeed, it was a glen no longer, but filled entirely up with fallen rocks, lava, and scoria.They sighed, and commenced the return journey. But first a visit must be paid to Lone Tree Mountain. For Reginald’s heart lay there.“From that elevation,” said Reginald, “we shall be able to see the beautiful ocean far and near.”The tree at last! It was with joy indeed they beheld it. Though damaged by the falling scoria, it was once more green; but the grave in which the gold and pearls lay was covered three feet deep in lava and small stones. The treasure, then, was safe!They were about to return, when Ilda suddenly grasped Reginald’s arm convulsively.“Look! look!” she cried, pointing seawards. “The ship! the ship! We are saved! We are saved!”
Forewarned is, or ought to be, forearmed. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that Dickson and the others greatly dreaded an attack by savages under cover of the moonless darkness of a tropical night. All was done that could be done to repel the fury of the onslaught. But come it must and would.
Just as the sun was sinking behind the western mountains, amidst lurid and threatening clouds, a happy thought occurred to one of the sailors.
“Sir,” he said to Dickson, “the darkness will be our greatest foe, will it not?”
“Certainly. If these demon cannibals would but show front in daylight we could easily disperse them, as we did before. Have you any plans, McGregor?”
“I’m only a humble sailor,” said McGregor, “but my advice is this. We can trust the honest blacks we have here within the fort?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let them throw up a bit of sand cover for themselves down here on the beach and by the sea. Each man should wear a bit of white cotton around his arm, that we may be able to distinguish friend from foe. Do you follow me, sir?”
“Good, McGregor. Go on.”
“Well, captain, the cannibals are certain to make direct for the barracks and attempt to scale as they did before. I will go in command of our twenty black soldiers, and just as you pour in your withering grape and rifle bullets we shall attack from the rear, or flank, rather, and thus I do not doubt we shall once more beat them off.”
“Good again, my lad; but remember we cannot aim in the darkness.”
“That can be provided against. We have plenty of tarry wood here, and we can cut down the still standing brush, and making two huge bonfires, deluge the whole with kerosene when we hear the beggars coming and near at hand. Thus shall you have light to fight.”
“McGregor, my lad, I think you have saved the fort and our lives. Get ready your men and proceed to duty. Or, stay. While they still are at their terrible feast and dancing round the fires, you may remain inside.”
“Thanks, sir, thanks.”
The men had supper at eleven o’clock and a modicum of rum each. The British sailor needs no Dutch courage on the day of battle.
The distant fires burnt on till midnight. Then, by means of his night-glass, Dickson could see the tall chieftain was mustering his men for the charge.
Half an hour later they came on with fiendish shouts and howling. Then brave McGregor and his men left the barracks and hid in the darkling to the left and low down on the sands.
The enemy advanced from the right. Their chief was evidently a poor soldier, or he would have caused them to steal as silently as panthers upon the fort. When within a hundred yards, Dickson at one side and Reginald at the other, each accompanied by a man carrying a keg of kerosene, issued forth at the back door.
In three minutes more the flames sprang up as if by magic. They leaped in great white tongues of fire up the rock sides, from which the rays were reflected, so that all round the camp was as bright as day.
The astonished savages, however, came on like a whirlwind, till within twenty yards of the brae on which stood the fort. Then Mr Hall, the brave and imperturbable Yankee, “gave them fits,” as he termed it. He trained a gun on them and fired it point-blank. The yells and awful howlings of rage and pain told how well the grape had done its deadly work, and that many had fallen never to rise again.
The tall, skin-clad chief now waved his spear aloft, and shouted to his men, pointing at the fort. That dark cloud was a mass of frenzied savages now. They leaped quickly over their dead and wounded, and rushed for the hill. But they were an easy mark, and once again both guns riddled their ranks. They would not be denied even yet.
But lo! while still but half-way up the hill, to their astonishment and general demoralisation, they were attacked by a terrible rifle fire from the flank. Again and again those rifles cracked, and at so close a range that the attacking party fell dead in twos and threes.
But not until two more shots were fired from the fort, not until the giant chief was seen to throw up his arms and fall dead in his tracks, did they hurriedly rush back helter-skelter, and seek safety in flight.
The black riflemen had no mercy on their brother-islanders. Their blood was up. So was McGregor’s, and they pursued the enemy, pouring in volley after volley until the darkness swallowed them up.
The slaughter had been immense. The camp was molested no more. But at daybreak it was observed that no cloud hung any longer on the volcanic peak. The savages were still grouped in hundreds around their now relighted fires, and it was evident a new feast was in preparation.
But something still more strange now happened. Accompanied by two gigantic spear-armed men of the guard, the Queen herself was seen to issue from the glen, and boldly approach the rebels. What she said may never be known. But, while her guard stood like two statues, she was seen to be haranguing the cannibals, sometimes striking her sceptre-pole against the hard white sand, sometimes pointing with it towards the volcanic mountain.
But see! another chief approaches her, and is apparently defying her. Next moment there is a little puff of white smoke, and the man falls, shot through the head.
And now the brave and romantic Queen nods to her guards, and with their spears far and near the fires are dispersed and put out.
This was all very interesting, as well as wonderful, to the onlookers at the fort, but when the Queen was seen approaching the little garrison, a little white flag waving from her pole, and followed by all the natives, astonishment was at its height.
Humbly enough they approached now, for the Queen in their eyes was a goddess. With a wave of her sceptre she stopped them under the brae, or hill, and Dickson and Reginald hurried down to meet her floral majesty.
“Had I only known sooner,” she said sympathisingly, “that my people had rebelled and attempted to murder you, I should have been here long, long before now. These, however, are but the black sheep of my island, and now at my command they have come to sue for pardon.”
“And they will lay down their arms?”
“Yes, every spear and bow and crease.”
“Then,” said Dickson, “let them go in single file and heap them on the still smouldering fire up yonder.”
Queen Bertha said something to them in their own language, and she was instantly obeyed. The fire so strangely replenished took heart and blazed up once more, and soon the arms were reduced to ashes, and the very knives bent or melted with the fierce heat.
“Go home now to your wives and children,” she cried imperiously. “For a time you shall remain in disgrace. But if you behave well I will gladly receive you once more into my favour. Disperse! Be off!”
All now quietly dispersed, thankfully enough, too, for they had expected decapitation. But ten were retained to dig deep graves near the sea and bury the dead. There were no wounded. This done, peace was restored once more on the Island of Flowers.
Three weeks of incessant rain followed. It fell in torrents, and the river itself overflowed its banks, the fords being no longer of any use, so that the men were confined to their barracks.
It was a long and a dreary time. Very much indeed Reginald would have liked to visit the palace, to romp with little Matty, and listen to the music of Ilda’s sweet voice.
“As for Annie—she must have given me up for dead long ere now,” he said to himself. “Why, it is two years and nine months since I left home. Yes, something tells me that Annie is married, and married to—to—my old rival the Laird. Do I love Ilda? I dare not ask myself the question. Bar Annie herself, with sweet, baby, innocent face, I have never known a girl that so endeared herself to me as Ilda has done. And—well, yes, why deny it?—I long to see her.”
One day the rain ceased, and the sun shone out bright and clear once more. The torrents from the mountains were dried up, and the river rapidly went down. This was an island of surprises, and when, three days after this, Reginald, accompanied by Hall and Dickson, went over the mountains, they marvelled to find that the incessant downpour of rain had entirely washed the ashes from the valley, and that it was once more smiling green with bud and bourgeon. In a week’s time the flowers would burst forth in all their glory.
The ford was now easily negotiable, and soon they were at the Queen’s palace. Need I say that they received a hearty welcome from her Majesty and Ilda? Nor did it take Matty a minute to ensconce herself on Reginald’s knee.
“Oh,” she whispered, “I’se so glad you’s come back again! Me and Ilda cried ourselves to sleep every, every night, ’cause we think the bad black men kill you.”
Ilda crying for him! Probably praying for him! The thought gave him joy. Then, indeed, she loved him. No wonder that he once again asked himself how it would all end.
The weather now grew charming. Even the hills grew green again, for the ashes anddébrisfrom the fire-hill, as the natives called it, had fertilised the ground. And now, accompanied by Ilda and Matty, who would not be left behind, an expedition started for the valley of gold. The road would be rough, and so a hammock had been sent for from the camp, and two sturdy natives attached it to a long bamboo pole. Matty, laughing with delight, was thus borne along, and she averred that it was just like flying.
Alas! the earthquake had been very destructive in Golden Gulch. Our heroes hardly knew it. Indeed, it was a glen no longer, but filled entirely up with fallen rocks, lava, and scoria.
They sighed, and commenced the return journey. But first a visit must be paid to Lone Tree Mountain. For Reginald’s heart lay there.
“From that elevation,” said Reginald, “we shall be able to see the beautiful ocean far and near.”
The tree at last! It was with joy indeed they beheld it. Though damaged by the falling scoria, it was once more green; but the grave in which the gold and pearls lay was covered three feet deep in lava and small stones. The treasure, then, was safe!
They were about to return, when Ilda suddenly grasped Reginald’s arm convulsively.
“Look! look!” she cried, pointing seawards. “The ship! the ship! We are saved! We are saved!”
Chapter Twenty Three.“She Threw Herself on the Sofa in an Agony of Grief.”Nearer and nearer drew that ship, and bigger and bigger she seemed to grow, evidently with the intention of landing on the island.Even with the naked eye they soon could see that her bulwarks were badly battered, and that her fore-topmast had been carried away.Back they now hurried to leave Ilda and Matty at the palace. Then camp-wards with all speed; and just as they reached the barracks they could hear the rattling of the chains as both anchors were being let go in the bay.A boat now left the vessel’s side, and our three heroes hurried down to meet it.The captain was a red-faced, white-haired, hale old man, and one’s verybeau-idéalof a sailor. He was invited at once up to the barracks, and rum and ship biscuits placed before him. Then yarns were interchanged, Captain Cleaver being the first to tell the story of his adventures. Very briefly, though, as seafarers mostly do talk.“Left Rio three months ago, bound for San Francisco. Fine weather for a time, and until we had cleared the Straits. Then—oh, man! may I never see the like again! I’ve been to sea off and on for forty years and five, but never before have I met with such storms. One after another, too; and here we are at last. In the quiet of your bay, I hope to make good some repairs, then hurry on our voyage. And you?” he added.“Ah,” said Dickson, “we came infinitely worse off than you. Wrecked, and nearly all our brave crew drowned. Six men only saved, with us three, Mr Hall’s daughter and a child. The latter are now with the white Queen of this island. We managed to save our guns and provisions from our unhappy yacht and that was all.”“Well, you shall all sail to California with me. I’ll make room, for I am but lightly loaded. But I have not yet heard the name of your craft, nor have you introduced me to your companions.”“A sailor’s mistake,” laughed Dickson; “but this is Mr Hall, who was a passenger; and this is Dr Reginald Grahame. Our vessel’s name was theWolverine.”“And she sailed from Glasgow nearly three years ago?”Captain Cleaver bent eagerly over towards Dickson as he put the question.“That is so, sir.”“Why, you are long since supposed to have foundered with all hands, and the insurance has been paid to your owners.”“Well, that is right; the ship is gone, butweare alive, and our adventures have been very strange and terrible indeed. After dinner I will tell you all. But now,” he added, with a smile, “if you will only take us as far as ’Frisco, we shall find our way to our homes.”Captain Cleaver’s face was very pale now, and he bit his lips, as he replied:“I can take you, Captain Dickson, your six men, Mr Hall and the ladies, but I cannot sail with this young fellow.” He pointed to Reginald. “It may be mere superstition on my part,” he continued, “but I am an old sailor, you know, and old sailors have whims.”“I cannot see why I should be debarred from a passage home,” said Reginald.“I am a plain man,” said Cleaver, “and I shall certainly speak out, if you pretend you do not know.”“I donotknow, and I command you to speak out.”“Then I will. In Britain there is a price set upon your head, sir, and you are branded as amurderer!”Dickson and Hall almost started from their seats, but Reginald was quiet, though deathly white.“And—and,” he said, in a husky voice, “whom am I accused of murdering?”“Your quondam friend, sir, and rival in love, the farmer Craig Nicol.”“I deny itin toto!” cried Reginald.“Young man, I am not your judge. I can only state facts, and tell you that your knife was found bloodstained and black by the murdered man’s side. The odds are all against you.”“This is truly terrible!” said Reginald, getting red and white by turns, as he rapidly paced the floor. “What can it mean?”“Captain Dickson,” he said at last, “do you believe, judging from all you have seen of me, that I could be guilty of so dastardly a deed, or that I could play and romp with the innocent child Matty with, figuratively speaking, blood between my fingers, and darkest guilt at my heart? Can you believe it?”Dickson held out his hand, and Reginald grasped it, almost in despair.“Things look black against you,” he said, “but I donotbelieve you guilty.”“Nor do I,” said Hall; “but I must take the opportunity of sailing with Captain Cleaver, I and my daughter and little Matty.”Reginald clasped his hand to his heart.“My heart will break!” he said bitterly.In a few days’ time Cleaver’s ship was repaired, and ready for sea. So was Hall, and just two of the men. The other four, as well as Dickson himself, elected to stay. There was still water to be laid in, however, and so the ship was detained for forty-eight hours.One morning his messmates missed Reginald from his bed. It was cold, and evidently had not been slept in for many hours.“Well, well,” said Dickson, “perhaps it is best thus, but I doubt not that the poor unhappy fellow has thrown himself over a cliff, and by this time all his sorrows are ended for ay.”But Reginald had had no such intention. While the stars were yet shining, and the beautiful Southern Cross mirrored in the river’s depth, he found himself by the ford, and soon after sunrise he was at the palace.Ilda was an early riser and so, too, was wee Matty. Both were surprised but happy to see him. He took the child in his arms, and as he kissed her the tears rose to his eyes, and all was a mist.“Dear Matty,” he said, “run out, now; I would speak with Ilda alone.”Half-crying herself, and wondering all the while, Matty retired obediently enough.“Oh,” cried Ilda earnestly, and drawing her chair close to his, “you are in grief. What can have happened?”“Do not sit near me, Ilda. Oh, would that the grief would but kill me! The captain of the ship which now lies in the bay has brought me terrible news. I am branded with murder! Accused of slaying my quondam friend and rival in the affections of her about whom I have often spoken to you—Annie Lane.”Ilda was stricken dumb. She sat dazed and mute, gazing on the face of him she loved above all men on earth.“But—oh, you are not—couldnot—be guilty! Reginald—my own Reginald!” she cried.“Things are terribly black against me, but I will say no more now. Only the body was not found until two days after I sailed, and it is believed that I was a fugitive from justice. That makes matters worse. Ilda, I could have loved you, but, ah! I fear this will be our last interview on earth. Your father is sailing by this ship, and taking you and my little love Matty with him.”She threw herself in his arms now, and wept till it verily seemed her heart would break. Then he kissed her tenderly, and led her back to her seat.“Brighter times may come,” he said. “There is ever sunshine behind the clouds. Good-bye, darling, good-bye—and may every blessing fall on your life and make you happy. Say good-bye to the child for me; I dare not see her again.”She half rose and held out her arms towards him, but he was gone. The door was closed, and she threw herself now on the sofa in an agony of grief.The ship sailed next day. Reginald could not see her depart. He and one man had gone to the distant hill. They had taken luncheon with them, and the sun had almost set before they returned to camp.“Have they gone?” was the first question when he entered the barrack-hall.“They have gone.”That was all that Dickson said.“But come, my friend, cheer up. No one here believes you guilty. All are friends around you, and if, as I believe you to be, you are innocent, my advice is this: Pray to the Father; pray without ceasing, and He will bend down His ear and take you out of your troubles. Remember those beautiful lines you have oftentimes heard me sing:“‘God is our comfort and our strength,In straits a present aid;Therefore although the earth remove,We will not be afraid.’“And these:“‘He took me from a fearful pit,And from the miry clay;And on a rock he set my feet,Establishing my way.’”“God bless you for your consolation. But at present my grief is all so fresh, and it came upon me like a bolt from the blue. In a few days I may recover. I do not know. I may fail and die. It may be better if I do.”Dickson tried to smile.“Nonsense, lad. I tell you all will yet come right, and you will see.”The men who acted as servants now came in to lay the supper. The table was a rough one indeed, and tablecloth there was none. Yet many a hearty meal they had made off the bare boards.“I have no appetite, Dickson.”“Perhaps not; but inasmuch as life is worth living, and especially a young life like yours, eat you must, and we must endeavour to coax it.”As he spoke he placed a bottle of old rum on the table. He took a little himself, as if to encourage his patient, and then filled out half a tumblerful and pushed it towards Reginald. Reginald took a sip or two, and finally finished it by degrees, but reluctantly. Dickson filled him out more.“Nay, nay,” Reginald remonstrated.“Do you see that couch yonder?” said his companion, smiling.“Yes.”“Well, as soon as you have had supper, on that you must go to bed, and I will cover you with a light rug. Sleep will revive you, and things to-morrow morning will not look quite so dark and gloomy.”“I shall do all you tell me.”“Good boy! but mind, I have even Solomon’s authority for asking you to drink a little. ‘Give,’ he says, ‘strong drink to him Who is ready to perish... Let him drink... and remember his misery no more.’ And our irrepressible bard Burns must needs paraphrase these words in verse:“‘Give him strong drink, until he wink,That’s sinking in despair;And liquor good to fire his blood,That’s pressed wi’ grief and care.There let him bouse and deep carouseWi’ bumpers flowing o’er;Till he forgets his loves or debts,An’ minds his griefs no more.’”
Nearer and nearer drew that ship, and bigger and bigger she seemed to grow, evidently with the intention of landing on the island.
Even with the naked eye they soon could see that her bulwarks were badly battered, and that her fore-topmast had been carried away.
Back they now hurried to leave Ilda and Matty at the palace. Then camp-wards with all speed; and just as they reached the barracks they could hear the rattling of the chains as both anchors were being let go in the bay.
A boat now left the vessel’s side, and our three heroes hurried down to meet it.
The captain was a red-faced, white-haired, hale old man, and one’s verybeau-idéalof a sailor. He was invited at once up to the barracks, and rum and ship biscuits placed before him. Then yarns were interchanged, Captain Cleaver being the first to tell the story of his adventures. Very briefly, though, as seafarers mostly do talk.
“Left Rio three months ago, bound for San Francisco. Fine weather for a time, and until we had cleared the Straits. Then—oh, man! may I never see the like again! I’ve been to sea off and on for forty years and five, but never before have I met with such storms. One after another, too; and here we are at last. In the quiet of your bay, I hope to make good some repairs, then hurry on our voyage. And you?” he added.
“Ah,” said Dickson, “we came infinitely worse off than you. Wrecked, and nearly all our brave crew drowned. Six men only saved, with us three, Mr Hall’s daughter and a child. The latter are now with the white Queen of this island. We managed to save our guns and provisions from our unhappy yacht and that was all.”
“Well, you shall all sail to California with me. I’ll make room, for I am but lightly loaded. But I have not yet heard the name of your craft, nor have you introduced me to your companions.”
“A sailor’s mistake,” laughed Dickson; “but this is Mr Hall, who was a passenger; and this is Dr Reginald Grahame. Our vessel’s name was theWolverine.”
“And she sailed from Glasgow nearly three years ago?”
Captain Cleaver bent eagerly over towards Dickson as he put the question.
“That is so, sir.”
“Why, you are long since supposed to have foundered with all hands, and the insurance has been paid to your owners.”
“Well, that is right; the ship is gone, butweare alive, and our adventures have been very strange and terrible indeed. After dinner I will tell you all. But now,” he added, with a smile, “if you will only take us as far as ’Frisco, we shall find our way to our homes.”
Captain Cleaver’s face was very pale now, and he bit his lips, as he replied:
“I can take you, Captain Dickson, your six men, Mr Hall and the ladies, but I cannot sail with this young fellow.” He pointed to Reginald. “It may be mere superstition on my part,” he continued, “but I am an old sailor, you know, and old sailors have whims.”
“I cannot see why I should be debarred from a passage home,” said Reginald.
“I am a plain man,” said Cleaver, “and I shall certainly speak out, if you pretend you do not know.”
“I donotknow, and I command you to speak out.”
“Then I will. In Britain there is a price set upon your head, sir, and you are branded as amurderer!”
Dickson and Hall almost started from their seats, but Reginald was quiet, though deathly white.
“And—and,” he said, in a husky voice, “whom am I accused of murdering?”
“Your quondam friend, sir, and rival in love, the farmer Craig Nicol.”
“I deny itin toto!” cried Reginald.
“Young man, I am not your judge. I can only state facts, and tell you that your knife was found bloodstained and black by the murdered man’s side. The odds are all against you.”
“This is truly terrible!” said Reginald, getting red and white by turns, as he rapidly paced the floor. “What can it mean?”
“Captain Dickson,” he said at last, “do you believe, judging from all you have seen of me, that I could be guilty of so dastardly a deed, or that I could play and romp with the innocent child Matty with, figuratively speaking, blood between my fingers, and darkest guilt at my heart? Can you believe it?”
Dickson held out his hand, and Reginald grasped it, almost in despair.
“Things look black against you,” he said, “but I donotbelieve you guilty.”
“Nor do I,” said Hall; “but I must take the opportunity of sailing with Captain Cleaver, I and my daughter and little Matty.”
Reginald clasped his hand to his heart.
“My heart will break!” he said bitterly.
In a few days’ time Cleaver’s ship was repaired, and ready for sea. So was Hall, and just two of the men. The other four, as well as Dickson himself, elected to stay. There was still water to be laid in, however, and so the ship was detained for forty-eight hours.
One morning his messmates missed Reginald from his bed. It was cold, and evidently had not been slept in for many hours.
“Well, well,” said Dickson, “perhaps it is best thus, but I doubt not that the poor unhappy fellow has thrown himself over a cliff, and by this time all his sorrows are ended for ay.”
But Reginald had had no such intention. While the stars were yet shining, and the beautiful Southern Cross mirrored in the river’s depth, he found himself by the ford, and soon after sunrise he was at the palace.
Ilda was an early riser and so, too, was wee Matty. Both were surprised but happy to see him. He took the child in his arms, and as he kissed her the tears rose to his eyes, and all was a mist.
“Dear Matty,” he said, “run out, now; I would speak with Ilda alone.”
Half-crying herself, and wondering all the while, Matty retired obediently enough.
“Oh,” cried Ilda earnestly, and drawing her chair close to his, “you are in grief. What can have happened?”
“Do not sit near me, Ilda. Oh, would that the grief would but kill me! The captain of the ship which now lies in the bay has brought me terrible news. I am branded with murder! Accused of slaying my quondam friend and rival in the affections of her about whom I have often spoken to you—Annie Lane.”
Ilda was stricken dumb. She sat dazed and mute, gazing on the face of him she loved above all men on earth.
“But—oh, you are not—couldnot—be guilty! Reginald—my own Reginald!” she cried.
“Things are terribly black against me, but I will say no more now. Only the body was not found until two days after I sailed, and it is believed that I was a fugitive from justice. That makes matters worse. Ilda, I could have loved you, but, ah! I fear this will be our last interview on earth. Your father is sailing by this ship, and taking you and my little love Matty with him.”
She threw herself in his arms now, and wept till it verily seemed her heart would break. Then he kissed her tenderly, and led her back to her seat.
“Brighter times may come,” he said. “There is ever sunshine behind the clouds. Good-bye, darling, good-bye—and may every blessing fall on your life and make you happy. Say good-bye to the child for me; I dare not see her again.”
She half rose and held out her arms towards him, but he was gone. The door was closed, and she threw herself now on the sofa in an agony of grief.
The ship sailed next day. Reginald could not see her depart. He and one man had gone to the distant hill. They had taken luncheon with them, and the sun had almost set before they returned to camp.
“Have they gone?” was the first question when he entered the barrack-hall.
“They have gone.”
That was all that Dickson said.
“But come, my friend, cheer up. No one here believes you guilty. All are friends around you, and if, as I believe you to be, you are innocent, my advice is this: Pray to the Father; pray without ceasing, and He will bend down His ear and take you out of your troubles. Remember those beautiful lines you have oftentimes heard me sing:
“‘God is our comfort and our strength,In straits a present aid;Therefore although the earth remove,We will not be afraid.’
“‘God is our comfort and our strength,In straits a present aid;Therefore although the earth remove,We will not be afraid.’
“And these:
“‘He took me from a fearful pit,And from the miry clay;And on a rock he set my feet,Establishing my way.’”
“‘He took me from a fearful pit,And from the miry clay;And on a rock he set my feet,Establishing my way.’”
“God bless you for your consolation. But at present my grief is all so fresh, and it came upon me like a bolt from the blue. In a few days I may recover. I do not know. I may fail and die. It may be better if I do.”
Dickson tried to smile.
“Nonsense, lad. I tell you all will yet come right, and you will see.”
The men who acted as servants now came in to lay the supper. The table was a rough one indeed, and tablecloth there was none. Yet many a hearty meal they had made off the bare boards.
“I have no appetite, Dickson.”
“Perhaps not; but inasmuch as life is worth living, and especially a young life like yours, eat you must, and we must endeavour to coax it.”
As he spoke he placed a bottle of old rum on the table. He took a little himself, as if to encourage his patient, and then filled out half a tumblerful and pushed it towards Reginald. Reginald took a sip or two, and finally finished it by degrees, but reluctantly. Dickson filled him out more.
“Nay, nay,” Reginald remonstrated.
“Do you see that couch yonder?” said his companion, smiling.
“Yes.”
“Well, as soon as you have had supper, on that you must go to bed, and I will cover you with a light rug. Sleep will revive you, and things to-morrow morning will not look quite so dark and gloomy.”
“I shall do all you tell me.”
“Good boy! but mind, I have even Solomon’s authority for asking you to drink a little. ‘Give,’ he says, ‘strong drink to him Who is ready to perish... Let him drink... and remember his misery no more.’ And our irrepressible bard Burns must needs paraphrase these words in verse:
“‘Give him strong drink, until he wink,That’s sinking in despair;And liquor good to fire his blood,That’s pressed wi’ grief and care.There let him bouse and deep carouseWi’ bumpers flowing o’er;Till he forgets his loves or debts,An’ minds his griefs no more.’”
“‘Give him strong drink, until he wink,That’s sinking in despair;And liquor good to fire his blood,That’s pressed wi’ grief and care.There let him bouse and deep carouseWi’ bumpers flowing o’er;Till he forgets his loves or debts,An’ minds his griefs no more.’”
Chapter Twenty Four.“Oh, Merciful Father! They are here.”Well, it seemed there was very little chance of poor Reginald (if we dare extend pity to him) forgetting either his loves or the terrible incubus that pressed like a millstone on heart and brain.Captain Dickson was now doctor instead of Grahame, and the latter was his patient. Two things he knew right well: first, that in three or four months at the least a ship of some kind would arrive, and Reginald be taken prisoner back to England; secondly, that if he could not get him to work, and thus keep his thoughts away from the awful grief, he might sink and die. He determined, therefore, to institute a fresh prospecting party. Perhaps, he told the men, the gold was not so much buried but that they might find their way to it.“That is just what we think, sir, and that is why we stayed in the island with you and Dr Grahame instead of going home in theErebus. Now, sir,” continued the man, “why not employ native labour? We have plenty of tools, and those twenty stalwart blacks that fought so well for us would do anything to help us. Shall I speak to them, captain?”“Very well, McGregor; you seem to have the knack of giving good advice. It shall be as you say.”After a visit to the Queen, who received them both with great cordiality, and endeavoured all she could to keep up poor Reginald’s heart, they took their departure, and bore up for the hills, accompanied by their black labourers, who were as merry as crickets. Much of the lava, or ashes, had been washed away from the Golden Mount, as they termed it, and they could thus prospect with more ease in the gulch below.In the most likely part, a place where crushed or powdered quartz abound, work was commenced in downright earnest.“Here alone have we any chance, men,” said Captain Dickson cheerily.“Ah, sir,” said McGregor, “you have been at the diggings before, and so have I.”“You are right, my good fellow; I made my pile in California when little more than a boy. I thought that this fortune was going to last me for ever, and there was no extravagance in New York I did not go in for. Well, my pile just vanished like mist before the morning sun, and I had to take a situation as a man before the mast, and so worked myself up to what I am now, a British master mariner.”“Well, sir,” said Mac, “you have seen the world, anyhow, and gained experience, and no doubt that your having been yourself a common sailor accounts for much of your kindness to and sympathy for us poor Jacks.”“Perhaps.”Mining work was now carried on all day long, and a shaft bored into the mountain side. This was their only chance. Timber was cut down and sawn into beams and supports, and for many weeks everything went on with the regularity of clock-work; but it was not till after a month that fortune favoured the brave. Then small nuggets began to be found, and to these succeeded larger ones; and it was evident to all that a well-lined pocket was found. In this case both the officers and men worked together, and the gold was equally divided between them. They were indeed a little Republic, but right well the men deserved their share, for well and faithfully did they work.Two months had passed away since the departure of theErebus, and soon the detectives must come. Reginald’s heart gave a painful throb of anxiety when he thought of it. Another month and he should be a prisoner, and perhaps confined in a hot and stuffy cell on board ship. Oh! it was terrible to think of! But work had kept him up. Soon, however, the mine gave out, and was reluctantly deserted. Every night now, however, both Dickson and Reginald dined and slept at the palace of Queen Bertha. With her Reginald left his nuggets.“If I should be condemned to death,” he said,—“and Fate points to that probability—the gold and all the rest is yours, Dickson.”“Come, sir, come,” said the Queen, “keep up your heart. You say you are not guilty.”They were sitting at table enjoying wine and fruit, though the latter felt like sawdust in Reginald’s hot and nerve-fevered mouth.“I do not myself believe I am guilty, my dear lady,” he answered.“You do notbelieve?”“Listen, and I will tell you. The knife found—it was mine—by the side of poor Craig Nicol is damning evidence against me, and this is my greatest fear. Listen again. All my life I have been a sleep-walker or somnambulist.”The Queen was interested now, and leaned more towards him as he spoke.“You couldn’t surely—” she began.“All I remember of that night is this—and I feel the cold sweat of terror on my brow as I relate it—I had been to Aberdeen. I dined with friends—dined, not wisely, perhaps, but too well. I remember feeling dazed when I left the train at — Station. I had many miles still to walk, but before I had gone there a stupor seemed to come over me, and I laid me down on the sward thinking a little sleep would perfectly refresh me. I remember but little more, only that I fell asleep, thinking how much I would give only to have Craig Nicol once more as my friend. Strange, was it not? I seemed to awake in the same place where I had lain down, but cannot recollect that I had any dreams which might have led to somnambulism. But, oh, Queen Bertha, my stocking knife was gone! I looked at my hands. ‘Good God!’ I cried, for they were smeared with blood! And I fainted away. I have no more to say,” he added, “no more to tell. I will tell the same story to my solicitor alone, and will be guided by all he advises. If I have done this deed, even in my sleep, I deserve my fate, whate’er it may be, and, oh, Queen Bertha, the suspense and my present terrible anxiety is worse to bear than death itself could be.”“From my very inmost heart I pity you,” said the Queen.“And I too,” said Dickson.It was now well-nigh three months since theErebushad left, and no other vessel had yet arrived or appeared in sight.But one evening the Queen, with Reginald and Dickson, sat out of doors in the verandah. They were drinking little cups of black coffee and smoking native cigarettes, rolled round with withered palm leaves in lieu of paper. It was so still to-night that the slightest sound could be heard: even leaves rustling in the distant woods, even the whisk of the bats’ wings as they flew hither and thither moth-hunting. It was, too, as bright as day almost, for a round moon rode high in the clear sky, and even the brilliant Southern Cross looked pale in her dazzling rays. There had been a lull in the conversation for a few minutes, but suddenly the silence was broken in a most unexpected way. From seaward, over the hills, came the long-drawn and mournful shriek of a steamer’s whistle.“O, Merciful Father!” cried Reginald, half-rising from his seat, but sinking helplessly back again—“they are here!”Alas! it was only too true.When theErebusleft the island, with, as passengers, Mr Hall and poor, grief-stricken Ilda, she had a good passage as far as the Line, and here was becalmed only a week, and made a quick voyage afterwards to the Golden Horn. Here Mr Hall determined to stay for many months, to recruit his daughter’s health. All the remedies of San Francisco were at her command. She went wherever her father pleased, but every pleasure appeared to pall upon her. Doctors were consulted, and pronounced the poor girl in a rapid decline. There was a complete collapse of the whole nervous system, they said, and she must have received some terrible shock. Mr Hall admitted it, asking at the same time if the case were hopeless, and what he could do.“It is the last thing a medical man should do,” replied the physician, “to take hope away. I do not say she may not recover with care, but—I am bound to tell you, sir—the chances of her living a year are somewhat remote.”Poor Mr Hall was silent and sad. He would soon be a lonely man indeed, with none to comfort him save little Matty, and she would grow up and leave him too.Shortly after the arrival of theErebusat California, a sensational heading to a Scotch newspaper caught the eye of the old Laird McLeod, as he sat with his daughter one morning at breakfast:“Remarkable Discovery.The Supposed Murderer of Craig NicolFound on a Cannibal Island.”The rest of the paragraph was but brief, and detailed only what we already know. But Annie too had seen it, and almost fainted. And this very forenoon, too, Laird Fletcher was coming to McLeod Cottage to ask her hand formally from her father.Already, as I have previously stated, she had given a half-willing consent. But now her mind was made up. She would tell Fletcher everything, and trust to his generosity. She mentioned to Jeannie, her maid, what her intentions were.“I would not utterly throw over Fletcher,” said Jeannie. “You never know what may happen.”Jeannie was nothing if not canny. Well, Fletcher did call that forenoon, and she saw him before he could speak to her old uncle—saw him alone. She showed him the paper and telegram. Then she boldly told him that while her betrothed, whom she believed entirely innocent of the crime laid at his door, was in grief and trouble, all thoughts of marriage were out of the question entirely.“And you love this young man still?”“Ay, Fletcher,” she said, “and will love him till all the seas run dry.”The Laird gave her his hand, and with tears running down her cheeks, she took it.“We still shall be friends,” he said.“Yes,” she cried; “and, oh, forgive me if I have caused you grief. I am a poor, unhappy girl!”“Every cloud,” said Fletcher, “has a silver lining.”Then he touched her hand lightly with his lips, and next moment he was gone.
Well, it seemed there was very little chance of poor Reginald (if we dare extend pity to him) forgetting either his loves or the terrible incubus that pressed like a millstone on heart and brain.
Captain Dickson was now doctor instead of Grahame, and the latter was his patient. Two things he knew right well: first, that in three or four months at the least a ship of some kind would arrive, and Reginald be taken prisoner back to England; secondly, that if he could not get him to work, and thus keep his thoughts away from the awful grief, he might sink and die. He determined, therefore, to institute a fresh prospecting party. Perhaps, he told the men, the gold was not so much buried but that they might find their way to it.
“That is just what we think, sir, and that is why we stayed in the island with you and Dr Grahame instead of going home in theErebus. Now, sir,” continued the man, “why not employ native labour? We have plenty of tools, and those twenty stalwart blacks that fought so well for us would do anything to help us. Shall I speak to them, captain?”
“Very well, McGregor; you seem to have the knack of giving good advice. It shall be as you say.”
After a visit to the Queen, who received them both with great cordiality, and endeavoured all she could to keep up poor Reginald’s heart, they took their departure, and bore up for the hills, accompanied by their black labourers, who were as merry as crickets. Much of the lava, or ashes, had been washed away from the Golden Mount, as they termed it, and they could thus prospect with more ease in the gulch below.
In the most likely part, a place where crushed or powdered quartz abound, work was commenced in downright earnest.
“Here alone have we any chance, men,” said Captain Dickson cheerily.
“Ah, sir,” said McGregor, “you have been at the diggings before, and so have I.”
“You are right, my good fellow; I made my pile in California when little more than a boy. I thought that this fortune was going to last me for ever, and there was no extravagance in New York I did not go in for. Well, my pile just vanished like mist before the morning sun, and I had to take a situation as a man before the mast, and so worked myself up to what I am now, a British master mariner.”
“Well, sir,” said Mac, “you have seen the world, anyhow, and gained experience, and no doubt that your having been yourself a common sailor accounts for much of your kindness to and sympathy for us poor Jacks.”
“Perhaps.”
Mining work was now carried on all day long, and a shaft bored into the mountain side. This was their only chance. Timber was cut down and sawn into beams and supports, and for many weeks everything went on with the regularity of clock-work; but it was not till after a month that fortune favoured the brave. Then small nuggets began to be found, and to these succeeded larger ones; and it was evident to all that a well-lined pocket was found. In this case both the officers and men worked together, and the gold was equally divided between them. They were indeed a little Republic, but right well the men deserved their share, for well and faithfully did they work.
Two months had passed away since the departure of theErebus, and soon the detectives must come. Reginald’s heart gave a painful throb of anxiety when he thought of it. Another month and he should be a prisoner, and perhaps confined in a hot and stuffy cell on board ship. Oh! it was terrible to think of! But work had kept him up. Soon, however, the mine gave out, and was reluctantly deserted. Every night now, however, both Dickson and Reginald dined and slept at the palace of Queen Bertha. With her Reginald left his nuggets.
“If I should be condemned to death,” he said,—“and Fate points to that probability—the gold and all the rest is yours, Dickson.”
“Come, sir, come,” said the Queen, “keep up your heart. You say you are not guilty.”
They were sitting at table enjoying wine and fruit, though the latter felt like sawdust in Reginald’s hot and nerve-fevered mouth.
“I do not myself believe I am guilty, my dear lady,” he answered.
“You do notbelieve?”
“Listen, and I will tell you. The knife found—it was mine—by the side of poor Craig Nicol is damning evidence against me, and this is my greatest fear. Listen again. All my life I have been a sleep-walker or somnambulist.”
The Queen was interested now, and leaned more towards him as he spoke.
“You couldn’t surely—” she began.
“All I remember of that night is this—and I feel the cold sweat of terror on my brow as I relate it—I had been to Aberdeen. I dined with friends—dined, not wisely, perhaps, but too well. I remember feeling dazed when I left the train at — Station. I had many miles still to walk, but before I had gone there a stupor seemed to come over me, and I laid me down on the sward thinking a little sleep would perfectly refresh me. I remember but little more, only that I fell asleep, thinking how much I would give only to have Craig Nicol once more as my friend. Strange, was it not? I seemed to awake in the same place where I had lain down, but cannot recollect that I had any dreams which might have led to somnambulism. But, oh, Queen Bertha, my stocking knife was gone! I looked at my hands. ‘Good God!’ I cried, for they were smeared with blood! And I fainted away. I have no more to say,” he added, “no more to tell. I will tell the same story to my solicitor alone, and will be guided by all he advises. If I have done this deed, even in my sleep, I deserve my fate, whate’er it may be, and, oh, Queen Bertha, the suspense and my present terrible anxiety is worse to bear than death itself could be.”
“From my very inmost heart I pity you,” said the Queen.
“And I too,” said Dickson.
It was now well-nigh three months since theErebushad left, and no other vessel had yet arrived or appeared in sight.
But one evening the Queen, with Reginald and Dickson, sat out of doors in the verandah. They were drinking little cups of black coffee and smoking native cigarettes, rolled round with withered palm leaves in lieu of paper. It was so still to-night that the slightest sound could be heard: even leaves rustling in the distant woods, even the whisk of the bats’ wings as they flew hither and thither moth-hunting. It was, too, as bright as day almost, for a round moon rode high in the clear sky, and even the brilliant Southern Cross looked pale in her dazzling rays. There had been a lull in the conversation for a few minutes, but suddenly the silence was broken in a most unexpected way. From seaward, over the hills, came the long-drawn and mournful shriek of a steamer’s whistle.
“O, Merciful Father!” cried Reginald, half-rising from his seat, but sinking helplessly back again—“they are here!”
Alas! it was only too true.
When theErebusleft the island, with, as passengers, Mr Hall and poor, grief-stricken Ilda, she had a good passage as far as the Line, and here was becalmed only a week, and made a quick voyage afterwards to the Golden Horn. Here Mr Hall determined to stay for many months, to recruit his daughter’s health. All the remedies of San Francisco were at her command. She went wherever her father pleased, but every pleasure appeared to pall upon her. Doctors were consulted, and pronounced the poor girl in a rapid decline. There was a complete collapse of the whole nervous system, they said, and she must have received some terrible shock. Mr Hall admitted it, asking at the same time if the case were hopeless, and what he could do.
“It is the last thing a medical man should do,” replied the physician, “to take hope away. I do not say she may not recover with care, but—I am bound to tell you, sir—the chances of her living a year are somewhat remote.”
Poor Mr Hall was silent and sad. He would soon be a lonely man indeed, with none to comfort him save little Matty, and she would grow up and leave him too.
Shortly after the arrival of theErebusat California, a sensational heading to a Scotch newspaper caught the eye of the old Laird McLeod, as he sat with his daughter one morning at breakfast:
“Remarkable Discovery.The Supposed Murderer of Craig NicolFound on a Cannibal Island.”
“Remarkable Discovery.The Supposed Murderer of Craig NicolFound on a Cannibal Island.”
The rest of the paragraph was but brief, and detailed only what we already know. But Annie too had seen it, and almost fainted. And this very forenoon, too, Laird Fletcher was coming to McLeod Cottage to ask her hand formally from her father.
Already, as I have previously stated, she had given a half-willing consent. But now her mind was made up. She would tell Fletcher everything, and trust to his generosity. She mentioned to Jeannie, her maid, what her intentions were.
“I would not utterly throw over Fletcher,” said Jeannie. “You never know what may happen.”
Jeannie was nothing if not canny. Well, Fletcher did call that forenoon, and she saw him before he could speak to her old uncle—saw him alone. She showed him the paper and telegram. Then she boldly told him that while her betrothed, whom she believed entirely innocent of the crime laid at his door, was in grief and trouble, all thoughts of marriage were out of the question entirely.
“And you love this young man still?”
“Ay, Fletcher,” she said, “and will love him till all the seas run dry.”
The Laird gave her his hand, and with tears running down her cheeks, she took it.
“We still shall be friends,” he said.
“Yes,” she cried; “and, oh, forgive me if I have caused you grief. I am a poor, unhappy girl!”
“Every cloud,” said Fletcher, “has a silver lining.”
Then he touched her hand lightly with his lips, and next moment he was gone.