Chapter Six.

Chapter Six.Onward.“That was a rum sort of tale, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom as soon as we were alone. “Do you believe him?”“Yes,” I replied, “I believe he is sincere.”“What! and see those great things, Mas’r Harry, out at sea?”“I believe he saw something,” I replied, “but whether it was just as he described is another thing. There’s plenty of room, though, in the sea for more than that, and perhaps people will find out some day that we have not seen everything that there is in the world.”“Talk about snakes, though, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom suddenly; “where did you say we was going?”“To Caracas first.”“Ah! Crackers—that’s it. Do you think there’ll be any snakes there?”“Not sea-serpents, Tom,” I said laughing; “but up the country where we are going there are sure to be plenty of land-serpents.”“Not big ones, though, Mas’r Harry?”“I should say there will be some very big ones in the swamps by the great rivers.”“Think o’ that now!” said Tom. “Big serpents! ugh! I can’t abide eels even. I don’t know how I should get on with serpents. But I say, Mas’r Harry, it’s all nonsense about sea-serpents, ar’n’t it?”“I don’t know, Tom,” I replied. “Perhaps they never grow to a very large size; but there are thousands of small ones.”“What! sea-serpents, Mas’r Harry?”“To be sure there are.”“But not in the sea—snakes couldn’t swim?”“Indeed but they can, Tom. Why, I’ve seen our common English snake go into a stream and swim beautifully with its head reared above the water, and after swimming about for some time, come out.”“Think of that now!” said Tom. “Where’s the sea-serpents, then?”“Oh, all about the Indian and Chinese Seas.”“Big uns?”“I never heard of their being more than five or six feet long, but some of them are very poisonous. People have died from their bite.”“Have they, though?” said Tom. “And where else are there any, Mas’r Harry?”“Oh, they swarm in the Caspian Sea. I’ve heard that they float about in knots of several together on calm, sunny days, and they come ashore in the shallow parts.”“Caspian Sea!” said Tom; “where may that be—anywhere near Crackers?”“No, Tom,” I said; “we’ve left that behind us in the Old World.”“And a good job too,” said Tom; “we don’t want sea-serpents where we’re going. Why, Mas’r Harry, I shall never like to do a bathe again.”Soon after this Tom proposed that we should try sea-fishing, but when we had borrowed lines and begun to make our preparations the weather set in so rough that we never once had a chance. In fact there were many days when we had no opportunity of coming on deck unless we were prepared to be drenched with the spray that deluged the deck as some great wave struck the steamer’s bows, and then flew in driving showers from end to end.There were times when I fancied that the officers looked quite serious, but they said nothing, only were very particular about the hatches being kept closed.Then came a spell of finer weather, during which we reached Jamaica, and I was thinking of getting a few days ashore, so as to see something of this beautiful island; but it was not to be, for we found that we were very late, that the steamer into which we were to shift had been waiting for us three days, and if we did not take passage in her we should have to wait a fortnight, perhaps longer, for another.“And I did so want to see the niggers in the sugar plantations, and taste real Jamaica rum. Say, Mas’r Harry, that stuff people drink in England’s all gammon.”“Why so?” I asked.“Because it’s brown and yellow, like wine,” he replied. “Real Jamaica rum’s quite white.”“Well, Tom,” I said, “I don’t know that it will make any difference to us; and as to the sugar plantations and the niggers, as you call them, I daresay you will be able to see some at my uncle’s place.”“But he don’t grow sugar, does he, Mas’r Harry?”“I don’t know about that,” I said, “but I think so. I know he grows a great deal of coffee.”“Think of that, now, Mas’r Harry! And tea, too?”“No, he does not grow tea, Tom.”“Well, I do wonder at that,” said Tom, “because you see tea’s better than coffee to keep to.”“How about climate, Tom?” I said laughing.“Climate? Ah! yes, I s’pose that do make a difference, Mas’r Harry. But he might grow sugar.”“Perhaps he does, Tom,” I said, “but we shall see before very long.”“Well, it won’t be because it isn’t hot enough,” said Tom, wiping his face. “Phew! the sun does go it out here.”“But it may be colder where my uncle lives, Tom.”“Why, how can it be, Mas’r Harry, if it’s anywhere out here?”“Perhaps he’s high up in the mountains, and there it will be much colder.”“Ha-ha-ha! Well, that is a good un, Mas’r Harry,” laughed Tom. “You had plenty of schooling and I had none, but I do know better than that. Going up closer to the sun and finding it colder! Well, that is a rum un, and no mistake.”I tried to explain to Tom why it was that the climate was colder in mountain regions, but I suppose I did it in too bungling a way for him to comprehend, and he stood out for his own opinion till he saw, some weeks later, a magnificent specimen of a snow-capped mountain, at which he stared in amazement; and even then he was obstinate enough to declare that, after all, the dazzling whiteness might be due to the clear transparency of crystal rock.

“That was a rum sort of tale, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom as soon as we were alone. “Do you believe him?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I believe he is sincere.”

“What! and see those great things, Mas’r Harry, out at sea?”

“I believe he saw something,” I replied, “but whether it was just as he described is another thing. There’s plenty of room, though, in the sea for more than that, and perhaps people will find out some day that we have not seen everything that there is in the world.”

“Talk about snakes, though, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom suddenly; “where did you say we was going?”

“To Caracas first.”

“Ah! Crackers—that’s it. Do you think there’ll be any snakes there?”

“Not sea-serpents, Tom,” I said laughing; “but up the country where we are going there are sure to be plenty of land-serpents.”

“Not big ones, though, Mas’r Harry?”

“I should say there will be some very big ones in the swamps by the great rivers.”

“Think o’ that now!” said Tom. “Big serpents! ugh! I can’t abide eels even. I don’t know how I should get on with serpents. But I say, Mas’r Harry, it’s all nonsense about sea-serpents, ar’n’t it?”

“I don’t know, Tom,” I replied. “Perhaps they never grow to a very large size; but there are thousands of small ones.”

“What! sea-serpents, Mas’r Harry?”

“To be sure there are.”

“But not in the sea—snakes couldn’t swim?”

“Indeed but they can, Tom. Why, I’ve seen our common English snake go into a stream and swim beautifully with its head reared above the water, and after swimming about for some time, come out.”

“Think of that now!” said Tom. “Where’s the sea-serpents, then?”

“Oh, all about the Indian and Chinese Seas.”

“Big uns?”

“I never heard of their being more than five or six feet long, but some of them are very poisonous. People have died from their bite.”

“Have they, though?” said Tom. “And where else are there any, Mas’r Harry?”

“Oh, they swarm in the Caspian Sea. I’ve heard that they float about in knots of several together on calm, sunny days, and they come ashore in the shallow parts.”

“Caspian Sea!” said Tom; “where may that be—anywhere near Crackers?”

“No, Tom,” I said; “we’ve left that behind us in the Old World.”

“And a good job too,” said Tom; “we don’t want sea-serpents where we’re going. Why, Mas’r Harry, I shall never like to do a bathe again.”

Soon after this Tom proposed that we should try sea-fishing, but when we had borrowed lines and begun to make our preparations the weather set in so rough that we never once had a chance. In fact there were many days when we had no opportunity of coming on deck unless we were prepared to be drenched with the spray that deluged the deck as some great wave struck the steamer’s bows, and then flew in driving showers from end to end.

There were times when I fancied that the officers looked quite serious, but they said nothing, only were very particular about the hatches being kept closed.

Then came a spell of finer weather, during which we reached Jamaica, and I was thinking of getting a few days ashore, so as to see something of this beautiful island; but it was not to be, for we found that we were very late, that the steamer into which we were to shift had been waiting for us three days, and if we did not take passage in her we should have to wait a fortnight, perhaps longer, for another.

“And I did so want to see the niggers in the sugar plantations, and taste real Jamaica rum. Say, Mas’r Harry, that stuff people drink in England’s all gammon.”

“Why so?” I asked.

“Because it’s brown and yellow, like wine,” he replied. “Real Jamaica rum’s quite white.”

“Well, Tom,” I said, “I don’t know that it will make any difference to us; and as to the sugar plantations and the niggers, as you call them, I daresay you will be able to see some at my uncle’s place.”

“But he don’t grow sugar, does he, Mas’r Harry?”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, “but I think so. I know he grows a great deal of coffee.”

“Think of that, now, Mas’r Harry! And tea, too?”

“No, he does not grow tea, Tom.”

“Well, I do wonder at that,” said Tom, “because you see tea’s better than coffee to keep to.”

“How about climate, Tom?” I said laughing.

“Climate? Ah! yes, I s’pose that do make a difference, Mas’r Harry. But he might grow sugar.”

“Perhaps he does, Tom,” I said, “but we shall see before very long.”

“Well, it won’t be because it isn’t hot enough,” said Tom, wiping his face. “Phew! the sun does go it out here.”

“But it may be colder where my uncle lives, Tom.”

“Why, how can it be, Mas’r Harry, if it’s anywhere out here?”

“Perhaps he’s high up in the mountains, and there it will be much colder.”

“Ha-ha-ha! Well, that is a good un, Mas’r Harry,” laughed Tom. “You had plenty of schooling and I had none, but I do know better than that. Going up closer to the sun and finding it colder! Well, that is a rum un, and no mistake.”

I tried to explain to Tom why it was that the climate was colder in mountain regions, but I suppose I did it in too bungling a way for him to comprehend, and he stood out for his own opinion till he saw, some weeks later, a magnificent specimen of a snow-capped mountain, at which he stared in amazement; and even then he was obstinate enough to declare that, after all, the dazzling whiteness might be due to the clear transparency of crystal rock.

Chapter Seven.Feeding the Sharks.It was a wonderful change from the stormy, tossing Atlantic, with its bitter winds and chilling cold, to the calm transparency of the brilliantly-blue tropic waters, where everything looked so unclouded and so bright. When we neared one or other of the islands, everything seemed so fresh that we began to forget the perils and troubles of our long, uneventful, but sufficiently troubled voyage. For there were golden or dazzlingly white sands, upon which the calm sea softly rippled, while close down to the water’s edge we could see what Tom called spike plants and sweep’s-brush trees—these being his names for plants of the Yucca family and lovely slender-tufted palms.When we gazed down into the clear waters from the deck of our comparatively small steamer, we could see fish in plenty, for the brilliant sun seemed to light up the sea beneath the vessel’s keel, while as the screw churned up the water and the steamer rushed on, the scaly occupants of the deep flashed away to right and left, darting out of sight like so many shafts of silver through the sunny depths.It was a wonderful change from cold and chill to a delicious atmosphere, where the soft sea-breeze fanned our cheeks, though we soon became aware of the fact that the sun possessed power such as we had never experienced before.“Why, it’s like as if it came through a burning glass, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “and, I say, just you try to touch that copper hood thing that goes over the compass. I did, and it burned my hand just as if it had come out of a hot fire.”“Well, I don’t want to burn my hands, Tom,” I replied. “I can see how hot it is by the pitch standing up in beads all along the ropes.”“And it’s making black icicles outside some of the boards, Mas’r Harry, only they’re soft instead of hard. I say, isn’t it jolly?”The next day it was a great deal hotter, for there was not a breath of air, and Tom came to me as I was hanging listlessly over the side, for I was too hot to stir.“Say, Mas’r Harry,” he said, “isn’t this what they call being in the tropics?”“Yes, Tom; this is the tropics.”“Well, they’re hot tropics, and no mistake—out-and-out hot uns. It won’t get any warmer than this, will it?”“Warmer, my lad?” said one of the sailors; “why, this is nothing to what it is sometimes. I’ve known it so hot that the fellows have been half-roasted, and when the skipper’s piped all hands to bathe in a lugsail overboard, to keep away the sharks, you’ve heard the lads sizzle as they jumped into the water.”“They got quite red-hot, then?” said Tom quietly.“Well, hardly red-hot, though they were mostly very red—more brown-hot, I should say.”“Thanky,” said Tom. “Much obliged;” and the sailor went away chuckling.“He thinks I believe him, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom quietly; “but I’m not quite such a fool as all that.”“Oh! never mind their nonsense, Tom,” I said; “there are too many beautiful things to see, for us to pay heed to all that these fellows say.”“Ah! you’re about right there, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “but somehow I am a bit disappointed.”“Why?” I asked.“At not getting ashore. Only think of it, Mas’r Harry! having a gun apiece, and going wandering up the country somewhere, seeing all there is in one of these islands.”“Have patience, Tom,” I replied; “and I daresay you’ll get as much adventure as you’ll care to have.”I did not know how true a prophet I was then. In fact, perhaps if I could have foreseen all we should have to go through, I might have shrunk back from my undertaking.Farther and farther every day now we went on and on, putting in at first one island port and then another, but never having time to do more than just go ashore. A visit up the country was quite out of the question.“It’s a rum un, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, on our first landing; and his broad countrified face expanded into a grin as he stopped opposite a stout old negro woman who was selling fruit. No sooner did she see Tom displaying his white teeth than she showed hers—two long rows like ivory—and these two stood smiling one at the other till Tom recovered himself, and invested sixpence in plantains and oranges.“They’re black enough out here, and no mistake, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “and oh, I say, just you taste these—they’re splendid.”The waving cocoa palms and the beautiful flowers that we saw brought into the bright little market made me feel, like Tom, that I should like to go farther afield; but I comforted myself with the recollection that we should soon be at our destination, and that then there would be plenty to see and do.Back on board once more, we spent our time basking in the sunshine, drinking it in as it were, for it seemed so delightful in spite of its heat after our dull, cheerless, hazy home in the winter season.I took no note of how the time went, and this part of the voyage, though in a slow clumsy boat, seemed far the quickest portion of the journey, so that I was quite surprised when one morning I came on deck, and found not only that we were in sight of land, but in sight of port—my landing port—the end of my sea journey, for we were right across the Gulf of Mexico, abreast of La Guayra, where the orders were given, and anchor was dropped in the open roadstead, where, calm as it was, we could still feel the great swell that came softly sweeping in, making the great steamer rock and roll first to this side then to that, till, heavily laden though she was, she careened over so that her copper glistened in the sun.I was beginning to feast my eyes upon the beauty of the place, when Tom, who was right forward, shouted to me to come, and as I glanced at him I saw that he was waving his hands so excitedly that there must be something worth seeing, and I ran forward.“Here’s something for you to have a look at, Mas’r Harry,” he cried. “You recollect that big pike the sea-serpent sailor told us about—ugh! four feet long didn’t he say?”“Yes, Tom; but there are no pike here.”“No pike, Mas’r Harry! Why, here’s a couple of ’em cruising about just under the bows here, and you can see ’em as plain as plain, and they’re twelve or fourteen foot long at least.”“Yes, Tom,” I said, as I climbed on to the bulwark, and sheltering my eyes gazed down into the beautiful water, where the bottom was plainly visible many feet below. “Yes, Tom,” I said, “they’re twelve or fourteen feet long at least, but they are not pike.”“Not pike, Mas’r Harry! What are they then?”“Sharks, my lad,” I replied. “Sharks.”“What, them?” he cried excitedly as he stared down. “So they’re sharks are they? Well, I’m glad I’ve seen ’em anyhow; but I shouldn’t have known that they were sharks. Mustn’t bathe here then,” he continued; “that is if all they say about sharks is true.”“I believe it’s true enough, Tom,” I said.“Let’s try ’em, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom eagerly.“Try them! What, bathe? Why, Tom, you must be mad!”“I never said a word about bathing, Mas’r Harry,” he responded rather grumpily. “I said, Let’s try ’em. I say if we had a big hook and line, Mas’r Harry,” he continued, with a broadly comical grin, “and baited with nice fat little niggers, what sport we should have.”“Nice fun for the little niggers as you call them, Tom,” I said.“Yes, it wouldn’t be very nice for them, Mas’r Harry. But I say, let’s see if they’d go at a bait.”“How?” I cried.“Stop a moment, and I’ll show you,” he said; and running to where one of the firemen was having a quiet pipe on deck, I saw Tom accost him, and then go down into the stoke-hole, to come up again directly with a big lump of slaty coal, bearing which he joined me.“Let’s drop this in gently,” he said, “just over them; or, no, it would make such a splash some of the sailors would come to see. I’ve got a bit of string in my pocket.”Tom always had a bit of string in his pocket, and unrolling it he loosely tied it round the lump of coal, and then getting well on the bulwark raised the coal gently up and over the side, beginning to lower it down.“Take care you don’t go over instead of the coal, Tom,” I said with a grim smile.“Oh, I say, Mas’r Harry, don’t talk like that!” he cried; “it’s enough to give a chap the shudders. It was only my fun about the little niggers. Now, then, I think I can shake it out of the loop.”The sharks were just below us, and eight or ten feet down, as Tom lowered the piece of coal right to the surface, without making any splash and disturbing the water so as to interrupt our view of what we hoped would take place. Then giving the string a jerk he loosened the coal, which began to descend rapidly, its bright black surface flashing in the brilliant sunshine till it was half-way down, when there was a tremendous swirl in the water, which danced and flashed and obscured our vision, only that we caught sight of something—of two somethings—quite white, and then by degrees the water calmed down, and there were the two sharks still there, but turned round with their heads in a fresh direction.“Why, they took the coal, and one of ’em’s swallowed it, Mas’r Harry,” cried Tom excitedly.“No, Tom: I think I can see it right down below there,” I said; “but they did have a try at it.”“What are you young fellows doing there?” said a voice; and, as we turned sharply round, there stood the captain. “What! are you fishing?”“No, sir,” said Tom; “I only dropped something over to see if the big fish there would take it.”“Oh, I see!” he exclaimed. “Sharks! Yes, there are plenty of them, my lads. No bathing here. You should get the cook to give you a lump of bad pork, and hang that over by the string: that would fetch them.”Tom took the hint, and running to the cook told him what the captain said, returning at the end of a minute to where I was still watching the two monsters, the captain having gone.“I’ll tie this tight on, Mas’r Harry,” cried Tom, suiting the action to the word. “I say, don’t I wish we had a hook!”The piece of meat was soon firmly secured, and twisting one end of the string round his hand, Tom took his old place beside me, chuckling and laughing, and began to lower down his bait.“I say, Mas’r Harry, I wish it was a bar o’ soap. If one of ’em swallowed it I wonder what he’d think of the taste.”By this time Tom had his bait close to the water, and directly after he let it drop on the surface, where it made a little disturbance and then floated.Almost at the same moment it appeared as if, without the slightest movement, one of the sharks was growing bigger and closer. It seemed to fascinate us, so cautiously did it rise nearer and nearer, till all of a sudden it rolled right over on its side, showing the creamy white of its under parts; there was a gleam of teeth, a swirl in the water, and the greasy lump of salt pork disappeared.As it did so I saw Tom’s arm give a sudden jerk, and as he uttered a yell I realised what was wrong, flinging my arms round him, and threw myself inboard, so that I dragged him with me, and we fell together upon the deck.“Oh, my eye!” gasped Tom as we sat up on the deck; and he held up his hand, beginning to unwind the broken string from it, and showing how deeply it had cut into it before it gave way.“What an escape, Tom!” I cried, and as I spoke I felt that I must be looking very white.“I should have gone overboard if you hadn’t laid hold o’ me, Mas’r Harry,” he said, looking blankly in my face. “How strong that string was, and how it cut!”“How stupid of you to tie it round your hand like that!” I said.“Well, I s’pose it was, Mas’r Harry,” he said ruefully; “but one didn’t think of it then.”“Well, let’s have a look at the sharks,” I said, as the horror of what might have happened passed off.“No, thankye, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom sulkily. “I’ve had enough shark for one day. My hand’s ’bout cut in two, and my arm’s ’bout pulled outer the socket, and one of my legs was twissen under me when I come down, I’ve had enough shark to last me half a lifetime.”

It was a wonderful change from the stormy, tossing Atlantic, with its bitter winds and chilling cold, to the calm transparency of the brilliantly-blue tropic waters, where everything looked so unclouded and so bright. When we neared one or other of the islands, everything seemed so fresh that we began to forget the perils and troubles of our long, uneventful, but sufficiently troubled voyage. For there were golden or dazzlingly white sands, upon which the calm sea softly rippled, while close down to the water’s edge we could see what Tom called spike plants and sweep’s-brush trees—these being his names for plants of the Yucca family and lovely slender-tufted palms.

When we gazed down into the clear waters from the deck of our comparatively small steamer, we could see fish in plenty, for the brilliant sun seemed to light up the sea beneath the vessel’s keel, while as the screw churned up the water and the steamer rushed on, the scaly occupants of the deep flashed away to right and left, darting out of sight like so many shafts of silver through the sunny depths.

It was a wonderful change from cold and chill to a delicious atmosphere, where the soft sea-breeze fanned our cheeks, though we soon became aware of the fact that the sun possessed power such as we had never experienced before.

“Why, it’s like as if it came through a burning glass, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “and, I say, just you try to touch that copper hood thing that goes over the compass. I did, and it burned my hand just as if it had come out of a hot fire.”

“Well, I don’t want to burn my hands, Tom,” I replied. “I can see how hot it is by the pitch standing up in beads all along the ropes.”

“And it’s making black icicles outside some of the boards, Mas’r Harry, only they’re soft instead of hard. I say, isn’t it jolly?”

The next day it was a great deal hotter, for there was not a breath of air, and Tom came to me as I was hanging listlessly over the side, for I was too hot to stir.

“Say, Mas’r Harry,” he said, “isn’t this what they call being in the tropics?”

“Yes, Tom; this is the tropics.”

“Well, they’re hot tropics, and no mistake—out-and-out hot uns. It won’t get any warmer than this, will it?”

“Warmer, my lad?” said one of the sailors; “why, this is nothing to what it is sometimes. I’ve known it so hot that the fellows have been half-roasted, and when the skipper’s piped all hands to bathe in a lugsail overboard, to keep away the sharks, you’ve heard the lads sizzle as they jumped into the water.”

“They got quite red-hot, then?” said Tom quietly.

“Well, hardly red-hot, though they were mostly very red—more brown-hot, I should say.”

“Thanky,” said Tom. “Much obliged;” and the sailor went away chuckling.

“He thinks I believe him, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom quietly; “but I’m not quite such a fool as all that.”

“Oh! never mind their nonsense, Tom,” I said; “there are too many beautiful things to see, for us to pay heed to all that these fellows say.”

“Ah! you’re about right there, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “but somehow I am a bit disappointed.”

“Why?” I asked.

“At not getting ashore. Only think of it, Mas’r Harry! having a gun apiece, and going wandering up the country somewhere, seeing all there is in one of these islands.”

“Have patience, Tom,” I replied; “and I daresay you’ll get as much adventure as you’ll care to have.”

I did not know how true a prophet I was then. In fact, perhaps if I could have foreseen all we should have to go through, I might have shrunk back from my undertaking.

Farther and farther every day now we went on and on, putting in at first one island port and then another, but never having time to do more than just go ashore. A visit up the country was quite out of the question.

“It’s a rum un, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, on our first landing; and his broad countrified face expanded into a grin as he stopped opposite a stout old negro woman who was selling fruit. No sooner did she see Tom displaying his white teeth than she showed hers—two long rows like ivory—and these two stood smiling one at the other till Tom recovered himself, and invested sixpence in plantains and oranges.

“They’re black enough out here, and no mistake, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “and oh, I say, just you taste these—they’re splendid.”

The waving cocoa palms and the beautiful flowers that we saw brought into the bright little market made me feel, like Tom, that I should like to go farther afield; but I comforted myself with the recollection that we should soon be at our destination, and that then there would be plenty to see and do.

Back on board once more, we spent our time basking in the sunshine, drinking it in as it were, for it seemed so delightful in spite of its heat after our dull, cheerless, hazy home in the winter season.

I took no note of how the time went, and this part of the voyage, though in a slow clumsy boat, seemed far the quickest portion of the journey, so that I was quite surprised when one morning I came on deck, and found not only that we were in sight of land, but in sight of port—my landing port—the end of my sea journey, for we were right across the Gulf of Mexico, abreast of La Guayra, where the orders were given, and anchor was dropped in the open roadstead, where, calm as it was, we could still feel the great swell that came softly sweeping in, making the great steamer rock and roll first to this side then to that, till, heavily laden though she was, she careened over so that her copper glistened in the sun.

I was beginning to feast my eyes upon the beauty of the place, when Tom, who was right forward, shouted to me to come, and as I glanced at him I saw that he was waving his hands so excitedly that there must be something worth seeing, and I ran forward.

“Here’s something for you to have a look at, Mas’r Harry,” he cried. “You recollect that big pike the sea-serpent sailor told us about—ugh! four feet long didn’t he say?”

“Yes, Tom; but there are no pike here.”

“No pike, Mas’r Harry! Why, here’s a couple of ’em cruising about just under the bows here, and you can see ’em as plain as plain, and they’re twelve or fourteen foot long at least.”

“Yes, Tom,” I said, as I climbed on to the bulwark, and sheltering my eyes gazed down into the beautiful water, where the bottom was plainly visible many feet below. “Yes, Tom,” I said, “they’re twelve or fourteen feet long at least, but they are not pike.”

“Not pike, Mas’r Harry! What are they then?”

“Sharks, my lad,” I replied. “Sharks.”

“What, them?” he cried excitedly as he stared down. “So they’re sharks are they? Well, I’m glad I’ve seen ’em anyhow; but I shouldn’t have known that they were sharks. Mustn’t bathe here then,” he continued; “that is if all they say about sharks is true.”

“I believe it’s true enough, Tom,” I said.

“Let’s try ’em, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom eagerly.

“Try them! What, bathe? Why, Tom, you must be mad!”

“I never said a word about bathing, Mas’r Harry,” he responded rather grumpily. “I said, Let’s try ’em. I say if we had a big hook and line, Mas’r Harry,” he continued, with a broadly comical grin, “and baited with nice fat little niggers, what sport we should have.”

“Nice fun for the little niggers as you call them, Tom,” I said.

“Yes, it wouldn’t be very nice for them, Mas’r Harry. But I say, let’s see if they’d go at a bait.”

“How?” I cried.

“Stop a moment, and I’ll show you,” he said; and running to where one of the firemen was having a quiet pipe on deck, I saw Tom accost him, and then go down into the stoke-hole, to come up again directly with a big lump of slaty coal, bearing which he joined me.

“Let’s drop this in gently,” he said, “just over them; or, no, it would make such a splash some of the sailors would come to see. I’ve got a bit of string in my pocket.”

Tom always had a bit of string in his pocket, and unrolling it he loosely tied it round the lump of coal, and then getting well on the bulwark raised the coal gently up and over the side, beginning to lower it down.

“Take care you don’t go over instead of the coal, Tom,” I said with a grim smile.

“Oh, I say, Mas’r Harry, don’t talk like that!” he cried; “it’s enough to give a chap the shudders. It was only my fun about the little niggers. Now, then, I think I can shake it out of the loop.”

The sharks were just below us, and eight or ten feet down, as Tom lowered the piece of coal right to the surface, without making any splash and disturbing the water so as to interrupt our view of what we hoped would take place. Then giving the string a jerk he loosened the coal, which began to descend rapidly, its bright black surface flashing in the brilliant sunshine till it was half-way down, when there was a tremendous swirl in the water, which danced and flashed and obscured our vision, only that we caught sight of something—of two somethings—quite white, and then by degrees the water calmed down, and there were the two sharks still there, but turned round with their heads in a fresh direction.

“Why, they took the coal, and one of ’em’s swallowed it, Mas’r Harry,” cried Tom excitedly.

“No, Tom: I think I can see it right down below there,” I said; “but they did have a try at it.”

“What are you young fellows doing there?” said a voice; and, as we turned sharply round, there stood the captain. “What! are you fishing?”

“No, sir,” said Tom; “I only dropped something over to see if the big fish there would take it.”

“Oh, I see!” he exclaimed. “Sharks! Yes, there are plenty of them, my lads. No bathing here. You should get the cook to give you a lump of bad pork, and hang that over by the string: that would fetch them.”

Tom took the hint, and running to the cook told him what the captain said, returning at the end of a minute to where I was still watching the two monsters, the captain having gone.

“I’ll tie this tight on, Mas’r Harry,” cried Tom, suiting the action to the word. “I say, don’t I wish we had a hook!”

The piece of meat was soon firmly secured, and twisting one end of the string round his hand, Tom took his old place beside me, chuckling and laughing, and began to lower down his bait.

“I say, Mas’r Harry, I wish it was a bar o’ soap. If one of ’em swallowed it I wonder what he’d think of the taste.”

By this time Tom had his bait close to the water, and directly after he let it drop on the surface, where it made a little disturbance and then floated.

Almost at the same moment it appeared as if, without the slightest movement, one of the sharks was growing bigger and closer. It seemed to fascinate us, so cautiously did it rise nearer and nearer, till all of a sudden it rolled right over on its side, showing the creamy white of its under parts; there was a gleam of teeth, a swirl in the water, and the greasy lump of salt pork disappeared.

As it did so I saw Tom’s arm give a sudden jerk, and as he uttered a yell I realised what was wrong, flinging my arms round him, and threw myself inboard, so that I dragged him with me, and we fell together upon the deck.

“Oh, my eye!” gasped Tom as we sat up on the deck; and he held up his hand, beginning to unwind the broken string from it, and showing how deeply it had cut into it before it gave way.

“What an escape, Tom!” I cried, and as I spoke I felt that I must be looking very white.

“I should have gone overboard if you hadn’t laid hold o’ me, Mas’r Harry,” he said, looking blankly in my face. “How strong that string was, and how it cut!”

“How stupid of you to tie it round your hand like that!” I said.

“Well, I s’pose it was, Mas’r Harry,” he said ruefully; “but one didn’t think of it then.”

“Well, let’s have a look at the sharks,” I said, as the horror of what might have happened passed off.

“No, thankye, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom sulkily. “I’ve had enough shark for one day. My hand’s ’bout cut in two, and my arm’s ’bout pulled outer the socket, and one of my legs was twissen under me when I come down, I’ve had enough shark to last me half a lifetime.”

Chapter Eight.The new Land.As the shuddering feeling of what Tom had escaped passed off, we both thought it would be better to say nothing about it. We knew that he had acted foolishly; and I felt that I ought to have known better, and then soon enough, boy like, we forgot it all.For there was a bright future spread before us, and I began to wonder how it was that with such lovely places on the face of the earth, people could be content to live in old England. There, seen through the bright transparent atmosphere, were convent, cathedral, castle, and tower, grouped at the foot of a mountain, glistening with endless tints as it towered up nine thousand feet, wall and battlement running up the spurs of the great eminence.The scene was lovely, and I was in raptures then with all that lay before me, and again I asked myself how people could be content in chilly Europe; but I soon understood all that.Tom was walking by my side, and turning to him—“What do you think of it, Tom?” I said.“Well, ’taint so very bad, Mas’r Harry,” he grumbled out. “But ain’t them sharkses?”I followed his pointing finger, and, to my horror, I could see, cleaving the blue and creamy-foamed water, close inshore, the black fins of one—two—three—half a score of sharks; while all the time, dashing and splashing in and out of the surf, busily unloading boats and larger vessels, were dozens of mulatto porters.I expected every moment to hear a shriek and to see the silver foam tinged with red. My heart beat intermittently, and there was a strange dampness in my hands; but I soon learned that familiarity bred contempt, and that probably from the noise and splashing kept up, the sharks rarely ventured an attack. But all the same, that one incident made me gaze down into the blue depths where we were at anchor with a shudder, and think that the waters were not so safe as those of home.I had yet to learn something of the land.“What’s this place called, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom, interrupting my reverie. “You did tell me, but I’ve forgotten.”“La Guayra!”“Humph!” ejaculated Tom. “Why can’t they call places by some name in plain English?”But the various strange sights and sounds soon silenced Tom’s tongue, and, tired out at last with a long walk, we went to the house that had been recommended to me, and after partaking of coffee—the best I ever remember to have drunk—I sought my room, Tom insisting upon sleeping on the floor in the same chamber, and my last waking recollections were of the pungent fumes of tobacco, and the tinkle, tinkle, twang of a guitar beneath my window.I must have been asleep about three hours, and I was dreaming of having found gold enough to load a vessel homeward bound, when I was wakened by some one shaking me violently, and as I started up I became aware of a deafening noise, a choking sensation, as of dust rising in a cloud, and the voice of Tom Bulk.“Mas’r Harry—Mas’r Harry! Wacken up, will you?”“What’s the matter?” I gasped, springing out of bed, but only to reel and stagger about before falling heavily.“That’s just how it served me,” said Tom. “Kneel down, Mas’r Harry, same as I do. The house is as drunk as a fiddler, and the floor’s going just like the deck of a ship.”“Where are you?” I cried, trying to collect my scattered faculties, for, awakened so suddenly from a deep sleep, I was terribly confused.“Oh, I’m here!” said Tom. “Give’s your hand. But, I say, Mas’r Harry, what’s it mean? Do all the houses get dancing like this here every night, because, if so, I’ll sleep in the fields. There it goes again! Soap and soda! what a row!”Tom might well exclaim, for with the house rocking frightfully, now came from outside the peal as of a thousand thunders, accompanied by the clang of bell, the crash of falling walls, the sharp cracking and splitting of woodwork, and the yelling and shrieking of people running to and fro.“So this ere’s a native storm, Mas’r Harry?” shouted Tom to me during a pause.“No!” I shouted in answer, as with a shiver of dread I worded the fearful suspicion that had flashed across my brain. “No, Tom, it’s an earthquake!”“Is that all?” grumbled Tom. “Well, it might have come in the daytime, and not when folks were tired. But I thought earthquakes swallowed you up.”“Here, for Heaven’s sake help me at this door, Tom!” I shouted, “or we shall be crushed to death. Here, push—hard!”But our efforts were vain, for just then came another shock, and one side of the room split open from floor to ceiling.“The window—the window, Tom!” I shrieked. And then, thoroughly roused to our danger, we both made for the casement, reaching it just as, with a noise like thunder, down went the whole building, when it seemed to me that I had been struck a violent blow, and the next instant I was struggling amongst broken wood, dust, and plaster, fighting fiercely to escape; for there was a horrible dread upon me that at the next throe of the earthquake we should be buried alive far down in the bowels of the earth.I was at liberty, though, the next minute.“Tom—Tom!” I shouted, feeling about, for the darkness was fearful. “Where are you?”“All right, Mas’r Harry,” was the reply; “close beside you.”“Here, give me your hand,” I shouted, “and let’s run down to the shore.”For in my horror that was the first place that occurred to me.“Can’t, sir,” said Tom. “I ain’t got no legs. Can’t feel ’em about there anywheres; can you?”“What do you mean?” I cried. “This is no time for fooling! Look sharp, or we shall lose our lives.”“Well, so I am looking sharp,” growled Tom. “Ain’t I looking for my legs? I can’t feel ’em nowheres. Oh, here they are, Mas’r Harry, here they are!”By this time I had crawled to him over the ruins of the house, to find that he was jammed in amongst the rubbish, which rose to his knees; and, as he told me afterwards, the shock had produced a horrible sensation, just as if his legs had been taken off, a sensation heightened by the fact that he could feel down to his knees and no farther.“This is a pleasant spot to take a house on lease, Mas’r Harry,” he said, as I tore at the woodwork.“Are you hurt?” I exclaimed hastily.“Not as I knows on, Mas’r Harry, only my legs ain’t got no feeling in ’em. Stop a minute, I think I can get that one out now.”We worked so hard, that at the end of a few minutes Tom was at liberty, and after chafing his legs a little he was able to stand; but meanwhile the horrors around were increasing every instant, and, to my excited fancy, it seemed as if the earth was like some thick piece of carpet, which was being made to undulate and pass in waves from side to side.Dust everywhere—choking, palpable dust; and then as from afar off came a faint roar, increasing each moment, till, with a furious rush, a fierce wind came tearing through the ruins of the smitten town, sweeping all before it, so that we had to cower down and seek protection from the storm of earth, sand, dust, plaster, and fragments hurled against us by the hurricane.But the rush of wind was as brief as it was fierce, and it passed away; when, in the lull that followed, came shrieks and moans from all directions, and the sounds of hurrying, stumbling feet, and then, all at once, from out of the thick darkness a voice cried: “Quick—quick! To the mountain—the sea is coming in!”Then came more wails and shrieks from out of the darkness, followed by a silence that was more awful than the noise.For full five minutes that silence lasted, broken only by the fall of some tottering beam. Then came quickly, one after the other, short, sharp, shivering vibrations of the earth beneath our feet—a shuddering movement that was transferred to one’s own frame; and then I began to understand the meaning of the cry we had heard respecting the sea, for from where I supposed it to be, now came a singular hissing, rushing noise, gradually increasing to a roar, as of mighty waves, and mingled with that roar there was the creaking and grinding together of shipping and the hoarse shouting of the crews for help.But gradually the noises ceased, save when a shuddering shock once more made the earth to tremble beneath our feet, and some scrap of wood or plaster to fall from riven wall or roof. The tremendous choking dust, too, began to settle down as we groped our way along over the ruins that choked the streets. Now we were lost—now, after a struggle, we regained the way, trying to join one of the hurrying bands of fugitives hastening from the place.I spoke to one man, asking him if there was any more danger, but his reply was in Spanish; and at last, led by Tom—who seemed by instinct to know his way—we went down to the shore, strewn with wreck, when, seizing a rope, and drawing a boat to the sand, Tom told me to enter, and we half lay there, rising and falling upon the wave—rocked gently, but wakeful ever, till the sun rose over the sea—bright, glorious, and peaceful, as if there had been no havoc and desolation during the night.

As the shuddering feeling of what Tom had escaped passed off, we both thought it would be better to say nothing about it. We knew that he had acted foolishly; and I felt that I ought to have known better, and then soon enough, boy like, we forgot it all.

For there was a bright future spread before us, and I began to wonder how it was that with such lovely places on the face of the earth, people could be content to live in old England. There, seen through the bright transparent atmosphere, were convent, cathedral, castle, and tower, grouped at the foot of a mountain, glistening with endless tints as it towered up nine thousand feet, wall and battlement running up the spurs of the great eminence.

The scene was lovely, and I was in raptures then with all that lay before me, and again I asked myself how people could be content in chilly Europe; but I soon understood all that.

Tom was walking by my side, and turning to him—

“What do you think of it, Tom?” I said.

“Well, ’taint so very bad, Mas’r Harry,” he grumbled out. “But ain’t them sharkses?”

I followed his pointing finger, and, to my horror, I could see, cleaving the blue and creamy-foamed water, close inshore, the black fins of one—two—three—half a score of sharks; while all the time, dashing and splashing in and out of the surf, busily unloading boats and larger vessels, were dozens of mulatto porters.

I expected every moment to hear a shriek and to see the silver foam tinged with red. My heart beat intermittently, and there was a strange dampness in my hands; but I soon learned that familiarity bred contempt, and that probably from the noise and splashing kept up, the sharks rarely ventured an attack. But all the same, that one incident made me gaze down into the blue depths where we were at anchor with a shudder, and think that the waters were not so safe as those of home.

I had yet to learn something of the land.

“What’s this place called, Mas’r Harry?” said Tom, interrupting my reverie. “You did tell me, but I’ve forgotten.”

“La Guayra!”

“Humph!” ejaculated Tom. “Why can’t they call places by some name in plain English?”

But the various strange sights and sounds soon silenced Tom’s tongue, and, tired out at last with a long walk, we went to the house that had been recommended to me, and after partaking of coffee—the best I ever remember to have drunk—I sought my room, Tom insisting upon sleeping on the floor in the same chamber, and my last waking recollections were of the pungent fumes of tobacco, and the tinkle, tinkle, twang of a guitar beneath my window.

I must have been asleep about three hours, and I was dreaming of having found gold enough to load a vessel homeward bound, when I was wakened by some one shaking me violently, and as I started up I became aware of a deafening noise, a choking sensation, as of dust rising in a cloud, and the voice of Tom Bulk.

“Mas’r Harry—Mas’r Harry! Wacken up, will you?”

“What’s the matter?” I gasped, springing out of bed, but only to reel and stagger about before falling heavily.

“That’s just how it served me,” said Tom. “Kneel down, Mas’r Harry, same as I do. The house is as drunk as a fiddler, and the floor’s going just like the deck of a ship.”

“Where are you?” I cried, trying to collect my scattered faculties, for, awakened so suddenly from a deep sleep, I was terribly confused.

“Oh, I’m here!” said Tom. “Give’s your hand. But, I say, Mas’r Harry, what’s it mean? Do all the houses get dancing like this here every night, because, if so, I’ll sleep in the fields. There it goes again! Soap and soda! what a row!”

Tom might well exclaim, for with the house rocking frightfully, now came from outside the peal as of a thousand thunders, accompanied by the clang of bell, the crash of falling walls, the sharp cracking and splitting of woodwork, and the yelling and shrieking of people running to and fro.

“So this ere’s a native storm, Mas’r Harry?” shouted Tom to me during a pause.

“No!” I shouted in answer, as with a shiver of dread I worded the fearful suspicion that had flashed across my brain. “No, Tom, it’s an earthquake!”

“Is that all?” grumbled Tom. “Well, it might have come in the daytime, and not when folks were tired. But I thought earthquakes swallowed you up.”

“Here, for Heaven’s sake help me at this door, Tom!” I shouted, “or we shall be crushed to death. Here, push—hard!”

But our efforts were vain, for just then came another shock, and one side of the room split open from floor to ceiling.

“The window—the window, Tom!” I shrieked. And then, thoroughly roused to our danger, we both made for the casement, reaching it just as, with a noise like thunder, down went the whole building, when it seemed to me that I had been struck a violent blow, and the next instant I was struggling amongst broken wood, dust, and plaster, fighting fiercely to escape; for there was a horrible dread upon me that at the next throe of the earthquake we should be buried alive far down in the bowels of the earth.

I was at liberty, though, the next minute.

“Tom—Tom!” I shouted, feeling about, for the darkness was fearful. “Where are you?”

“All right, Mas’r Harry,” was the reply; “close beside you.”

“Here, give me your hand,” I shouted, “and let’s run down to the shore.”

For in my horror that was the first place that occurred to me.

“Can’t, sir,” said Tom. “I ain’t got no legs. Can’t feel ’em about there anywheres; can you?”

“What do you mean?” I cried. “This is no time for fooling! Look sharp, or we shall lose our lives.”

“Well, so I am looking sharp,” growled Tom. “Ain’t I looking for my legs? I can’t feel ’em nowheres. Oh, here they are, Mas’r Harry, here they are!”

By this time I had crawled to him over the ruins of the house, to find that he was jammed in amongst the rubbish, which rose to his knees; and, as he told me afterwards, the shock had produced a horrible sensation, just as if his legs had been taken off, a sensation heightened by the fact that he could feel down to his knees and no farther.

“This is a pleasant spot to take a house on lease, Mas’r Harry,” he said, as I tore at the woodwork.

“Are you hurt?” I exclaimed hastily.

“Not as I knows on, Mas’r Harry, only my legs ain’t got no feeling in ’em. Stop a minute, I think I can get that one out now.”

We worked so hard, that at the end of a few minutes Tom was at liberty, and after chafing his legs a little he was able to stand; but meanwhile the horrors around were increasing every instant, and, to my excited fancy, it seemed as if the earth was like some thick piece of carpet, which was being made to undulate and pass in waves from side to side.

Dust everywhere—choking, palpable dust; and then as from afar off came a faint roar, increasing each moment, till, with a furious rush, a fierce wind came tearing through the ruins of the smitten town, sweeping all before it, so that we had to cower down and seek protection from the storm of earth, sand, dust, plaster, and fragments hurled against us by the hurricane.

But the rush of wind was as brief as it was fierce, and it passed away; when, in the lull that followed, came shrieks and moans from all directions, and the sounds of hurrying, stumbling feet, and then, all at once, from out of the thick darkness a voice cried: “Quick—quick! To the mountain—the sea is coming in!”

Then came more wails and shrieks from out of the darkness, followed by a silence that was more awful than the noise.

For full five minutes that silence lasted, broken only by the fall of some tottering beam. Then came quickly, one after the other, short, sharp, shivering vibrations of the earth beneath our feet—a shuddering movement that was transferred to one’s own frame; and then I began to understand the meaning of the cry we had heard respecting the sea, for from where I supposed it to be, now came a singular hissing, rushing noise, gradually increasing to a roar, as of mighty waves, and mingled with that roar there was the creaking and grinding together of shipping and the hoarse shouting of the crews for help.

But gradually the noises ceased, save when a shuddering shock once more made the earth to tremble beneath our feet, and some scrap of wood or plaster to fall from riven wall or roof. The tremendous choking dust, too, began to settle down as we groped our way along over the ruins that choked the streets. Now we were lost—now, after a struggle, we regained the way, trying to join one of the hurrying bands of fugitives hastening from the place.

I spoke to one man, asking him if there was any more danger, but his reply was in Spanish; and at last, led by Tom—who seemed by instinct to know his way—we went down to the shore, strewn with wreck, when, seizing a rope, and drawing a boat to the sand, Tom told me to enter, and we half lay there, rising and falling upon the wave—rocked gently, but wakeful ever, till the sun rose over the sea—bright, glorious, and peaceful, as if there had been no havoc and desolation during the night.

Chapter Nine.An Earthquake on four Legs.“Say, Mas’r Harry, you won’t stop in this blessed place, will you?” said Tom, as, in the full light of day, we were, some hours after, busily helping in the town, extricating the dead and wounded, and assisting to bear them to the temporary hospital prepared for their reception.The house where we had slept was, like hundreds more of the lightly-built tenements, prostrate; and on visiting the scene our escape seemed wonderful; while everywhere the mischief done was appalling—houses toppled down, streets choked with ruins, towers split from top to bottom, and stones hurled from the unroofed buildings into the gaping cracks and fissures running down the streets.But now that the first fright was over, people seemed to take the matter very coolly, flocking back into the town, to sit and smoke and eat fruit amidst the ruins of their homes, while others quietly set to work to restore and repair damages.“Has there ever been an earthquake here before?” I said to a merchant who spoke English.“Earthquakes, my dear señor? Yes, they are common things here.”“But will the inhabitants rebuild the town?”“Surely. Why not? The site is charming.”I had my thoughts upon the subject, but I did not express them; so, too, had Tom, but he did express his as above.“Say, Mas’r Harry, you won’t stop here, will you?”“No,” I said; “we are going up the country.”“Because this place ain’t safe—there’s a screw loose underground somewheres. Not that I mind. Earthquakes ain’t so much account after all, if they’d come in the day; but all the same, I wouldn’t stop here.”I had had no intention of stopping, only just long enough to see the place and make arrangements for the prosecution of my journey; but this catastrophe hurried my departure, and at the end of three days we were both mounted on mules, travelling over hot, bare plains, with the sun pouring down until one’s brain seemed scorched; and when at last water was reached, it was thick and muddy-looking, so that, but for our horrible thirst we could not have touched it.My ideas of South America had been undergoing a great change during the past few days, and, quite disappointed, in the midst of a long burning ride I made some remark to Tom about the heat.“Hot, Mas’r Harry!” he said. “Pooh! this ain’t hot, ’Tis a little warmer than the other place, because there is no sea-breeze, but I could stand a deal more than this. These here—will you be quiet, then?—these here mules is the worst of it, though, sir. They won’t go like a horse, nor yet like a donkey; and as to kicking—”Tom stopped short, for he wanted his breath for other purposes, his steed having once more turned refractory, kicking, rearing, shaking itself in an effort to dislodge its rider, spinning round and round, laying its long ears flat upon its neck, tucking its tail close in between its legs, and then squeaking and squealing in the most outrageous manner imaginable.I have no doubt that it was most terribly unpleasant to the rider, painful, probably; but to a looker-on it was one of the most ludicrous of sights, and in spite of heat, weariness, and a tendency to low spirits, I laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks, while Tom grinned with pain and held on with both hands to the refractory beast.“Ah! would you?” cried Tom, as the brute lifted its heels higher than usual, nearly sending him over its head. “There never was such a beast as this here, Mas’r Harry. If I’d only got a thicker stick!”One could not pity him much, for at starting he had rejected three or four quiet-looking beasts as too slow, and chosen the animal he rode, or rather tried to ride, for, if the reader will pardon the Irishism, a great deal of Tom’s riding was walking, and performed by leading his beast by its bridle.But really it was a deceptive beast, and to have seen it drooping its head and walking calmly and peacefully by its hirer’s side, no one would have imagined that it possessed so much mischievous sagacity as it very soon displayed when anyone attempted to mount it.“I like ’em with some sperrit in ’em, Mas’r Harry,” Tom had said. “If it was a horse it would be different; but if one’s to ride a donkey, let’s have one with something in it.”And verily Tom’s donkey, as he called it, was not very long before it showed that it had, indeed, something in it, a great deal more, in fact, than Tom had bargained for. We did not pass many trees by the track, but when we did come upon one Tom had certain information thereof, for the mule rubbed his rider’s leg vigorously against the trunk. The sight of a muddy pool of water was the signal for him to squeak, elevate his heels, and then go off at a sharp gallop, when, if his rider did not quickly slip off behind, he would be carried into the pool and bathed, for the mule would drink his fill and then indulge in a roll in the mud and water. In short, I never before saw so many acts of cunning in an animal, one and all directed at dislodging the rider.At first I was in a state of tremor lest his vagaries should infect the beasts ridden by myself and the guide; but no, they were evidently elderly mules—bordering on a hundred they might have been, from their grey and mangy aspect. They had sown their wild oats years before, and all that they did was to trudge solemnly on, quiet and sure-footed, if not swift.Tom’s mishaps had their pleasant face, though; they served to make a horribly monotonous journey more bearable, and on an average he was in grief, some way or another, about every two hours.“Oh, señor,” said the guide proudly, “the mule is perfect! He is a magnificent beast, but he has his antipathies. He used to be ridden by the padre, and he is a most holy and Christian mule. He shows his dislike a little sometimes like that, because the señor who rides him is a heretic.”“Oh!” I said.“Yes, it is so, señor, I assure you,” said the guide. “Let your friend ride my beast and I will take his, and then you will see how peaceable he is.”At first Tom did not seem disposed to agree, for he did not like being beaten; but I ordered him to dismount, his accidents tending so greatly to lengthen our journey. So the exchange of mules was made, and on we went once more.“See, señor!” said the guide. “He is a pattern mule, is Juan; he goes like a lamb. It is a natural dislike that he has not learned to subdue. He does not know what good men and generous there are amongst the heretics.”“Haw, haw, haw, haw! Look at that, Mas’r Harry—there’s a game!” roared Tom, for the guide had hardly done speaking, just as we were travelling pleasantly along, before Juan, the mule, stopped short, put his head between his legs, elevated his hind-quarters, and the next moment the guide was sitting amongst the stones staring up at us with a most comical expression of countenance.“The beast has been cursed!” he cried angrily as he rose. “Car–r–r–r–r–r–r–r–ambo! but you shall starve for this, Juan!”“Let me have another turn at him,” cried Tom, as he started off to catch the mule, which had cantered off a few hundred yards, and was searching about with his nose amongst the sand and stones for a few succulent blades of grass where there was not so much as a thistle or a cactus to be seen.But Juan had no wish to be caught, and after leading his pursuer a tolerable race, he stopped short, and placed all four hoofs together, so as to turn easily as upon a pivot, presenting always his tail to the hand that caught at his bridle.“Poor fellow, then! Come, then—come over,” said Tom soothingly.But the only response he obtained was an occasional lift of the beast’s heels, and an angry kick.“You ignorant brute, you can’t understand plain English!” cried Tom angrily.“No, señor, he is a true Spanish mule,” said the guide, coming up.Between them, Tom and he soon managed to catch Juan, when, holding tightly by the reins, the guide vented his displeasure and took his revenge by thoroughly drumming the poor brute’s ribs with a stout stick, after which Tom mounted, and our journey for the next two hours was without incident.But we were not to get to the end of the day without mishap. The sun had begun to descend, and we were panting along, longing for the sight of water to quench our burning throats, when Juan began to show that the pain from the guide’s drubbing had evaporated. First of all he indulged in a squeal or two, then he contrived to kick the mule I rode upon one of its legs, when, emboldened by the success of the manoeuvre, he waited his time, and then, sidling up to his companion ridden by the guide, he discharged a fierce kick at him, nearly catching the guide in the shin; but the result was a tremendous crack from a stick right upon Juan’s back—a blow which made him shake his head with dissatisfaction till his ears rattled again.He had forgotten the pain, though, in ten minutes, and the first hint we had thereof was a squeal and feat of sleight ofheel, in which, to all appearances, Juan stood perpendicularly upon his nose and fore-feet for half a minute, like a fleshly tripod, while his rider, or rather his late rider, rolled over and over, the centre of a cloud of impalpable dust, coughing and sneezing, and muttering fiercely.“There!” exclaimed Tom, as he jumped up and began beating the dust from his garments. “That’s four times that brute has had me off to-day. I’ve rid everything in my time, Mas’r Harry, from a pig up to a parish bull. I’ve been on sheep and donkeys, and when I was at the blacksmith’s I rode all sorts of restive beasts as come to be shod, but I never did get on such a brute as that; his skin don’t fit him, and he slippers about between your legs all sorts of ways; but I mean to ride him yet. Now just you try him half an hour, Mas’r Harry, to see what he’s like.”“Not I, thank you, Tom,” was my reply. “I’m very well content.”“So am I, Mas’r Harry, only he makes me so sore; but I ain’t bet yet, I can tell him. Come over, then!”But the mule would not “come over, then!” and there ensued a fierce fight of kicks between Tom and his steed, Tom essaying to kick the mule for punishment in the ribs; the mule, nowise taken aback, returning the compliment, by essaying to kick his late rider anywhere, though without success. It might have been imagined, to see the artful feints and moves, that the mule was endowed with human reason. Tom was more than a match for him at last, though, for, slipping off his jacket, he threw it over the mule’s head and held it there, confusing the poor beast, so that it could not avoid a couple of heartily given kicks in the ribs; and before it could recover from its surprise Tom was once more seated upon its back in triumph.“I can stand a wonderful sight of kicking off, Mas’r Harry, I can tell you! I ain’t bet yet! Co-o-me on, will you!”Apparently cowed, now that the jacket was removed, the mule journeyed on very peaceably, till leaving the plain we began to ascend a precipitous mountain-side, the track each moment growing more and more sterile,—if it were possible—grand, and at the same time dangerous. And now it was that we began to see the qualities of the mules in the cautious way they picked their steps, feeling each loose piece of path before trusting their weight to it, and doing much towards removing a strange sensation of tremor evoked by the fact that we were progressing along a shelf of rugged rock some two feet wide—the scarped mountain-side upon our right, a vast precipice on the left.More than once I was for getting down to walk, but the guide dissuaded me, as he declared that it was far better to trust to the mules, who were never known to slip.A couple of miles of such travelling served to somewhat reassure me—familiarity with danger breeding contempt; and I called out to Tom:“I hope your beast won’t bear malice, Tom, for this would be an awkward place for him to try his capers.”I said so thoughtlessly, just at a time when we were descending; Tom’s beast, which was before me, walking along with the most rigorous care as to where he set his feet.“Oh! I say, don’t, Mas’r Harry,” whined Tom, “don’t! It’s no joke, you know, and this mule understands every word you say—leastwise he might, you know. I ain’t afraid, only he might—”Tom’s sentence was not finished; for, in fact, just as if every word I had uttered had been comprehended, downwent the beast’s head, his heels were elevated, and the next moment, to my horror, poor Tom was over the side of the path, and rolling swiftly down to apparent destruction.He was brought up, though, the next moment by the reins, which he tightly grasped, and which fortunately did not give way, though they tightened with a jerk that must have nearly dislocated the mule’s neck. The leather, fortunately, now strained and stretched, but held firm; while, planting its fore-feet close to the edge of the precipice, and throwing its body back against the scarped wall, the mule stood firm as the rock itself, but snorting loudly as with glaring eyeballs it stared down at Tom; who hung there, trying to obtain some rest for his feet, but uttering no sound, only gazing up at us with a wild look that said plainly as could be, “Don’t leave me here to die!”It was no easy task to help him; for the guide and I had both to dismount on to a narrow ledge of rock, clinging the while to our mules; but we achieved that part of our task, and the next moment, one on each side of Juan, we were kneeling down and trying to reach Tom’s hands.But our efforts were vain, for the mule was in the way, and there was not standing room for all three. There was but one way of helping, and that looked too desperate to be attempted, and I hesitated to propose it as I knelt shivering there.The same thought, though, had occurred to Tom, and in a husky voice he said:“Take hold of the guide’s hand, Mas’r Harry, and creep under the mule’s legs to his side.”It was no time to hesitate; and I did as I was told, the mule giving utterance to quite a shriek as I passed.“Now can you both reach the bridle?” Tom whispered.“Yes, yes!” we both exclaimed.“Hold on tight then, while one of you cuts it through, and then the mule will be out of the way.”We each took a good grip of the leathern thong, raising it so that we had Tom’s full weight upon our muscles; and then crouching down so as not to be drawn over, I hastily drew out my knife, opened it with some difficulty by means of my teeth, and then tried to cut the bridle above our hands.But feeling himself partly relieved of his burden, the mule began to grow restless, stamping, whinnying, and trying to get free. For a moment I thought we might utilise his power, and make him back and help draw Tom up; but the narrowness of the ledge forbade it, and he would only have been drawn sidewise till the rein broke.Twice I tried to cut the bridle, but twice the mule balked me, and I was glad to ease the fearful strain on one arm by catching at the hand that held the knife.“Try again, Mas’r Harry, please,” whispered Tom. “I can’t hang much longer.”With a desperate effort I cut at the rein, and divided it close to the mule’s mouth.He started back a few inches, tightening the other rein; but now, once more, I was grasping the rein with both hands lest it should slip through my fingers, and at the same moment the knife fell, striking Tom on the cheek and making the blood spurt out, before flying down—down to a depth that was horrible to contemplate.It was a fearful time, and as I crouched there a cold sensation seemed to be creeping through the marrow of all my bones. We could not raise Tom for the mule, I could not cut the rein, and upon asking I found that the guide had no knife, and, what was worse, it was evident that he was losing nerve.I dared not try to heave—it would have been madness, cumbered and crowded together as we were; and in those brief moments of agony it seemed to me that I was Tom’s murderer, for, but on account of my wild thirst for coming abroad, he might have been safe at home.“Try—try again, Mas’r Harry, please,” whispered the poor fellow imploringly; “I shouldn’t like to die out here in these savage parts, nor yet this how. Make one more try to get rid of that beast.”As if to show that he was not all bad, just at the moment when it seemed that all chance of saving poor Tom was gone, when our arms felt to be dragging out of their sockets, and a something drawing me by a strange fascination, joined to the weight, over the side of the precipice—the mule gave a wild squeal, shook its head for an instant, seized the tight rein in its teeth, and bit it through.The next moment it gave a whinny of relief, planted its feet on my back as I half lay down, leaped over me, and was out of our way; while how we managed the next part I cannot say. All I know is that there was a horrible struggle, a scrambling rush, the panting groans of those who fought with grim death, and then I lay half-fainting upon the shelf, with honest old Tom at my side.“Thank Heaven!” I muttered.“Amen, Mas’r Harry!” said Tom in a whisper; and then for some time no one spoke.Half an hour after, very quiet and sober of mien, we were leading our mules down the shelf, unnerved and trembling, till once more the plain was reached, and with it rest for the night.

“Say, Mas’r Harry, you won’t stop in this blessed place, will you?” said Tom, as, in the full light of day, we were, some hours after, busily helping in the town, extricating the dead and wounded, and assisting to bear them to the temporary hospital prepared for their reception.

The house where we had slept was, like hundreds more of the lightly-built tenements, prostrate; and on visiting the scene our escape seemed wonderful; while everywhere the mischief done was appalling—houses toppled down, streets choked with ruins, towers split from top to bottom, and stones hurled from the unroofed buildings into the gaping cracks and fissures running down the streets.

But now that the first fright was over, people seemed to take the matter very coolly, flocking back into the town, to sit and smoke and eat fruit amidst the ruins of their homes, while others quietly set to work to restore and repair damages.

“Has there ever been an earthquake here before?” I said to a merchant who spoke English.

“Earthquakes, my dear señor? Yes, they are common things here.”

“But will the inhabitants rebuild the town?”

“Surely. Why not? The site is charming.”

I had my thoughts upon the subject, but I did not express them; so, too, had Tom, but he did express his as above.

“Say, Mas’r Harry, you won’t stop here, will you?”

“No,” I said; “we are going up the country.”

“Because this place ain’t safe—there’s a screw loose underground somewheres. Not that I mind. Earthquakes ain’t so much account after all, if they’d come in the day; but all the same, I wouldn’t stop here.”

I had had no intention of stopping, only just long enough to see the place and make arrangements for the prosecution of my journey; but this catastrophe hurried my departure, and at the end of three days we were both mounted on mules, travelling over hot, bare plains, with the sun pouring down until one’s brain seemed scorched; and when at last water was reached, it was thick and muddy-looking, so that, but for our horrible thirst we could not have touched it.

My ideas of South America had been undergoing a great change during the past few days, and, quite disappointed, in the midst of a long burning ride I made some remark to Tom about the heat.

“Hot, Mas’r Harry!” he said. “Pooh! this ain’t hot, ’Tis a little warmer than the other place, because there is no sea-breeze, but I could stand a deal more than this. These here—will you be quiet, then?—these here mules is the worst of it, though, sir. They won’t go like a horse, nor yet like a donkey; and as to kicking—”

Tom stopped short, for he wanted his breath for other purposes, his steed having once more turned refractory, kicking, rearing, shaking itself in an effort to dislodge its rider, spinning round and round, laying its long ears flat upon its neck, tucking its tail close in between its legs, and then squeaking and squealing in the most outrageous manner imaginable.

I have no doubt that it was most terribly unpleasant to the rider, painful, probably; but to a looker-on it was one of the most ludicrous of sights, and in spite of heat, weariness, and a tendency to low spirits, I laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks, while Tom grinned with pain and held on with both hands to the refractory beast.

“Ah! would you?” cried Tom, as the brute lifted its heels higher than usual, nearly sending him over its head. “There never was such a beast as this here, Mas’r Harry. If I’d only got a thicker stick!”

One could not pity him much, for at starting he had rejected three or four quiet-looking beasts as too slow, and chosen the animal he rode, or rather tried to ride, for, if the reader will pardon the Irishism, a great deal of Tom’s riding was walking, and performed by leading his beast by its bridle.

But really it was a deceptive beast, and to have seen it drooping its head and walking calmly and peacefully by its hirer’s side, no one would have imagined that it possessed so much mischievous sagacity as it very soon displayed when anyone attempted to mount it.

“I like ’em with some sperrit in ’em, Mas’r Harry,” Tom had said. “If it was a horse it would be different; but if one’s to ride a donkey, let’s have one with something in it.”

And verily Tom’s donkey, as he called it, was not very long before it showed that it had, indeed, something in it, a great deal more, in fact, than Tom had bargained for. We did not pass many trees by the track, but when we did come upon one Tom had certain information thereof, for the mule rubbed his rider’s leg vigorously against the trunk. The sight of a muddy pool of water was the signal for him to squeak, elevate his heels, and then go off at a sharp gallop, when, if his rider did not quickly slip off behind, he would be carried into the pool and bathed, for the mule would drink his fill and then indulge in a roll in the mud and water. In short, I never before saw so many acts of cunning in an animal, one and all directed at dislodging the rider.

At first I was in a state of tremor lest his vagaries should infect the beasts ridden by myself and the guide; but no, they were evidently elderly mules—bordering on a hundred they might have been, from their grey and mangy aspect. They had sown their wild oats years before, and all that they did was to trudge solemnly on, quiet and sure-footed, if not swift.

Tom’s mishaps had their pleasant face, though; they served to make a horribly monotonous journey more bearable, and on an average he was in grief, some way or another, about every two hours.

“Oh, señor,” said the guide proudly, “the mule is perfect! He is a magnificent beast, but he has his antipathies. He used to be ridden by the padre, and he is a most holy and Christian mule. He shows his dislike a little sometimes like that, because the señor who rides him is a heretic.”

“Oh!” I said.

“Yes, it is so, señor, I assure you,” said the guide. “Let your friend ride my beast and I will take his, and then you will see how peaceable he is.”

At first Tom did not seem disposed to agree, for he did not like being beaten; but I ordered him to dismount, his accidents tending so greatly to lengthen our journey. So the exchange of mules was made, and on we went once more.

“See, señor!” said the guide. “He is a pattern mule, is Juan; he goes like a lamb. It is a natural dislike that he has not learned to subdue. He does not know what good men and generous there are amongst the heretics.”

“Haw, haw, haw, haw! Look at that, Mas’r Harry—there’s a game!” roared Tom, for the guide had hardly done speaking, just as we were travelling pleasantly along, before Juan, the mule, stopped short, put his head between his legs, elevated his hind-quarters, and the next moment the guide was sitting amongst the stones staring up at us with a most comical expression of countenance.

“The beast has been cursed!” he cried angrily as he rose. “Car–r–r–r–r–r–r–r–ambo! but you shall starve for this, Juan!”

“Let me have another turn at him,” cried Tom, as he started off to catch the mule, which had cantered off a few hundred yards, and was searching about with his nose amongst the sand and stones for a few succulent blades of grass where there was not so much as a thistle or a cactus to be seen.

But Juan had no wish to be caught, and after leading his pursuer a tolerable race, he stopped short, and placed all four hoofs together, so as to turn easily as upon a pivot, presenting always his tail to the hand that caught at his bridle.

“Poor fellow, then! Come, then—come over,” said Tom soothingly.

But the only response he obtained was an occasional lift of the beast’s heels, and an angry kick.

“You ignorant brute, you can’t understand plain English!” cried Tom angrily.

“No, señor, he is a true Spanish mule,” said the guide, coming up.

Between them, Tom and he soon managed to catch Juan, when, holding tightly by the reins, the guide vented his displeasure and took his revenge by thoroughly drumming the poor brute’s ribs with a stout stick, after which Tom mounted, and our journey for the next two hours was without incident.

But we were not to get to the end of the day without mishap. The sun had begun to descend, and we were panting along, longing for the sight of water to quench our burning throats, when Juan began to show that the pain from the guide’s drubbing had evaporated. First of all he indulged in a squeal or two, then he contrived to kick the mule I rode upon one of its legs, when, emboldened by the success of the manoeuvre, he waited his time, and then, sidling up to his companion ridden by the guide, he discharged a fierce kick at him, nearly catching the guide in the shin; but the result was a tremendous crack from a stick right upon Juan’s back—a blow which made him shake his head with dissatisfaction till his ears rattled again.

He had forgotten the pain, though, in ten minutes, and the first hint we had thereof was a squeal and feat of sleight ofheel, in which, to all appearances, Juan stood perpendicularly upon his nose and fore-feet for half a minute, like a fleshly tripod, while his rider, or rather his late rider, rolled over and over, the centre of a cloud of impalpable dust, coughing and sneezing, and muttering fiercely.

“There!” exclaimed Tom, as he jumped up and began beating the dust from his garments. “That’s four times that brute has had me off to-day. I’ve rid everything in my time, Mas’r Harry, from a pig up to a parish bull. I’ve been on sheep and donkeys, and when I was at the blacksmith’s I rode all sorts of restive beasts as come to be shod, but I never did get on such a brute as that; his skin don’t fit him, and he slippers about between your legs all sorts of ways; but I mean to ride him yet. Now just you try him half an hour, Mas’r Harry, to see what he’s like.”

“Not I, thank you, Tom,” was my reply. “I’m very well content.”

“So am I, Mas’r Harry, only he makes me so sore; but I ain’t bet yet, I can tell him. Come over, then!”

But the mule would not “come over, then!” and there ensued a fierce fight of kicks between Tom and his steed, Tom essaying to kick the mule for punishment in the ribs; the mule, nowise taken aback, returning the compliment, by essaying to kick his late rider anywhere, though without success. It might have been imagined, to see the artful feints and moves, that the mule was endowed with human reason. Tom was more than a match for him at last, though, for, slipping off his jacket, he threw it over the mule’s head and held it there, confusing the poor beast, so that it could not avoid a couple of heartily given kicks in the ribs; and before it could recover from its surprise Tom was once more seated upon its back in triumph.

“I can stand a wonderful sight of kicking off, Mas’r Harry, I can tell you! I ain’t bet yet! Co-o-me on, will you!”

Apparently cowed, now that the jacket was removed, the mule journeyed on very peaceably, till leaving the plain we began to ascend a precipitous mountain-side, the track each moment growing more and more sterile,—if it were possible—grand, and at the same time dangerous. And now it was that we began to see the qualities of the mules in the cautious way they picked their steps, feeling each loose piece of path before trusting their weight to it, and doing much towards removing a strange sensation of tremor evoked by the fact that we were progressing along a shelf of rugged rock some two feet wide—the scarped mountain-side upon our right, a vast precipice on the left.

More than once I was for getting down to walk, but the guide dissuaded me, as he declared that it was far better to trust to the mules, who were never known to slip.

A couple of miles of such travelling served to somewhat reassure me—familiarity with danger breeding contempt; and I called out to Tom:

“I hope your beast won’t bear malice, Tom, for this would be an awkward place for him to try his capers.”

I said so thoughtlessly, just at a time when we were descending; Tom’s beast, which was before me, walking along with the most rigorous care as to where he set his feet.

“Oh! I say, don’t, Mas’r Harry,” whined Tom, “don’t! It’s no joke, you know, and this mule understands every word you say—leastwise he might, you know. I ain’t afraid, only he might—”

Tom’s sentence was not finished; for, in fact, just as if every word I had uttered had been comprehended, downwent the beast’s head, his heels were elevated, and the next moment, to my horror, poor Tom was over the side of the path, and rolling swiftly down to apparent destruction.

He was brought up, though, the next moment by the reins, which he tightly grasped, and which fortunately did not give way, though they tightened with a jerk that must have nearly dislocated the mule’s neck. The leather, fortunately, now strained and stretched, but held firm; while, planting its fore-feet close to the edge of the precipice, and throwing its body back against the scarped wall, the mule stood firm as the rock itself, but snorting loudly as with glaring eyeballs it stared down at Tom; who hung there, trying to obtain some rest for his feet, but uttering no sound, only gazing up at us with a wild look that said plainly as could be, “Don’t leave me here to die!”

It was no easy task to help him; for the guide and I had both to dismount on to a narrow ledge of rock, clinging the while to our mules; but we achieved that part of our task, and the next moment, one on each side of Juan, we were kneeling down and trying to reach Tom’s hands.

But our efforts were vain, for the mule was in the way, and there was not standing room for all three. There was but one way of helping, and that looked too desperate to be attempted, and I hesitated to propose it as I knelt shivering there.

The same thought, though, had occurred to Tom, and in a husky voice he said:

“Take hold of the guide’s hand, Mas’r Harry, and creep under the mule’s legs to his side.”

It was no time to hesitate; and I did as I was told, the mule giving utterance to quite a shriek as I passed.

“Now can you both reach the bridle?” Tom whispered.

“Yes, yes!” we both exclaimed.

“Hold on tight then, while one of you cuts it through, and then the mule will be out of the way.”

We each took a good grip of the leathern thong, raising it so that we had Tom’s full weight upon our muscles; and then crouching down so as not to be drawn over, I hastily drew out my knife, opened it with some difficulty by means of my teeth, and then tried to cut the bridle above our hands.

But feeling himself partly relieved of his burden, the mule began to grow restless, stamping, whinnying, and trying to get free. For a moment I thought we might utilise his power, and make him back and help draw Tom up; but the narrowness of the ledge forbade it, and he would only have been drawn sidewise till the rein broke.

Twice I tried to cut the bridle, but twice the mule balked me, and I was glad to ease the fearful strain on one arm by catching at the hand that held the knife.

“Try again, Mas’r Harry, please,” whispered Tom. “I can’t hang much longer.”

With a desperate effort I cut at the rein, and divided it close to the mule’s mouth.

He started back a few inches, tightening the other rein; but now, once more, I was grasping the rein with both hands lest it should slip through my fingers, and at the same moment the knife fell, striking Tom on the cheek and making the blood spurt out, before flying down—down to a depth that was horrible to contemplate.

It was a fearful time, and as I crouched there a cold sensation seemed to be creeping through the marrow of all my bones. We could not raise Tom for the mule, I could not cut the rein, and upon asking I found that the guide had no knife, and, what was worse, it was evident that he was losing nerve.

I dared not try to heave—it would have been madness, cumbered and crowded together as we were; and in those brief moments of agony it seemed to me that I was Tom’s murderer, for, but on account of my wild thirst for coming abroad, he might have been safe at home.

“Try—try again, Mas’r Harry, please,” whispered the poor fellow imploringly; “I shouldn’t like to die out here in these savage parts, nor yet this how. Make one more try to get rid of that beast.”

As if to show that he was not all bad, just at the moment when it seemed that all chance of saving poor Tom was gone, when our arms felt to be dragging out of their sockets, and a something drawing me by a strange fascination, joined to the weight, over the side of the precipice—the mule gave a wild squeal, shook its head for an instant, seized the tight rein in its teeth, and bit it through.

The next moment it gave a whinny of relief, planted its feet on my back as I half lay down, leaped over me, and was out of our way; while how we managed the next part I cannot say. All I know is that there was a horrible struggle, a scrambling rush, the panting groans of those who fought with grim death, and then I lay half-fainting upon the shelf, with honest old Tom at my side.

“Thank Heaven!” I muttered.

“Amen, Mas’r Harry!” said Tom in a whisper; and then for some time no one spoke.

Half an hour after, very quiet and sober of mien, we were leading our mules down the shelf, unnerved and trembling, till once more the plain was reached, and with it rest for the night.

Chapter Ten.Playing at Heroes.And so we journeyed on day after day, through heat and dust, and arid, stony lands; with my heart sinking lower and lower and the thought of home not being so very bad a place after all continually forcing itself upon me, till our guide suddenly announced our proximity to the place I had come these thousands of miles to seek. And now it was that from where it had sunk my heart gave a great leap of exultation, and I sat for long enough upon my bony mule drinking in the scene before me.For the last three days our ride had been over stone and sand, with here and there a melancholy palm shooting up from the drab-hued desert, the sun beating down and being reflected up in a way that was almost unbearable; even Tom riding with his mouth open, panting like a dog, his face coated with perspiration and dust; while when at night we had stopped at some wretched makeshift of an inn—a hut generally where a grass hammock and a little lukewarm water was the total accommodation—a wash or bath of any kind had been quite out of the question. But now, as we were descending a steep mountain-side, it seemed as if we had suddenly dropped into one of the most lovely spots on earth, riding at once right in beneath the shade of a huge forest, with a sea of green leaves spreading out before us in every direction.By comparison the coolness was delightful, and we rode through a vast arcade over a golden net-work spread by the sun upon the grassy undergrowth; whilst from afar off came that sweetest of sounds to a parched and thirsty traveller, the murmuring of falling water, now soft and gentle, now increasing to a roar.“Great river, señors,” said our guide, pointing forward. “Señor Don Reuben Landell on other side.”“Say, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom just then, “they ain’t sure where the Garden of Eden was, are they? I’m blest if I don’t think we’ve found the very spot, and if— There she goes!”I can’t say whether Tom’s mind was running just then upon Eve, but as a light figure seemed to flit into our sight and stand gazing at us with bright and wondering eyes, mine did; and for a few minutes after she had disappeared amongst the trees I sat in my saddle without speaking.But the glorious verdure around soon made me forget the fair vision; and now, riding on a few paces, now halting at an opening in the forest, I sat drinking in the scene with the feelings of one in a dream.Then we rode on a hundred yards up an ascent, with the sun full upon us once more, to descend a precipitous path, holding on tightly by the mule, which one expected to slip and hurl one down a gulf at the side; but the descent was safely made, and then we stood gazing at a belt of cultivated ground—the forest and river lying off to our right.“There is the river path, señors,” said our guide, “straight down. The ground is soft and bad for the mules, and I go back. You will find a gentleman to take you over the great river; but I would look about me; there are little snakes, the great water-boa, and the crocodiles of the river.”Then saluting us with his half-bred Spanish politeness, our guide stood while we possessed ourselves of our light luggage, and then led off his mules, leaving us to follow the pointed-out direction, which took us down to the swampy bank of a great muddy river flowing gently by us, cutting its way, as it were, through a forest of mighty trees, whose tall stems shot up from the water’s edge. There was a small canoe tethered to a sapling where the path ceased, but no sign of its owner; while half a mile in front, across the river, was an opening in the trees similar to that in which we stood, which was, doubtless, the path we were to pursue.We stood in deep shadow; but the sun was flashing from the breast of the river as it rolled slowly on, its even surface unbroken save here and there by some water-bird; while in several places what seemed to be rough tree-trunks were floating slowly down with the stream. The great trees were wreathed and festooned to the water’s edge with parasites and vines; and now and then the shrill cry of some parrot rang out, the bird flashing into sight for an instant, and then disappearing amidst the glorious verdure.“Well, Tom,” I said, “this is different from the old country.”But he did not reply; and turning, I found him gazing fixedly amongst the swamp herbage, through which was a wet, muddy track, when, following the direction of his gaze and peering into the shade, I became aware of a pair of the most hideous, hateful eyes fixed upon me that I had ever seen. I was heated with walking over the wet ground, and there was a warm, steamy exhalation rising around; but in a moment my tongue became dry and a cold perspiration bedewed my limbs, as, fascinated almost, I stood gazing within six feet of the monster, which now began slowly a retrograde motion till the herbage hid it from our sight. Then there was a loud rustling rush, a splash in the water, and wave after wave proclaimed the size of the beast that had, fortunately for us, declined to attack.“Whurra!” exclaimed Tom with a shudder. “Say, Mas’r Harry, do newts grow as big as that out here?”“It was a crocodile, Tom,” I said with a shiver. “And look—look! Why, the river swarms with them!”“So it does, seemin’ly,” exclaimed Tom as I pointed out the slimy backs of half-a-score of them floating down the stream; for I could see now that they were no trees, while here and there on the muddy bank we could make out a solitary monster basking, open-mouthed, in the sun.“Come along,” I said, “let’s get over.”“But will they touch the boat, Mas’r Harry? I ain’t afraid, you know, only they are queersome beasts as ever I did see.”“I don’t think there’s any fear of that,” I said; “but at any rate we must get over.”Stepping close to the water’s edge I drew the light canoe up by its bark rope, disturbing either a small reptile or some great fish as I did so, for there was a rushing swirl in the water and the frail vessel rocked to and fro.In spite of Tom’s declarations to the effect that such a pea-shuck would sink with us, I stepped in and he followed; when, taking the paddles, we pushed off and began to make our way out into the stream, Tom’s eyes glancing around as he dipped in his paddle cautiously, expecting every moment that it would touch a crocodile; but using our paddles—clumsily enough, as may be supposed—we made some way, and then paused to consider whether we should go forward or backward, for we had at one and the same time arrived at the knowledge that the strong stream was our master, and that until we had attained to some skill in the use of the paddles any progress upstream towards the landing-place was out of the question.“We must get across lower down, Tom,” I said, “and then walk back.”“What! through the wood, Mas’r Harry?”“Yes, through the wood.”“Lor’! No, don’t do that, Mas’r Harry. We shall be eat up alive! Them there woods swarms with snakes—I know they do. And just look there!” he cried, splashing fiercely with his paddle to frighten a huge reptile, but without effect; for the great beast came slowly floating down in all its native hideousness, its rugged bark-like back and the rough prominences above its eyes out of the muddy water, one eye peering at us with the baleful look peculiar to this fearful beast.The next minute it had passed us, and we were once more paddling slowly on, the river having swept us quite out of sight of the landing-place. But the sights around were so novel that I rather enjoyed our passage. In spite of Tom’s anxiety, every now and then I ceased paddling to gaze at some bright-plumaged bird flitting from tree to tree overhanging the stream. Once I made sure that the great bare vine which swung between two boughs must be a serpent, till, passing by, we made out its real character.At last, though, I awoke to the fact that it was time to be up and doing, for the current had swept us round a great bend of the river, and below us I saw that for a wide stretch of quite a couple of miles the river was broken up by rapids. Great masses of rock thrust their bare heads out of the water like river monsters, and round them the muddy tide bubbled, and foamed, and eddied.It was plain enough that we were approaching a dangerous part, and had not our sense warned us of the peril we had ample warning in the increased swiftness and troubled state of the stream. I saw at a glance that a boat would have but a poor chance of existing amongst the rocky way if it should be swept there, and I had taken a firm grip of my paddle when—“Look, Tom!” I cried.And for a moment our attention was taken up by one of those glorious golden-green and scarlet birds—the trogons—flitting close by us, its emerald crest and gorgeous yard-long tail-feathers flashing in the sun, while its brilliant scarlet breast was for a moment reflected in the water.“Oh, you beauty!” cried Tom. “If I only had my old gun! But, I say, Mas’r Harry, paddle away!”Already somewhat more used to the propellers, we began to force the boat towards the opposite bank, hoping to get into an eddy that should help us along; but we had dallied with our task, and the stream now ran more swiftly than ever. Still we made some progress, and were contriving to dip together, when I almost let my paddle pass from my hands, for a strange, wild cry rang along the surface of the water.“What’s that?” I exclaimed.“I should say it was one of them pleasant brutes out for a holiday—one of them tiger or leopard things, like what we used to see in Wombwell’s show, like great tomcats. I’ll lay a wager this is the spot where they live when they’re at home and go yowling about.”“There it is again!” I exclaimed excitedly. “Why, it was a cry for help. There is some one in the river!”“Then he’d better hold his tongue,” said Tom, “and not get shouting, or he’ll have all these great beasts come rushing at him, same as they did in the ponds at home when we used to throw in a worm upon a bent pin and fish for the little newts. There, Mas’r Harry, look at that chap!”As he spoke Tom pointed with his paddle at a great uncouth monster, some twelve feet long and tremendously thick, which had raised its head from the slime in which it wallowed upon the edge of the river, and was slowly turning itself, first in one and then in another direction, before splashing a little and then shooting itself off into deep water with one stroke of its powerful tail.“Ugh, the brutes!” ejaculated Tom. “They’d make short work of a fellow if he was thrown in for live bait. But, I say, that is some one shouting, Mas’r Harry.”“Paddle down closer towards the rapids, Tom,” I said excitedly.Then, for a moment we forgot our own danger as with a sharp stroke or two we sent the canoe out in full stream, so that it swept down swiftly.“You’re right, Mas’r Harry—you’re right!” said Tom, eager now as I was myself. “Look—look, there’s a canoe upset!”“Paddle away!” I cried as another shout came ringing towards us, just as I obtained a good view of what was taking place below.“But we shall be over too, Mas’r Harry, if you row like that. Lord help them, though, if there ain’t a woman in the water!” Tom cried, working his paddle furiously—an example I had set him.Swaying about, the little vessel raced almost through the troubled waters, which each moment grew more rough, leaping and dancing, and threatening at times to splash right into our frail boat.Our excitement was pardonable, for right in front of us, and about two hundred yards down the river, there was a sight which made my nerves tingle, and the paddle in my hands to feel like a straw. A canoe of about double the size of our own had been overset in the rapids, and, with four figures clinging to it, was rapidly floating down stream amidst the boiling waters, which leaped and seethed round them. Now we could see that two of the figures were making efforts to turn the canoe; but it was evident that in the rough water, and with the others clinging to it, this was impossible; and, evidently half-strangled and bewildered in the fierce rush, they had given up the next minute, and were clinging to the vessel’s sides.Now it was hurried down a rapid with a tremendous rush, to be tossing the next moment in the deep below, whirling round and round, now half under, now by its buoyancy rising again with its clinging freight, to be swept into an eddy where the water was comparatively calm, but only to be slowly driven back again into the swift current hastening down the rocky slope; and a groan of dismay burst from my breast as I saw the boat dashed against a great black jagged mass of rock right in its way. But the next instant the party had glided round it, and were again being swept downwards where the river was one mass of creamy foam.How we went down I cannot tell you, for it was due to no skill on our part; the wonder is that we were not overset a score of times; but somehow, almost miraculously, we seemed to avoid rock after rock that was scattered in our way, the little canoe bounding along in a mad race as we plied our paddles with all the energy at our command. I have often thought since that our rough action and chance-work way of running the gauntlet amidst the rocks was the reason of our success, where skilled managers of a canoe would have come to grief; but, be that as it may, in a wild exciting race we dashed on and on down the gradual watery slope, the noise of many waters thundering in our ears, while, with what I believe is the true generous spirit of an Englishman pervading us, we forgot our own danger in the sight of that incurred by the party in the rapids.“Go it, Mas’r Harry!” Tom roared, mad almost with excitement, as he scooped away with his paddle. “Hurraw! Who’s afraid? That’s a good un! Now again! Brayvo! lay into it, my hearty!”We gained upon the upset boat swiftly, when, as the clinging party were swept into a tolerably smooth reach that intervened between a fierce race of water and the next dangerous spot, I saw one of the men leave the canoe and strike boldly out for the shore, followed directly after by two more, whose dusky skin proclaimed them of Indian blood.“Why, only look there—three men and one woman!” cried Tom. “And if they haven’t gone away and left her! This ain’t old England, Mas’r Harry; we don’t do things that how at home. Paddle away! Mind, sir, or you’ll have us over! Only wish I had a couple of tallow staves instead of this wooden spoon. Paddle away, sir! Cowardly warmint! That’s it, sir; this boat’s as light as a cork, but don’t have us over. We shall soon reach her now—mind, steady, for I’m scared to death of the water, and I wouldn’t swim as they do, not for a thousand pounds—not but what I could if I liked. That’s it, sir, only another thirty yards—long strokes and steady ones, and—hold on, my dear, we’re coming.”“Push on, Tom—push on, and save your breath,” I cried, “for Heaven’s sake! Ah!—”I could not restrain that cry—it burst from my lips, for just at that moment I saw the female figure, yet clinging to the overturned canoe, glide from her hold, as if drawn away by some invisible agency down, down, gradually beneath the swift tide.“It’s one of them great wild beasts got her!” cried Tom, giving vent to the thought that had flashed across my brain. “Oh! don’t—pray, pray don’t, Mas’r Harry!” I heard him shriek. “I’m scared to death of these waters, and if you go I must too, for I swore I’d stick to you like a—Oh, Mas’r Harry!”With Tom’s voice ringing in my ears, but having no more effect than they would have had in staying the swift rush of the rapids, I had in one and the same moment recognised the drowning face, and, paddle in hand, leaped from the frail canoe into the foaming river.That was a wild and thrilling moment, when, nerving myself to the encounter, I battled with the fierce water, trying to put into practice every feint and feat that I had learned in old bathing times at home, when sporting in the summer evenings in our little river. Speed, though, and skill in swimming seemed unavailing here, as I felt the waters wreathe round me, strangling me, as it were, in a cold embrace; then seizing me to drag me here, to drag me there; dashing me against this rock, against that, and directly after sending a cold chill of horror through every nerve, as a recollection of the hideous reptiles abounding in the river flashed upon me, when I felt myself sucked down lower and lower in the vortex of some eddy between the rocks. It was like dreaming of swimming in some horrible nightmare, my every effort being checked when I strove to reach the drowning girl; and again and again, when just on the point of clutching her light garments, I was swept away, to begin once more fighting towards her with the energy of despair.At last, however, my arm was round her, and two little hands closed upon my shoulders, clinging to me with a despairing grip, as I fought hard to keep on the surface; but only to be swept here and there, helpless as a fragment of wood, the muddy water the while thundering in my ears and bubbling angrily at my lips.Now up, now down—over, and over, and over, rolling along a shallow smooth platform of rock, and then into deeper water again. I began to feel that I was fighting my last fight, and that the enemy was too strong.But still I fought on—more feebly, ’tis true, but still with the stubborn determination of an unworthy representative of that nation which was said by a great general not to know when they were beaten.Then came a respite, as I was swept into still water; but I was too weak now to take advantage of it before I was borne into the next rapid, foaming to receive me with my burden.The river was here like a series of long rugged steps, with here fierce tumbling waters, there a smooth interval, but only to be succeeded again and again by broken water, into another foaming chaos of which I was swept.It was now one wild confusion of struggling wave and roaring, foaming surf; then came a dim sense that I was half stunned by a fierce blow—that I was growing weaker—that I was drowning fast; and for an instant a pang shot through me as I seemed to see vividly a portion of my past life, and thought of how hard it was to die so young.I was again swept into the still water, and my arm struck out involuntarily as, my lips well above water, I drew in a long breath—a long invigorating draught of the breath of life; but my efforts were feeble, and my mind was misty and confused, but only for a few moments. In a flash, as it were of light, the horror of my position came upon me, and I gave utterance to a cry of terror, for suddenly there was a fierce rushing swirl in the water. I felt something strike me obliquely; then the light figure I had striven so hard to save was almost jerked from my arm, and the next instant we were being borne swiftly along through the water upstream and towards the shore.Jerk, jerk, jerk! and I gazed with horror upon the pale face close to mine, fortunately insensible; my eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets with horror; there was a sensation as of a ghostly hand stirring my wet hair; and then once more I gave utterance to a strange hoarse cry that startled even me; for as—in spite of my weakness—my mental energies grew momentarily clearer I thoroughly realised the horror of our position, and that we were being dragged rapidly away by one of the ravenous reptiles of the river.

And so we journeyed on day after day, through heat and dust, and arid, stony lands; with my heart sinking lower and lower and the thought of home not being so very bad a place after all continually forcing itself upon me, till our guide suddenly announced our proximity to the place I had come these thousands of miles to seek. And now it was that from where it had sunk my heart gave a great leap of exultation, and I sat for long enough upon my bony mule drinking in the scene before me.

For the last three days our ride had been over stone and sand, with here and there a melancholy palm shooting up from the drab-hued desert, the sun beating down and being reflected up in a way that was almost unbearable; even Tom riding with his mouth open, panting like a dog, his face coated with perspiration and dust; while when at night we had stopped at some wretched makeshift of an inn—a hut generally where a grass hammock and a little lukewarm water was the total accommodation—a wash or bath of any kind had been quite out of the question. But now, as we were descending a steep mountain-side, it seemed as if we had suddenly dropped into one of the most lovely spots on earth, riding at once right in beneath the shade of a huge forest, with a sea of green leaves spreading out before us in every direction.

By comparison the coolness was delightful, and we rode through a vast arcade over a golden net-work spread by the sun upon the grassy undergrowth; whilst from afar off came that sweetest of sounds to a parched and thirsty traveller, the murmuring of falling water, now soft and gentle, now increasing to a roar.

“Great river, señors,” said our guide, pointing forward. “Señor Don Reuben Landell on other side.”

“Say, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom just then, “they ain’t sure where the Garden of Eden was, are they? I’m blest if I don’t think we’ve found the very spot, and if— There she goes!”

I can’t say whether Tom’s mind was running just then upon Eve, but as a light figure seemed to flit into our sight and stand gazing at us with bright and wondering eyes, mine did; and for a few minutes after she had disappeared amongst the trees I sat in my saddle without speaking.

But the glorious verdure around soon made me forget the fair vision; and now, riding on a few paces, now halting at an opening in the forest, I sat drinking in the scene with the feelings of one in a dream.

Then we rode on a hundred yards up an ascent, with the sun full upon us once more, to descend a precipitous path, holding on tightly by the mule, which one expected to slip and hurl one down a gulf at the side; but the descent was safely made, and then we stood gazing at a belt of cultivated ground—the forest and river lying off to our right.

“There is the river path, señors,” said our guide, “straight down. The ground is soft and bad for the mules, and I go back. You will find a gentleman to take you over the great river; but I would look about me; there are little snakes, the great water-boa, and the crocodiles of the river.”

Then saluting us with his half-bred Spanish politeness, our guide stood while we possessed ourselves of our light luggage, and then led off his mules, leaving us to follow the pointed-out direction, which took us down to the swampy bank of a great muddy river flowing gently by us, cutting its way, as it were, through a forest of mighty trees, whose tall stems shot up from the water’s edge. There was a small canoe tethered to a sapling where the path ceased, but no sign of its owner; while half a mile in front, across the river, was an opening in the trees similar to that in which we stood, which was, doubtless, the path we were to pursue.

We stood in deep shadow; but the sun was flashing from the breast of the river as it rolled slowly on, its even surface unbroken save here and there by some water-bird; while in several places what seemed to be rough tree-trunks were floating slowly down with the stream. The great trees were wreathed and festooned to the water’s edge with parasites and vines; and now and then the shrill cry of some parrot rang out, the bird flashing into sight for an instant, and then disappearing amidst the glorious verdure.

“Well, Tom,” I said, “this is different from the old country.”

But he did not reply; and turning, I found him gazing fixedly amongst the swamp herbage, through which was a wet, muddy track, when, following the direction of his gaze and peering into the shade, I became aware of a pair of the most hideous, hateful eyes fixed upon me that I had ever seen. I was heated with walking over the wet ground, and there was a warm, steamy exhalation rising around; but in a moment my tongue became dry and a cold perspiration bedewed my limbs, as, fascinated almost, I stood gazing within six feet of the monster, which now began slowly a retrograde motion till the herbage hid it from our sight. Then there was a loud rustling rush, a splash in the water, and wave after wave proclaimed the size of the beast that had, fortunately for us, declined to attack.

“Whurra!” exclaimed Tom with a shudder. “Say, Mas’r Harry, do newts grow as big as that out here?”

“It was a crocodile, Tom,” I said with a shiver. “And look—look! Why, the river swarms with them!”

“So it does, seemin’ly,” exclaimed Tom as I pointed out the slimy backs of half-a-score of them floating down the stream; for I could see now that they were no trees, while here and there on the muddy bank we could make out a solitary monster basking, open-mouthed, in the sun.

“Come along,” I said, “let’s get over.”

“But will they touch the boat, Mas’r Harry? I ain’t afraid, you know, only they are queersome beasts as ever I did see.”

“I don’t think there’s any fear of that,” I said; “but at any rate we must get over.”

Stepping close to the water’s edge I drew the light canoe up by its bark rope, disturbing either a small reptile or some great fish as I did so, for there was a rushing swirl in the water and the frail vessel rocked to and fro.

In spite of Tom’s declarations to the effect that such a pea-shuck would sink with us, I stepped in and he followed; when, taking the paddles, we pushed off and began to make our way out into the stream, Tom’s eyes glancing around as he dipped in his paddle cautiously, expecting every moment that it would touch a crocodile; but using our paddles—clumsily enough, as may be supposed—we made some way, and then paused to consider whether we should go forward or backward, for we had at one and the same time arrived at the knowledge that the strong stream was our master, and that until we had attained to some skill in the use of the paddles any progress upstream towards the landing-place was out of the question.

“We must get across lower down, Tom,” I said, “and then walk back.”

“What! through the wood, Mas’r Harry?”

“Yes, through the wood.”

“Lor’! No, don’t do that, Mas’r Harry. We shall be eat up alive! Them there woods swarms with snakes—I know they do. And just look there!” he cried, splashing fiercely with his paddle to frighten a huge reptile, but without effect; for the great beast came slowly floating down in all its native hideousness, its rugged bark-like back and the rough prominences above its eyes out of the muddy water, one eye peering at us with the baleful look peculiar to this fearful beast.

The next minute it had passed us, and we were once more paddling slowly on, the river having swept us quite out of sight of the landing-place. But the sights around were so novel that I rather enjoyed our passage. In spite of Tom’s anxiety, every now and then I ceased paddling to gaze at some bright-plumaged bird flitting from tree to tree overhanging the stream. Once I made sure that the great bare vine which swung between two boughs must be a serpent, till, passing by, we made out its real character.

At last, though, I awoke to the fact that it was time to be up and doing, for the current had swept us round a great bend of the river, and below us I saw that for a wide stretch of quite a couple of miles the river was broken up by rapids. Great masses of rock thrust their bare heads out of the water like river monsters, and round them the muddy tide bubbled, and foamed, and eddied.

It was plain enough that we were approaching a dangerous part, and had not our sense warned us of the peril we had ample warning in the increased swiftness and troubled state of the stream. I saw at a glance that a boat would have but a poor chance of existing amongst the rocky way if it should be swept there, and I had taken a firm grip of my paddle when—

“Look, Tom!” I cried.

And for a moment our attention was taken up by one of those glorious golden-green and scarlet birds—the trogons—flitting close by us, its emerald crest and gorgeous yard-long tail-feathers flashing in the sun, while its brilliant scarlet breast was for a moment reflected in the water.

“Oh, you beauty!” cried Tom. “If I only had my old gun! But, I say, Mas’r Harry, paddle away!”

Already somewhat more used to the propellers, we began to force the boat towards the opposite bank, hoping to get into an eddy that should help us along; but we had dallied with our task, and the stream now ran more swiftly than ever. Still we made some progress, and were contriving to dip together, when I almost let my paddle pass from my hands, for a strange, wild cry rang along the surface of the water.

“What’s that?” I exclaimed.

“I should say it was one of them pleasant brutes out for a holiday—one of them tiger or leopard things, like what we used to see in Wombwell’s show, like great tomcats. I’ll lay a wager this is the spot where they live when they’re at home and go yowling about.”

“There it is again!” I exclaimed excitedly. “Why, it was a cry for help. There is some one in the river!”

“Then he’d better hold his tongue,” said Tom, “and not get shouting, or he’ll have all these great beasts come rushing at him, same as they did in the ponds at home when we used to throw in a worm upon a bent pin and fish for the little newts. There, Mas’r Harry, look at that chap!”

As he spoke Tom pointed with his paddle at a great uncouth monster, some twelve feet long and tremendously thick, which had raised its head from the slime in which it wallowed upon the edge of the river, and was slowly turning itself, first in one and then in another direction, before splashing a little and then shooting itself off into deep water with one stroke of its powerful tail.

“Ugh, the brutes!” ejaculated Tom. “They’d make short work of a fellow if he was thrown in for live bait. But, I say, that is some one shouting, Mas’r Harry.”

“Paddle down closer towards the rapids, Tom,” I said excitedly.

Then, for a moment we forgot our own danger as with a sharp stroke or two we sent the canoe out in full stream, so that it swept down swiftly.

“You’re right, Mas’r Harry—you’re right!” said Tom, eager now as I was myself. “Look—look, there’s a canoe upset!”

“Paddle away!” I cried as another shout came ringing towards us, just as I obtained a good view of what was taking place below.

“But we shall be over too, Mas’r Harry, if you row like that. Lord help them, though, if there ain’t a woman in the water!” Tom cried, working his paddle furiously—an example I had set him.

Swaying about, the little vessel raced almost through the troubled waters, which each moment grew more rough, leaping and dancing, and threatening at times to splash right into our frail boat.

Our excitement was pardonable, for right in front of us, and about two hundred yards down the river, there was a sight which made my nerves tingle, and the paddle in my hands to feel like a straw. A canoe of about double the size of our own had been overset in the rapids, and, with four figures clinging to it, was rapidly floating down stream amidst the boiling waters, which leaped and seethed round them. Now we could see that two of the figures were making efforts to turn the canoe; but it was evident that in the rough water, and with the others clinging to it, this was impossible; and, evidently half-strangled and bewildered in the fierce rush, they had given up the next minute, and were clinging to the vessel’s sides.

Now it was hurried down a rapid with a tremendous rush, to be tossing the next moment in the deep below, whirling round and round, now half under, now by its buoyancy rising again with its clinging freight, to be swept into an eddy where the water was comparatively calm, but only to be slowly driven back again into the swift current hastening down the rocky slope; and a groan of dismay burst from my breast as I saw the boat dashed against a great black jagged mass of rock right in its way. But the next instant the party had glided round it, and were again being swept downwards where the river was one mass of creamy foam.

How we went down I cannot tell you, for it was due to no skill on our part; the wonder is that we were not overset a score of times; but somehow, almost miraculously, we seemed to avoid rock after rock that was scattered in our way, the little canoe bounding along in a mad race as we plied our paddles with all the energy at our command. I have often thought since that our rough action and chance-work way of running the gauntlet amidst the rocks was the reason of our success, where skilled managers of a canoe would have come to grief; but, be that as it may, in a wild exciting race we dashed on and on down the gradual watery slope, the noise of many waters thundering in our ears, while, with what I believe is the true generous spirit of an Englishman pervading us, we forgot our own danger in the sight of that incurred by the party in the rapids.

“Go it, Mas’r Harry!” Tom roared, mad almost with excitement, as he scooped away with his paddle. “Hurraw! Who’s afraid? That’s a good un! Now again! Brayvo! lay into it, my hearty!”

We gained upon the upset boat swiftly, when, as the clinging party were swept into a tolerably smooth reach that intervened between a fierce race of water and the next dangerous spot, I saw one of the men leave the canoe and strike boldly out for the shore, followed directly after by two more, whose dusky skin proclaimed them of Indian blood.

“Why, only look there—three men and one woman!” cried Tom. “And if they haven’t gone away and left her! This ain’t old England, Mas’r Harry; we don’t do things that how at home. Paddle away! Mind, sir, or you’ll have us over! Only wish I had a couple of tallow staves instead of this wooden spoon. Paddle away, sir! Cowardly warmint! That’s it, sir; this boat’s as light as a cork, but don’t have us over. We shall soon reach her now—mind, steady, for I’m scared to death of the water, and I wouldn’t swim as they do, not for a thousand pounds—not but what I could if I liked. That’s it, sir, only another thirty yards—long strokes and steady ones, and—hold on, my dear, we’re coming.”

“Push on, Tom—push on, and save your breath,” I cried, “for Heaven’s sake! Ah!—”

I could not restrain that cry—it burst from my lips, for just at that moment I saw the female figure, yet clinging to the overturned canoe, glide from her hold, as if drawn away by some invisible agency down, down, gradually beneath the swift tide.

“It’s one of them great wild beasts got her!” cried Tom, giving vent to the thought that had flashed across my brain. “Oh! don’t—pray, pray don’t, Mas’r Harry!” I heard him shriek. “I’m scared to death of these waters, and if you go I must too, for I swore I’d stick to you like a—Oh, Mas’r Harry!”

With Tom’s voice ringing in my ears, but having no more effect than they would have had in staying the swift rush of the rapids, I had in one and the same moment recognised the drowning face, and, paddle in hand, leaped from the frail canoe into the foaming river.

That was a wild and thrilling moment, when, nerving myself to the encounter, I battled with the fierce water, trying to put into practice every feint and feat that I had learned in old bathing times at home, when sporting in the summer evenings in our little river. Speed, though, and skill in swimming seemed unavailing here, as I felt the waters wreathe round me, strangling me, as it were, in a cold embrace; then seizing me to drag me here, to drag me there; dashing me against this rock, against that, and directly after sending a cold chill of horror through every nerve, as a recollection of the hideous reptiles abounding in the river flashed upon me, when I felt myself sucked down lower and lower in the vortex of some eddy between the rocks. It was like dreaming of swimming in some horrible nightmare, my every effort being checked when I strove to reach the drowning girl; and again and again, when just on the point of clutching her light garments, I was swept away, to begin once more fighting towards her with the energy of despair.

At last, however, my arm was round her, and two little hands closed upon my shoulders, clinging to me with a despairing grip, as I fought hard to keep on the surface; but only to be swept here and there, helpless as a fragment of wood, the muddy water the while thundering in my ears and bubbling angrily at my lips.

Now up, now down—over, and over, and over, rolling along a shallow smooth platform of rock, and then into deeper water again. I began to feel that I was fighting my last fight, and that the enemy was too strong.

But still I fought on—more feebly, ’tis true, but still with the stubborn determination of an unworthy representative of that nation which was said by a great general not to know when they were beaten.

Then came a respite, as I was swept into still water; but I was too weak now to take advantage of it before I was borne into the next rapid, foaming to receive me with my burden.

The river was here like a series of long rugged steps, with here fierce tumbling waters, there a smooth interval, but only to be succeeded again and again by broken water, into another foaming chaos of which I was swept.

It was now one wild confusion of struggling wave and roaring, foaming surf; then came a dim sense that I was half stunned by a fierce blow—that I was growing weaker—that I was drowning fast; and for an instant a pang shot through me as I seemed to see vividly a portion of my past life, and thought of how hard it was to die so young.

I was again swept into the still water, and my arm struck out involuntarily as, my lips well above water, I drew in a long breath—a long invigorating draught of the breath of life; but my efforts were feeble, and my mind was misty and confused, but only for a few moments. In a flash, as it were of light, the horror of my position came upon me, and I gave utterance to a cry of terror, for suddenly there was a fierce rushing swirl in the water. I felt something strike me obliquely; then the light figure I had striven so hard to save was almost jerked from my arm, and the next instant we were being borne swiftly along through the water upstream and towards the shore.

Jerk, jerk, jerk! and I gazed with horror upon the pale face close to mine, fortunately insensible; my eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets with horror; there was a sensation as of a ghostly hand stirring my wet hair; and then once more I gave utterance to a strange hoarse cry that startled even me; for as—in spite of my weakness—my mental energies grew momentarily clearer I thoroughly realised the horror of our position, and that we were being dragged rapidly away by one of the ravenous reptiles of the river.

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