path: root/68480-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 68480 ***

[Illustration: Cover art]



The Naval Cadet

A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea



BY

DR. GORDON STABLES

Author of "In the Great White Land" &c.



_ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I._



BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED

LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY




  _Printed in Great Britain by
  Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow_




  CONTENTS.


  Chap.

  I. The Hermit of Kilmara
  II. The Night came on before its Time
  III. The Storm
  IV. Story of the Skye Clearings
  V. A Terrible Adventure
  VI. In Search of Adventure
  VII. Lost in a Highland Mist
  VIII. Creggan and Oscar
  IX. On Board the Gunboat _Rattler_
  X. War Ahead!
  XI. The City of Blood
  XII. Capture of the City of Benin
  XIII. In a Wild and Lovely Mountain-land
  XIV. A Fearful Night
  XV. Welcome Back to Skye
  XVI. Life on the Good Ship _Osprey_
  XVII. Mess-room Fun
  XVIII. St. Elmo's Fire
  XIX. The Burning Ship
  XX. Gun-room Fun
  XXI. Jacko Steals the Captain's Pudding
  XXII. In the Wilds of Venezuela
  XXIII. Dolce Far Niente
  XXIV. On the Lonesome Llanos
  XXV. Promotion
  XXVI. Adventure in a Papuan Lake-Village
  XXVII. A Terrible Tragedy
  XXVIII. "The Battle rages Loud and Long"
  XXIX. Like a Battle of Olden Times
  XXX. Court-martialed
  XXXI. Safely Home at Last




ILLUSTRATIONS


The Ju-Ju king sprang up ... _Frontispiece_ [Missing from source book]

Creggan kept the boat head-on to each threatening wave

"Well, my lad, you're one of the 'Rattler's' middies, aren't you?"

Just in the nick of time, Creggan fires [Missing from source book]

"Antoine was in a state of mesmeric fascination, and pale as death"




THE NAVAL CADET.



CHAPTER I.

THE HERMIT OF KILMARA.

There was something in the reply given by young Creggan M'Vayne to
Elliott Nugent, Esq., that this gentleman did not altogether relish.
He could not have complained of any want of respect in the boy's
utterance or in his manner, but there was an air of independence
about the lad that jarred against his feelings, and made him a trifle
cross--for the time being, that is.

For Nugent was a great man,--in his own country at all events.  He
was an ex-secretary from one of the Colonies, and at home in
Australia he had been like the centurion we read of in the New
Testament, and had had many men under him to whom he could say "Do
this" with the certainty of finding it done, for in his own great
office his word had been law.

But here stood this kilted ghillie with his collie dog by his
side--stay, though, till I present my young hero to you, reader.  You
will then know a little more of the merits of the case.

Than young Creggan M'Vayne, then, no boy was better known on land or
at sea, all along the wild rocky shores that stretch from Loch
Snizort to the very northernmost cape of Skye, well-named in the
Gaelic "The Island of Wings".  At any time of the day or by moonlight
his little skiff of a boat might be met by sturdy fishermen speeding
over the waves of the blue Minch, or lazily floating in some
rock-guarded bay, while its solitary occupant lured from the dark,
deep water many a silvery dancing fish.  But inland, too, he was
well-known, on lonely moor and on mountain brow.

And Creggan was welcome wherever he went.  Welcome when he appeared
at the doors of the rude huts that were huddled along the sea-shore,
welcome in the shepherd's shieling far away on the hills, and welcome
even at the firesides of gamekeepers themselves.

Up to the present time, at all events, Creggan's life had been a
half-wild one, to say the least of it.  Though tall for his years,
which barely numbered fourteen, he was as strong and well-knit as the
sinewy deer of the mountains.  Good-looking he certainly was, with a
depth of chin that pronounced him more English than Scotch; the
bluest of eyes, a sun-kissed face, and fair, curly hair of so
self-assertive a nature that Creggan's Highland bonnet never by any
chance got within three inches of his brow.

From that same bonnet, then, down to his boots, or rather brogues,
the lad looked every inch a gentleman.  He was just a trifle shy in
presence of his elders and those who moved in a superior walk of life
to him; but every really good honest-hearted lad is so.  Among the
peasantry, however, he was always his own manly self.

There was one thing concerning Creggan's wild life that he did not
care for anyone to know, not even his best friend, M'Ian the
minister.  And it was this: he was kind to the very poor.  The fact
is, that the lad was always either in pursuit of game, as he chose to
call even rabbits, or fishing from his skiff or from the rocks, so
that he had generally more than sufficed for his own needs and those
of his guardian, whom I shall presently introduce to you.  So when he
appeared at the door of widow M'Donald, M'Leod, or M'Rae, as the case
might be--for they were nearly all Macs thereabout,--you couldn't
have guessed that he was carrying a beautiful string of codling or a
"sonsy" rabbit, so carefully was it concealed in his well-worn and
somewhat tattered plaid.

I am quite sure that Creggan's faithful collie, whose name was Oscar,
quite approved of what his master did; he always looked so pleased,
and sometimes even barked for joy, when Creggan presented those
welcome gifts, and while the recipients called blessings down from
heaven on the boy's curly head.

But not only did the poorest among the crofters, or squatters as they
might have been called, love the winsome, happy-visaged boy, but many
of them looked upon him with a strange mixture of superstition and
awe.  He was supposed to bear a kind of charmed life, because a
mystery hung over his advent which might never, never be cleared up.
For Creggan was an ocean-child in the truest sense of the word.  When
a mere infant he had been found in a small boat which was stranded on
the rock-bound Isle of Kilmara, off the shores of Skye, one morning
after a gale of wind.  In this islet, which indeed is but little more
than a sea-girt rock, he had dwelt for many years with the strange
being who had picked him up half-frozen, and had wooed him back to
life, and became not only a father to him but a tutor as well.

A strange being indeed was old Tomnahurich, the Hermit of Kilmara,
the name by which he was generally known.  Only old people could
remember his coming to and taking possession of the island, which
probably belonged to no one in particular, although in summer-time a
few sheep used to be sent to crop the scanty herbage that grew
thereon.  But one beautiful spring morning,--with snow-white
cloudlets in the blue sky, and a light breeze rippling the Minch,
till from the mainland of Skye it looked like some mighty river
rolling onwards and north 'twixt the Outer and Inner Hebrides,--some
fisher-lads on landing were confronted by a tall, brown-bearded
stranger, dressed in seaman's clothes, and with a cast of countenance
and bearing that showed he was every inch a sailor.  He had come out
from a cave, and into this, with smiles and nods and talking in the
purest of Gaelic, he had invited the young fellows.  They found a
fire burning here, and fish boiling; there was a rude bench, several
stools, and various articles of culinary utility, to say nothing of a
row of brown stone bottles, the contents of one of which he begged
them to taste.

But where the hermit had come from, or how or why he had come, nobody
could tell, and he never even referred to his own history.

He had ceased to dwell in the cave after a time, and with wood from a
shipwrecked barque he had built himself, in a sheltered corner, a
most substantial though very uncouth kind of a dwelling-hut.  As the
time went on, silver threads had begun to appear in the brown of the
hermit's beard; and now it was nearly white.  He was apparently as
strong and sturdy as ever, notwithstanding the wintryness of his
hair, and the boy loved his strange guardian far more than any friend
he had, and was never so happy anywhere as at the rude fireside of
his island home.

We never think of what Fate may have in store for us, especially when
we are young, nor at what particular date fortune's tide may be going
to flow for us.

This morning, for instance, when Creggan came on shore with Oscar, he
had no idea that anything particular was going to happen.  He had
first and foremost drawn up his little boat--the very skiff it was in
which he had been cradled on the billowy ocean,--then gone straight
away up to the manse.  Here he was a great favourite, and M'Ian, the
kind-hearted minister, had for years been his teacher, educating the
boy with his own two children, Rory and Maggie, both his juniors.

I am not going to say that Creggan was more clever than children of
his age usually are, but as the instruction he received was given
gratuitously or for love, he felt it to be his bounden duty to learn
all he could so as to gratify his teacher.

His English was therefore exceptionally good already, and he had made
good progress in geography, history, arithmetic, and knew the first
two books of Euclid; and he could even prattle in French, which he
had learned from the hermit.  It was usual for Creggan to spend an
hour or two playing with Rory and little winsome Maggie, after
lessons, but to-day they were going with their father to the distant
town of Portree, so, after bidding them good-bye he shouldered his
little gun, a gift from M'Ian, and, whistling for Oscar, went off to
the cairns to find a rabbit or two.

The cairns where the rabbits dwelt were small rounded hills about a
quarter of a mile inland from the wild cliffs that frowned over the
deep, dark sea.  These knolls were everywhere covered with stones,
and hundreds of wild rabbits played about among these.  But no sooner
had Creggan shot just one than the rest disappeared into their
burrows as if by magic.  The boy had plenty of patience, however, so
he simply lay down and began to read.  Not to study, though.  His
school-books he had left in the graveyard on an old tombstone, and
near to the last resting-place of the romantic Flora M'Donald, the
lady who had saved the unfortunate Prince Charlie Stuart.

After half an hour he secured two more rabbits, and as the sun began
to wester, he strolled slowly backwards towards the spot where he had
beached his boat, with no intention, however, of putting out to sea
for some little time.

With the exception of his school-books poor Creggan's library was
wonderfully small, and his literature was nearly always borrowed or
given to him.  For instance, even in the most squalid huts he had
often found books that gave him no end of pleasure.  They were mostly
in the grand old Gaelic; but Creggan could read the language well,
and in the long dark forenights of winter he used to delight the old
hermit by trotting out the mysterious and Homeric-like lines of
Ossian's poems.  Then tourists, to whom he acted in the capacity of
guide in summer-time, sometimes gave him a book, and M'Ian's library
was always at his service.

So to-day he had thrown himself on his face on the green cliff-top,
and had commenced to read his Ossian.

What a glorious summer afternoon!  There was the blue Minch asleep in
the sunshine, and stretching away and away far over to the hazy hills
of Harris and Lewis.  White gulls were floating on its billows close
inshore, or wheeling high in air around the stupendous cliffs, where
their nests were,--their plaintive, melancholy notes mingling with
the song of the lark, the mavis, and the merle, while the solemn boom
of the breaking waves made a sweet but awful diapason.

The air all around was warm and balmy, and laden with the sweet
breath of wild thyme.

And Creggan M'Vayne was just reading one of his favourite, because
most romantic passages, when the dry and business-like tones of
Elliott Nugent fell upon his ear.  Beautiful, indeed, did the boy
consider every line of that wild and weird poem _Carric-Thura_.  The
ghost scene therein made him shudder; but it was the death of the
lovers on the field of battle--the death of Connal and Crimora that
affected him most.  She had given him his arms with sad and woesome
foreboding, but at the same time had determined to follow him into
the fight.

_Here was the din of arms; here the groans of the dying.  Bloody are
the wars of Fingal, O Connal, and it was here thou didst fall!  Thine
arm was like a storm; thy sword a beam of the sky; thy height a rock
upon the plain; thine eyes a furnace of fire.  Warriors fell by thy
sword as the thistles by the staff of a boy.  Then Dargo the mighty
came on, darkening in his wrath._

_Bright rose their swords on each side; loud was the clang of their
steel._

_But Crimora was near, bright in the armour of man.  Her yellow hair
is loose behind, her bow is in her hand._

_She drew the string on Dargo; but--erring--she pierced her Connal.
He falls like an oak on the plain; like a rock from the shaggy hill.
What now can she do, O hapless maiden?  See how he bleeds, her Connal
dies!_

_All night long she weeps and all the livelong day.  O Connal, O
Connal, my love and my friend!_

But with grief the maiden dies, and in the same grave they sleep.
Undisturbed they now sleep together; in the tomb on the mountain they
rest alone, and the wind sighs through the long green grass that
grows twixt the stones of the grave.

_Autumn is dark on the mountains; gray mists rest on the hills.  Dark
rolls the river through the narrow plain.  A tree stands alone on the
hill and marks the slumbering Connal.  The leaves whirl round in the
wind and strew the grave of the dead.  Soft be their rest, hapless
children of streamy Loda._

Here Creggan had closed the book with a sigh.

"Boy, are you willing to earn an honest shilling?  Keep back that
dog, please!"

The boy had sprung to his feet and seized the all-too-impetuous Oscar
by the collar.

Nugent's appearance was somewhat out of keeping with the grandeur of
the scenery around him.  Thin and wan he was, with close-trimmed
whiskers turning to gray, a London coat, and a soft felt hat.

"Earn a shilling, sir?"

"I said earn a shilling, an honest shilling.  But perhaps you are
above that sort of thing.  You Skye Highlanders are, as a rule, so
lazy."

"Thank you, sir, but I am not a Skyeman, though I should not be
ashamed to be.  I was born on the high seas, and I have neither
mother nor father."

Nugent's voice softened at once.  His whole bearing was altered.

"Poor boy!" he said.  "I fear I talked harshly.  But come, we were
directed here by an old man who told us you could guide us over the
mountains inland.  My wife is an artist, and wants to make a sketch
or two.  See, yonder she comes, and my little daughter, Matty.  Come,
you seem to be a superior sort of lad, you shall have half a crown."

"I don't want your money.  I sha'n't touch it.  But if you wait a few
minutes I will guide you to a strange land far away among the hills.
There will just be time to return before sunset."

"And you will take no reward?"

"Oh yes, sir, I will.  I love books.  I would have a book if you
could lend it to me."

"That we will, with pleasure.  I have a boy just about your
age--sixteen, and he lives in books.  You are a little over sixteen,
perhaps?"

Creggan smiled.

"No, sir," he replied, taking off his bonnet now, for Mrs. Nugent and
Matty had come up; "I want some months of fourteen."

"You are a very beautiful Highland boy," said Matty, gazing up at
Creggan with innocent admiration; "and if you is good, mamma will
paint you."

"Hush, dear, hush!" cried the stately mother.

Creggan looked at the child.  He had never seen anyone so lovely
before, not even in Portree.  But there was a little green knoll high
up in a glen that he knew of, on which, as the old people told him,
fairies danced and played in the moonlight.  He had never seen any of
these, though many times and oft he had watched for them.  But he
thought now that Matty must just be like one.

I must confess that there was a small hole in each of the elbows of
Creggan's tweed jacket, but nevertheless when he stepped right up, as
if moved by some sudden impulse and shook Matty's tiny hand, his
bearing was in keeping with the action, and even Nugent himself
admitted afterwards that he looked a perfect little gentleman.

"I wish you were my sister."

That is all he said.

But for the next few minutes very busy was Creggan indeed.

First and foremost he made a flag of his handkerchief and hoisted it
on the end of his gun.  This he waved in the air, until presently an
answering signal could be seen on the distant island.

Then to right and to left, alow and aloft, he made signals with the
flag, much to the delight of little blue-eyed Matty, ending all by
holding his gun perpendicularly and high in air, after which he
turned to his new acquaintances.

"I'm quite ready," he said.

The march towards the mountains was now commenced.  But the road led
past the manse, and thither ran Creggan, returning almost immediately
with a tiny Shetland pony.  This consequential little fellow was
fully caparisoned, with not only a child's saddle but saddle-bags.
Into the latter Mrs. Nugent's sketching-gear was put, and then
Creggan picked Matty up and placed her on the saddle.  Oscar barked,
and the child screamed with joy, as off they headed for the wild
mountains.

* * * * * * * * * * *

High above the blue-gray hills of Harris lay streak on streak of
carmine clouds, with saffron all between, as Creggan's skiff went
dancing over the waves that evening, towards his little island home.
But the boy saw them not, saw nothing in fact till his boat's keel
rasped upon the beach, where his foster-father stood, ready to haul
her up.

For Creggan's thoughts were all with his newly-found friends and the
doings of this eventful day.




CHAPTER II.

THE NIGHT CAME ON BEFORE ITS TIME.

The home of Hermit M'Vayne, which was Creggan's foster-father's real
name, was indeed a strange one.  Situated under the south-western
side of a rock, partly leaning against it, in fact, stood the strong
and sturdy hut.  The sides, and even the roof, were of timber, the
latter thatched with heather and grass; though only one gable was of
stone, and here was the chimney that conducted the smoke from the low
hearth upwards and outwards to the sky.

And night and day around this log-house moaned the wind, for even
when almost calm on the mainland a breeze was blowing here, and ever
and aye on the dark cliff-foot beneath broke and boomed the waves of
the restless Minch.  But when the storm-king rose in his wrath and
went shrieking across the bleak island, the spray from the breakers
was dashed high and white, far over the hut, and would have found its
way down the chimney itself had this not been protected by a moving
cowl.

But I really think that the higher the wind blew, and the louder it
howled, while the waves sullenly boomed and thundered on the rocks
below, the cosier and happier did the hermit and his foster-child
feel within.

Although, strangely enough, the hermit had never as yet told Creggan
the story of his own past life, nor his reasons for settling down on
this sea-girdled little morsel of rock and moorland, still he never
seemed to tire of telling the boy about his adventures on many lands
and many seas, nor did the lad ever weary of listening to these.  And
the wilder they were the better he liked them.

It was on stormy nights, especially in winter, that Creggan's strange
foster-father became most communicative.  But on such nights, before
even the frugal supper was placed upon the board, the hermit felt he
had a duty to perform, and he never neglected it.  For high on a rock
on the centre of the island he had erected a little hollow tower of
stone.  It was in reality a kind of slow-combustion stove filled with
peats and chunks of wood, and with pieces of sea-weed over all.  It
was lit from below, and when the wind blew through the chinks and
crannies, it sent forth a glare that could be seen far and high over
the storm-tossed ocean.  Many a brave brig or barque staggering up
the Minch, and many a fisherman's boat also, on dark and windy nights
had to thank the hermit's beacon-light that warned them off the
Whaleback rocks.

Having set fire to his storm-signal, the old man's work was done for
the day.  Supper finished, a chapter from the Book of Books was read,
then a prayer was prayed--not read from a printed book,--and after
this the inmates of this rude but cosy hut drew their stools more
closely to the fire.  No light was lit if not needed, and indeed it
was seldom necessary, the blazing peats and the crackling logs gave
forth a glare that, though fitful, was far more pleasant to talk by
than any lamp could have been.

Now, Mr. Nugent and his wife had promised to visit Creggan some
evening on his lonely island, and not only Matty but her brother also
were to accompany them.  They did not say when the visit would be
made.  Their lives were as unlike Creggan's as one could possibly
imagine.  They were spending the summer here in Skye, living in a
rough sort of a shanty, which, however, they had furnished themselves
and made exceedingly comfortable; and every day brought them some new
pleasure: boating parties, long journeys over the mountains,
painting, botanizing, or collecting specimens and even fossils, for
on no island in all our possessions, does nature display her stores
on a more liberal scale than in this same wildly romantic Skye.

The afternoon's outing for which they were indebted to young Creggan
Ogg M'Vayne had been pronounced delightful beyond compare.  It was
indeed a strange land they had reached at last, pastoral and poetic
as well.  Bonnie green valleys, watered by many a rippling burn, and
little waterfalls that came trickling down from the rocks, and
studded over with lazy, well-fed cattle and a few sheep.  There were
but two huts here, near-by the banks of a little stream, that went
singing onwards till its brown waters were swallowed up in a small
lake, the surface of which was everywhere wrinkled by sportive trout,
leaping high to catch gnats or midges even in the air.

The Nugents were surprised, but charmed to find that the tiny
encampment was inhabited only by sturdy bare-footed, bare-headed
lassies, who were here to tend the cows, and to make butter and
cheese, which would afterwards be sold at the distant market town of
Portree.

Creggan had to be interpreter, for never a word of English had these
girls to bless themselves in.

And Mrs. Nugent stayed long enough to make several delightful
sketches in water-colours, over which the lassies went into raptures.
The clouds in the blue sky, the distant peeps of ocean, with here and
there a little sail, the darkling rocks, the mountain peaks, and
nearer still in the foreground, the foaming linns, the green braes,
and the beautiful cows, with their attendants, all came out on the
paper by the magic touch of the artist's brush.

Long before they had once more reached the cliffs by the sea that
night, Matty and Creggan seemed to have established a friendship as
frank and free as if they had known each other for many and many a
year.  Then good-byes had been said, and the promise given by Mr.
Nugent to come out to the island some afternoon, or to take it in
their way home from the far-off island of Harris.  But a fortnight
passed by and they had not yet appeared.  Nor, although he thought
about them, and especially about Matty, times without number, had
Creggan seen them even at a distance.

One afternoon, the boy in his skiff returned home much sooner than
usual.

It is not in winter only that wild storms sweep up or down or across
the Minch, for even in summer, and suddenly too, gales arise, and
while, as far as eye can see, the Atlantic is one wide chaos of
broken and foaming water, the cliffs and hills seem shaken to their
rude foundations by wind and wave.  Yet speedily as such tempests
come, there are generally indications beforehand that tell the
fishermen abroad in their open boats that they must run quickly for
the nearest shelter, if dear life itself is to be saved.

"Right glad to see you, lad," said the hermit, as he helped Creggan
to secure his boat high and dry behind a rock, where, blow as it
might, nothing could damage her.

"You think it is going to blow, Daddy?"

"Aye, sonny, that it is.  Night will come on, too, long hours before
its time.  Ah, boy, we'll have to pray for those at sea to-night!  I
hope your friends will not think of leaving Lewis."

"You have seen them, father?"

"Aye, boy, aye.  They passed the island almost within hail of me, in
a half-deck boat, which I think must have been hired at Portree."

"And was little Matty there?"

"Yes, lad, and her father and mother, and a boy older than
you--though not so brave-looking."

The old hermit put his hand fondly on young Creggan's curly head as
he spoke.  No father could have been fonder of a son than was he of
this motherless bairn.

"But, dear boy, you haven't come empty-handed, I see."

"No; I never had a better forenoon among the trout.  Look!"

From under a thwart of the boat forward, Creggan lugged forth and
held up for admiration, a string of crimson-spotted mountain trout
that would have caused many a Cockney sportsman to bite his lips with
envy.

The old man smiled, patted the boy once again, then hand in
hand--such was their habit--they took their way along the winding
path which led to the hut.

Oscar had been at home all day, but he now came bounding out with
many a joyous bark, to welcome his master back.  More quietly, too,
though none the less sincerely did Gilbert, a huge, red tabby cat,
bid the boy welcome, rubbing his great head against Creggan's
stocking and purring loudly, while from the inner recesses of the hut
a voice could be heard shouting:

"_Come in, Creggan!  Come in, come in!_"

It was the voice of no human being, however, but that of a beautiful
gray parrot, who had been the hermit's companion since ever he had
taken up his residence on this little isle of the ocean.

The afternoon wore away quickly enough, as afternoons always do when
one is busy.  And Creggan had hooks to busk, and his foster-father
was busy mending nets.

But the sun set at last, in lurid fiery clouds, over the hills of
Harris, and soon after those very clouds, dark and threatening now,
began to bank up and roll forward over the sea, on the wings of a
moaning wind, shortening the twilight and obscuring the rising stars
that had already begun to twinkle in the east.

The beacon had not been lit for many weeks, but to-night the hermit
seemed to take extra pains with it, and as soon as the shadows of
night fell over the sea its red glimmer shone far over the darkling
waves, on which already white horses had begun to appear.

Bleak and cold blew the wind, too, for in these northern climes
summer is not always the synonym for warmth of weather.

But supper and prayers over, the two Crusoes, as we well might term
them, drew closer round the fire.  Even Polly asserted her right to
join the circle.

"_Poor Polly!_" she cried; "_poor dear old, old Polly!  Polly wants
to come!_"

Then Creggan carried her cage forward and placed it in a corner,
where the firelight might dance and flicker on it.  Collie curled up
in front of the fire, and close beside him Gibbie the cat sat down.
And before seating himself near to his foster-father's big
easy-chair, the boy handed him his pipe, and not that alone, but a
fine old fiddle that he took from a green baize bag which hung upon
the wall.

"And now," said Creggan; "now, dear Daddy, I feel just very happy,
but I'm not quite sure yet what I shall make you do.  You shall sing,
anyhow, over the fiddle, some fine old sea-song, father, that will
bring right up before me all the romance of your early days, just as
this little book of Ossian's poems makes me think I am living in the
olden times, and can hear the clang and crash of battle, or the sweet
notes of harps sounding low and sweet in halls by the stormy sea."

"Verily, boy, you are a poet yourself.  Ah, lad, when you enter life
all will be stern reality!"

"I never want to enter life, Daddy dear; I want always, always to be
here with you on our own little island home.  But listen, Daddy, was
that not a scream?  There again?"

"Nay, boy, nay, it is but the cry of some storm-frightened night-bird
rising shrill and high over the wail of the wind and dash of the
waves.  Yet may Heaven in its mercy protect any craft on a lee shore
to-night!"

But Creggan felt uneasy, and for quite a long time he sat in silence,
while the hermit, gazing quietly into the blazing fire as he smoked,
seemed to recall many a strange event in his former life.

Suddenly Creggan sprang up.  He had keen ears.  The dog ran towards
the door at the same time, barking aloud.

For adown the wind, twice repeated, had floated the sharp sound of a
rifle or gun.

"Oh, Daddy," cried Creggan, now pale with agitation, "some ship or
boat is on the Whaleback rocks out yonder!  That was a signal of
distress."

"Then, boy, we must give all the assistance in our power, and if in
doing so we die, we shall die doing our duty.  Light the great
hurricane-lamp.  Keep calm, lad; while there is life there is hope."

Next minute both stood together on the edge of the cliff that pointed
nor'ard and west, while behind them on a pole was fixed the
hurricane-lamp.

What a wild turmoil of a sea was down below.  As each white wave
dashed against the beetling rocks, high upwards almost to their feet
rose the singing seething water.  But at present the sky was not
wholly overcast.  There were rifts among the scudding, hurrying
clouds, and now and then the moon shone through.

"Look!  look!" cried Creggan.  "Can you see it, Daddy?  High and dark
on Lorna's rock!  The boat, the boat, with the waves sweeping past
and over it!"

The hermit passed his hand across his brow and eyes, and strained
forward to gaze into the darkness.

Just then the moon cast a pale glimmer across the waves, and every
line of the stranded boat stood darkling out against a background of
white and stormy water.

The old man shuddered.

"Heaven be near to help us, boy," he cried, "but yonder is the
Nugents' boat!"




CHAPTER III.

THE STORM.

Never would I dare to detract from the glory and honour that hangs,
halo-like, around the memory of one of our nation's heroines--poor
Grace Darling; but there are deeds done along the shores of this land
of ours every winter, ay, and every summer too, that, although they
shine not in story, are as bravely undertaken and as courageously
carried out as that rescue at the Longstone lighthouse.

Though the hermit was white as to hair, though his beard flowed
backwards now in the breeze like a silver stream as he stood in the
glare of the hurricane-lamp, he was not an aged man.  Every limb was
straight, every muscle was strong, and his lowered brows nearly hid
eyes that burned like living coals as he stood there on the
cliff-top, pointing towards the doomed and stranded boat.

"Creggan, my lad," he cried, "we may not be able to save a single
life, but our duty lies plain before us--we shall try!"

He unfastened the lamp and swung it to and fro for a spell, as if to
give heart to those on board, then hastened with it down to the
beach, closely followed by Creggan.

Not only was there here, in a little rock-bound cove, Creggan's own
skiff, but one of far broader beam, one with a sturdy keel, and
encircled as to its outside with a great and thick band of cork.  The
old man called it his lifeboat, and it had done duty more than once
before, but never perhaps on so wild and stormy a night as this.

It was quickly launched now, and, being to the manner born, Creggan
seized the tiller and the hermit took the oars.

Every rock around the islet was well-known to both.  The lamp was
hung aloft on a morsel of mast that was stepped near to the fore
thwart, and cast its red glare on the seas ahead as well as on the
faces of these daring heroes.

Once beyond the protection of the black jutting rocks, it was all
that M'Vayne could do--strong though his arms were--to keep the boat
from broaching-to, but soon he got weigh on her and then the rudder
told.

But how the wind howled, and how the seething, angry waves dashed
over them!  Sometimes the bows were tossed clean out of the water,
and it seemed for a second or two that she would go down stem first
into the trough of the sea; and as that wave went racing past her,
down dashed the bows again with a slapping sound that could be heard
high over the roar of the wind.

[Illustration: CREGGAN KEPT THE BOAT HEAD-ON TO EACH THREATENING WAVE]

Not a word was spoken.  Not a word could have been heard in the
turmoil, unless it were shrieked.  Yet Creggan knew enough to keep
her head on to each advancing, threatening wave.  Neither the fury of
the tempest nor the anger of the curling waves frightened him.  He
felt in that state of exultation which danger never fails to raise in
the hearts of the truly brave, and beside which fear finds no place.

So sturdily did the hermit row, that in less than twenty minutes'
time--and this did not seem long--the boat was well to windward of
the stranded craft.

The danger now was great.  To bear down on the wave-tops and get
alongside seemed almost a hopeless task.

But although she shipped some water she came bravely round, and went
heading inland now, like a bird adrift on the ocean tide.

The Skyemen on board the stranded craft saw her, and did not require
to be told to throw a rope.  Next minute it seemed--so quickly did
the minutes fly--that the tiny lifeboat was alongside and fast.

"Quick now!" shouted the hermit.  "Lower down the ladies and the boy.
We can only manage three.  Bear a hand, my lads.  Bear a hand!"

It seemed in answer to the hermit's prayers that at this moment a
lull in the storm took place, and the moon shone out bright and clear
over the tempestuous sea.

Nevertheless, the labour of getting the trembling lady and frightened
little Matty on board was most dangerous, and had to be undertaken
with the greatest caution.

Nugent shouted to his son Willie to go next, but the brave boy
positively refused to get over the side until the boat returned from
the shore when his father had landed.  His father must go first, he
said.

She did return, and then took off young Nugent and two seamen, all
she could stow away with safety.  There was but one man left in the
lugger now.

Alas, for his fate!

Just as M'Vayne's boat was once more leaving the beach, a heavier
squall than any that yet had swept over the sea dashed her back and
beached her.  When the wind subsided somewhat she was once more
launched, but had not proceeded far from the shore when she found
herself surrounded by wreckage.

Just for one moment, in the side of a darkling wave and in a glimpse
of moonlight, a white face could be seen and a raised arm.

That was all, and the unfortunate fisherman's body was never found.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Everything possible was done for the comfort of Matty and her mother
and father.  A bigger fire was made up, and from his cupboard,
honest, kind-hearted Tomnahurich brought forth refreshments for them
as they sat before the roaring fire to get dry and warm.  The hermit
even made tea for his guests, a luxury he seldom indulged in himself,
or Creggan either.  Then he said "Good-night", blessed them in his
semi-patriarchal kind of way, and left with Willie Nugent.  They
reached the bottom of the cliff by the zigzag path safely enough,
though the spray dashed over them in sheets of white and blinding
foam.  It was indeed a fearful night.

The boat had already been secured, and when they entered the cave
they found that a good fire had already been lit by Creggan, and was
roaring up the rude chimney that led into a cleft in the rocks.

For a long time the hermit, with the two seamen and Willie and
Creggan, sat around the fire, talking low during a lull in the storm,
or remaining silent and awe-struck when the huge waves boomed and
crashed against the rocks, seeming to shake the very island to its
foundations.

Sorrow induces sleep, and at last all turned in on beds of heather,
and the events of this terrible night were forgotten.

Morning broke, bright and clear, but still the storm raged on.

Skyemen, like most Highlanders, are very superstitious, and one of
these honest fishermen declared that he had slept but little, for
every now and then he had heard poor Matheson--the drowned
sailor--calling, calling, calling from the deep.

The hermit assured him that it was but the scream of the frightened
sea-birds.

"Och and och no, Mr. Tomnahurich.  Mind you, I'll no be sayin' it was
Matheson himself--it was his wraith, sure and sure enough!"

Prayers were row said, and a hymn sung to that beautiful old melody
called "Martyrdom", the hermit leading with his clear and manly
voice, which many a night, when far at sea, had been heard high over
the raging storm and the dash of angry seas:--

  "Take comfort, Christians, when your friends
    In Jesus fall asleep;
  Their better being never ends:
    Why then dejected weep?

  "Why inconsolable as those
    To whom no hope is given?
  Death is the messenger of peace,
    And calls the soul to heaven."


All seemed more cheerful after this, and breakfast was cooked and
eaten with relish.

Then the hermit and the two boys, who were already great friends,
ascended the cliff.  They met Nugent, and were glad to hear that
Matty and her mother were well and happy.  They had been told nothing
about the lost sailor.

"There will be no getting on shore to-day, I fear," said Mr Nugent.

The hermit shook his head and pointed to the seething sea, on which
white horses[1] were riding.


[1] White horses=the spume on the breaking waves.


"No, sir, no," he said; "but we have plenty of food and plenty of
fire.  Heaven be praised!"

Tomnahurich all that day laid himself out to please his guests.  He
did all the cooking himself; and the food was by no means to be
despised, for the old man was plentifully supplied with stores from
shore, Creggan being the purchaser.  Well, they had fish and bacon,
and the eggs of sea-birds, so beautiful in colour and markings that
Nugent said it was almost a sin to break them.  The fish were of the
best, for off the rocks mullet can be caught with rod and line.  Rock
pigs these delightful little seafarers are called.

They had potatoes, butter, and, last but not least, beautiful
lobsters.  What more could anyone expect on a hermit's isle?

When the sun went down the storm lulled somewhat, but it was thought
advisable to remain one more night on the island.

After an early supper in the hut, and, the cave also, where the
fishermen remained as troglodytes--if you don't know this word, dear
young reader, take your dictionary and look it up;--after an early
supper, I say, the hermit went down the cliff and returned soon.

"I'm going to bring up my wife," he said with a quiet smile.

"Your wife, Mr. M'Vayne!" cried Mrs. Nugent in astonishment.  "Have
you a wife, then?  We will be delighted to see her."

"That you shall, and hear her too.  Her voice is sweetness itself."

There was a roguish smile playing about his eyes as he departed.

Creggan was in a corner near the fire talking low to Matty, Pussy was
curled up beside Collie (Oscar), and Polly was making droll remarks
to all, when Tomnahurich entered with his "wife".

He carried her in a green baize bag.  A strange place to stow away a
wife in, it must be admitted.

"Have you brought Mrs. M'Vayne?"

"Yes," said the hermit, "and here she is!"

As he spoke he opened the green baize bag, and pulled out his Cremona
fiddle.

He smiled, but he sighed as well.  "Och hey!" he said; "this is the
only wife I have now!"

But sweet was the music he brought from that old fiddle.  Sweet and
plaintive at first.  Then he sang over it,--grand old sea-songs in
which his listeners could fancy they heard the "coo" and the "moan"
of the waves, as they dashed along the quarter of some gallant ship,
far, far at sea.

Then looking up, and thinking he was making the young folks a trifle
_triste_ or sad, he burst into such a rattling cheery sailor's
hornpipe, that the children laughed aloud in spite of themselves,
while Polly danced for joy on her perch, uttering every now and then
that real Irish "whoop!" which used to be heard at Donnybrook Fair.

* * * * * * * * * * *

That evening, as all sat in a wide circle around the fire-peats and
wood, and after a momentary lull in the conversation, Mrs. Nugent
addressed the hermit.

"Mr. M'Vayne," she said, "I noticed that you sighed deeply when you
took your violin from its bag.  Now, I know yours may be a sad story,
but will you not tell it to us?"

"Oh, tell us a stoly!" cried bonnie Matty, clapping her tiny hands.

"I have never told my story to anyone hereabouts yet," said the
hermit; "not even to my sonny, Creggan Ogg.  But," he added, "when
ladies ask, what can I do but obey."

"Well, light your pipe."

"May I?"

"Certainly."

The hermit smoked for a minute or two, looking into the fire, as if
to renovate his memories of the past.

Then he began.




CHAPTER IV.

STORY OF THE SKYE CLEARINGS.

"I must be brief, madam," the hermit began, as he glanced at a little
"wag-at-the-wa'",[1] "for night comes on apace."


[1] A small clock, with weights and pendulum exposed, that is hung
against the wall.


"I was born, then, in Skye, and not fifty miles from the spot where I
and Creggan here now live."

"You were born in Skye," interrupted Mrs. Nugent, "and yet you never
go on shore!"

"Ah, madam! there is a reason for that, which I will presently tell
you.  But for just one day I shall go, I hope, before I die, and
visit a green and lonesome grave close to the cliffs where the
sea-birds scream, and where, for ever and for aye, one can hear the
moan of the waves--the sweet, sad song of the sea.

"I was born in a beautiful glen, and down near to the beach was my
father's cottage, only one of many that clustered here and there,
forming a village without either street or lane, and more like the
towns one sees in Madagascar than anything else.  We were all poor
enough, goodness knows, but still we were happy.  Our farms were mere
crofts, and we tilled only the tops of the ridge with the wooden
plough, or what is called the crooked spade.  We paid but little
rent, it is true, but our wants were easily satisfied.  We were
called lazy by visitors who in summer passed through the glen.  We
were not.  For well we knew that if we improved our land as some did,
the grasping landlord would at once raise our rent.

"We were--and many Skyemen are to this day--in a condition of
serfdom.  The old feudal system still existed, and we had even to
leave our own corn standing until we cut down and stooked that on the
minister's large and beautiful glebe.  For this we received nothing,
and often before we were finished at the manse, a wild, wet storm
would come on and our own little patches of grain would be spoiled.

"So far was feudalism carried, that the first and choicest of the
fish we caught, whether mullet or saith or codling, had to be given
to the minister, and the best of the crabs and lobsters also.  In
return for this the minister visited the sick, with medicine in his
pocket--salts and senna or a nauseous pill.  But he never brought
food.  And many an old man or woman, aye, and many an innocent child
died, not of disease, but of sheer starvation, although the
minister's barns and stackyards, and the landlord's also, were full
to overflowing.

"It was not from choice that we dwelt in those windowless huts, with
a raised stone in the centre, around which the fire was built, with
simply a hole in the roof to let out the eye-racking smoke when it
chose to go.

"But in dark, dreary winters those roof-holes not only permitted a
little smoke to escape, but the snow to drift in.  The soft, powdery
snow also sifted in under the door, and through the apertures in the
eaves which did duty as windows.

"It was no uncommon thing for some of these huts to be entirely
buried in the snow.  When one or two neighbours escaped they dug the
rest out.  For water we often had to melt the snow.

"Food?  Well, madam, in summer we were not so badly off; we had
oatmeal and fish and a herring harvest.  But in some icy winters,
when we couldn't launch a boat, and when fishing from the rocks was
useless, as the mullet refused to bite, we lived principally on
oatmeal--often bad at the best,--and limpets that we gathered from
the great black rocks when the tide was back.  They are poor eating,
but we gathered dulse from the boulders, roasted it with a red-hot
poker, and ate it with the limpets.  At every door you would have
seen a large pile of empty limpet-shells, that told of the poverty
within.

"My father's hut was one of two rooms.  Our two cows were turned into
one at night and we occupied the other.  There were many other huts
with two rooms and a cow, or perhaps more than one.  Often the
dividing partition between the cow's room and the family apartment
was but a few ragged old Highland plaids hung upon a rope.

"They used to say that the breath of the kine and the smoke were
healthy, and kept us all strong and hardy.  Well, as a boy I
preferred the fresh air.  I got plenty of this, because every day it
was my duty to collect all the cattle in the village, after they had
been milked, and, assisted by two honest collie dogs, drive them far
away to the uplands for pasture.  Would you believe it, madam, that
even this privilege was finally taken from us, and there being but
little herbage in the glen, many of us had to take our cows to
Portree and sell them?  Yes, our homes were miserable enough; but
still they were homes, and we dearly loved them--loved the seas that
swept the craggy shores, loved the green braes, the rocks and cliffs,
and the grand old hills that frowned brown o'er all the scene.  For
home is home, be it ever so humble.

"Well, I grew up to manhood.  Both father and mother were now dead,
and when one day the neighbours saw me and some friends start
building a better sort of hut, they smiled to each other, nodded and
winked.  They knew what was coming.  True enough, for I loved sweet
Mary Gray as I believe only Highlanders can love.  I won't bother you
with this part of my history.  But I just went on building my house.
You see it was like this, madam.  Many of the lads of the glen went
every year to the herring-fishery at Peterhead, and thus we saved a
little money; why, I even got real glass windows from Portree, and
had a real chimney in my hut, chairs, and a good bed.  I built also a
byre for my two cows, so that I was considered the richest man in the
glen.

"Then one day Mary and I got married, and I'm sure that when we were
settled in our home there was no more happy couple in all the glen,
or in any other glen.  I had no ambition then.  I only wanted to live
and die in our cottage by the sea.  And I used to take down my
fiddle, a gift from an Englishman whom I had saved from drowning, and
sing over it such love ditties as this."

And the hermit played:

  "O, whar was ye sae[2] late yestreen,
    My bonnie Jeannie Gray?
  Your mither missed you late at e'en,
    And eke at break o' day."

  * * * * * * * *

  "Dear sister, sit ye doon by me,
    And let nae body ken,
  For I hae promised late yestreen
    To wed young Jamie Glen."



[2] To English boys.  'Sae' and 'hae' are pronounced 'say' and 'hay',
and in all Scotch words ending in '-ae' the 'ae' sounds like 'ay'.


"Well, time wore on; a year and a half--Oh, what a happy time!  Then
a beautiful child saw the light of day, and our joy was trebled.  But
about three months after this came a bolt from the blue--an order
that every man, woman, and child was to clear out of the glen.

"We would have a free passage to America, but the glen was wanted as
a sheep-farm.

"What wailing and anguish there was now in every hut and hamlet!

"But the men were furious.  They would take no notice of the cowardly
edict.  They could not, would not, leave their Highlands.

"Another month went past, and then half a dozen men from Portree
arrived with summonses and delivered them.  These long blue letters
were torn from their hands, rent in pieces, and thrown fluttering on
the breeze.  The men tried to use their sticks.  There was a battle,
but a brief one.  The minions of an unjust law were soundly thrashed,
and two were thrown into a pond.  They were glad to get away with
their lives, I think.

"Police were sent next, and a more terrible fight ensued.  Many of
our brave glensmen were wounded, but eventually this enemy also had
to beat a speedy retreat.

"Nothing more happened for three weeks, and we were beginning to
think we should be left in the peaceful possession of our bonnie
glen.  But one day, much to our surprise, a small steamer cast anchor
in the bay, and on her deck were redcoats.  Alas!  I knew now the
grief had come.  But still we determined to resist to the bitter end.
Bitter it was bound to be, for it was a cold, bleak day in early
winter.

"We speedily placed heaps of stones where they would be handiest.

"The fight lasted till nearly darkling.  We kept well beyond reach of
the fixed bayonets, and battered the soldiers severely with stones.
Again and again the order was given to charge.  But these fellows
might as well have tried to follow Highland deer on foot as lithe and
active Skyemen like us.

"At last the order was given to fire, and two of our poor fellows
were stretched bleeding on the grass.

"The end had come.  What is a stone-armed mob against soldiers with
ball cartridge!

"So we gave in, and I myself advanced with a white rag tied to my
stick as a flag of truce.

"But the officer in charge was furious.  He must do his duty, he
said.  He had dallied too long.  Out we must turn.  He would give us
an hour to save any small articles we valued, no more.

"Oh, madam, fancy the sadness of that night!  The old, the young, and
the infirm were turned forth into the bleak cold of a wind-swept
glen.  The sick were carried out in blankets, and put down on the
bare green braes to die or to live.

"Then at midnight every hamlet was fired, and the glen was lit up by
a blood-red blaze that tipped even the distant hills with carmine,
while tongues of flame, mounting every moment higher and higher,
seemed to lick up the rolling clouds of smoke, while showers of
sparks, thick as flakes of snow in a winter's storm, were carried far
away to leeward.

"I was dazed.  I knew not what to do.  I knelt beside my poor Mary,
but she spoke not.  How cold her hand was!  And her face.  'Ah,' I
shrieked, 'my wife, my wife is dead!'

"I remember nothing more.  I had fainted, but in the dusk of the
morning I recovered my senses.  Not only was Mary dead, but poor baby
had rolled over her on to the grass, and there lay stark and stiff."

Tears were trickling down the hermit's cheeks, and it was some time
before he felt fit to continue his story.

"Ah, madam," he said, "that was a sad morning.  The people of the
glen, I could just see, were all loaded on to that steamer, which was
to bear them away, far away across the broad Atlantic.  I could hear
their weeping and wailing, I could see the women wringing their hands
and the men tearing their hair as they gazed on the land they should
never see again.  The soldiers, too, were on board, and steam up.
Speedily she rounded the cape, and I was left alone with the dead.

"All that day I lay beside Mary and baby, and all the next bleak,
cold night.  The people that crowded in kindness to the deserted glen
could not get me to move.

"But next day I consented to have my darlings buried.

"And there they lie, and my heart lies also in that shallow grave.

"Since then, madam, and until I came to this island, my life has been
one of constant wandering by land and on the sea.  I am a good
sailor, but I have also been gold-miner, treasure-hunter, and
pearl-fisher by turns.  Anything that could give me excitement and
help me to forget was new life to me, so my career has been a
chequered one.

"I have made a little money, and that is safe.  But at long last an
indescribable longing to visit dear old Skye seized me, and I
returned to Glasgow.  Here I bought a boat, and having been offered a
passage as far as Skye in a sailing ship, which, however, did not
mean to put in there, I gladly accepted it, buying stores, &c., and
feeling that if it were possible I should get a site for a house
however humble, and live once more near to baby's and Mary's lonely
grave.

"Well, my heart failed me at the last moment, and when the kindly
skipper lowered my boat and stores and bade me farewell, instead of
rowing to the glen I landed here with my parrot.  And here I have
been ever since, and here I may remain, madam, till God calls me.  I
am willing to live, but I am also ready to die.

"And my sonny here,"--he put an arm over Creggan's shoulder as he
spoke,--"who came to me in so strange a way, and has been such
comfort to me, he, I say, must go out into life soon and see the
world.

"Hush, lad, hush!  You must have a career--you must be a sailor!

"Why," he added, "you may yet clear up the mystery of your childhood.
But come, children, I fear I have saddened you;" and once more this
strange mortal put his fiddle under his chin, and dashed off into one
of the maddest, merriest airs the Nugents had ever listened to.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Next morning all the hermits were landed, Matty being delighted
because Creggan took her, and her only, in his skiff.

It was a lovely day now, blue sky above and rippling waves beneath
and around, that broke in long white lisping lines on the beach where
they landed.

M'Ian and Creggan's two playmates, Rory and Maggie, were delighted to
see them all.  Their anxiety had been very great, for pieces of
wreckage had been washed up on the beach, and they believed that
every soul on board the lugger had perished.  They dined at the
manse, and afterwards Nugent took Creggan aside.

"Come with me for a walk, my boy.  I have something to say to you,
but I must have you all alone."

So off they went, down along the cliffs, and at last seated
themselves on the grass, high above the blue Minch, the summer
sunshine sparkling on the sea, and the soft summer wind perfumed with
the odour of wild thyme.




CHAPTER V.

A TERRIBLE ADVENTURE.

Mr. Nugent sat down among the wild thyme, and beckoned to Creggan to
follow his example.

Then he lit a huge meerschaum, and smoked in silence for a time,
gazing thoughtfully far over the Minch at the mountains of Harris,
that lay like clouds of blue on the horizon.

"Now boy," he said at last, "I'm a plain-spoken man.  You were
instrumental in saving my life, my wife's, and dear Matty's.  How can
I reward you?  Not with money, I know.  You couldn't have lived so
long in Skye without being proud."

He smiled as he spoke, afraid apparently of offending the brave and
spirited lad.

"Well, sir, I don't want any reward at all, I only did my duty, and
the hermit has often told me that when I clearly saw my duty, I was
to go straight for it, through thick and thin.  But, sir--"

He paused, looking shy.

"Well, lad?"

"You may lend me a book to read."

Mr. Nugent took his pipe out of his mouth to laugh aloud.

"A book, my boy!  A book for saving all our lives!  Ha, ha, ha!  This
is really too amusing.

"But, tell me," he added, "what you would like to be?"

"Nothing at all.  Just live on the island with Daddy."

"Nonsense, that will never do."

"Well, sir, I suppose I must leave Daddy and Oscar, but if I do, I
shall go to sea, before the mast."

"That will never do either.  Now, your hermit Daddy told me that he
had gold, and that all was yours.  I have not very much gold, but,
lad, I have influence, much influence, and it is into the Royal Navy
you must go as a brave cadet, and if you keep up your self-respect
and never give way to temptations, I feel certain your career will be
a brilliant one.  What do you say?"

There was a big lump in Creggan's throat, and as he gazed across the
Minch he could see his dear island home only through a mist of tears.

But he turned bravely round and said to Nugent:

"Thank you, sir; I will go into the navy and try to do my duty."

"Well, that is spoken right manfully.  Leave all the rest to me.  All
you have got to do is to continue your studies; but take plenty of
open air exercise as well, for in the service they like strong hardy
boys."

Then he shook hands with Creggan and rose to go.

"We will be three weeks longer in this wild and romantic island, and
during that time you'll be our guide, won't you?"

"That I will, sir," said Creggan, his eyes all in a sparkle now.
"I'll show you everything, and Matty can always ride on the Shetland
pony.  Can't she?"

"You young rascal," replied Mr. Nugent laughing.  "I believe you have
fallen in love with my little Matty!"

Creggan blushed, but spoke out straightforwardly.

"I don't know about love, sir.  I love Oscar and Daddy, but I like
Matty so very, very much.  To be sure she is a child; but she is
pretty, and talks just like a linnet."

"Well, well, boy, the sea will soon drive all that out of your
noddle."

So they parted, and soon Creggan's little skiff was dancing over the
wavelets, her prow turned towards Kilmara.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Dear boy readers, I hope that many of you will one day visit the
Island of Wings--Skye.  I've travelled the world around, but I have
never yet landed on a wilder or more romantic island.  I have no idea
of describing the grandeur of its scenery.  Walter Scott himself were
he alive could not do that; but if I now close my eyes just for a
moment, it rises before me, its mountains towering far into the blue
of the skies; its thousand-feet-high cliffs; its bonnie bosky glens;
its long stretches of heath-clad moorland; its streams; its torrents;
its castles, mostly ruins, that carry the thoughts back and away into
the long forgotten feudal past; and, last but not least, its dark
tarns or lochs, and the awful desolation of some of its cañons.

But independent of the wildness of its scenery, Skye is not only a
man's paradise as regards sport, but a boy's as well, if he is fond
of fishing.  The dark lakes abound in trout, and all around the
island the sea is alive with fish.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was not only for three weeks, but four, that the Nugents remained
on the island, and happy weeks indeed they were to Creggan, and I'm
sure to Matty also.  The bracing sea breezes that blew across the
hills and braes had heightened her colour, and she now looked more
like a fairy than ever.  Only, as a rule fairies don't ride on
Shetland ponies through the bonnie crimson heather.

Many a dark night at sea while keeping the middle watch, when hardly
a sound was to be heard, except now and then the nap of a great sail
overhead, or the dreary cry of some belated sea-bird, did Creggan's
thoughts revert to those days he had spent in the Island of Wings
with the Nugents.

And when the stars were shining overhead, so big, so clear, and so
close that it seemed as if the main-truck could touch them, the
sailor-boy used to hope, aye, and pray, that he might be spared to go
back to Skye, to see old Daddy, and to meet the Nugents--especially
Matty--once again.

His adventures with the child were principally among the heather or
at sea in the skiff.  He was so strong a boy, and so tall and brave
that neither Nugent himself nor his wife were afraid to trust him
with the child.  So, on fine days he used to row her right away out
to the hermit's isle itself, and spend hours listening to the old
man's yarns, but above all to his music.

Well, the two would sink baited lobster-traps in the deep water near
the towering cliffs, on which stood the grand old castle of Duntulm.
They used to go for those lobster creels next day, and always found
plenty of shell-fish.

Or they would fish from the boat lent them by a fisherman, the saith
leaping at times around them as thick as rain-drops in a thunderstorm.

But it was even more pleasant to sit on the rocks, and fish with a
white fly for mullet or herring.  The idea of angling for herring may
seem a droll one to a South Briton, but it is done nevertheless, and
many is the good haul I have made myself.

From the place where the children used to fish, to Nugent's little
home was a good three miles' walk.  They had to pass over a chain of
boulders, where wild cats dwelt.  One evening they had stayed longer
fishing than usual, and it was quite gloaming ere they reached the
stony chaos.

Matty was trembling with fear, so Creggan threw his plaid around her,
placing her on his right hand, because that was nearest to the sea,
and not to that cleft and precipitous mountain face where the danger
lay.  Matty crept as close to the boy as she could.

Now, Creggan usually carried a stout stick with a pointed iron-shod
end.  It was well, indeed, that he had it to-night.  For they had
hardly got half-way through the chaotic mass of boulders, when the
boy saw something dark in the road ahead that made his heart beat
quicker for Matty's sake.

The something dark sprang off the road as Creggan and Matty slowly
advanced.  Indeed the child had not seen it, for she had quite buried
her head and face in the plaid.  The boy was beginning to think that
the danger was over, but he grasped his cudgel nevertheless.  Lucky
for him he did so, for they had advanced but fifty yards farther,
when with an unearthly and eldritch yell that dark something sprang
at Creggan's neck.

It was doubtless the scent of the fish that had excited the monster.
But the lad's stout plaid saved him.  Matty had disengaged herself
and stood trembling by the roadside, while Creggan fought this
miniature tiger.

Again and again it charged, its eyes gleaming like yellow diamonds.
Again and again the lad drove it off.

Victory came at last, for with one well-aimed blow it was laid dead
on the road.

"It's all right now, Matty," cried Creggan cheerfully.  "Come on, a
run will warm us."

So it did, and they soon got clear of the "Wild Cats Cairns", as the
ugly place was called.

But they never permitted themselves to be belated again.

These wild cats are still common enough in Sutherlandshire, and the
adventure I have just related is very similar to one a boy had in
that county.  The cat on this occasion sprang from a tree.  The lad
was severely wounded, and although he managed to beat the beast off
he did not succeed in killing it.

In the soft and fleshy part of the middle finger of my left hand are
still the marks of the bite of a wild cat, with whom I had a
difference of opinion.  The beast had the best of it, and I went
about with my arm slung to my head for three weeks at least.

That ruined castle of Duntulm was a favourite resort with the
children.  The donjon-keep was still entire, and from a window, or
the hole where a window had been, one could look down over the
precipice into the deep but clear water; and Matty used to clap her
hands with joy to witness the great medusæ or jellyfish swimming
about.  Very beautiful indeed they were; some as big as a small open
parasol, and fringed with long soft legs that kicked about in the
drollest fashion.

Creggan used to read Ossian in English to Matty, and she would listen
with open eyes to the wild and wondrous stories, all so full of
romance and war.  He knew the history of the castle too.  It was at
one time, he told Matty, the head stronghold of one of the M'Donald
clans, and here dwelt the warlike chief.  But across the sea-loch was
the M'Leod country, and in his strong castle of Dunvegan dwelt the
head of the clan.  This castle is still inhabitable.  Between the
M'Donalds and the M'Leods was a blood feud, and many a fearful fight
was the result.

Once the M'Donalds surprised the M'Leods in church.  They heaped up
banks of peats and wood in front of doors and windows, and burned or
smothered every man, woman, and child.  But the M'Leods took a
terrible revenge, and for a long time the M'Donalds were quiet.  But
a thirst for revenge still lay latent in the breast of the Highland
chief, and one day, under the guise of friendship, he enticed M'Leod
to Duntulm Castle.  When M'Leod arrived with his followers the latter
were immediately set upon and slain, and although M'Leod himself laid
about him boldly with his broad claymore, he was eventually captured
and thrust into the donjon-keep.

Here he was kept for nearly two days without food.  Then a trencher
of salt beef was handed into him, and a large flagon which M'Leod
thought was sack--a kind of claret.  He ate heartily, then turned to
the flagon to allay his thirst.

Alas, it contained only sea-water!

So poor M'Leod perished miserably of thirst and delirium.

This is a strange story, reader, but I have every reason to believe
it is a true one.  It quite entranced little Matty, and when Creggan
had finished she sighed, looked wistfully into his face with her
bonnie blue eyes, and said:

"Do tell us some more!"




CHAPTER VI.

IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE.

Willie Nugent was as far from being what we call a "snob" as anyone
could well wish.  Looks are nothing, so long as one is pleasant and
affable, so long as the ready smile--not the artificial
one--beginning at the lips spreads upwards over the face like morning
sunrise, and so long as heart and soul speak through a pair of kindly
sympathetic eyes.

Well, Willie Nugent was not extremely good-looking.  For my own part
I do not like to see what we called "pretty boys", because they are
usually goody-goody, namby-pamby, and affected, sometimes even
effeminate.  But Willie was manly in appearance, and so kind-hearted
that I am certain he would not have trampled on a beetle crossing his
path.

Creggan Ogg[1] M'Vayne was at best, for the present at all events,
only a peasant boy, and had not Willie been a bold, frank Colonial
young gentleman he might have treated Creggan with some approach to
hauteur.  In his face at times, had he been a snob, there might have
been a look that said plainly enough, "Not too near, please".


[1] Ogg is really a Gaelic word, and the "o" is pronounced long: thus
"Oag".  It signifies "young".


Instead of this he noted at a glance all the good in Creggan'a
character, and, figuratively speaking, held out to him the right hand
of fellowship and _camaraderie_ from the first day they met.

Willie was like his little sister in many of his ways, and Creggan
loved him all the more for this.

I think that nothing cements friendship between two boys more than a
long tour on the road.  Skye isn't much of a place for cycling, you
must know.  If you attempted to cross country your bike would be just
as often on your back as beneath you, and there is a probability that
a dive over a precipice might end your earthly career.  But there is
no grander country in which to travel that I know of, even if you do
not climb the mountains, many of which, however, are all but
inaccessible, even to members of Alpine clubs.

So one beautiful summer day, when a wavy transparency like molten
glass or the clearest of water seemed rising from the ground, when
the sky was ethereal-blue, with here and there just the ghost of a
cloud, and a gentle breeze blowing from far over the wide Atlantic,
Willie and Creggan, with their knapsacks on their backs and sticks in
their hands, started to explore the land.  Of course Matty had a good
cry, and kissed both boys.

"Oh," she cried, in semi-Scriptural language, "don't let any naughty
evil beast devour you!"

Away the lads went, their hearts as light and joyous as that of the
laverock[2] yonder, who, hovering high in the brightness of the sky,
so high that he could hardly be seen, trilled his jubilant morning
song.


[2] Scottice="lark", but a much more musical word.


Creggan had on his very best Highland costume, the suit he wore every
Sunday to kirk, and Willie was neatly clad in strong Scotch tweed, so
neither were likely to suffer from the dews of night should they be
belated.

They bent their steps first to the bonnie wee village of Uig that
nestles close to the loch, an arm of the sea.  And here they had an
excellent second breakfast, and much enjoyed the well-cooked mullet,
the delicious ham and eggs--the latter those of the seagulls,--and
the butter and white crisp cakes.

They had tea.

The landlady was good-hearted evidently.

"And is it," she said, "is it that you won't be taken just a
thistleful[3] of mountain-dew to make your meal digest?"


[3] A glass shaped like a thistle.


But the boys only laughed and shook their heads.

The sea out yonder was very blue and still to-day, but while Willie
was gazing away across it, somewhat pensively perhaps, suddenly first
one then another and a third great fountain of snow-white spray was
thrown about twenty feet into the air.

"Oh, look, look, Creggan!  What can it be?"

"Only the blowing whales," our young hero replied.  "They are always
about.  And there are always plenty of seals about the low rocks, but
I never shoot them, because they are so beautiful, and have eyes that
look through and through you."

In their march across a long heathy moorland on their way to
Quiraing, for the first time in his life Willie Nugent had the
pleasure of seeing a real Scottish eagle.  He was wheeling round and
round in circles, but ever upwards, as if he would seek to reach the
sun itself, and ever and anon his wild whistling scream made hills
and rocks resound.

"There now," cried Creggan, pointing skywards, "that isn't a lark
this time.  And that isn't a lark's song."

"No," said Willie, gazing wonderingly up at the huge bird.

He added:

"I think I should like to be an eagle.  Is it true they take babies
to their nests?"

"They build," said Creggan, "on shelves of rock, that in some parts
here rise sheer up from the sea a thousand feet or more.  Their nests
are huge bundles of sticks, built as a wild pigeon arranges her nest,
and in the centre is often moss, hay, and feathers.  These are called
eeries.  Men or big boys have sometimes been let down by ropes to rob
these of their yellow, fluffy, red-throated gaping fledglings; but Mr
M'Ian says it is very cruel, and highly dangerous.  Once, when a man
went down like this and stood on the eerie, where whole skeletons of
lambs lay bleaching in the sun, and many other strange bones as well,
the she-eagle with a deafening scream dashed at him.  He managed to
beat her off, and the fight for a time was fearful.  He signalled
soon to be hauled up, but hardly was he in the air before the eagle
swooped down again.  This time she tore at the rope, and--oh! wasn't
it awful, Willie?--it snapped, and the man was hurled down, down
eight hundred feet into the sea."

"Terrible!"

"Yes.  But though his body was found it was a headless trunk, for in
his descent, you know, and when about half-way down, a piece of sharp
rock cut the head clean off; and they do say that when well out to
sea you can see the bleached skull, if you have a good glass,
grinning on that shelf of rock."[4]


[4] The same kind of accident occurred to a shepherd in Skye, who had
fallen over a precipice while trying to save a lamb.


They went on now.

Not only was the moorland covered with moss and green heather, but
many charming wild flowers were scattered about, with here and there
patches of sweetly-scented bog-myrtle and white downy toad's-tail,
and the whole place was musical with the song of tit-larks and
linnets.

They climbed that day high up into the crater of the extinct volcano
Quiraing.  Right in the centre is a round raised green plot, big
enough to drill a company of soldiers on.  At one side the wall of
rock is black, wet, and solid, but at the other it is split up into
needles, higher far than Cleopatra's on the Thames embankment, and
between these, to-day, the boy-adventurers could catch glimpses of a
sea of Italian blue, dotted here and there with many a sail,
snow-white or brown.

To gaze on such a scene as this, in a silence so dread that you could
hear the water dropping from the rocks, is very impressive; but like
everything solemn and beautiful in nature, I think it brings one into
closer union with God.

Having slid down about five hundred feet through a chaos of shingle,
the boys completed the descent on firm ground, and then bent their
footsteps back to Uig.  They were tired enough to sleep soundly after
a capital supper, and next day they crossed the loch to visit the
land of the M'Leods, and the grand old feudal castle of Dunvegan.

And so, on and on and on for many days, by moor and mount and fell,
and by many a brown and lonesome tarn, the boys wandered.  They cared
not either to fish or to collect specimens.  Amidst such scenery and
surroundings, in the glad sunshine and bracing air, to live was
sufficient happiness.

I cannot say they had any wild adventures worth the name.  They saw
many huge heather snakes curled up in the sunshine asleep, but passed
them by.

Once when on a moorland, they felt very hungry and there was no house
near.  But after walking a mile or two farther, a shepherd's hut hove
in sight There was no one inside except the comely wife of the
shepherd, who was away on the hills with his flocks.

But this woman was as kindly as comely, and regaled the lads with
pea-meal bannocks and creamy milk.  Willie averred it was the best
meal ever he sat down to.  Nor would the good lady accept even
sixpence for her hospitality.

They bade her good-bye.

"The nearest road," she said in Gaelic, "is across that grassy moor.
It would save three miles, but it is swarming with adders.  I advise
you to go round."

But the saving of those three miles tempted the lads, and they took
to the grassy moor.  The patch altogether was barely two hundred
yards across.  The grass was longish, withered and dry, and they soon
found to their dismay that it literally swarmed with vipers.  It was
the home of the viper, and the viper was at home.  They heard them in
their hundreds rustling about, and they saw them too.  But the lads
would not show the white feather.  To walk across, however, would
have increased the danger.  So they took to their heels and ran, as
barefooted boys do when passing across a field of low white clover,
with bees in thousands on it.  The bees haven't time to sting, and in
this case the vipers hadn't time to bite even if trampled on.

"That's a sweater!" said Willie, when they landed safe on bare ground.

"I'll go round by the road next time," said Creggan laughing.

However, all is well that ends well, so they went on their way
rejoicing.

It wasn't the first time that Creggan, young though he was, had made
a walking tour in Skye, so he made an excellent guide for his friend.

Near to the wildest scenery of Scavaig, Coruisk, and the Cuchullin
mountains, they lived for a day or two at a hotel that was palatial.
Almost too much so, indeed, for simple Creggan's taste.  He was not
accustomed to carpeted rooms and silver forks, so he told Willie.  He
was at home in a moorland, he said, but not among lords and ladies
dressed in silk and satin.

But Willie only laughed, and did all he could to put him to rights,
and to teach him the manners and customs of polite society, both at
table and in the drawing-room.

However, Creggan sighed like a steam-engine--a sigh of relief,
however,--when he found himself once more in the cosy parlour of an
old-fashioned glen inn.

"This is true pleasure, Willie," he said.

"Well," answered Willie, "I'm not shy, you know.  I am as much at
home in an old farmer's house as in a nobleman's drawing-room.
Always keep cool, Creggan.  Don't imagine people are staring at you
in particular, and if ladies in society say pretty things to you or
praise you up, don't get hysterical, for they never mean it."

Creggan laughed.

"Sometimes," continued Willie, "I am asked to sing or recite.  By
people who don't know me, I mean.  They say, 'Now, Master Nugent, I'm
sure you can favour us with a song, or a recitation'.  'Most
certainly', I reply, and do both; but as I sing like a crow and
recite like a hen that has just dropped an egg, they never ask me
twice."

* * * * * * * * * * *

There were just one or two little things that marred the pleasure of
this wild and delightful tour.  They were indeed little, but very
wicked.  First there were the midges.  Among the bushes or in a
garden in the glens, there is no going out of doors of an evening
without muslin over one's face.  If one neglects this, the face will
be bitten all over, till it resembles badly pickled cabbage.

Then the gnats or mosquitoes are very venomous.  Centipeds abound in
some parts, great healthy greenish-brown brutes, and if they bite you
in a tender part, it is nearly as bad as a snap from an adder.  In
the dark you may see these fellows hurrying through the short grass
like miniature railway-trains, all aglow with a phosphorescence that
streams out from both sides of them.  Centipeds are nasty persons and
have more legs than they know what to do with.

Away up on the moorlands, however, you don't find these things; only
daddy-long-legs in millions in August.  They are so tame that they
are troublesome.  Their favourite seat is a-straddle of one's nose.

"Give us a ride old chap," they seem to say.  "I'm going the same way
as you."

I believe myself that the best plan is to leave the duddy on your
nose, though I confess it looks funny; but, as certain as sunrise, if
you knock one off another gets on.  So what are you to do?

Well, at long last the two young tourists, somewhat dusty and tired,
and sadly in need of clean collars, bore round to Portree.

Here they rested one night.

Portree is a nice little town, and the people are kind and obliging.
But there is a herring there, and you can scent him, either in boats
or reclining in a frying-pan, wherever you go.

I forget how many miles it is from Portree round the northern portion
of the island to Duntulm Castle.  Perhaps thirty.  The boys hired a
boat to take them round, and a more delightful row or grander
rock-and-mountain scenery it would indeed be difficult to conceive.

Willie wondered to see the tartan rocks, but he wondered still more
to see a waterfall shoot right over a cliff many hundreds of feet in
height, so that you could have sailed a boat between the rock and the
linn, and hardly get wet even with the spray.

There are no such sunsets anywhere in Britain as there are in Skye.
This evening the sun went down in a glory of crimson, gray, and
orange, which it is impossible to describe.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Matty could not have been more rejoiced to see Creggan had he been
away for a year.

"Oh, I is glad you've comed!" she cried, jumping on his knee with
childish abandon.

Then in the starlight, Creggan launched his skiff and rowed swiftly
away across a heaving waveless sea, to where the beacon burned afar
on his own little island home of Kilmara.




CHAPTER VII.

LOST IN A HIGHLAND MIST.

Soon now the scene must change, and we shall find ourselves afloat on
the dark blue sea, and taking part in adventures far more thrilling
than any that could possibly be met with even in the wild Island of
Wings itself.  I have said that, when not fishing or boating with
Matty, Creggan used to be guide to Mr. Nugent and show him all the
sights.  In these devious wanderings both rode, when the ground
permitted it, Nugent on a pretty bay mare, Creggan on a daft little
Shetland pony, who sometimes pitched him off and then rolled on him.
Only play certainly, but play may be a trifle rough at times.

For example, I was walking--in full uniform--one day in a lonely part
of the city of Zanzibar.  Well, just as I entered one end of a rather
narrow lane a camel entered the other.  There wasn't a soul in the
street but our two selves.

"There is plenty of room to pass," I said to myself.  So on I went,
and on came the camel, with his head half a mile in the air (more or
less).  When we met about the centre, instead of nodding to me in a
friendly way and saying "_Yambo sana_" (good luck to you), he snuffed
the air, grinned, uttered a little scream and made straight for me.
I thought my hour had come.  He didn't bite, however--he did worse.
He crunched me against the wall and turned me right round.  Oh, how I
ached!  For the next hour or two I felt as flat as a pancake.  I have
never trusted camel or dromedary since.

But just one little adventure before we leave dear old romantic
Skye--for a time, at all events.

It was early morning.

Creggan had just finished a homely but delicious breakfast of mullet,
crisp oat-cakes with butter, and sea-gulls' eggs, and after bidding
Daddy good-bye, had launched his skiff, and with faithful Oscar in
the bows might have been seen speeding shorewards over a blue but
somewhat uncertain sea.

"Might have been seen," I said.  Yes, and was seen.  For look yonder,
a tiny tottie of a child high on the cliff-top waving a white
handkerchief to him.

Creggan replies, and at once Matty disappears.  She is making a
somewhat perilous descent a-down the high cliff, which here is of
grass and rock commingled.  She is there on the beach to meet Creggan
and his collie doggie nevertheless.  And now after the usual
affectionate greetings she scrambles into the skiff, and, with reason
or none, the lad has to take her for a little row.

They are soon on shore again, for Creggan has promised to guide Mr.
Nugent far over the mountains, in order that he may make some
additions to his collection of Skye flora.

"Ah, welcome, Creggan lad!" he cried, as the latter, hand in hand
with Matty, came up the little path that led to the bungalow.  "What
do you think of the weather, my child of the ocean wave?" he added
merrily.  For despite the severe style of his whiskers he could be
right merry when he liked.

"I don't quite like it," answered Creggan dubiously.

"And why, lad?"

"Well, sir, you see it is nine now, and the hills haven't taken their
night-caps[1] off yet.  That is one thing.  Then the sea is a bit
lumpy, and every now and then comes a puff, making big cat's-paws on
it."


[1] The morning mist on the mountain-tops is so called.


"Well, lad, I start in two days' time for the tame, domestic south of
England, so if you are willing I'll venture."

"Oh," answered Creggan flushing a little, "I'm ready, sir, aye ready!"

"Bravo!"

Willie and his mother were off to Portree, so poor Matty would have a
lonesome day with only the servants to amuse her.  The journey would
have been too much for Matty at any rate.  After a second breakfast
at eleven o'clock they started.  One, by the by, can always eat two
breakfasts in Skye, just as I do while travelling in my caravan, "The
Wanderer".

Oscar went with them of course.  Oscar went everywhere.  And so much
did Creggan love the dog, that his heart beat high and the tears
sprang to his eyes when he thought that in about six months' time
they would have to part.

And who can blame one for loving a dog?

Right happy were Mr. Nugent and Creggan as they set out over the moor
towards the mountains that forenoon, while Oscar ran on in front
barking for joy, sometimes starting a bird, and actually pretending
to jump after it into the sky.

"If I only had bits of wings," he appeared to say, "I'd soon catch
that quack-quacking old duck."

The hills had by this time thrown off their nightcaps and were fully
awake, but the wind seemed on the increase, blowing in uncertain
squalls, then dying away again into a calm.  This is always an ugly
sign.  Besides, there was a nasty bank of "sugar-loaf clouds", as
Creggan called them, rising slowly in the west.  Nor did Creggan like
the appearance of them, and said so to Mr. Nugent.

"Never meet troubles half-way, my lad," was the answer.  "For
troubles, you know, are never quite so bad when they do come as we
imagined they would be.  The cloud approaching the moon is black and
dark, but lo! when it gets in front the light shines through."

"Well, sir," said Creggan, "I shall always try to think of that, but
I myself do not mind storms.  I was thinking of lonely Matty's father
if we get lost."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Creggan had a botanical case slung over his shoulder and Nugent a
much larger one.  This latter contained the luncheon.

They collected a large number of specimens on an upland moor they
reached about one o'clock.  Many of these were well-known to the boy,
but he could only give Gaelic and English names to them.

Now, in a mountainous or Alpine region like that of Skye, however
high you climb it seems there are still higher hills ahead of you.
By three o'clock Creggan suggested that they should not go farther.

It was good advice, for the sea-damp wind from the west was
increasing every minute, while away to the east the moisture had
already condensed against the cold sides of the lofty hills, and here
the wind was blowing high, sweeping before it a genuine Scotch mist.

Very few people in England have any idea what a real Scotch mist
means.  Some think it is a fog, some a drizzle.  It is neither.  It
is rain broken up into mist by the violence of the wind, and driven
along the sides of the hills or valleys in intermittent clouds.  It
is searching, bitter, miserable, and will not only wet an Englishman
to the skin in five minutes, but will penetrate even the plaid of a
Scot.

They now sat down to luncheon.  It was a very sumptuous one, for
Nugent was nothing if not a good and generous eater.  As he discussed
his meal he talked away right merrily, and told Creggan scores of
humorous and other anecdotes of colonial life and adventure.  So
delightful were these that Creggan said he longed to be there.

"If," he continued, "I could only take poor Oscar."

"Look here, my boy; Oscar is young, isn't he?"

"Only two, sir."

"And you love him?"

"Very, very much."

"Well, I have a deal more influence than I care to boast about.  So,
after you have passed through the _Britannia_, if you are appointed
to a small ship, as you most likely will be, I'll see to it that
Oscar and you shall not be parted."

Creggan's joy was so great that for a few moments he dared not trust
himself to speak.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, sir!" he said at last; and then Oscar had
an extra hug, for a load had been lifted off his master's mind.

While talking thus they did not observe a bank of rolling fog
creeping gradually up the hillside.

Creggan saw the danger first and sprung to his feet.

"We must hurry, sir; it is a fearful thing to be lost in the mist all
among the lonely mountains.

"If we hurry, though," he added, "I think we can reach old Donald
Clearach's cottage before the mist gets near us."

All sail was now made downwards and homewards.  But this meant
meeting the mist!

In less than an hour, and while only a mile from the shepherd's hut,
they were enveloped in so dense a fog that even Oscar was puzzled.
Donald's hut stood on a bit of moorland, that, though far above the
level of the sea, afforded excellent pasture for the sheep he tended.

Well, it is far more confusing to walk in a fog like this than in the
dark of the darkest night, for one speedily loses his bearings, and
owing to the muscles of the right side of the body being stronger
than those of the left, the person who is lost usually walks round in
a circle.

"What's to be done, boy?" said Nugent uneasily.

"Nothing, sir, but wrap our plaids about us and wait.  Even Oscar
could not guide us now."

Mr. Nugent smiled faintly, lit his pipe, and sat down.

The wind now began to get higher and higher, but it had no visible
effect upon the fog.

The time went on and on, oh! so slowly, although Nugent continued to
talk and tell of far-off lands beyond the seas.

Six o'clock, seven, eight o'clock, came and passed.  But still no
change.  Creggan had a splendid plaid, and his companion a stout coat
of frieze, but the wet, cold mist that went curling round their necks
made them shiver and shudder.

"Is it not possible to proceed, lad?"

"No sir; we are on level ground now, you see, and we should only go
round and round and further astray.  We might fall into a wild-duck
pond and get drowned.  Even if we were on a hillside, though we could
descend, we might go astray and tumble over a precipice."

"You speak like an old man--wisely," said Mr. Nugent.  "Well, anyhow
we can have supper.  That will warm us."

By the time they had finished it was dark.

The darkness soon grew dismal.  Not a star would shine to-night,
except far away beyond the clouds.  It was pleasant, though, to think
and know that the stars and moon were there.

Both now remained silent for a very long time.  Their faculties were
quite benumbed with the cold.

Then Nugent lay back.

"Are you going to sleep, sir?"

"Yes, just forty winks."

"No, no, no!  I cannot let you, for many and many a man lost on the
moors as we now are has been found stark and stiff when the mist
cleared away, just because of falling asleep."

His companion, now thoroughly aroused to a true sense of his danger,
tried to pull himself together.  He even tried to tell more stories,
but his teeth were chattering in his head, and his lips were all but
frozen.  He could not.

Soon after there was a wild blood-curdling eldritch yell heard, that
startled both.

"Heavens! what is it?" cried Nugent.

Something dark rushed past next moment at their very feet.  It was a
wild cat, and Oscar jumped up to pursue it, but Creggan quickly
caught him by the collar.

"No, Oscar, no.  I might never see you more, and you're going to sea
with me, you know."

Another long dreary hour passed, perhaps two.  Both were now resigned
to their fate.  They must spend the night on the moor.

Even Creggan himself began to nod.

Suddenly Oscar sprang up and uttered a short defiant or challenging
bark.

And lo! not far off, a light appeared glimmering hazily through the
dismal fog, and a spectre-like figure, so magnified by the mist that
it seemed to reach from earth to heaven, slowly approached.

"Is it that there is any-pody here at all at all whatefer?"

Once more Oscar barked, but it was with a ring of joy and pleasure.

"Oh, Donald, is that yourself?"

"To be surely, boy, to be surely; and is it you, my dear lad Creggan?"

"Oh, I am so glad you've come!  This is my friend Mr. Nugent, and
we're lost, you know."

"Well, well, well, but it isn't long lost you'll be whatefer.  Sure I
know the sheepies' tracks, and can guide you safely to my hut.

"Ay," he continued, "and it's as dead as braxie you'd have been 'fore
mornin' if I hadn't been out lookin' for a sheepie."

How gladly they followed him need not be told, and how delighted they
were to find themselves seated once more in front of a fire of wood
and peats.

Donald hastened to make supper--oatmeal porridge and milk.  Though
eaten from caups[2] and with horn spoons, Nugent told the old
shepherd that he had never supped more sumptuously in his life.


[2] Round, strong, wooden bowls.


Then Donald himself sat down, and while the two collies fraternized
in a corner, the men folks had a long and enjoyable conversation.

Donald next made "shake-downs", or heather beds, for both, and they
slept as sound as babies.

Early astir they were, however, and after more porridge and milk
Nugent thanked the shepherd--solidly, and away they went down the
hill with poor Donald's blessing ringing in their ears.

It was a bright and beautiful morning, with ne'er a cloud in all the
sky.

What a relief for poor Mrs. Nugent when they entered the bungalow!
And innocent wee Matty must jump up into Creggan's arms and cry for
joy.




CHAPTER VIII.

CREGGAN AND OSCAR.

"Boy, you've been crying," said the hermit one forenoon, as Creggan
jumped on shore with Oscar from his little skiff.

He had been rowing more slowly to-day towards his little island home.
Usually he made the skiff dance over the water, singing as he rowed,
but his arms seemed to be lead this morning.

"Well, Daddy," said Creggan, with an apology for a smile, "I--I--I'm
afraid that I did let a tear or two fall.

"I've been parting from the Nugents, you know, and Matty would hang
about my neck and cry--and so I really couldn't help joining in for a
moment.  Oh, only for a moment, Daddy!  But partings are such nasty
things, aren't they?"

The hermit put his hand on the boy's head, and looked kindly in his
sunburnt face.

"Boy," he said, "never be ashamed to shed an honest tear.  It is
nature's way of showing that the heart is in the right place.  As to
partings, they are always sad, and one of the joys of heaven will
rest on the fact that there won't be any more partings.  You mind
what the hymn says:[1]

  "'A few short years of evil past,
    We reach the happy shore,
  Where death-divided friends at last
    Shall meet to part no more'.


[1] _1 Thessalonians_, iv. 13 to the end.


"But come on, Creggan, and have dinner, I've something very nice, and
then I'll tell you stories.  Ah, we'll all be happy yet!"

But Creggan had another sad grief to face that evening.

It will be remembered that Nugent had not only promised to get him a
cadetship for the Royal Navy--if he could pass the
examinations,--but, if appointed to a small ship, work the oracle so
that he might take poor Oscar with him.

Well, as the boy and his foster-father sat by the fire with the
collie between:

"I'm so pleased you're going to the service, lad," the hermit said.
"Oh, there's nothing like a life on the ocean wave, and I've sailed
the seas so long that dearly do I love it.  I'm gladder still to
think that from the pile I made at the gold-diggings and pearl
fisheries, I can make you a comfortable allowance.  Bah! what is the
dross to me, and it will be all yours when I am gone."

"Oh, don't talk of death, Daddy; though you are gray you are not old."

"Well, no, I cannot as yet give myself airs about my age, but I'm
wearing on.  But to business, lad.  The examination is a stiff one."

"Yes, Daddy.  But won't I study just; and I'm sure I'll pass even in
history, though I hate it.  I'll read up like fun."

"There won't be much fun in it.  But I'll coach you in French anyhow.
You are right as to age for eight months to come.  Well, of course
your old Daddy will get your outfit.  And as they give no pay to
cadets in the _Britannia_, but demand £75 a year, I'll make it £85."

"Oh, thanks, dear Daddy!"

"Fain would I go south with you, but I shall not leave my island for
some time yet.  Don't imagine I am going to be downright
unhappy,--because I sha'n't be.  Your friend Archie M'Laren will
bring me all I want off from the shore.  Fishermen will often visit
me, and your minister M'Ian.  Then I shall have my fiddle, and, last
but not least, our dear doggie here.  We'll both miss you, but I
shall think of you every time I gaze into his loving eyes."

If a bomb-shell had suddenly burst over the hut it would have had a
far less stunning effect upon poor Creggan than the hermit's last
words.  Would he, after all, have to go away without his doggie?  Had
he looked at Oscar for even a moment, he would have burst out crying
like a girl.

He just gazed into the fire for a few minutes in silence, then rose.

"I'll be back in a very short time, Daddy," he said.  "And shall I
light the beacon?"

"Do, like a good lad."

Creggan went out into the clear and starry summer's night.

A great round moon had just arisen, and was casting a broad
triangular light across the sea, the apex down there close to the
island, its base on the far-off horizon.  How calmly it shone!  It
seemed a holy light.  But neither moon nor the bright silvery stars
could soothe our young hero then.

He lit the beacon almost automatically and afterwards paced up and
down for five minutes or over, then stood by the beacon resolved and
firm.

A brave boy now--a hero, indeed!

"I'll do it," he said half-aloud.  "Oh, how I should like to take my
Oscar with me, but I shall not, cannot!  I'll suffer myself rather
than let dear kind Daddy suffer."

He felt easier now and happier, and returned smiling to the hut; and
the hermit played and sang for an hour at least.

There was a kind of incubus at Creggan's heart when he awoke next
morning, and for a time he could not quite make out what it meant.
Then all at once he remembered his doggie.  The recollection came so
suddenly back to him that at first he was nearly crying.  But he
jumped out of bed, and lightly dressing went down the cliffs with
Oscar to enjoy his morning swim.

Then back to breakfast.

Well, you know, reader, "sorrow may endure for a night but joy cometh
in the morning".

It did.  For that very forenoon a humble friend of
Creggan's--Archie--came off in a shore-boat, bringing a long letter
for the hermit, and a childish but loving scrawl from Matty to
Creggan.  He put that carefully away, and determined to take it to
sea with him.

He certainly was a romantic boy, and this is not to be wondered at
seeing the wild life he led, the wild scenery around him, and the
voice of the sounding sea ever changing and ever telling him
something new.

As soon as the hermit had read the letter he jumped up and took
Creggan's hand.

"This is from Nugent, dear sonny, and he is going to get leave to let
you have Oscar with you."

"No, no, no, no!" cried the boy.  "He must stay with you and make you
happy."

"And I say 'no, no, no!'" replied the hermit, laughing now.  "Go he
shall; I have my bird, my cat, and my violin.  Oh, believe me, boy, I
shall be happy enough till you come back to see me."

And so it was decided.

Archie was but a crofter's son, but he was a particular friend of
Creggan's, and they used to be constantly together before the Nugents
came, fishing, shooting, or wandering over the hills and far away.

Archie thought that Creggan was very clever, and laughed inordinately
at all the stories he made up and told him while they lay together on
the cliff-top, where the wild thyme grew.  It was here they used to
meet, and Archie always brought his dambrod (draughts) with him.  He
had made it himself, and together in the sunshine they used to play
for hours and hours.  They had no real men, only bits of carrots and
parsnips to represent the black and the white, and as Archie was a
far better player than Creggan, he always removed a few men from his
own side before the game began.

But Archie could play chess as well, and always solved the problems
given in the weekly papers, which the minister kindly lent him.
Creggan had no patience with so deep a game.  Life, he appeared to
think, was too short for chess.  Well, so far I believe he was right,
for in studying for an exam. one wastes brain power by playing so
difficult a game.

Poor Archie was just a year or two older than Creggan, but over and
over again, as they used to lie together on the wild-thyme cliff, he
would say with all the ingenuousness and frankness of youth:

"Oh, Creggan, you don't know how much I love you, and I'll just cry
my heart out when you go away."

Ay, and there wouldn't be a hut in which there would be no sorrow,
when our young hero went to sea.

By the way, I may mention just one thing to prove the genuineness of
the old hermit's kindness.

Archie had a brother called Rory, a tall yellow-haired sturdy young
fellow, but somewhat of a doll.  The father was dead, the two boys
tilled the small croft and tended the cows; but somehow Rory took it
into his head to enlist.  Some recruiters came marching through the
parish with kilts and plumes and ribbons fluttering in the wind, and
they marched off with Rory and some other young fellows too.

Well, that same evening Archie met Creggan near the manse.

His eyelashes were wet with tears.

"Oh, man!" he cried, "what will we do?  Rory has gone off with the
soldiers.  Oh, come and see poor mother!"

Creggan went at once, and entered the hut.  Such grief he had never
witnessed before.  Among the ashes by the fireside, with little on
save a petticoat, sat Rory's distracted mother, her gray hair hanging
dishevelled over her shoulders, and her body swaying to and fro
constantly in the agony of her sorrow.  She was mourning in the
Gaelic.

"Oh, my son, my son!  Oh, Rory, Rory, love of my heart, my Rory!  Oh,
heaven look down and help me!  Rory, Rory, will I never never see you
more!"

Her face was wet with tears and covered with ashes.

She was still sitting there when Creggan left at eight o'clock, still
swaying her body, still mourning, mourning, and mourning.

And when Creggan returned early next day there was no change.

There she sat, as she had sat all night long, among the ashes, still
swaying to and fro, still plaintively calling for Rory.

"Love of my heart, my Rory, will you never, never come again?"

Ah, but Creggan had glorious news for her.  "Cheer up, dear mother,"
he said, showing her shining gold, "I am going to Portree to bring
your Rory back."

And Creggan, with the hermit's money, did buy the foolish lad off,
and Rory never left his mother more until she was laid in the quiet
churchyard beside the blue and rolling Minch.




CHAPTER IX.

ON BOARD THE GUNBOAT _RATTLER_.

Creggan Ogg M'Vayne worked very hard indeed to make sure of passing.
I am quite certain of one thing, that did any lad study so hard in a
city, burning perhaps the midnight oil and sitting in a
badly-ventilated, stuffy room, although at the examination he might
make quite a good show, still "his face would be sicklied o'er with
the pale cast of thought".  He could not be in good health; and I
have known many a boy who, bright in intellect, was too weakly to
"pass the doctor", as it is called.

But it was all so very different with Creggan.

There is no more bracing or healthy island in the world than Skye,
and during the summer, and all throughout the autumn till the "fa' o'
the year", his study was out of doors.

On fine days it was always on that green-topped cliff where the wild
thyme grew.  I verily believe, and Creggan himself used to think so,
that the song of the sea as the waves broke lazily on the brown
weed-covered boulders, far beneath the cliff, making a solemn bass to
the musical cry of the gulls, the kittiwakes, and skuas, helped the
lad along.  It lulled him, soothed him, so that his head was always
clear and his mind never too exalted.

City students often need a wet towel to tie around their brows when
at work.  Creggan needed none of that; his bonnet lay near him, on
Oscar's ear, and the cool and gentle breezes fanned his brow, so that
hard though his "grind" undoubtedly was his face remained hard and
brown, with a tint of carmine on his cheeks.

On stormy days even, he did not go indoors, for M'Ian the minister
knew the value of fresh air, and had a kind of summer-house study
built in his garden for his son and daughter, Rory and Maggie, and
Creggan.

Both were very fond of Creggan.  In fact, being brought up together,
they were like brother and sister to him, in a manner of speaking,
and well he loved them in return.

* * * * * * * * * * *

But the winter itself wore away at last.  And a wild tempestuous
winter it had been.  There were weeks at a time when Creggan could
not leave his little island home, for the seas that tumbled and
heaved around, and surged in foaming cataracts high up the sides of
the black and beetling cliffs, would have sunk the stoutest boat that
was ever built.

But Creggan had not been idle for all that.  There had come a six
weeks' spell of calm, clear, frosty weather, with seldom a breath of
wind or cat's-paw to ruffle the glassy surface of the smooth Atlantic
rollers.  So high were these "doldrums" at times, that when Creggan's
skiff was down in the trough of the seas as he rowed manfully
shorewards, there were long seconds during which Rory and Maggie,
watching his progress eagerly, could not see him.

Then, when he mounted a house-high wave, they would rejoicingly wave
their handkerchiefs to him, and he his bonnet to them.

Yes, winter flew far away back to the icy Arctic regions on
snow-white wings, and soft gentle spring returned, laden with bird
and bud and green bourgeon to scatter over hill and brae and moorland.

And next came Creggan's time to start for the far south to face his
examiners.  I shall not linger over the leave-takings.  He departed
with many blessings, and many prayers would be prayed for his
success.  M'Ian kindly accompanied him to Portree and saw the steamer
off.  Then the boy was all alone in the world, because for the time
being he had left even poor sad-eyed Oscar with Daddy the hermit.

Yes, Creggan was bold enough to take the journey all by himself--by
steamer to Glasgow, by train to Leith, and by steamer again to
London.  He had been recommended to a small but comfortable hotel,
and here he took up his abode till the exam. days came round.  Of
course everything in London streets was strangely foreign to Creggan,
and very confusing.  He didn't like it.  The twangy jargon of the
guttersnipe boys grated harshly on his ear; the streets were thick in
greasy mud; all aloft was gloom and fog, and never a green thing
about.

"I'll do my best to pass well," he said to himself as he left one day
to be present at the examination; "I'll do my best to pass, but I
sha'n't be sorry if I don't."

There were other boys trying to enter the Navy creditably, and though
many were bold, handsome English lads, most were pale, nervous, and
frightened.

* * * * * * * * * * *

About a week afterwards Archie M'Laren's boat might have been seen
driving over the Minch towards the island.

The hermit knew from his face that he was the bearer of good tidings.

"Hurrah, sir!" he cried, waving a letter aloft.  "I've had one
myself.  Creggan has passed with more marks than anybody.  Aren't you
joyful, sir?"

The hermit, as he rapidly read Creggan's schoolboyish caligraphy, was
indeed too joyful to speak, and I'm not sure but that his eyes were
moist with tears.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Before going to sea, of course, Creggan had to put in time on board
the _Britannia_, and after that to be further examined.  He was a
great favourite with the other cadets, and a noisy, joyous lot they
were, brimful of fun, commingled with a modicum of mischief.

At long last he was appointed to a small ship, and this was an
ironclad too.  He didn't like her.  This wasn't his idea of a ship.
She lay at Sheerness; and he didn't like Sheerness either, and I
never knew anyone who did.

But the _Rattler_ was only a gunboat, and bound for the African
shores.

Now Creggan was a brave lad, so he took a step that few boys would
have dared to take.  He went to visit Captain, or rather Commander
Jeffries at his hotel.  He found that gallant gentleman lingering
over dessert.  A very tall and handsome man, with a jolly, smiling
face, but exceedingly stout.

"Well, my lad," he said, "come in and bring yourself to anchor.
You're one of the _Rattler's_ middies, aren't you?"

[Illustration: "WELL, MY LAD, YOU'RE ONE OF THE 'RATTLER'S' MIDDIES,
AREN'T YOU?"]

"Yes, sir."

"Have a glass of wine, my lad.  No?  Better without.  But what can I
do for you?"

"If you please, Captain Jeffries, I have a lovely gentle collie dog.
Can I take him to sea?"

"I love dogs, my lad, and would gladly have your collie.  But," he
paused and laughed till the glasses rung, "a curious thing has
happened.  I cannot go to sea in the _Rattler_, and another officer
must be appointed in my place."

"May I ask, sir--"

"Yes, I'll tell you the 'why', and it is just here where the smile
comes in.  I am too big to get below, through the companion, and I
couldn't remain on deck all the cruise, you know.  I've had a deal of
correspondence and red-tapery already about it.  'You must take up
your appointment', said their lordships.  I wrote a few days ago
saying plainly 'I sha'n't', adding, 'What's the use of a commander
taking a ship if he can't get more than just his legs below'."

"Yes, sir," said Creggan smiling.

"Well, at last they are going to appoint another officer, and I'm
sorry to tell you, my lad, that Captain Flint, who is what we call a
kind of sea-lawyer, and pretends to know everything, hates both dogs
and music.  I'm sorry for you, boy, but keep up your spirits.  Your
ship won't be more than two years out, and when you return, owing to
the splendid show I hear you made at your examinations, you'll be
entitled to apply for any ship you like, and if I'm in England call
on me and I'll put you up to the ropes.  There, good-bye.  Keep up
your heart, my lad, and you'll do well."

Creggan walked briskly and quickly towards the pier; he was
determined he would not give way for anything.

Just two years after this we still find the _Rattler_ cruising about
the west coast of Africa, and despite its unhealthiness there was no
extra sickness on board and no fever.

Captain Flint was really a good sailor, but snappish and ill-natured.
He bullied everyone around him, and often punished his men and boys
severely.

Under such a commander it is almost needless to say that Creggan's
life was not altogether a happy one.  However, he did his duty, and
did it with method and precision.  He was so strong and healthy that
there was no one on board that ship who could make him nervous.  But
he used to pity some of his messmates who, though a year or two
older, were smaller and less bold than he.  Both the first and second
lieutenants were real good fellows, but this little fiery-haired,
ferret-eyed commander, or skipper, as all hands plainly called him
when out of hearing, cowed even these.

I do not suppose that Flint could help himself, and it is always
best, I think, to say all one can for even bad men.  Now,
whisper--the commander's wine-cellar was far too big for him.  I do
not think anybody ever saw the little man intoxicated, on deck at all
events, but that curse of our nation--alcohol--made him crabbed and
peevish, and he did not care then whom he insulted.

One or two instances of how Flint carried on may serve to show my
readers what a tyrant even the commander of a Royal Navy screw
gunboat may make himself, on a lonely coast like that of the western
shores of Africa.

Please remember that I am not depending on my imagination for my
facts, the experiences were my own.

The surgeon of the _Rattler_--and there was but one--for the craft
was only 800 tons, was a sturdy Scot, who did his duty, and did not
care a pin-head for anyone.  His very independence annoyed Flint.

"I'll bring that saucy Scot to his senses," he said one night to his
first lieutenant, who was dining with him.

The first luff, laughing, told the doctor next morning that he was to
be brought down a peg, and asked him how he would like it.

The surgeon--Grant, let us call him--merely laughed and said quietly:

"It won't be that little skin-Flint that will do it.  Why, Lacy, I
could take him up with one hand and hold him overboard while I shook
his teeth out into the sea.  I could mop up the quarter-deck with
him, then stand him on his head on the top of the capstan."

Everyone laughed, because everyone liked the surgeon.

But as the commander had said he would make the surgeon haul down his
flag, he determined to act, and went to bed grinning to himself.

The persecution began next morning.




CHAPTER X.

WAR AHEAD!

The skipper was on the bridge near the quarter-deck next morning,
when the surgeon tripped up the ladder, saluted, and handed him the
sick-list book.

"What!" shouted Flint.  "Fifteen on the sick-list, sir, out of a
small crew like this?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's the meaning of it, sir?  What's the meaning of it?  I've been
in a line-of-battle ship with no more on the list than this."

"The cases, Captain Flint, are chiefly coast ulcer.  I do my duty,
sir, and it will go hard with anyone who denies it.  And it is also
my duty, sir, to inform you, that if you continue to get into
red-faced rages, like that from which you are now suffering, you will
before long have a fit of apoplexy."

"When I want your valuable advice, Dr. Grant, I will send for you."

"Thank you, Captain Flint.  Delighted, I'm sure!"

The captain took a turn up and down the bridge.

Then returning to the charge:

"Is there any hygienic measure you could suggest for the removal of
this ulcer plague?" he roared.

"Oh, yes, the place where the sick lie is as hot and stuffy as the
stoke-hole.  I'd like screen-berths on deck."

"Well, well, have my quarter-deck by all means!"

The commander was talking sarcastically now, of course.

But the surgeon's chance had come.

"Thank you, sir," he cried, laughing in spite of himself.  Then he
wheeled, and was down below before Flint had time to utter another
word.

Now, the little man dearly loved his quarter-deck.  He was king
there; a sea-king and monarch of all he surveyed.  Well, he was in
the habit of taking a sleep-siesta every afternoon, as soon as
luncheon was over.  And this was the surgeon's time.  He got the
carpenter and his mate to remove their shoes, and put up the
screen-berths and hang the hammocks as silently as moles work.  Then
the worst cases were got up and put to bed.

It was really very nice for them, because they could look at the blue
sparkling sea, get fresh air, and watch everything that went on
around them.  When the skipper came on deck, he was fain to catch
hold of a stay to prevent himself from falling.  So at least the
quarter-master said.  But he himself had given the order, and as the
surgeon had obeyed it, nothing could now be done.

Two days after was the Sabbath, and before divisions the commander
and first lieutenant, accompanied by Surgeon Grant, walked round the
ship and down below to inspect.  As usual, those of the sick who
could stand were drawn up in single file.  Now, the skipper ought to
have asked the surgeon, not the men, about their complaints, only
Flint was still intent on bringing the doctor low.

"What's the matter with you, my man?  And what is the surgeon giving
you?"

"It is my business to answer that question, sir," said the surgeon
angrily.

"I'm not talking to you, doctor."

Grant said nothing.  He simply lifted his cap, wheeled about and
walked on deck.

His flag wasn't down yet.

The war went on.

Next morning a boy was, by the captain's orders, introduced to the
gunner's daughter for some trifling offence.  This means that without
being undressed, a boy is tied breast-downwards to a gun, and in this
position receives a rope's-ending.

The doctor was walking the quarter-deck laughing and chatting with a
messmate, when the commander advanced.

"Surgeon Grant," he said, "attend to that boy's flogging."

Now, if a real flogging[1] or "flaying match" had to be played, and a
man--guilty of some great crime--was stripped to the waist and tied
to the rigging to receive four dozen with the cat, not only the
doctor, in cocked hat and lashed to his sword, but all the officers
and crew as well would have to be piped up to witness this fearful
punishment.  But it was no part of the surgeon's duty to attend a
boy's birching.  That indeed would have been _infra dig_.  So, on
this occasion the surgeon simply gave Flint a haughty stare, then
continued his conversation.


[1] Flogging is now done away with in our Navy.


"Why, this is insubordination, sir!  I've a good mind to put you
under arrest."

Then, as the bo's'n's mate expressed it, "the doctor's dander riz".
But he kept his temper.

"Captain Flint," he said, "you can put me under arrest if you please,
but I shall not lower the dignity of a profession which is as
honourable as yours by attending a boy's rope's-ending."

The commander stamped and paused.

"I'll--I'll--" he began.

"Now, now, now," cried the surgeon, "you'll have a fit!  I warn you,
sir.  You're short-necked, sir, and excitable, and if--"

He got no further.

"Confound you, sir, I'll pay you out for this!"

Then he rushed below.

But there was nothing done about it.  Flint simply nursed his wrath
to keep it warm.

One day, some time after this, the ship grounded on a sand-bank.
Luckily it was at low tide, so when the tide began to rise, all
hands, even the officers, had orders from the commander to arm
themselves each with a 56-lb. shot, and rush fore and aft, and aft
and fore, in a body to help to swing the ship off.

But Grant stood quietly by the binnacle.

"Did you hear the order, sir?" roared the commander.  "Get your shot
and join the crew."

"Na, na, na," answered Grant, in his native Doric.  "Man, I've gotten
a laddie's back to see till, and a poultice to mak.  Jist tak' a shot
yoursel', man."

On this occasion the captain had to smile.

But the war culminated about a month after this, and on that
occasion, it must be confessed, the doctor did lose his temper, and
had the captain been able to get witnesses he could have tried the
surgeon by court-martial, for Grant's conduct amounted almost to
mutiny, albeit the provocation he received was very great.

You cannot insult a Scot more than by attempting to throw mud at his
country.

Well, while anchored near a village the officers generally went on
shore in mufti, and Grant was in the habit of wearing a Scotch
Glengarry bonnet (called a cap by the English).

Now it occurred to the commander that he might give the surgeon a
knock-down over this.  So he called the assistant paymaster, and
ordered him to write what is called "a memo.", which is really a
tyrannical edict, which all the officers, however, must sign.

Flint dictated the memo., and when presented to him for inspection,
it read as follows:--


_MEMO._

_It is my directions that the officers of this ship shall go on shore
dressed as gentlemen._


This would have been insult enough to poor Grant, but the skipper
added to it greatly, for between the words _as_ and _gentlemen_ he
wrote the word _English_, making the memo, read as _English
gentlemen_.

The doctor was writing in his cabin, between which and the
commander's saloon there was only a single bulkhead.  He was the last
officer to be asked to sign the memo.

When he read it, then indeed his "dander riz".

His fury was fearful to behold, and the commander could hear all that
was said.

Grant sprang to his feet.

"This from Flint!" he roared; "and he dares ask me to sign it!  Is
not a Scotch gentleman as good as an English gentleman any day?  See
here, Maxwell, I tear it in pieces, and fling them on the deck.  Take
it back to him thus if you choose, but he shall not insult my native
land!"

At this moment the commander was heard shouting:

"Quartermaster!"

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Send Dr. Grant to my cabin at once."

Grant required no two biddings.  He rushed up the ward-room companion
and thundered down the captain's stair, while officers,
quartermaster, and all rushed forward, determined not to be witnesses
to anything that might happen.

Perhaps never on board a man-o'-war before did such a scene take
place in a commander's cabin.

Grant had picked up a handful of the torn-up memo., and quickly now
drawing back Flint's curtain he stood like an angry bull in the
doorway.

The skipper started to his feet.  He had been sitting in his
easy-chair.

"Sir--" he began.

But he got no further.

"You sent this memo. to me?  There!  I fling it at your feet.  I
ought to fling it into your white and frightened face.  How dare you
insult my country, sir?  You little tippling whipper-snapper!"

"This is rank mutiny!" cried the skipper.  "I'll call the first
lieutenant and quartermaster."

"You may call till you are hoarse, and they will not come to witness
against me.  Even your boy has fled, and now I'll speak my mind."

Here the commander attempted to run the blockade and force his way
out.

"Stand back, sir," cried Grant, "or worse will happen!"

"Now, sir, listen to me.  I have stood your tyranny long enough and
as calmly as I could, and now it is my turn, and I tell you plainly
that whenever and wherever I find you on shore in plain clothes, I'll
give you such a thrashing that you won't forget it the longest day
you live.  Good-morning."

This ended the scene.

Some captains would have shot Grant where he stood.  But Flint was
terror-stricken and silent.

He was on deck again half an hour afterwards, looking as if nothing
had happened.

Next evening the steward came in to say, with Captain Flint's
compliments, that he wished Dr. Grant to come and share a bottle of
wine with him.

"Tell the captain, with my compliments, that I refuse."

That was the answer.

The steward returned in three minutes' time.

"The captain wants to see you, sir."

"Oh, certainly; that is an order."

And off he marched to obey it.

When he entered Flint stood up, smiling.

"I'm afraid, doctor," he said, "I've been too hard.  Are you willing
to let bygones be bygones?"

Who could have resisted an appeal like this?  It was as nearly an
apology as any captain could make to a junior officer.  And he held
out his hand as he spoke.

"Willing," cried Grant with Scotch enthusiasm, "ay, and delighted!
You know, sir, I'm only a wild Highlander, so I lost my balance
when--but there, never mind.  'Tis past and gone for ever and for
aye."

Then there was a hearty handshake and both sat down.

"There is the wine," said the commander, "and there is the whisky."

"I'll have the whisky," said Grant, "though not much.  But it is the
wine of my country, sir."

The commander smiled, and Grant drew the cruet towards him, quoting
as he did so and while he tapped the bottle, the words of Burns:

  "When neebors anger at a plea,
  And just as wud[2] as wud can be,
  How easy can the barley-bree
        Cement the quarrel!
  It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee
        To taste the barrel."


[2] Wud=angry.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Some time after this the commander fell ill, and so kind was Grant to
him, and so constant in his attentions, that all animosity fled for
ever, and Flint really got fond of Grant, whom he delighted when
visiting on shore to call "my surgeon".

Well, whatever ill-feeling officers or men may exhibit toward each
other if penned up in a small mess, when war comes it is all
forgotten, and the British sailors and marines, when sent on shore to
fight, stand shoulder to shoulder, and woe be to the foe who faces
them.

One day, while lying off Loanda, startling intelligence came to the
commander of the _Rattler_ from a steam launch that had been
despatched in all haste to hurry her up to the mouth of the Benin
river.  A party of European traders, many British as well as foreign,
had been surrounded and massacred to a man.  The steam launch
belonged to H.M.S. _Centiped_, a cruiser far larger than the
_Rattler_.  The officer in charge could hardly stop to eat or drink,
but food was handed over the side, and in ten minutes' time she was
once more under weigh and steering rapidly north.

A glance at a map of Africa will show you that Loanda lies well to
the south of the Bight of Benin, and show you, too, where the great
river Niger or Quorra empties itself into the Gulf of Guinea.

All was now bustle and stir on board the _Rattler_.  Steam was
ordered to be got up at once.  There used to be disputes between the
engineer and captain, but these were all forgotten now.

Would you believe it, reader, that all hands, from the commander to
the dark-skinned Kroomen from Sierra Leone, were as merry and happy
as if they were going to a fancy ball instead of to battle and to
carnage.  Such is your British sailor.

Dinner was ordered half an hour sooner, so that the men should have
plenty of time to get their arms and accoutrements into perfect
fighting trim before the sun went down at four bells in the first
dog-watch.

The captain felt in fine form; for whatever faults he had, he
certainly was no coward.

He liked his middies well, too, when he had not those nasty little
fits of bad temper on.  To-day he walked up and down the quarter-deck
holding our hero Creggan by the arm, and not only talking to him but
encouraging the boy himself to talk.

Creggan was nothing loath.  But from some words he let fall,
Commander Flint found he had a romantic early history.

"You must come and dine with me to-night," he said, "and tell me all
your story.  You and Dr. Grant."

"Oh, thank you, sir.

"And now," added Creggan, "may I take the liberty of asking you just
one question?"

"Certainly, Mr. M'Vayne, certainly."

"Well, sir, do you think we shall have a real battle with the
savages?"

"Sure to, and perhaps half a dozen.  The case seems very grave, you
know."

"Well, I'll be glad to see some fighting."

"Bravo!  And now you can go and tell the steward I want him."

Off went Creggan, and next minute up popped the steward.

"Sir?" he said.

"Splice the main brace," said the commander.

(This means, reader, an extra glass of rum to all hands.)

By this time the _Rattler_ was ploughing her way through the bright
blue sea, and heading for the north.

Exciting adventures were before them.




CHAPTER XI.

THE CITY OF BLOOD

"In the city of Benin," said the commander, that night at dinner,
"and all around it, westward to Dahomey, Abomey, and Ashantee, they
are a bad lot, an accursed lot, treacherous and cruel to a degree."

"I've heard it said," Creggan ventured to remark, "that the men of
Benin are not brave, Captain Flint."

The captain shook his head and smiled.

"We must not believe all we hear.  Remarks like these are generally
made by gentlemen journalists who live at home at ease.  But I've
been there, lad, and found it altogether different."

The dinner passed off very comfortably indeed.  Dr. Grant would not
touch wine, but when dessert had been removed, and the commander
ordered the steward to bring in the tumblers, he helped himself
somewhat liberally to the wine of his native land.

"Well, Captain Flint," he said, "I haven't really been a dog's
watch[1] in the service, as you might say, and with the exception of
a brush with the Arabs on the East Coast of Africa, and north of the
Equator, I've never seen what we in Scotland term 'solid fighting'."


[1] The dog-watches are from four to six and six to eight every
evening, and therefore only two hours long, while all the others are
four hours.


"I think you will have a chance now, doctor."

"Ay, sir; and I won't begrudge flailing around with the claymore a
bit, and seeing my patients afterwards."

"Tell us something about Benin, sir, if you please," said Creggan.

"Well, lad, I've told you that the people are fearful savages when
aroused, although seemingly quiet enough at all other times.  Benin,
you know, is really a country extending to Ashantee.  Once
exceedingly powerful, and densely populated still, it is now divided
into many half-independent states.

"The city itself lies nearly eighty miles up the river Niger, from
the Atlantic Ocean or Gulf of Guinea.  It is about twenty miles
inland.  This river is miles wide where it joins the sea, and if you
once get over the bar, it may be cautiously navigated by boats and
launches nearly all the way up.  But there is the dreaded bar to
cross.  What are those lines, lad, about Greenland's icy mountains?"

"Oh, I know," said Creggan, holding up one arm as if he were a
school-boy.

  "'From Greenland's icy mountains,
    From India's coral strand;
  Where Afric's sunny fountains
    Roll down their golden sand.'


"Is there a lot of golden sand, sir?"

"There is a lot of constantly shifting black-brown mud, but if you
expect to find gold or see it, you'll be sadly disappointed.

"The city itself contains from twelve to twenty thousand natives, as
well as I could guess.

"The king is a savage emperor of the deepest and blackest dye.  His
reign is a reign of terror.  He rules his unhappy subjects with rods
of iron and knives of steel.  I hope you'll never see what I have
seen there.  The sight of those human sacrifices, boy, would return
to your dreams for years afterwards.  They do to mine, whenever I am
ill or troubled."

"You saw them, sir?"

"I was despatched on a mission of peace, one might say.  I had a
body-guard of fifty armed men, and blue-jackets and marines, and had
need been, we could have fought our way to our boats through all the
king's fanatics.

"The mission was this.  You must know that all the coast-line is
British, and the people at home were constantly being shocked to hear
of the terrible human sacrifices occurring in Benin, while it was
nothing uncommon to find a mutilated and headless corpse, that the
sharks had spared, cast up with outspread arms on the beach."

"Terrible!" said Dr. Grant.

"Yes.  And my mission was not to take revenge, but to endeavour
pacifically to get the king to give up those massacres of men, women,
and helpless children, for whom he had no more pity than the
self-named sportsmen who follow the Queen's hounds have for the
innocent and hunted stag.

"The king was amply supplied with bad rum or arrack, the worst and
most fiery of all spirits.  He got this stuff from the palm-oil
traders of Gato, men who came from Portugal and even Britain itself.

"He was three sheets in the wind when we arrived on a beautiful
afternoon.  He told us, through our interpreter, how delighted he was
to see us, and how he would give us a grand show next morning.

"We occupied portions of his grass-hut palace, keeping well together
after lying down on grass mats, with our arms by our sides; for as
the king had got drunker and drunker, and was now yelling and
whooping like a madman, we feared he would make an attempt to murder
us all before morning.

"You see, Creggan, that cutting throats was a fancy or fad of this
brutal monarch's, just as collecting foreign stamps is with most
English boys.

"All around the back part of the palace lay bleaching skulls and
skeletons, that the blue-bottle flies and ants had polished, and
recent corpses also, from which so fearful a stench arose and
poisoned the air that we could scarcely sleep.

"But I fell off at last, and the sun was shining over the dense
forests of the East before I awoke.  Something was going on behind.
Something dreadful, I felt sure.  There was a low and pitiful
moaning, but no cries.  Yet every now and then came a dull thud,
similar to that which a butcher makes in splitting a pig in two.

"I peeped through the back wattled wall.  Oh, lad, may you never see
such a sight!

"Over fifty poor creatures were huddled together mournfully awaiting
their doom.  Every half-minute one was dragged out, and stood with
his or her hands between the knees and head bent down, till the cruel
blow fell that severed that head from the body.

"But three or four were crucified in another corner.

"My remonstrances were in vain.  The king only laughed, and told me
that it was all got up in my honour.

"As no more could be done, we left almost immediately.  We regaled
ourselves on fruits as we passed on through the jungle to our
sailor-guarded boat, and glad enough were we all when we found
ourselves rowing once more down the beautiful river, on each bank of
which--alive with beautiful birds--the foliage and trees were like
the forests and woodlands of fairyland.

"But," continued the commander, "to change the subject to one more
pleasant, tell us the story of your young life, my lad."

Nothing loath, Creggan told the doctor and him all he knew from his
babyhood, and all about the hermit also.

"Why, it is a perfect romance, Creggan," said Flint.

"Indeed it is," said Grant.  "I'll take more interest in the lad now
than ever."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Arrived at the mouth of the Niger, they found the _Centiped_ anchored
outside the bar.

She was not going to venture across, being too large.

On the bar itself the breakers were dashing and curling house-high.
There was just one gap in the centre, and through this the saucy
_Rattler_ must force her way.

Before proceeding she was lightened as much as possible, that is, all
men not required were sent on board the cruiser.

Then "Go ahead at full speed", was the order.

The _Rattler's_ full speed was nothing very extraordinary, but when
she reached the gap at last and entered it, poor Creggan felt
appalled.  The roar of a seeming Niagara at each side was so
terrible, that even through the speaking-trumpet scarcely could the
skipper's voice be heard.

The roar was mingled with a seething, hissing sound, which was even
more deafening than the thunder of the breakers itself.

She bumped her keel several times on the bottom, which here was hard,
so violently that the men were thrown down, and Creggan began to say
his prayers, thinking the ship must undoubtedly become a wreck.
Nevertheless, in a minute or two they were into the deep smooth water
inside the bar.  Here she was anchored for a time, until all the
marines and blue-jackets of both ships were got on board the
_Rattler_.  The boats and steam launch would accompany the
expedition, and after all were loaded up with armed men, the advance
was made up stream.

It was now about two bells in the forenoon watch, and they expected
to get up as high as it was possible before night.

This it was found impossible to do, so she was anchored, and next day
succeeded in reaching a station some forty miles from the sea, called
Sapelé.  This in launches, the gun-boat being left further down.
Here to their joy they found a fort or barracks, containing in all
about two hundred and fifty officers and men (soldiers).

The expeditionary force from the _Rattler_ was soon landed and hailed
with delight.  Together they were now quite a strong little army.

The commanding officer told Captain[2] Flint a sickening story of the
massacre of the traders.


[2] A Commander in the Royal Navy is not in reality a captain, but is
usually addressed so by courtesy.


"The king, in fact," he said, "is jealous of the approach of the
Protectorate."

After the murders he, the officer, had sent a sergeant with a flag of
truce and several Kroomen, to ask for an interview with the tyrant.

Two days afterwards the white sergeant dragged himself, wounded and
half-dead, into barracks.  Before he expired, poor fellow, he had
only time to report that every Krooman was murdered, and that Benin
was in a state of terrible ferment, like a hive of hornets.

"And so, Captain Flint," he added, "between your force and mine, I
think we can give this murderous assassin such a drubbing that he
will not forget it for years."

"We'll do our best," said Flint; "and I suppose the sooner we start
the better."

"Certainly; it is always wiser to attack than wait to be attacked."

So it was determined to give the little army a hearty supper, let
them turn in early, and ready to start by three, inland now through
the jungle, towards Benin.  The real distance from Sapelé to Benin
is, I believe, about twenty-five miles, but the road, if road it
could be called, was bad enough in all conscience.

Nevertheless, it was determined to drag along two guns, with a good
supply of shell.  The bugle sounded prettily over woods and dells and
river, shortly after two, and on finishing their hurried breakfast
the force fell in.

Very proud indeed was Creggan to be allowed to go along with it,
armed not only with a good cutlass, instead of the almost useless
dirk, but with a revolver.

This was indeed a forced march, for before four o'clock next day they
had got within twelve miles of the dismal city, with only one halt to
partake of food, although much wood had to be cut down.  They
immediately hewed trees and bushes and went into laager, expecting an
attack at any moment.  When as safe as could be, fires were lit and
supper cooked.  Under other circumstances they would have remained
silent and in the dark, but the commanding officer well knew that
long before this time the blood-stained king would have heard of
their advance.  So, no attempt at concealment was necessary.

But the men were tired, so soon after supper fires were banked, and
in an hour's time there was hardly a sound to be heard in the laager.

Dr. Grant and Creggan were the last to stretch themselves on their
pallets of grass.  Grant in his own wild Highland home had been used
to roughing it, and Creggan, as we know, led a very active life on
the Island of Wings.  So neither felt tired.

The night was balmy with the odour of many gorgeous wild flowers, and
it was even cool.  The moon shone like a disc of gold, high up near
the zenith, dimming even the effulgence of the brightest stars, and
casting a strange, dreamy, phosphorescent light over the shapeless
masses of cloud-like trees, and a brighter glimmer on the tall
feathery cocoa-nut palms.  Now and then away in the woods, there
arose the mournful cry of some bird of prey, a cry that would make
the marvellously beautiful king-fishers crouch lower to the perches
on which they sat, and thrill their hearts with terror.

Now and then a fleecy, snow-white cloudlet would sail gently over the
moon's disc, making the light scenery momentarily dimmer, but soon
all was brightness once more.  From an adjacent creek at times would
come the sound of a heavy plunge, but whether from ghastly crocodile
or hippopotamus they could not tell.

"It is indeed a goodly night," said Grant.

"Oh, it is heavenly!" cried Creggan; "but will we all be alive this
time to-morrow?"

"Who can tell, my lad?  No one dies till his day comes.

"But," he added with some hesitation, "you're not afraid, are you?"

"Oh, no indeed, doctor; just a little anxious, that is all.  This
will be my first fight, you know.  But I am seventeen now--"

"Yes, and hard and strong, Creggan."

"So, doctor, if I get a chance to hit a nigger, I mean to hit him
just as hard as I know how to."

"Very good.  So shall I; but let me give you a word of good advice,
because I'm older than you.  Don't get carried away by excitement.
He fights best who fights as calmly as possible.  Keep to the
fighting line or square, as the case may be, and you'll do well.

"And now I think I'll turn in, and may God in his mercy preserve us
both to-morrow, and our Captain Flint as well."

"Amen!" said Creggan.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In less than half an hour after this Creggan was fast asleep, and
dreaming that he was bounding over the smooth waves of the blue Minch
in his skiff, with poor honest Oscar in the bows, and bonnie wee
fair-haired Matty in the stern-sheets all smiles and dimples, her
eyes twinkling with fun and merriment.

The dream seemed a very short one.

"Surely," he said, when the bugle sounded, "I cannot have slept an
hour."

Yet it was already half-past one, and the moon had westered and was
slowly sinking towards the horizon.

Before two breakfast was finished, a ration of rum served out, and
the march resumed.

They must walk silently now.

The road was better, so that under the light of the stars only, for
the moon had sunk, they had reached the wide straggling city by five
o'clock.

Here the forces separated, the marines and blue-jackets lying in wait
in a piece of jungle in the east; the soldiers making a silent detour
to the back of the city, where was a dense primeval forest.

The guns were a long way behind, but just as the sun was tipping the
glorious clouds of palms with its crimson rays, they were dragged in.

The sound of one gun and a bursting shell was to give notice to the
soldiers hidden in the forest that the battle had indeed begun.

Just as the sun cast his bright beams across the darkling forest a
buzz of awakening life began to arise from the city.

A spy had informed the naval commander where the king's forces, to
the number of five thousand at least, were concentrated.

He now pointed out the very spot, a kind of fort and eminence in the
centre of the town, and not far from the awful blood-stained palace.

"Now, gunner," cried Captain Flint cheerily, "give us the best shot
ever you fired in your life."

"I'll do my level best," was the reply.

There was no quaver in the man's voice, no quiver in his hand.

The gun rang out in the morning air, echoed and re-echoed from forest
and brae, and the shell was planted right in the centre of that
heathen fort, bursting, and evidently doing tremendous damage.  The
battle had begun.




CHAPTER XII.

CAPTURE OF THE CITY OF BENIN.

There is nothing that African savages dread more than shells and
war-rockets, and Arabs themselves are equally demoralized by these
dread missiles.

They care but little--I am talking from my own experience--for
ordinary round shot, if they are any distance off, in their dhows.
From the cruiser's black side they can see arise a white cloud of
smoke, with a spiteful tongue of fire in the centre; in a few seconds
they hear the roar of the gun, and see the shot itself.

Well, they but utter a word of prayer to Allah, and ten to one the
shot goes hurtling past high overhead, or it doesn't reach, but goes
ricochetting past, half a mile astern perhaps, taking leaps of fifty
yards at a time, throwing a cloud of foam up from every wave it
strikes, till at last it sinks down to the slime of the fathomless
sea.

If a cannon ball comes near enough to dash the sea-spray inboard, the
Arab captain curses the British as heartily as he prays for himself,
though he keeps cracking on.

But the shells, ah! the shells, that hiss and hurtle and fly into
splinters in the air above the dhow, scattering death and destruction
along its decks and poop; they will not yield to prayer, and I never
yet saw an Arab captain who would or could stand the brunt of three
or four well-aimed ones.

If one of these shells hit a mast, even if you are unwounded, the
fall of that spar is something terrorizing to look upon, with its
tangled rigging as well.

It does not come down quickly; it quivers and reels uncertainly for a
time, while you gaze upwards and probably utter involuntarily a
helpless moan.

It is coming down on you, and how can you escape death?  More
quickly, more and more quickly now, it descends.  Then there is a
crash, smashed bulwarks, and splinters flying in all directions.
But, you are safe after all!

Captain Flint and his men had a good supply of shells, and it was
lucky that the guns got up in time and were not damaged, for during
the march there had been many small streams to cross, in which it was
difficult at times to find a ford.

What wild yelling and shouting comes from the city now!  Were it a
large, compact town, with high houses and towers, Flint would shell
it.  But it were a pity to expend a shell in knocking a few grass
huts to pieces, and scaring, killing, or wounding, perhaps, only
helpless women and children.

"Just one other startler, sir,--shall I?"

The tall, dark young gunner was as good a shot as ever drew lanyard,
and he told a messmate before he addressed the commander that he was
spoiling for a shot or two that would astonish the weak nerves of the
niggers.

"Well, Mr. Gill," said Flint smiling, "just one other; but I want to
spare the ammunition till we see the foe."

"_Br--br--brang!_" went the gun a few seconds after, and the great
shell went shrieking away on its mission of death.

Louder yelling than before followed the bursting of this shell.

Still the enemy did not appear.

Some men would have stormed the town, and attempted after a rifle
volley or two to take it at the bayonet's point.

But this Ju-Ju king, with his naked feet caked with the blood of the
victims that he had walked among, had a force of fiendish soldiers at
least ten times greater in number than Flint's sailors and the
soldiers behind.  With these the king over-awed the the neighbouring
states, and carried fire and spear and sword into their midst if they
owned not his superiority and greatness.

Two hours passed away and still they did not show face, though the
blue-jackets were stamping on the ground, and itching to get at them.
Waiting for a tight makes the bravest sailor or soldier nervous.

The cause of the delay was that Benin, being completely under the
dominion of a set of bloodthirsty scoundrels of priests, there were
fetishes or oracles to be consulted, and all kinds of mumbo-jumbo
business to be gone through, before the Ju-Ju king's army could come
forth.  Oh, as for the king himself, his person was far too sacred to
risk.  The priests told him so, and he was by no means loath to
believe it.  Besides, he was so covered with beads from chin to
ankle, that he had some difficulty in walking much.

Far better to stay in his harem, and listen to the yelling of his
soldiers, the rattling of the musketry, and roar of the guns, until,
as the priests assured him would be the case, the British
prisoners--all that were not slain--should be brought in.

Ah! then, he said to himself, the fun would begin.  He would roast
some alive.  "Man meat", as these cannibals call human flesh, which,
by the way, is sold openly in the market-place, is ever so much more
tender and juicy when cooked alive.  Well, the king made up his mind
to roast a few; he would torture and crucify others on trees, with
widely-extended arms and legs, and wooden pegs nailed through the
flesh of feet, legs, and arms to hold them up.  Others, again, he
would tie to stakes, where he could see them starve to death in the
broiling sunshine, half-eaten alive at night by loathsome beetles and
other fearful insects.  All the rest he would either behead, or hand
over to the women to be tied down and slowly disembowelled alive!

That was the programme.

And now it was to be carried out.  So the king believed.  The British
tars and marines were well stationed on slightly rising ground,
half-sheltered by straggling bush, and were all ready when the enemy
appeared in his thousands.

Mercy on us, how they yelled, and waved aloft shield and spear or
guns, as they came on like a black and awful avalanche!

They fired first, and a few of our fellows fell, but only wounded.

"Reserve your fire, lads, till they get nearer!" cried Flint, for the
blood of the sailors was getting hot.

Still on came that yelling avalanche.  The sailors could see their
red mouths, flashing teeth, and fearful eyes, when the captain
shouted:

"Aim low, lads.  Fire!"

That was a splendid volley!

Its effects were startling.  The enemy was packed together, and some
of the British bullets must have killed or wounded two at a time.  It
was followed up by others quite as good, and the dark skins, kicking
and squirming like wounded rats, blackened the ground as their
comrades sprang past or over them.

Nor did the hissing, spluttering war-rockets, tearing through their
centre, repel their determined advance.

It seemed for a time that win the battle they must, by mere force of
numbers.

Their terrible yelling now increased.  All savages make these sounds,
which they believe paralyses the enemy.  Our brave Jacks and Joes,
however, don't paralyse worth a groat.  They were now formed into
squares for a time, which the Ju-Ju's devils could not break.

Revolvers did lovely work!

Again and again the black savages advanced, only to be hurled back.

Then they threw their spears.

This was nasty, and wounded many of the man-o'-war's men.

"Fix bayonets!" cried Flint.

The bayonets were really cutlasses, and our fellows know how to use
them too.

"Charge!"

How our men cheered, as they dashed on to the work of death!  A true
British cheer.  The king heard it and trembled.

For a time it was a hand-to-hand tussle.  But look yonder, in a more
open space the captain himself has fallen, and three armed savages
are on him instantly; two have spears--one is about to dash Flint's
brains out with the butt-end of a beggarly Brummagen gun, when in the
nick of time Creggan, who is near at hand, fires, and the fellow,
with arms aloft, falls dead.  Then, cutlass in hand, our hero rushes
at the other two, as did the wild cat at his neck on that starlit
night long ago, when he was returning home with dear Matty by his
side.  He has cut one across the neck with terrible effect, but the
very strength and impulse of the blow, somehow, makes poor Creggan
stumble and fall.

Next moment savage No. 3 has a spear very near to his chest indeed.

Yes; but the captain has now sprung up,--he was merely stunned,--the
spear is splintered with the first blow, the second cleaves the
savage's skull through to the eyes.

"God bless you, boy," cried Flint, "for your timely aid!  I'll not
forget it."

And blood-dripping hands are shaken there and then.

But how goes the battle?

Ah! right bravely.  You can tell that by the royal cheers of Jack and
Joe.

The foe reels backwards, wavers, flies.  No use for blue-jacket or
marine to follow.  These fiends run swift as deer!

But shells and war-rockets do dread work now, and sadly thin the
ranks of those shrieking fiends.

Nor is it all over yet.  For look, right in front of the defeated and
fleeing army there suddenly springs, as if from the earth itself, a
thin red line of British soldiers.

_Rip--rip--rip_ go the crackling rifles all along this line.  As
pretty platoon firing as one could wish to see or hear.

And the effect is deadly.  The black army bids fair to be wiped out.
They attempt to fly to the right--to the left.  But Flint has divided
his little army and outflanks them on both sides.  Then, cowed and
appalled, those among them who are still intact throw away their
arms, throw themselves on the ground, throw themselves even across
the bleeding bodies of the slain, and shriek aloud for mercy.  Mercy?
It is never refused by British soldiers to beseeching foemen.

The carnage has been dreadful, but silence reigns now, except for the
pitiful moaning of the wounded.  No sound of rifle, no slash of
cutlass, or hiss of flying spear!

A blue sky above, and bright sunshine, in which the woods around seem
to swelter and steam.  The blue above--the blood below!

Yes, readers, war may be glorious, but it is after the battle has
ceased to rage that one sees Bellona[1] in all her dreadful
deshabille, her blood-stained arms, her soaking hair, and cruel and
fiercely flaming eyes.  May heaven in its mercy keep war and famine
far away from our own sweet island home!


[1] The goddess of war.


* * * * * * * * * * *

The arms were now taken from the prisoners, and they were left
huddled together like an immense herd of seals, for all were lying
down exhausted.  Only fifty men were left to keep them together.  The
main little army then marched into the city.

Will it be believed that women and children rushed to meet our
heroes, kneeling in the dust and weeping, embracing our blue-jackets'
knees, till more than one tar was heard to remark: "I'm blessed,
Bill" (or Jim as the case might be), "I'm blessed if I don't feel
like blubbering my blooming self."

For the British sailor, though the bravest of the brave in battle,
has ever a tender heart to a child or woman.

But there was one particular cry that rang all through this poor
forlorn mob.  When translated it was found to mean:

"Kill the devil--Oh, kill the devil-king!"

The awful odour of this blood-stained city cannot be described.  Nor
can the sights that were seen in the market-place and around the
palace.  The skulls set on sticks, the skeletons, the putrid bodies;
the crucified men still rotting on the trees, their heads fallen down
till the chins touched the breast-bone; the "man-meat" in joints left
on the now deserted stalls, the joints not unlike those of black pig.
But the most disgusting sight of all, perhaps, was to see naked black
children squatting on the murdered dead or drumming on their chests
with the bones of the skeletons.  And there was, as Burns says, in
his inimitable _Tam o' Shanter_,

  "Mair o' horrible and awfu',
  Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'".


What a surprise his sable Majesty got when our blue-jackets, to the
number of twenty, stormed his harem!

He had expected his own warriors, with British heads to set on poles,
with British joints to roast for dinner, and British men to torture
and burn.

Tom Sinclair, of the _Rattler_, a beau-ideal seaman, led the rest.
His white "bags", as he called them, were red and brown with blood,
and his shirt besprinkled too.  But his sun-tanned face looked as
jolly as if he had only just come from a ball instead of a field of
carnage.

"_Yambo sana!_" (a Swahili salute).

"_Yambo sana!_" he said to the king, who was stretched on a raised,
mat-covered couch.  "W'y, what a luxurious old cockalorum you are, to
be sure!"

Tom hitched up his trousers as he spoke, and looked pleasant.

But like fire from flint the Ju-Ju king sprang up, and attempted to
knife poor Tom.  And Tom with a single twist disarmed him, and next
moment the king in his beads was lying on his back, the blood flowing
from his nasal organ.

Tom was as calm as a judge.

"'Xcuse me, old chap," he said, "for making your morsel of a nose
bleed.  Would have preferred giving ye a pair of black eyes, only
they wouldn't show like, your skin's so dark.

"Seems to me," he added, "yer soul's as black as yer blooming skin.
Wouldn't I like to trice yer Majesty up and give ye four dozen.

"Here, interpreter," continued this tormenting Tom, "'terpret wot I
says to this ere himage o' Satan.  Are ye ready?"

"Tell him that we've wiped out his sodgers, and ask if he could
oblige us by turning out a new army.  We were only just a-settlin'
down to serious fightin' when the beggars bolted.

"Told him?"

"Yes, sah.  And now he groan and shake his big head plenty mooch, for
true!"

"Tell him not to be afeard, that we won't scupper him (kill him) for
a day or two, but that we means only to put a hook through his nose
and 'ang him to a branch.  Have you got a grip o' that, 'terpreter?"

"Yes, sah.  And see, he shake his big head once more.  Hoo, hoo!  How
he make me laugh!"

"Tell him that we may also build a fire under him just to keep his
toes warm, 'cause it would be a terrible thing if a monarch like he
was to catch his death o' cold."

The interpreter had barely finished telling the trembling king all
this, when a stir in the after part of the room announced the arrival
of the commanding officer, Fraser, and Captain Flint.

The sailors fixed bayonets, and drew silently up.

Then Colonel Fraser, through the interpreter, sternly ordered the
king to stand up, and just as sternly addressed him.  Pointing out to
the assassin the enormity of all his fearful crimes, and what his
punishment might be, if he, the commanding officer, cared to go to
extremes.  He told him much else that need not be mentioned here.
But the palaver thus begun did not end for days.

The soldiers and sailors meanwhile commanded a large body of niggers
to go everywhere over the town and bury every human carcase, and even
every bone.  The market stalls were heaped around the crucifixion
trees and fired.  The trees themselves burned fiercely.

The king's special murder-yard was also seen to.  Then a grass and
bamboo house was run up for the king in a different part of the town.
To this he was escorted, laughed at and jeered by women and children,
while his old blood-stained palace and everything in it was burned to
the ground.  Many of the adjoining huts caught fire, but the
conflagration, though at night it looked very alarming, did not
extend far, and was soon got under by the natives themselves throwing
earth over it.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In another week's time the brave little army was once more on the
march back to the river at Sapelé.

But the king had almost emptied his treasures of gold-dust to pay the
demanded indemnity; he agreed also to send to New Benin much ivory,
copal, nutmegs, and spices and palm-oil.  A treaty was signed (it has
not been kept, by the way) which bound his Majesty down to
discontinue the awful human sacrifices, and to rule his subjects
peacefully, on pain of another invasion by British forces, who next
time, the commanding officer informed him, would hang him on the
nearest tree and annex his country.

Just before the sailors and soldiers commenced their march to the
river a strange and curious thing occurred.

There came emissaries from the hill tribes of the Wild West seeking
an interview with Colonel Fraser.

The men, who were as wild-looking as any savages ever seen, and armed
with spears and strong shields, looked nevertheless far from
unpleasant.

The colonel was found after a little delay, and then the interpreter.

The first thing these strange men did was to lay their spears and
their shields at the colonel's feet, then they grovelled, head down,
in the dust, which, as they muttered some strange words, they mingled
with their bushy heads of hair.

"Tell them to rise," said Colonel Fraser.  "I cannot spare long time
in ceremony."

The savage emissaries arose at once and stood before him.

"What can I do for you, my men?" said the commandant.

Their answer was so voluble that even the interpreter could not for a
time understand it.




CHAPTER XIII.

IN A WILD AND LOVELY MOUNTAIN-LAND.

I believe, reader, that human nature is pretty much the same all the
world over.  The motto, "Don't sit on a man when he is down", is
strictly adhered to, only the word "don't" is always deleted.  And
when a man is down, physically, morally, or financially, people, even
old "friends", do sit on him, just as a cabby sits on his fallen
horse's head to keep him down.

There is hardly any such thing as extending a kindly hand to a fallen
man to help him up again, or even giving him a word of encouragement
which might save his life itself.  He is simply ostracized.

But in very truth there was considerable excuse for those hillmen
from the Wild West.  That blood-stained Ju-Ju king had ruled them
with a rod of steel, ravaged their country, killed the men who could
not escape, and carried off their women and children.

And now their time had come.  The trampled worm had turned, and their
proposal was simplicity in itself.  It may best be expressed in the
interpreter's own words.

"Dese gentlemans," he began, as he pointed to the niggers, and
Creggan and some other officers smiled aloud; "dese gentlemans come
from de far-away mountain.  Plenty cold sometimes up dere.  Dey want
to bringee down five, ten tousand warrior to help we.  Dey kill all,
all dey men-men, take away de women-men and de little chillen.  All
de men-men dey eat plenty quick, and dey will nail de debil-king to a
tree, all spread out, and roast he alive, for true.  De king, when
all nice and plopah, dey give to you to gobble up."

Colonel Fraser had a hearty laugh over this, then he made a short
speech, in which he said he did not see his way at present to accede
to their request, but if they would promise not to attack the king
till he, Colonel Fraser, returned to punish him again, he would
accept their proposal, but was not quite certain that he would eat
the king, even if he were done to a turn.

Then with his own hands he returned to them their spears and shields,
and, bowing and salaaming, thanked them.

Those emissaries of a poor oppressed race went back to their
mountains rejoicing, and the march to the river was at once commenced.

They carried the wounded and even the dead in hammocks.  Had they
buried the latter anywhere near Benin they would, Colonel Fraser
thought, be speedily disinterred and eaten.

In the woods, ten miles from the City of Blood, they buried their
fallen comrades, after Colonel Fraser himself had said a prayer--not
a printed one, but an earnest prayer from his honest, kindly heart.

Many a tear trickled down the cheeks of the blue-jackets and marines
as comrade after comrade was laid side by side in the deeply-dug
trench, while such expressions as the following were heard on every
side:

"Good-bye, Bill, we'll never see you more!"

"Ah, Joe, you and I 'as spent many a 'appy day together.  Farewell,
old man, farewell!"

"Jim, if I thought a pipe 'ud comfort ye, I'd put all my 'baccy
beside ye in the grave.  Blest if I wouldn't, messmates!"

Rough but kindly words, and not without a certain degree of pathos.

* * * * * * * * * * *

There was no need to hurry back; so, after crossing a creek about ten
miles from the river they bivouacked at Siri, a wretched village, for
the night.  But the inhabitants had heard of the battle, and the
downfall of the assassin king, and brought them presents of fruit and
cassava, besides nutmegs and spices, for all of which they were
substantially thanked with gifts of coloured beads, which made the
sable ladies chuckle and coo with delight.

Next day the expedition reached the river and crossed to Sapelé, and
soon after the sailors reached their ship.

But they had not quite done with Benin yet.  The wounded soldiers had
been safely seen to at Sapelé, but the colonel and a Lieutenant
Aswood boarded the _Rattler_ to dine with Flint and his officers, and
considering everything, a very jolly evening was spent.  The doctor
had reported that the wounded would all do well, so Commander Flint
gave a dinner-party, and orders to splice the main brace, from the
gun-room aft right away forward to the cook's galley.

There was jollity, therefore, forward.  Yarns were told, songs were
sung, and every now and then the sweet music of guitar and fiddle
floated aft.

It was for all the world like an old-fashioned Saturday-night at sea.

And those in the saloon or commander's cabin, including the soldiers,
the ship's doctor, first lieutenant, and Creggan, felt very happy
indeed.  The chief talk naturally centred on the recent fight, and
the terrible condition of the City of Blood.

"Now, Flint, as far as niggers go I'm not a bad prophet."  This from
the colonel.  "And I'll tell you what will happen."

"Well, Fraser," said Flint, "heave round and give us your ideas."

"Well, then, I'm half-sorry now that I didn't hang that
blood-drunkard of a king to begin with.  But the king that the
priests would have then placed on the stool called a throne might
have been quite as bad, if not worse."

"True, Fraser, true."

"Do you think he will be influenced by that treaty?"

"About a week, perhaps."

"Just so."

"On the other hand," said the colonel, "I am half-sorry I didn't
allow the mountain-men to wipe the savages out.

"But," he continued, "that Ju-Ju monarch is no more to be restrained
from sacrificing his subjects than a cat could be from catching
sparrows.  Now he'll go on till he gets hold of some whites and
massacres these.  Then there will be another war.  If we do not kill
the king, he'll be sent down to the coast and imprisoned for life."

"I follow you," said Flint.  "What next?"

"Oh, annexation of course, and the whole of this rich and lovely
country will become ours.

"What do you think of its healthiness?" he added, turning to Dr.
Grant.

"Give a dog a bad name," replied Grant, "and you may kill him as soon
as you like.  When we annex this land of Benin, the niggers under our
kindly sway--and they swarm in millions, you know--will till it and
drain it for us; cut down useless jungles, fell valuable timber,
which will help to dry up the creeks and bogs.  All unhealthiness
will then vanish, sir, like the morning mist from the mountain tops;
land will be cheap and good, and colonists will come from Scotland by
the shipload.  As for sickness, we shall have splendid sanatoriums
far away among those lofty mountains, where the climate must be
temperate, and even bracing."

"Capital, Dr. Grant!  Capital!  Just my own ideas," said the colonel,
"only expressed in far prettier language than any I could use.  And
now, Flint, what say you to stay for a week here, while we explore
the country as Moses did the Holy Land?"

"Oh, Colonel Fraser," cried Creggan laughing, "it wasn't Moses, but
Caleb and Joshua.  Poor Moses only had a bird's-eye view of it from a
hill-head, you remember."

"Quite right, boy, and thank you.  Well, Flint, suppose you and I on
this occasion go and spy out the land, which must eventually be ours,
you know."

"Good!" said the commander.  "We shall go in peace, and with
peace-offerings for the people."

"Beads and bonnie things," said Grant, with a broad Scotch smile.

"That's it, doctor," said the colonel.  "Beads and bonnie things.
But an escort as well, eh?"

"Yes, fifty marines and blue-jackets."

"And start to-morrow?"

"Capital!"

"And now, Grant, I know you sing and play.  Yonder is the piano; sit
down and delight us."

Grant required no second bidding.

After a most charming prelude he said smiling:

"I'm going to sing you songs of the triune nation--Scotland, England,
and Ireland."

And so he did.

After a beautiful, sad, and plaintive Scotch song, he rattled off
into a strathspey and reel.  After singing "_Good-bye, Sweetheart,
Good-bye_", he played a waltz, and on concluding "_The Harp that once
through Tara's Halls_", he dashed off into such a soul-inspiring,
maddening, droll old jig, that everybody all round the table clapped
their hands and shouted "Encore!"

Well, on the whole, the evening passed away most delightfully, but by
eight bells or the end of the first watch, all on board save those on
duty were sound asleep in hammock or cot.

The exploration of the country was commenced next day.  Tents were
not taken, but tins of potted meats, and potted vegetables.  They
would sleep beneath the stars in open ground.  Rum was also taken,
but it was mixed with quinine.

The explorers were fifty-and-six all told, including Creggan and Dr.
Grant.  Creggan, being a mountaineer, proved himself invaluable.  He
was so light to run, too, and went on ahead here, there, and
everywhere, even shinning up trees to find out the best roads.

The people they encountered were none too gentle.  They even looked
askance at the presents.  So Colonel Fraser decided not to make use
of any as guides, for fear of being led into an ambush.

When they came at last to--altering Scott somewhat--a

  Land of green heath and shaggy wood,
  Land of mountain and of flood,

the forests grew denser, darker, and deeper.  The roar of wild
beasts, too, was heard by day as well as by night, so that caution
had to be used.  And here were many lakes, though there were streams
instead of creeks.  And these lakes were literally alive with fish.

"Beautiful!  Beautiful!  What a happy hunting-ground!" exclaimed
Fraser, as two strange deer went past like the wind.

"It is indeed a land flowing with milk and honey," said the doctor.

"And all to be ours.  All to be British!"

They passed the forests safely enough, and now got fairly into the
mountain-land.  Here were glens, as bonnie and bosky as any in
Scotland.  They entered one particularly beautiful dell.

They had paused to admire and wonder, when the distant sound of
war-drums or tom-toms fell upon their ears, and presently a huge band
of savage warriors appeared, as if by magic, on the opposite brae.
So suddenly did they spring up, that the brave lines of the poet came
back with a rush to Creggan's mind.  Yonder, of course, were no
waving tartans or plumes.  Yet that dark army rose from the bush in
the same startling way.  It is in Roderick Dhu's interview with the
Saxon Fitz-James on the Highland hills.  Roderick cries:

  "'Have, then, thy wish!'  He whistled shrill
  And he was answered from the hill;
  Wild as the scream of the curlew,
  From crag to crag the signal flew.
  Instant, through copse and heath, arose
  Bonnets and spears and bended bows;
  On right, on left, above, below,
  Sprang up at once the lurking foe;
  From shingles gray their lances start,
  The bracken bush sends forth the dart;
  The rushes and the willow-wand
  Are bristling into axe and brand,
  And every tuft of broom gives life
  To plaided warrior armed for strife.
  That whistle garrisoned the glen
  At once with full five hundred men,
  As if the yawning hill, to heaven
  A subterranean host had given."


"Why," said Colonel Fraser, pointing to the hillside, "just look
yonder, Flint.  We don't want to fight these poor hill-men.  They are
doubtless the same from whom the emissaries came."

"Well, anyhow," said Flint, "they look as vicious as vipers.  Let us
send our interpreter over at once.  He will explain things."

"Good!"

So this was done.

But it was evident that the hill-men were not open to reason, for the
poor fellow was immediately seized and bound.

"Now," cried the colonel, "we must and shall advance.  If there were
twice five hundred we should not submit to that indignity."

So the little brave band proceeded at once to descend the hill and
ford the stream.  Bayonets were fixed, and all were climbing slowly
up the steep brae on the other side, but a long way to the right, in
order to get higher than the threatening savages and thus have all
the advantage, when wild whooping and yells arose above them.

They could not understand this, until down rushed the guide and
interpreter--a free man.

"All right, sah, all right!  De men who come to Benin, dey am dere
now, and all de oder sabages am plopah fliends now.

"Come on!  Come on!" he added.

And on they went.

They were received by the hill-men with shouts of joy, and one tall,
very black savage, much ornamented with feathers and beads, insisted
on taking Colonel Fraser's hand, and bending low over it touched it
with his brow.  He repeated the same ceremony with all the officers,
then waved his dark hand in quite a dignified way to the blue-jackets
and marines.

Strange to say, he could even talk a little English.

"I am please, I am mooch delight," he said.  "At Gwato I meet plenty
goot trader, ah! and plenty vely bad.  Ha, ha!"

The officers laughed.

"Well, chief, we have thrashed the cruel king of Benin, and now we
want to see your dear mountain-land, because one day we shall kill
the Ju-Ju king, and then the kind-hearted Great White Queen shall
reign over you, and you will be all very happy."

"I guide you, I guide!  Be delight,--plenty mooch delight!"

So, high up into the mountains marched the sailor-band, with the
chief and twenty savages as guides.

It was getting late now, but before sunset they arrived at a mountain
village, the huts of which seemed to be perched upon the shelves of
the rock, like eagles' eyries.

They found the village clean and sweet.

The chief took the officers into the largest hut, which he had caused
to be rebedded with withered ferns, while the couches all round were
made of beautiful heaths, intermingled with wild flowers.

Then Creggan and the gunner went out to see to the men's supper, and
found them all contented and jolly.

When he returned, lo! a banquet of fried fish, sweet potatoes, roast
yams, capsicums, and fruit of many kinds, was spread on boards or
pieces of bark before his shipmates.

"Take seat, take seat!" cried the chief, "and eatee plenty mooch foh
true!"

"Why," said Creggan, as he squatted on the ferns, "this is indeed a
land flowing with milk and honey."

It was, and behind each officer kneeled a little girl with a
palm-leaf fan to keep the guests cool.

A modicum of rum was served out, and the chief, Gabo, was asked to
drink.

He drew back in horror.

"No, soldiers, no!" he cried.  "Dat am de debil foh true.  Sometime
we hab plenty from the oil-traders at Gwato.  Den we all go mad, and
mooch kill eberybody.  Now we nebber look at he."

A band of girls came in afterwards, and danced while they sang.  A
strange wild dance it was, with many wonderful swayings of arms and
bodies.

An hour after this the British were sleeping soundly.

All hands were called just a little before sunrise, and what a
gorgeous sight they beheld!  Only a Turner could have done justice to
that sky of orange gray and gold, and to the splendid landscape of
forest and water that lay between.  Lake on lake, stream or creek
everywhere, and the purple mist of distance over all, save where a
lake caught the crimson glare of the sun and was turned into blood.

And down beneath them the nearest braes were clad in a wealth of wild
heaths and geraniums, and many a charming flower hugging the barer
patches.  The officers were silent as they gazed on all this
loveliness.

"No beauty such as this," said Grant at last, "can be seen even in
Scotland."

But every bush seemed to be alive with bird-song, every leaf appeared
to hide some feathered songster; and when any of these flitted from
tree to tree, it was found that they were quite as beautiful in
colour as the flowers themselves.

The air, too, was cool and delightful.

Creggan and Grant went for a little walk farther up the hill, where
they found a great basin of rock filled with clear limpid water, and
here they bathed, so that the appetite both had for the excellent
breakfast, roast wild game, birds, and mountain trout, with, as
before, yams and sweet potatoes, was quite striking--striking down, I
may say.

They all went hunting that day.  But up in the hills there were few
wild animals of any sort, yet they enjoyed the tramp nevertheless.

They stayed with this wild tribe for over a week, and every day
brought them something fresh in adventure or pleasure.

Colonel Fraser made sketches, and took many observations of this
beautiful land of wild bird, tree, flower, and fruit, which at no
distant date will become the possession of the enterprising British
colonist, and give riches to men now starving perhaps in the
overcrowded cities of our island home.

Soon may this day come!

There is nothing impossible in Africa.




CHAPTER XIV.

A FEARFUL NIGHT.

But the scene changes, and will change still more as this story runs
on.

Our heroes are back once more in the _Rattler_, that only last night
bumped out over the bar, and is now lying alongside the _Centiped_.

Colonel Fraser, of course, has returned to his own barracks, and the
officers of the expedition, including Creggan, are at dinner on board
the larger ship, telling and talking of all their wild adventures.

"Now, gentlemen," said the captain, "I have news for you, which I
would not tell you before, lest it should spoil your appetites."

They all waited to hear it.

"The _Wasp_, outward bound for the slave-coast of Eastern Africa,
lay-to here three days ago and sent a boat with letters for you all."

"How delightful!" cried Creggan excitedly.

"And, Captain Flint,--the _Rattler_ is ordered home."

"Hurrah!" cried Grant, and there was a general clapping of hands all
round the table, and I'm not sure but that Creggan's eyes filled with
tears.  He was little more than a boy, remember.

Well, the sackful of letters was duly put in the _Rattler's_ boat
when she was hauled up, and that night everybody on board that saucy
gun-boat got good news--or bad.

Creggan had quite a bunch of letters, which he read in the gun-room,
and again by daylight next day.

That old song keeps running through my head as I write--

  "Good news from home, good news for me,
  Has come across the dark blue sea,
  From friends that I had left in tears,
  From friends I have not seen for years.

  "And since we parted long ago,
  My life has been a scene of woe;
  But now a joyful hour has come,
  For I have got good news from home."


The second line of the second verse is, however, hardly correct as
far Creggan was concerned.  On the whole he had passed his time very
pleasantly indeed, with some little griefs, of course.  Many a storm
had the _Rattler_ weathered, and many a strange sight had he seen.

He would be entitled to a good long spell of leave when the gun-boat
was paid off, and what tales he would have to tell the old hermit
(his Daddy) and Archie, and last, though not least, dear wee Matty!
But stay, she would be eleven years old, for Creggan was eighteen or
almost.

But here were the letters from home, one each, and long ones too,
from Daddy, Mr. M'Ian, Rory and Maggie, Nugent and Matty.

He kept the latter to the last.  What a dear, innocent little epistle
it was, and though no praise could be given to the caligraphy, which
was a trifle scrawly, childish, innocent love breathed from every
line.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was a bright and beautiful morning when the _Rattler_ weighed
anchor, left the Bight of Benin, and steered west and away, homeward
bound for Merrie England.

As the gun-boat passed the _Centiped_, which would now take her place
on this station, there was many a shout of "_bon voyage_" from the
quarter-deck; the rigging was crowded with sailors like bees on a
bush, and after three cheers were given, the little band of the
_Centiped_ struck up _Home, Sweet Home_.

The notes came quavering sweetly, sadly over the water, but soon they
died away, and in an hour's time the ship they had left behind them
could hardly be seen against the greenery of the trees that lined the
Afric foreshore.

They made a good run that day, and when, after the ward-room dinner
and gun-room supper, Grant and Creggan met upon the quarter-deck,
steam had been turned off and the fires banked, for there was just
enough wind to send the _Rattler_ on.  She ran before it, for it blew
off the land, with stunsails set alow and aloft.

It was a delightful night, though not bright, but the clouds that
covered the sky were very high and gauzy.  They had many a rift of
blue, however, and whenever she had a chance while the clouds went
scudding on, the moon shone down on the sea with a radiance brighter
than diamonds.

Now and then a shoal of playful dolphins would go leaping and dancing
past.  It was evident that they enjoyed the beauty of the night as
well, if not better, than even Grant or Creggan could.

The _Rattler's_ record till she reached the Bay of Biscay, which she
skirted only, was really a good one for a ship of such small
horse-power.  Though an iron-clad, remember, she had sails and
rigging as well as steam.  But now the scene changed!  The glass went
down like falling over a cliff, banks of sugarloaf clouds rose one
evening threateningly in the east, and it was evident to every
seafarer on board that it was to be a dirty night.  So sails were got
in, and the ship made snug, while the engineer speedily got up steam.

Creggan was in the first mate's watch, and they had the middle watch
to keep to-night.

A man had come down below to shake his hammock and call him.  That
hammock required a good deal of shaking before Creggan was thoroughly
aroused.  But he turned out at once.

"Better put on your oil-skins, sir," said the seaman.

"Is it blowing, then?"

"Hark, don't you hear it roar, sir?  It's blowing real big guns,
Dahlgrens and Armstrongs, all in a heap.  Hurry up, sir!  It's gone
eight bells minutes ago."

Creggan was not long in getting on deck.  He tied the flaps of his
oil-skin over his ears and under his chin.  A good thing, too, for
the wind was wild enough to have torn one's hair off.  Creggan could
scarcely stand or stagger against it.  Nor could the gun-boat make
much headway either.  Hardly, perhaps, a knot an hour.

The lad got aft to look at the compass.  Yes, her head was north and
a trifle westerly.  She was boldly holding her course at all events.

It was very dark indeed, for all round the vessel the horizon was
close on board of her, and the inky clouds must have been miles deep.
The ship's masts seemed to cut through them when high on the top of a
storm-tormented wave, and when down in the deep trough between two
seas these waves thundered over the bows and came rushing aft in
white foam, a rolling cataract, which, had the ship not been battened
down, would have flooded the engine-room and probably drowned out the
fires.

Creggan was perfectly alive to the extreme danger, for if the ship
from any accident broached to, in all probability she would turn
turtle and be heard of nevermore, until the sea gave up its dead.

Yet Creggan managed to get forward a few yards to the spot where the
first lieutenant stood clinging to a stay, and they managed to carry
on a conversation for a while.

But a kind of drowsiness stole over both, and presently they became
silent.

Creggan was awakened from his lethargy by the crashing of wood
forward.  A mighty wave had splintered the bulwarks, and for just
about half a minute the vessel fell off her course.

It was found necessary to put an extra hand to the wheel.

The storm was now at its worst.  Ever and anon the waves, more than
houses high, made a clean breach over her, the spray dashing as high
as the fore-top, and even down the funnel.

To add to the terror, peal after peal of thunder appeared to shake
the ship to her very keel.  Louder far than the roar of the savage
waves was this thunder, and the lightning lit up the slippery decks,
and showed the men crouching and shivering aft, their faces like the
faces of the dead, while over the ocean it shot and glimmered till
the sea itself looked an ocean of fire.

Indeed, indeed a dreadful night!

Neither the first lieutenant nor Creggan was sorry when they were
relieved.

The former beckoned the lad into the ward-room.  Then he produced the
beef and "fixings", as he called bread, butter, and the cruets.  Both
were hungry, and between them they made the joint look small.

Then Creggan went off to his hammock, commending himself as he lay
down to that God who can hold the sea in the hollow of His hand.

Four hours of sweetest dreamless slumber, and when our hero went on
deck after breakfast, though the wind had gone down and gone round,
the seas were still high and darkling blue.

But it was now a beam wind, so fires were banked, and she went
dancing on her course, as if she well knew that after all her trials
and buffetings she would soon be safe in Plymouth Sound.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The evening before the _Rattler_ sighted the chalk-cliffs of Old
England Creggan had kept the first watch, from eight to twelve,
therefore he would have what sailors call "all night in".  That is,
he turned in at twelve, and did not have to leave his hammock till
about half-past seven.

On board a ship in harbour, the time youngsters turn out is five
bells.  I slept in a hammock myself when I first joined, and I assure
the reader I didn't like to be called at five bells, or half-past
six; but the quartermaster was inexorable, he used to pass along the
orlop deck, where all our hammocks hung, and strike each a dig with
his thumb underneath.

"Five bells, sir, please!  Five bells, sir, please!"

This resounded all along the deck, and if we had not turned out in
five minutes, then he took the number of the hammock and reported it
to the commander.  The owner of that hammock was planked.  That is,
he was brought on the quarter-deck and severely reprimanded.

Our sea-chests stood all round the deck, and as soon as we got up,
our servants folded the bed-clothes, lashed up the hammocks, and
trundled them away to the upper deck to be neatly stowed in the
topgallant bulwarks.

But though we got up, we didn't always, if ever, begin to dress
immediately.  No, we used to mount to the top of our sea-chests, and
with our night-shirts drawn down to cover the toes, and our knees up
to our chins, squat there for perhaps a quarter of an hour, looking
for all the world like a row of fan-tail pigeons.

Then we grew lively, opened our sea-chests, which, you know, contain
a complete toilet service at the top, washed and towelled, skylarked,
stole each others socks, and pelted each other with wet sponges.  I
dare say our marine servants were to be pitied in their almost
fruitless endeavours to maintain order.

Ah! those dear old days are past and gone, and they will never come
again!

* * * * * * * * * * *

However, although he had all night in, somehow it was quite an hour
before Creggan dosed off.  He was reviewing in his mind the events of
the cruise, and thinking of home at the same time, anxiously too.  It
must have been months and months since the last batch of letters
received were written, and some of his dear friends may have died
since then.  This thought made his heart beat uneasily.

Then he remembered that he had hurried into his hammock without
saying his prayers.

But he did so now, and so felt more contented and happy.

All the scenes of the past three years then presented themselves in
single file before his mind's eye.  Had he done all he could for the
service?

He really thought he had.

Poor old Daddy the hermit had given Creggan three maxims before he
left his little island home, and the lad had always borne these in
mind.  They are not sentimental or namby-pamby, or I would not repeat
them.  They are just good, honest rules, that would help any
sailor-boy to get his foot well on to the first rung of the ladder
that leads to fame and fortune.

"My dear sonny," said the hermit, "mind you this, and mind it all
your life:--

"First--If a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well.

"Second--'Work while it is called to-day, for the night cometh when
no man can work'.

"Third--Try to see your duty and make sure of it, and when you see
it, go straight for it."

* * * * * * * * * * *

But Creggan dosed off at last, and soon slept soundly enough.

When he got into the gun-room next morning, he was saluted by his
merry messmates in the following fashion.

"Creggan Ogg, hillo!"

"Hillo--o--o, old Creggan!"

"Creggan, ain't you just too awfully glad for anything?"

Our hero looked from one to the other in a kind of puzzled way.

"Are you all mad?" he said.

"No, no, no, but we're nearly home, man alive!"

"He isn't half-alive!  He isn't awake yet!"

Then it began to dawn upon Creggan.

He jumped up on the locker, and had a peep out through the tiny port,
or scuttle-hole.

Why, it was like looking through a mirror into fairyland.  The
picture was very limited, it is true, but yonder, high up on a green
brae, was a long, white-washed cottage with a woman at a tub washing
clothes in front of it, and a brindled cow quietly chewing her cud
and looking on.

And this was home at last!  A little picture from dear old England!

Creggan stopped longer upon the locker than there was any need for,
because the tears had sprung to his eyes, and he cared not that his
chaffing messmates should witness such weakness.

Well, soon after this they got past the breakwater and well into the
beautiful Sound.

Boats in swarms begin to surround her, but not a soul, woman or man,
can get on board till the medical officer comes and they get
pratique, a clean bill of health.

But the men are allowed to talk from the gun-ports to their friends
and relatives beneath.  All are anxious all are either sad or joyful.

How the wife beams when she sees her Jack's brown face peeping
smilingly down.

But oh! the grief and sorrow of some poor women when they ask some
other sailor about their Tom or Bill.

"Where is Bill?"

"Where is my Tom?"

It is hard, hard to answer such questions, but it must be done.

"Ah, missus," says Jack at the port, "we've been a-fightin' hard wi'
bloomin' niggers, and poor Tom got scuppered!"

Some women faint.  Some turn pale, dazed, and sink down stunned in
the stern-sheets.

But see, yonder comes the medical officer, and in a very short time
the ship is free.

Then up swarm friends and relations, and meetings and greetings are
very joyful indeed.  There is a rattling fire of questions and
answers all over the ship, and many a jolly laugh rings shoreward
over the sea.

Creggan is on the quarter-deck.  He expects no one, but suddenly he
is hailed.

"Creggan, old man!  How you have grown!"

"Why, is it you, Willie Nugent?  And you've grown too, a little paler
though."

"Oh, I wish I was as brown as you, Creggan, but I'm being dragged up
for a political career, you know.  And I do hate it.  I wish I'd been
a sailor."

"And how is your father?"

"Jolly."

"And Matty?"

"Your wee sweetheart is beautiful, and we are all well.  My father
has a better and larger bungalow now in Skye, and we often go out to
see the hermit.  He looks no older.  Fact, I think he is getting
young again."

"Oscar?"

"Oh, he did miss you at first.  But Tomnahurich has another dog now,
because he thinks on your next cruise you are bound to get Oscar with
you.  So Kooran, and he is a beauty, will then be his companion."

"Well, you're making me so happy, Willie; but just one more question.
Ever see Archie?"

Willie laughed right merrily and mischievously.

"Why, he is here, Creggan; I was keeping this bit of news to astound
you."

"Archie here!"

"Yes; I'll call him up now."

Next minute, with kindly hand extended, there walked, smiling but
with eyes glistening with tears of joy, a fashionably-dressed young
gentleman with a budding moustache.

"Man, is it your very, very self?"

"It is no other, dear old friend."

"I'd hardly have known you, Creggan."

"Nor I you.  But explain, my boy.  Why all this extensive
rig-out--the top hat, the morning coat, the trousers instead of the
kilt?  Why all this thusness?  Anybody left you a fortune, Archie?"

"No, no!  I've lots of money, though," laughed Archie.  "I've taken a
small farm for mother and Kory, and they live in a red stone house,
and have horses, cows, and sheep."

"But--"

"I'll tell you in a minute.  You'll mind our games of draughts with
the bits of carrot and parsnip for men?"

"Indeed I do."

"Well, a draught-player in Edinburgh challenged all Scotland for £20
to play with him.  After you left I often played wi' Tomnahurich.  He
plays well, but though I took off men of my own, I very soon whipped
off all his.

"'You'll go down to Edinburgh,' he said, 'and beat this boasting
fellow.  I'll lend you the money.'

"'But,' says I, 'suppose I lose it?'

"'Never mind,' says he.  'Off you go.'

"And off I went, Creggan, just the kilted ghillie I was when you left
us.  Well, there must have been a hundred great ladies and gentlemen
to watch our ten games.  They gave me a little cheer, but my opponent
looked at me in proud disdain.  I didn't like it, and determined to
win.  You know the old Cameronian motto--_Whate'er a man dares he can
do_,--and by St. Kilda, Creggan, I soon lowered that toff's play.  I
won the first four games, getting his last crowned head in a fix
every time.

"The room was stuffy and hot, and my head swam a bit, so he licked me
in the fifth.  Ah! playing in a hot room isn't like playing on the
breezy cliffs, or among the wild thyme.

"Well, they opened a window, and our table was drawn near to it--and,
Creggan boy, that toff never won another game.

"What cheering! what rejoicing!  Why, a duchess took me in her arms
and kissed me, and a tall swell caught me by the hand.

"'You dear little Highlander!  You've got to come to my house
to-morrow.  I backed you for two thou., and I'll make you share it.'

"And now, Creggan, I'm champion player of Britain; but I've been
challenged out to the States, and I hope I'll win there too."

Next day the three friends dined together at the chief hotel.  Oh,
such a happy night!  Then, as soon as leave was obtained--the ship
being paid off,--they all started for Glasgow by boat, and thence,
again by boat, to the beautiful Island of Wings.




CHAPTER XV.

WELCOME BACK TO SKYE.

Creggan Ogg M'Vayne might well sing of

  "A life on the ocean wave,
  A home on the rolling deep".

Well, any man who is worth the noble name of sailor loves his ship,
and looks upon her as "home" in the real sense of the word.  Nor does
he long for any other while the commission lasts.  But oh! when the
order to return comes on board, then there is something within him
that, though it may have been slumbering for years, awakes at once,
and he is eager, even to excitement, to see once more the woods and
flowery fields of England, or the wild straths and glens of green
Caledonia.

When the boat discharged Willie and Creggan at Portree, the latter
felt that he was indeed at home.

"No, Willie, we won't walk.  I'm too impatient far for that."

"I'll do whatever you do, old man."

So they hired a fast horse and dogcart; the driver a man who could
hold the ribbons well, the nag as sure-footed as a mule.

The day was bright and bracing, so that Creggan's spirits rose with
every milestone passed.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Perhaps in no country in all the wide world is the early autumn more
lovely than in our own dear Scottish Highlands.  The fierce heat of
summer that erst was reflected from the lofty crags and mountain
brows to the straths below, is mitigated now.  The grass is still
green in the bonnie bosky dells, through which streamlets meander
over their pebbly beds and go singing to the sea.  Though the winds
are whispering now among the birchen foliage, and the tall needled
pine-trees, with a harsher voice than that of sweet spring-time, the
tall ferns in many a quiet and sylvan nook wave wild and bonnie,
their fronds of green and brown making a charming background to the
crimson nodding bells of the foxglove.  And the hills above are
purple and crimson with heather and heath, with many a rugged crag or
gray rock peeping through, which only serve to enhance their beauty.

But here in the north of Skye are no trees, though the heather is a
sight to see, and so you hardly miss the dark waving pines.

"I'm just so happy," said Creggan, "that I believe I could sing."

"My dear boy," said Willie, "I already know enough about politics to
be able to assure you that no act of parliament has yet been passed
against singing.  Heave round, as you sailors say, and give us a
ditty."

"Give us a bass then, Willie."

"That I will, and the horse himself will beat time to your melody."

"Well, I'll sing you a song our bo's'n used to troll at the fo'castle
head in starlight evenings, when our ship was far at sea.  But I have
not his voice.  It is called--


  THE SAILOR'S RETURN.

  Bleak was the morn when William left his Nancy,
    The fleecy snow frown'd on the whitened shore,
  Cold as the fears that chilled her dreary fancy,
    While she her sailor from her bosom tore.
  To his fill'd heart a little Nancy pressing,
    While a young tar the ample trousers eyed,
  In need of firmness, in this state distressing,
    Will checked the rising sigh, and fondly cried:
          'Ne'er fear the perils of the fickle ocean,
          Sorrow's all a notion,
            Grief all in vain;
          Sweet love, take heart,
          For we but part
            In joy to meet again.'

  Loud blew the wind, when, leaning on that willow
    Where the dear name of William printed stood,
  Poor Nancy saw, tossed by a faithless billow,
    A ship dash'd 'gainst a rock that topped the flood.
  Her tender heart, with frantic sorrow thrilling,
    Wild as the storm that howl'd along the shore,
  No longer could resist a stroke so killing:
    ''Tis he,' she cried, 'nor shall I see him more!
          Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean?
            Sorrow's my portion,
          Misery and pain!
            Break, my poor heart,
          For now we part,
            Never to meet again.'

  Mild was the eye, all nature was smiling,
    Four tedious years had Nancy passed in grief,
  When, with her children, the sad hours beguiling,
    She saw her William fly to her relief!
  Sunk in his arms with bliss he quickly found her,
    But soon return'd to life, to love, and joy;
  While her grown young ones anxiously surround her,
    And now Will clasps his girl, and now his boy.
          'Did I not say, though 'tis a fickle ocean,
          Sorrow's all a notion,
            Grief all in vain?
          My joy how sweet!
          For now we meet,
            Never to part again.'


As the horse went merrily trotting along the road, and the voices of
those happy boys raised in song was echoed from rock and brae, little
kilted lads and kirtled lassies ran out from cottage doors--for joy
is infectious--to shout and wave their bonnets as long as they could
see the trap.

And now, here is Uig once more.  The landlady just as buxom and jolly
as before, though at first she did not know Creggan.

Here a good luncheon was made, and the horse fed.  Then on again for
many a mile, till the gray ruins of the warlike old castle of Duntulm
hove in sight, the swift rolling Minch, and, far beyond, the blue
hills of Harris.  And yonder, too, was the hermit's isle of Kilmara.

Some distance from the sea was Nugent's bungalow, but all were at the
door to meet Willie and Creggan, the sailor-boy.

Matty could talk better English now, though still a child, and just
as innocent as ever.  While Creggan rested on a chair under the
pretty verandah, trying to answer about a hundred questions at the
same time, wee Matty climbed his knee, and with one soft arm around
his neck, claimed her sailor all to herself.

Then there was the visit to the manse.  More welcomes there from
Rory, Maggie, and Mr. M'Ian.

Oh, it is really worth going to sea for a few years, if only to
receive a welcome home like this!

The sea to-day was blue and smooth, so Willie had his skiff taken
down from the manse, and with Matty in the stern-sheets---just in the
dear old way--he paddled out to visit his Daddy.

That was indeed a delightful meeting, but I cannot describe it.  The
new dog came furious, barking at Creggan, but poor Oscar knew him at
a glance, and simply went wild with joy.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Let no one ever tell me that a dog forgets a kind master.  When I
myself first went to sea--in the Royal Navy--I left my beautiful
collie with my mother.  Not only did he know me when I returned after
several years, but on the day my arrival was announced mother said to
him: "Tyro, doggie, your master is coming to-day".  He never left the
window after that.  Never ceased to watch till, afar off, he could
see me.  Then his impatience was unbounded till the door was opened,
and he came rushing down the road to meet me.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Creggan spent the night with Daddy, who had not altered a bit, but he
rowed Matty home first.

That evening a strange but true tale of the sea was related to
Creggan, and the mystery that surrounded his childhood was cleared up
once and for ever.

It was thought best by the minister, and by Nugent also, that the
hermit should break the news to the lad.

Know then, that not more than a month ago, a lady in black, still
beautiful, though she must have been verging on forty, was travelling
in a dog-cart through Skye, with her own maid and coachman.

Calling at the manse, M'Ian happened among other things to tell her
of the strange story of the finding of Creggan in the skiff on the
beach of Kilmara isle.

She seemed strangely agitated.

"Is the skiff still to the fore, and might I see it?"

"Certainly, my dear lady."

She had hardly looked at it before she almost fainted, and would have
fallen had not M'Ian's strong arms supported her.

"Oh, sir, that was our boat!  Is the boy still alive?"

"Yes, and at sea.  We expect him back in a month.  He was brought up
by the hermit of Kilmara out yonder."

"Do row me over there, will you?"

"With pleasure, madam."

And the minister's own boat was launched and soon reached the island.

The hermit was mystified at first, but soon recovering, told her all
the reader already knows.

Then she told her sad story.

The _Sea-Swallow_--her husband's ship--was lying at Harris in a
little bay.  He, her husband, had been, alas! drinking hard some
weeks before this, but seemed quite recovered, and one day she
received an invitation from the minister of the parish to go on a
picnic excursion with his children to see the beauties of the island.
She would be back before ten.  It was autumn, and the nights were
long, with bright starlight and a little frost.  Her husband would
not go on shore, but appeared delighted to be left in charge of the
child.  The mother had not been gone over two hours, and night had
fallen, when he told the first to call away the skiff, a light kind
of dinghy.  He told him he was going on shore to the manse, and would
take the child with him.  He was in no way excited, but quiet and
calm, and singing low to the child as he went down the gangway ladder.

The mate watched him rowing himself towards the shore, then went
below.

The captain was never seen again.

His name was Mearns, and the _Sea-Swallow_ was as much a yacht as a
trader, though she did bring cargoes of fruit from Italy.

Mrs. Mearns was prostrated with grief, and for many a long week never
left her bed.  The most Christian conclusion she could come to was
that the boat had been swamped and sunk, and both the husband and
child drowned.

But the _Sea-Swallow_ was sold, and ever since poor Mrs. Mearns had
lived alone with her grief, in her beautiful home down near to
Torquay.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"And this lady is--my--mother, Daddy?"

"Yes, my lad; and you will see her to-morrow."

And next day he was early on shore with Oscar, and went straight to
the manse.

The lady in black came slowly up the garden path about mid-day.

Something seemed to whisper to Creggan, telling him that this was
indeed his mother.  He ran to meet her.

She held him at arm's-length for a few seconds, while she turned
white and red by turns.

"It is indeed my long-lost son!" she cried.  "Oh, heaven be praised
for the dawn of this day!"

Then woman-like she relieved her feelings by weeping.

Mrs. Mearns took up her abode at the manse for two months, all the
time, in fact, that Creggan spent in Skye.  But she seemed quite a
changed woman, and looked ten years younger at least.

She no longer wore mourning, but light-coloured, beautiful dresses.
She played and sang too, in a manner that quite fascinated the
minister, and she took part in all the rambles about this wild
romantic island.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Well, partings came again, and with them tears and blessings.  Oh,
that sad word "Farewell"!

In a week after this Creggan and his mother were at Torquay.  But a
delightful old-fashioned wooden paddle frigate was commissioned at
Plymouth.  She was going on Special Service, to carry despatches
here, there, and everywhere.  Creggan went on purpose to see her, and
though the carpenters, or wood-peckers as we used to call them, were
still on board, the lad--who, by the way, had been promoted to
sub-lieutenant, wore a stripe and carried a sword--liked her so much,
that he made an application to be appointed to her.

His appointment came in a few days.

Then Creggan once more took the bold step of calling on the captain,
and with him went Oscar.

Captain Leeward opened the door, and when the young sub-lieutenant
introduced himself--

"Oh, come in, my good fellow.  No, no, don't shut the door in the
dear doggie's face."

So in went Creggan and in went Oscar.

"I say," said Captain Leeward, a most pleasant-faced man, "I must ask
you to bring this beautiful animal with you.  I have a lovely black
Newfoundland, and they will be excellent companions."

Had anyone handed Creggan a cheque for £10,000, he could not have
been more delighted than he was at this moment.

Then in stalked the very dog the captain had mentioned.  Creggan had
never seen so noble a fellow before.

He appeared a little surprised at seeing another dog in the room, but
as soon as Oscar went up and licked his ear--a dog's kiss--he took to
him at once, and before Creggan left they both lay asleep together
before the fire.

"I've heard all about you from Captain Flint himself--rather a tartar
sometimes, but possessed of a right good heart.  You must stay to
supper, and we'll swap yarns, you know.

"By the way," he added, "do you know that your bold messmate, Dr.
Grant, has been appointed to this ship?"

"I didn't know, but I feel so pleased!"

A very delightful evening Creggan spent, till nine o'clock, then he
begged leave to go.

The last thing that Captain Leeward said as he shook Creggan's hand
was this:

"You saved your captain's life, lad.  Your courage in presence of the
enemy was conspicuous, and although the Admiralty is slow--it won't
forget you!

"Good-night.  Join your ship in a week's time."

"Good-night, sir.  You have made me very happy."




CHAPTER XVI.

LIFE ON THE GOOD SHIP _OSPREY_.

It was a stormy day in the end of October when the good frigate
_Osprey_ got up steam and put out to sea.

Signals had been exchanged for an hour before this between the
admiral's office and the ship.  The admiral thought it most imprudent
to sail on such a day.

Captain Leeward was persistent, however, and at last, like any other
wilful man, he had his way.

The wind was from the east-south-east, cold and bitter and high.  The
air, too, was filled with sleet or snow.

When they passed the breakwater it caught her bows smartly, and slued
her for a few moments out of her course.  But the helmsman quickly
put her up, and the strong paddles fought the water fiercely, and
successfully too.

Balked in its design of driving the _Osprey_ against the breakwater,
the wind did all sorts of ill-natured things.  It cut the smoke of
the funnel clean off, and drove its dark wreaths to leeward; it
rattled the braces, it shook the rigging; it slammed the companion
doorways, swayed the hanging boats about, and dashed the spray
inboard with sometimes a green sea, till everybody who had to be on
deck and hadn't an oilskin on was drenched to the skin.  A nasty,
disagreeable old wind!

The _Osprey_ didn't seem to mind it a bit.  She had a broad beam of
her own, a strong bowsprit and jibboom, and she lifted her bows
slowly, and with a sturdy disdain that showed she cared for neither
wind nor sea.

Nor did the men either--every one of whom had been picked and chosen
by Captain Leeward himself, every one of whom was as hardy as the
vikings of old.

Before the ship was two miles from the Sound, and while standing
amidships talking to Grant,--the _Osprey's_ head being now turned to
west-and-south, so that spray no longer flew inboard,--Creggan said:

"Listen, doctor; what a grand singer!"

For up from the forehatch rose high above the roar of the wind a
manly voice, singing one of Dibdin's most favourite songs:--

  "Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear
    The mainmast by the board,
  My heart with thoughts of thee, my dear,
    And love well stor'd,
  Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear;
    The roaring winds, the raging sea;
        In hopes on shore
        To be once more
    Safe moor'd with thee."


"Yes, he sings well.  And do you know, that with the kindliest heart
that ever was in sailor's breast, Captain Leeward has his
peculiarities."

"Yes?"

"Yes.  I've known him before, and sailed with him, always in a wooden
ship.  He hates an iron-clad, and he must see canvas bellying out
aloft if there be a bit of wind at all.  He is really an independent
man, and wouldn't take a ship at all unless he had all his own way.
So every man-jack is a jolly tar of the good old school, and his
officers too, are, I have always found, genuine fellows.  He must
have somebody to dine with him every night, and it is just as often a
middie as a ward-room officer.  As for myself, I have always a knife
and fork laid for me, and if I don't dine with Leeward I look in
after dessert, and many a yarn he spins me."

"So different from Flint."

"Oh, yes; but we must never say a word against the absent."

"No."

"Hark!" cried Grant; "didn't I tell you?"

The ship's head was kept away a point or two.

Next minute the bo's'n's shrill pipe was heard.
"_Eep--eep--peep--peep--ee--ee--ee!_  All hands make sail!"

Up rattle the watches below, and aloft they went right cheerily.

Creggan had never seen a ship's sails cast loose so speedily, nor so
quickly braced up.

"They are indeed good sailors, Dr. Grant."

"Yes, I told you.  But look here, old fellow, just call me 'Grant',
and 'douse' the 'Dr.'."

"All right, Grant," said Creggan, laughing.

The fires were now let down and the paddles thrown out of gear, and
presently that old _Osprey_ was doing ten knots an hour on a beam
wind.

I suppose that Captain Leeward had some inkling of where he was going
to, else he would not have held this course.

But the sealed orders were opened next morning, and he found that the
_Osprey_ was on particular service, her first destination being
Venezuela.

He told his officers this, and that they might then look in at Rio
and open further orders there--probably.

If, reader mine, you knew the Service as well as I do, you would
remark that it was very good of the gallant Captain Leeward to be
thus explicit with his officers.  Many men that I know, or have
known, would have shrouded themselves in their cold dignity, and to
any inquiry made by an officer as to their destination, would simply
have replied--

"Venezuela."

If asked, "And where next, sir?" such men would reply, "I really
can't tell you at present".

Well, lads who mean to join the glorious British Navy, and serve
either as young officers or boys under--

  "'The flag that braved a thousand years
    The battle and the breeze',

must not expect their lives to be all sunshine, any more than they
need expect the sea around to be always blue, rippled by balmy winds,
and domed over with an azure sky, flecked with fleecy cloudlets, and
at night studded with silver-shining stars.

In some ships they will find that fighting the waves is not fun by
any means, because many of the best of our navy ships are sent to sea
defective.  Machinery--and it is marvellously intricate nowadays--may
break down at an untimely moment, even in the midst of a terrible
storm, and having no serviceable sail, even the largest iron-clad
will then be at the mercy of the waves.  Oh, how she rolls and yaws
and plunges and careens at such a time!

The best sailors on board cannot keep their feet, their heads swim
with the awful motion.  Things break loose and play pitch-and-toss
about the deck, the ward-room furniture may be all one chaotic heap,
and all the while the seas are making a plaything of her, dashing
over her, high as the conning tower, and rushing in cataracts fore to
aft, or even vice versa.  At such a time it seems as if the ocean
wished to show those poor wave-beleaguered sailors how small the
strongest works of man are, compared to those of God.

But independently of storms without or the breaking down of
machinery, the ship may not be a happy one as far as officers and men
are concerned.  The crew, all told, may be a badly assorted one, and
I have been in ships, only for a short spell, thank goodness, that
were known on the station as "floating hells".

Much depends upon one's captain.  If he is a kind-hearted, genuine
fellow he can do everything to keep things smooth fore and aft.  The
ward-room officers take their cue from him, the gun-room follows the
example which the ward-room sets them on deck or below, the
midshipmen influence the warrant officers, and these in their turn
the able and ordinary seamen and the first and second class boys
themselves.

But I must heave ahead with my story, instead of hauling my fore-yard
aback or lying-to, in order to ruminate and preach.  Oh, I know my
own faults, my lads; I have so much to say about sea and a life on
the ocean wave, that, with a pen in my hand, I want to say it or
write it all at once.

Well, Creggan hadn't been a day at sea before he found out that the
_Osprey_ was going to be a real happy ship.

They soon lost sight of land in the haze of the storm, though all day
long the beautiful gulls kept sailing around the ship, tack and
half-tack in the air.  For these sea-gulls look upon ships as their
own, because from them they receive their main supply of food; so
they always follow them afar, trying, as it were, by their plaintive
calls, to get them to return.

It was dark enough at eight o'clock to-night, and the gulls had all
returned shorewards.  The gale still raged, but the _Osprey_ was
under easy sail, and the motion was by no means disagreeable to a
sailor.

Creggan had been keeping the second dog-watch, but now went below.
There was first the fighting deck to pass through, where the great
port-holes were, and the black, shining guns, each with its
snow-white lanyard prettily coiled and lying on the breach.  A fine
open breezy deck, the shot and shell neatly arranged in racks around
the hatchways, and the sick-bay far away forward yonder.  Abaft here
was the captain's quarters or saloon, with a red-coated, armed sentry
walking near it, slowly fore and aft.

Then Creggan dived below.  Aft again on this deck and right under the
captain's quarters, only coming more forward, was the well-lighted
ward-room, from which issued the sound of merry voices and laughing.
Turning forward and on the port side there was first a cabin or two,
and then the gun-room.

Below this was the orlop deck, where many hammocks were hung, and
which was lined with two rows of dingy, dark, though white-washed
cabins, lighted by day only by the round scuttle-hole, and at night
by a candle hung in jimbles.  These cabins were told off to warrant
officers, bo's'n, carpenter, &c., &c., and to senior officers of the
gun-room.  But really most of these preferred a hammock just outside,
for the sake of fresher air.

To-night, Creggan, to whom one of these cabins, and a good one too,
was allotted, had occasion to go below.  He heard a sad moaning
proceeding from a hammock, and a white, white melancholy face hanging
half over the side.

"I say!"

"Yes, my lad."

"Are you the surgeon?  I'm very dickey.  I'm a a clerk, and I wish I
had never, never left the land."

"Well, I'm sub, and the second senior member of your mess.  Don't
give way.  I'll go and get the surgeon."

And so he did.

Kind-hearted Grant first gave him a doze of something, which I know
well but must not mention, then a tumblerful of good champagne, and
in five minutes' time poor little Mr. Todd was wrapt in dreamless
slumber.

There were two more of Neptune's young children who wanted seeing to.
Having done so, Grant went aloft again.

Then Creggan went to his quarters.

"Come along, sir," cried one of three bold middies who sat around the
gun-room table when Creggan drew back the curtain; "come along, and
have a hand at whist."

"Thank you, messmates, but I must feed first."

"Steward!"

"Ay ay, sorr," said an unmistakably Irish voice.  "That's me, myself,
sorr;" and a tallish, smart fellow, with black buttons on his short
jacket, and a blue ground to his beardless face, entered the mess.

"Bring in the beef, and all kinds of fixings."

"Any dhrink, sorr?"

"No drink, thanks.  What's your name?"

"M'Carthy, sorr, sure enough."

"Well, Mac, heave round."

"Be back afore ye could say knife, sorr."

Creggan made a capital supper.  Then he had just one game to please
the youngsters.

"I'm dying with sleep, boys," he said, "so I'll turn in.  Ta-ta, see
you all in the morning."

He departed, leaving them singing, and, turning in, was soon sound
and fast.  And thus he slept till called to keep the morning watch.

It was a little cold, but Creggan had bent on his thickest pilot
jacket, and the second lieutenant soon came stumping up, and he also
had on his foul-weather gear.

But the wind had gone down considerably, and with it the sea.  She
had lost way, too.  So Mellor sent men aloft to loosen and shake out
sails.  The effect was magical, and with the wind well abaft the beam
the _Osprey_ pulled herself together, threw off dull sloth and went
through the water like a thing of life.  All along the top-gallant
bulwarks forward, the spray was sprinkled as the good ship spurned
the billows, but nothing came aft.

Mr. Mellor, the lieutenant, a round-faced, fair-haired young
Cornishman, strode up and down the deck talking, and smoking a short
clay.  Creggan and he were swapping yarns--humorous yarns mostly--and
exchanging experiences, and were soon as well acquainted as if they
had known each other for years.

Soon after five bells, a light was seen gradually spreading over the
eastern horizon, getting higher and higher momentarily.  It looked at
first like the reflection of a far-off city on a dark night.

But the light grew whiter and brighter.

It was gray dawn now.  Then high up in the west a streak of a cloud
began to glow with orange and crimson beauty.  Rolling clouds on the
horizon astern were lit up with a fringe of gold and carmine.  Then
all the east became a glory of colour that was almost dazzling, but
very beautiful.  The god of day was rising, and this
dazzlingly-painted orient formed the curtains of his couch.

Soon now, red and fiery, his beams spread in a path of blood across
the sea, and lo! it was day.

Both Creggan and Mellor spent that watch very pleasantly, and before
going below the latter held out his hand, and Creggan gladly grasped
it.

"Good-bye," said Mellor.  "We're going to be friends, you know."




CHAPTER XVII.

MESS-ROOM FUN.

The gun-room mess of H.M.S. _Osprey_ was by no means an overcrowded
one--three middies, an assistant-paymaster, a clerk, another
sub-lieutenant, Mr. Wickens,[1] and Creggan himself.


[1] My prototype for this young officer was Sydney Dickens, the son
of the great novelist, with whom I was shipmate, the dearest little
fellow I ever knew.--G.S.


One middie did not really belong to the mess.  He was a
supernumerary, going out to join the flag-ship on the South American
coast.

Midshipman Robertson was a funny little fellow.  Not bad-looking, but
choke-full of merriment and ideas for practical jokes, and when he
talked to his messmates down below, he always screwed his face into
puckers and dimples with the laughter he tried in vain to conceal.
He was an Edinburgh boy, while young O'Callaghan, the supernumerary,
came from Killarney, and was just as Irish as the steward.

Many a droll logomachy used to take place at dinner-time between
little Scottie and this Killarney lad.  All in fun, of course.

Young Bobbie, as he was called, delighted to tease Paddy O'Callaghan.

"Oh, don't give Paddy another morsel!" cried Bobbie one day at
dinner, as the Irish boy passed his plate to sub-lieutenant Sidney
Wickens for another slice of beef.

"And why not, you Dougal Crayture?"[2] cried O'Callaghan.


[2] The red-haired Highlander in Scott's tale of "Rob Roy".


"For your own sweet sake, Paddy.  I really must look after you.
Coming from a land of potatoes and buttermilk and--want and woe,
over-indulgence in the roast beef of Old England might have serious
consequences.  Indeed, indeed it might."

"Want yourself!  I hurl the insinuation back.  Sure, it wasn't for
want that I came here."

"No, Paddy, no,--because you had too much of that at home, you know."

And the laugh was all against poor Paddy this time.

When the plum-pudding came on that day, again Bobbie held up a
warning finger.

"Mind what I told you, Paddy," he said solemnly, "or I'll have to
write to your mother, and she'll take you back home to look after the
pigs."

"Sure it's yourself that should go home," retorted O'Callaghan.  "If
all reports be true, you'd make more money in bonnie Scotland than
here."

"But how, Paddy darlint?"

"How?  Is it yourself that asks?  Didn't the Duke of Argyle--God
bless him--put up rubbing-stones in every field?  Well, you'd make a
dacint living if you just stood beside one and sold butter and
brimstone.  That's for you this time!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

After the first storm the weather became glorious.  A splendid
breeze, that filled every sail, blew over the sparkling sea--a breeze
that made every sailor's heart beat with joy, a breeze that made
every man-Jack lithe and active, ay, and happy, bringing merry
laughter to the lips and song from the very heart.

Captain Leeward was very proud of his ship.

"She isn't much of a fighter perhaps, you know," he said, "and I dare
say a shell or two from a big gun would speedily rip her up, but she
is comfortable and dry and nice, and for all the world like a yacht,
and so I love her."

"You wouldn't be a sailor if you didn't, sir," said Grant, whom he
was addressing.  "But I never saw a ship before so prettily finished,
both on the upper and fighting decks.  The Lords Commissioners have
been good to you."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the captain.  "It is little indeed you can get out
of them.  I did the decorations--extra paint and gilding, and all
that--out of my own pocket, doctor."

"You have zeal for the Service, then?"

"Not a bit of it.  The Admiralty hold out no encouragement for men to
be zealous.  But I have zeal for my own comfort, and you won't catch
me in a box-heater (ironclad), or a torpedo-boat either, if I can
help it."

In the captain's private cabin was a large sealed box of private
despatches.  This, on being opened, was found to contain letters for
war-ships both at the Azores and Bermuda.  So the vessel's course was
changed to a more southerly direction, and on she sped, with
stun'sails set.

Well might Leeward be proud of the appearance of his ship's decks.
Brass-work shone like burnished gold; hard wood glittered like
boatman beetles.  Never a rope's-end was left uncoiled; the decks
themselves, scrubbed early every morning, were as white as
piano-keys, and so were even the capstan bars; while the sailors
themselves, with their brown, hardy faces, were dressed in white
trousers and jackets of blue.

It was not a temperance ship, yet, although the man who did the day's
cooking for each mess of sixteen men had a plentiful allowance of
rum, no one was ever reported by the master-at-arms as being even a
trifle the worse of drink.  On fine evenings Captain Leeward
encouraged games.  Ship's quoits was a favourite pastime, so was the
running high-leap; hop-step-and-jump; and leap-frog, once begun,
would be kept up all round the deck till the men were ready to drop.
Of course, with the swaying of the ship, the men had many a tumble,
but this only added to the general mirth and merriment.

Don't imagine, dear reader, that the gun-room officers took no part
in these sports.  They couldn't keep out of them, and Paddy and
little Scottie might have been seen vaulting over each other, time
about, as if their very lives depended on it.

Dr. Grant must have his little joke at times, and one day he
announced to the officers of the gun-room mess that he was in a mood
to offer a first, second, and third prize for the winners at standing
high-leap.

Next forenoon the sports came off.  Well, the ship that day was
rolling rather, so that it was a difficult thing to stand at all.

However, everyone had the same chance, so the game came off.  Creggan
made a fairly good third, but Paddy and Bobbie tied for first.

"It's you and me, old stupidnumerary," cried Scottie.  "You first.
_Ignis via_--fire away!"

The rod was lowered several pegs, and the "stupid-numerary" cleared
it easily.

So did Bobbie.

Up another peg, again the same, and so on till some inches over four
feet.

Now, as Paddy was about to leap, the ship gave a bit of a bob, and
the poor "stupidnumerary" kicked off the rod and fell on the softest
part of his body.

"Hurrah!" cried Bobbie.  "Scotland's going to clear it!"

He waited a few seconds till the _Osprey_ was on an even keel, then
sprang over it like a bird.

He had won, and the cheering was deafening, even Hurricane Bob the
Newfoundland and Oscar joined in and made the welkin ring, while
Bobbie pretended to clap his wings and crow.

Then all hands, including the victorious trio, drew aft to be present
at the distribution of the prizes.

"Midshipman Robertson--First Prize."

Bobby sprang forward with alacrity and received--a mustard leaf.

"What is this for?" he said, with a droll look.

"Damp it," said the doctor, "and put it on your face to make you
blush.  I'm sure nothing else can."

"Midshipman O'Callaghan--Second Prize."

Up came the supernumerary and received--an ounce of Epsom salts.

"But, doctor, dear," cried Paddy, "what am I to do with them, at all,
at all?"

"Swallow them, lad, to draw the blood from your head.

"Third Prize--a box of rhubarb pills."

Creggan laughed.

"Pills," said Dr. Grant, "and medicine of nearly every sort, are the
best things in the world for the inside--of a rat's hole."

Creggan thanked him, and retired.

That evening the captain gave a dinner-party, invited to which were
Creggan, Grant, and the second lieutenant.

It was a pretty little dinner.  The captain's cook was really a
_chef_, and the steward a smart young fellow from Austria, whom he
had picked up at a London hotel, and who now acted also in the
capacity of valet and took the greatest interest in all his master
said and did.  They say that no man is ever a hero to his valet, but
it is the exception that proves the rule.

Antonio Brisha was that exception.

Both Hurricane Bob and Oscar were among the invited guests to the
dinner-party.

Now there was only one drawback to Hurricane Bob's presence either
outside or inside the captain's quarters.  He was so black that the
steward, who, when the ship was rolling a bit had to keep his eye on
the dish he was carrying so as to balance it, could not see him in
the gloaming, and more than once he had tumbled right over the honest
dog, while the dish was smashed and the joint of meat continued the
journey on its own account.

On such occasions Antonio used to say "Bother!" only he said it more
so.

But on this particular evening everything passed off delightfully.
When told they must behave, "Oh, certainly, sir", the dogs seemed to
reply, and Hurricane Bob at once jumped up and on to the captain's
beautiful sofa--the room was furnished like a lady's boudoir.

But Oscar, with his bonnie face and long sable coat, was not going to
lie on the deck any more than his companion.  So he not only leapt
upon the sofa, but from thence on to the top of the piano, there
lying down on the loose sheets of music with his chin upon his
fore-paws, so that he commanded a bird's-eye view of the table and
everything thereon--the snow-white cloth, the bright silver, the
sparkling cruets and crystal, the flowers, and the fairy-lights.

"Oh, sir," cried Creggan half-rising, "shall I turn him out?"

"Not a bit of it.  Let poor Oscar lie there, he has more good
qualities than many a Christian."

Oscar moved not.  But he shook his bushy tail by way of thanks.

During this delightful little dinner-party, the conversation was
quite untrammelled by anything like conventionality--free and easy,
as a sailor's dinner should be.  No one attempted to restrain himself
from laughing, if there was a good thing said; and, as is the case
wherever sailors meet, the conversation changed from one tack to
another, often going right about, like a ship in a sea-way, if any
new subject suggested itself.

"Yes, Captain Leeward," said Grant, "I believe I will have another
small slice of that most delicious beef.  Ah, sir," he added, "I fear
we won't live like this all the cruise.  Fighting cocks aren't in it,
sir."

The captain laughed as he helped his doctor.

"Ever been nearly starved, sir?"

"I can't really say I have.  You?"

"Oh yes," replied the Doctor, "more than once.  But on one occasion,
while slaver-hunting on the East Coast of Africa in the little
_P----_, our mess ran into debt.  The commander was honest to a
fault, and determined we should live on ship's provisions--salt junk,
pork, peas, &c., with rancid butter and barrelled eggs--ugh!--till we
cleared off our debt.  But this wasn't the worst, for our ship's
stores had run short, and it would be months before we could get
another supply, so we were put six upon four."

Creggan looked inquiringly.

"I mean, Creggan," said Mr. Grant, "that six men--the number in our
mess--had to live on the allowance of four, and share it as well as
they could.

"We had plenty of biscuits, however, but so full of dust and weevils
were they, and so black with the attentions the huge cockroaches had
paid them, that before we could eat them they had to be fried in
bacon fat.

"There was no growling or snarling, however, we were all very young,
and formed as jolly a little mess as anyone could wish to be member
of.

"I was caterer.  It was a red-letter day, or two even, if, while on
shore at say Mozambique, I could fall in with a sucking-pig."

"You requisitioned it?" said the captain.

"That's it.  I used to say, Piggie, I arrest you in the Queen's name.
Piggie spoke out, but I used to hand it to my marine, and he stopped
the squealing.

"Huge yams roasted in the engine-room ashes, we thought a dish fit to
set before a king.  One yam, with pepper, salt, butter, and fried
biscuit, would make a midnight supper for four of us.  Then we could
sleep.

"Sometimes on shore I stumbled across an Arab who had a few ostrich's
eggs for sale, and again we were in clover."

"Are they very large, Grant?" said Creggan.

"Well, one broken and made into a kind of mash was all that six of us
could eat for breakfast, flanked, of course, by a morsel of salt
pork.  After such a breakfast as this we would go singing on deck.
We did manage to shoot some gulls now and then, and when skinned they
didn't taste so very fishy.

"One day we caught a young shark; he made some trouble on deck, but
gave up the ghost at last, and submitted to be cut up and shared with
all the crew.

"Flying-fish wouldn't come near us, but a bonito was sometimes
hooked, and when inshore we got bucketfuls of rock-oysters.  So we
didn't do so badly upon the whole, except when far out in the Indian
Ocean making a long passage from one island to another.

"We took a Bishop of Central Africa[3] and a Doctor of Divinity down
with us to the Cape--a three weeks' voyage from Zanzibar.  It was
then we suffered most, for even the skipper's "prog" ran short, and
as we couldn't have the Church suffer, we used to give them some of
our scanty allowance, in return for which Captain Mill never failed
to send us a bottle of wine--we had no rum.  We mulled that bottle of
port at eventide, steeped weevily biscuits in it, then drank and
yarned and sang.


[3] Bishop Tozer.


"While eating our miserable dinner our chief conversation turned upon
the 'spreads' we had enjoyed at English hotels, and the 'feeds' we
meant to have when we once more reached

  'The home of the brave and the free'."


"Well," said Captain Leeward, "your yarn, doctor, reminds me, that
when I was a mite of a middle, only thirteen years of age, and that
is longer ago than I like to believe, I was serving in the old
flagship _Princess Royal_, on the China station, the ward-room mess,
which contained some sprigs of nobility, got terribly into debt.

"This was a serious matter for the chief engineer, a plain-going old
fellow, who had a wife and healthy family at home in England, and for
the staff-commander, or master also.  But the latter undertook to
cater for a time, so as to free the mess from debt.  He was to cater
on the most economical principles.  I may tell you, however, that
between the chief engineer and master there was almost a blood feud.
But the former, although objecting to expenses, dearly loved a good
luncheon, and this was the meanest meal of the day.

"The chief would come below, give one glance over the table, then
sink into his chair as sulky as a badger.  Then didn't the wags
around the mess-table tease him anyhow."

At this point of the yarn there was a smart knock at the ward-room
door, the midshipman, or rather the midshipmite, of the watch
entered, and, saluting the captain, told him that there was a clear
light far away on the weather bow, and so low in the water was it,
that the first lieutenant thought it must be in a boat, and that as
the light was being waved about as if to attract attention, the men
must be in distress.

"Is there much wind?"

"No, sir; we're not doing more than two knots an hour."

"Well, bear up towards the mysterious light, anyhow, and let me know
again when you get alongside."

"Ay ay, sir," said Bobbie, backing astern and shutting the door
carefully after him.

"Now, sir," said Grant, "perhaps you'll finish your yarn."

"Oh, certainly."




CHAPTER XVIII.

ST. ELMO'S FIRE.

"I was saying," he went on, "when Mr. Robertson came in, that knowing
the chief engineer's weakness, they chaffed him unmercifully.

"'Dalison,'[1] one would say, 'allow me to send you some liver?'


[1] Not the chief's real name.


"'No, thank 'ee,' gruffly from the chief, as he leant back in his
chair and frowned.

"'May I help you to some tripe, Dalison?'  This from another
tormentor.

"'No, thank 'ee.'

"'A morsel of kidney or heart, Dalison?'

"'No, thank 'ee.'

"Then he would bang his fist on the table, shouting, 'None of your
hoffals (offals) for me!  Stooard, bring in a lump o' bread and the
blue cheese!'"

After the rippling laughter ceased, the captain, cracking a walnut,
continued:

"Chaff was much more common in the service in those days than it is
now, and if a brother officer had any peculiarity, he was sure to
catch it hot.

"Dr. R---- was a grumpy old surgeon that I was shipmate with.  He was
not only grumpy, but surly and uncongenial towards his fellows.  He
was generally a little late for breakfast, and on his entering the
ward-room detested being talked to.

"Here was food for game, and as soon as he came in, every officer all
round the table had a kind word and inquiry for him.

"'Oh, good-morning, doctor.'

"'How have you slept, doctor?'

"'How do you feel on the whole, this morning?'

"'I trust I see you well?'

"At first he merely growled and grunted, but at last getting fully
exasperated he would suddenly turn round and roar out:

"'Oh, good-morning!  Good-morning!  Good-morning!  Hang the whole lot
of you!'"

"Capital!" cried Grant.  "Give us just one more doctor's yarn,
Captain Leeward."

"Well, then, this next one hinges upon an admiral as well as a
doctor.  This gallant officer was always fancying himself ill, though
there was never anything of the slightest importance the matter with
him, and was never happy unless his fleet-surgeon, a dear little
Irishman, paid him a daily visit and ordered medicine.

"A certain pill used to be prescribed, and was found to be most
efficacious.

"But one day the admiral, or 'Ral', as he was called for short, gave
a great dinner-party, and many mighty magnates, gentlemen and ladies
as well, came off shore.  Among the guests was, of course, the Irish
fleet-surgeon.

"During the dinner the admiral somewhat inopportunely called out:

"Oh, doctor, those pills you gave me last are by far the best ever
I've had.  You must let me have the prescription when we pay off.
What are they composed of?'

"Now, the good doctor did not half-relish the notion of 'shop' being
brought on the tapis at so fashionable a dinner-party, so he answered
with emphasis:

"'What are they made of?  Why, bread!  Bread, sir; nothing else!'

"There was a momentary silence around the table, and everyone looked
aghast to see how the reply would be taken.  But the admiral was a
gentleman in the truest sense of the word, and always most
considerate for the feelings of others.  He saw that he had touched
on a very unpleasant theme, so he smiled kindly, and passed it off by
saying in his quiet way:

"'Well, well, well, such is Faith!'

"But the pills were really rhubarb after all."

* * * * * * * * * * *

So with pleasant chat a whole hour passed away, and then once more
the midshipmite Bobbie knocked at the door.

"It is a boat, sir.  Five poor men in it.  Two lying apparently dead
under the thwarts.  The first lieutenant has hauled the fore-yard
aback and is sending some men over the side."

The _Osprey_, I may say here, had already visited the lovely fairy
isles called The Azores, and was now well out into the Atlantic,
steering about west-sou'-west.

The captain's room was soon emptied now, all going on deck.  The
night was very clear and starry, with a bright scimitar of a moon
slowly sinking in the west.

Yes, Bobbie was right.  Two men were dead, and the other three could
scarcely speak, owing to sheer exhaustion.

"We'll hear their story to-morrow.  Dr. Grant, I'll leave them in
your charge."

"I shall see to them, sir," said Grant.

Then he shouted "Sentry!"

"Ay ay, sir."

"Pass the word for the sick-bay man."

In another quarter of an hour the poor fellows, English merchantmen,
were snug and warm in hammocks.  Grant ordered some beef-tea, with a
modicum of brandy, and they soon fell sound asleep.

But so weak were they next day that the doctor forbade their talking,
and it was three whole days before they were strong enough to tell
their story.


A TERRIBLE TALE OF THE SEA.

There was no false pride about Captain Leeward of H.M. paddle-frigate
_Osprey_.  Some commanding officers that I have known would have had
one of these unfortunate castaways to tell his story in the sick-bay.
But instead of this the captain told the doctor to bring him in to
his quarters.

He was a brown-faced, hardy, bearded sailor, but his cheeks were
hollow now from his want of food and terrible suffering.

One hand was tied up in a sling.

He bowed and scraped as he came in, and if ever a sailor looked shy
he did.

He gave just one glance around him, and then looked at Leeward's
pleasant smiling face.  The glance reassured him.

"Why, jigger me," he said, hitching up his trousers with one hand,
"jigger me, sir, if ever I cast anchor in such a pretty saloon as
this afore.  Easy chairs, sofa, piano, fiddle and all, to say nothing
about flowers and fairy-lights.  Cap'n Leeward, sir, I ain't in a
dream, am I?  Mebbe the doctor here will 'blige by sticking a pin in
me, up to the blessed head, if I am."

"Never a dream, Mr. Goodwin.  Well, if you will bring yourself to an
anchor, we'd like to hear your story.  Have a little wine, sir?"

"Purser's wine is the only sort as suits me, sir."

"Steward, the rum!"

A tumbler and wine-glass were placed before the good sailor.  The
latter he pushed aside.  Then, while the castaway held the tumbler
with all the four fingers turned towards the captain, the steward
filled it fully four inches.  This is what is called "a bo's'n's nip".

"A little water, my lad?"

"No, sir, no; not for me.  This rum is too good to be drowned."

He quaffed it, sighed, and put down the empty tumbler.

"Ah, sir!" he said, "now that very word 'drowned' makes me shiver.
I've been, on and off, boy and man, at sea for well-nigh twenty
years.  Just entered as a boy, a tow-headed lad of Liverpool.
Nothing to do till I growed a bit 'cepting to empty cook's ashes and
pail, look after the dogs and ship's cat, feed the monkeys, and get
kicked about all over the deck by anybody who wanted to stretch his
legs a bit.

"But I grew into an able seaman at last.  After'n which I gets to be
second mate o' a Newcastle collier.  Then fust mate.  Then I up and
studies for my certificate.  You wouldn't think it, mebbe, of a rough
chap like me, but I passed with flying colours, and steered
homewards, wi' stunsails 'low and aloft, jolly happy now.

"I meets some maties, and two more overhauled me.  So what could I do
but go with 'em to wet my certificate.

"Sakes alive, cap'n! but I'd blush like a wirgin even now, if I
weren't so brown and weather-beaten that ye wouldn't notice it.

"For, sir, I awoke next morning with a two-horse headache, and a
tongue like kippered salmon.  Clothes all on too, boots and all.  I'd
turned in all standing, but couldn't remember who'd brought me into
port.

"Never mind, sir.  'Twere a lesson to me I ain't going to forget.
Thankee, sir, I will have just another nip.

"But I s'pect, cap'n, I'm a kind o' hinderin' you I always do take
longer time to tune my fiddle than to play my tune.

"Well, sir, it ain't more'n six weeks since I sailed from Glasgow, in
what I might call the sailing steamer-barque _Ossian_.  Our orders
were to visit Azores, Madeira, St. Helena, Ascension, on our way to
the Cape and Madagascar, and our supercargo, a business Scot, was to
deal everywhere, for cash or goods, for we were laden up with
'notions' as the Yank calls 'em.

"Well, cap'n, our ship was as nice a craft as ever I stepped on board
of, and the crew, too, was on the whole fairish; only too many
blessed foreigners among them to please me.  Most o' these'll work,
ay, and sing too, in fair weather and fair wind, but they ain't no
hand, sir, at reefin' topsails in a dirty night, wi' green seas
a-tumbling in, and mebbe the yard-arms 'most a-touching the water
every time the ship leans over.

"And we had dirty weather all along; sometimes 'twould be blowin' so
hard we wouldn't be doin' more'n two knots against wind and sea, full
steam up.

"We dawdled about the islands a bit, and the fine weather sort o'
come at last, cause we was told to sail all we could and save the
coals.

"We weighed at last, and had made a good offing into the Atlantic,
'cause it had occurred to Brown, the supercargo, that he could do a
bit of honest biz at Bermuda, and the man was all in the interest of
his owners.

"Some two or three hundred miles to the west here, we got into a
circular storm and suffered severely.  Our foremast was torn out of
her, and two men slipped overboard in clearing away the wreck.

"Thankee, cap'n; but mind ye, this makes my third nip.  Howsomedever,
it's as mild as cocoa-nut milk.

"When we got clear away from that baby tornado, we was pretty nearly
all wreck, gentleman.  Bulwarks anyhow, mainyard even fallen (a rare
accident), and our very winch half-throwed up on its end.

"But worse were to come, cap'n.

"First and foremost the weather got finer, but there was a strange
kind o' a haze in the sky that I didn't like.  That shortened the
sunbeams considerable, and brought night and darkness aboard of us
before they was due; and the moon couldn't well be 'xpected to shine
through clouds that the sun hadn't been able to tackle.  We managed
to step jury-mast and bend new sails.  But the wind was nothin' to
signify now, and I made bold to tell the skipper that he ought to
clue and get up steam.

"'There's no hurry, Jim," he answered; 'even if we be becalmed a bit,
it's cheaper than burning tons o' coal."

"Well, gentlemen, becalmed we was just after tea-time.

"I went on deck arter this, and such a night I'd never seen afore.
Never a puff o' wind, sails hangin' idle, and the waves, as much as
we could see of them, just like glycerine.  I expected to see dead
fish floating about on their sides.

"The bo's'n was walkin' with me in the ship's waist; but none of us
had very cheery yarns to spin, we just stuck to our pipes and spoke
but little.

"I could feel the bo's'n's arm tremble a little, though, as more than
once a long quavering cry came over the surface of that hazy, oily
ocean, dyin' away in a kind o' wail, like some poor creature in
faintin' agony.

"Yes, I believe 'twere on'y a bird, sir; and there do be a shark that
cries thus on windless nights near to the echoless ocean--the Sea of
Weeds, or Sargasso.  And 'twere there we were at this time.  Every
now and then we could observe long dark strips of the slimy stuff
layin' along the rippleless waves' sides, dark and fearful, and
looking for all the world like dead serpents.

"I'se a kind o' partial to pottery (poetry), cap'n, and lines from
Coleridge's _Ancient Mariner_ would keep risin' up in my mind, and
didn't seem out o' place either on a night like that.  'Cause you see
that, here and there, there was phosphorescence in the sea, and a
shark had once or twice appeared on the surface, his sly eyes
flashing, his fins dropping fire, and we could see him as he dived
below getting smaller and smaller, till like a little wriggling worm
of flame.  Even little strips of weed that floated here and there
looked like water-serpents.

  "'The moving moon went up the sky,
    And nowhere did abide:
  Softly she was going up,
    And a star or two beside.
  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
  But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
  The charmed water burned alway,
    A still and awful red.

  "'Beyond the shadow of the ship
    I watched the water snakes;
  They moved in tracks of shining white,
  And when they reared--the elfish light
    Fell off in hoary flakes.'


"But, cap'n, when ye looked horizon-way--and the horizon weren't far
off,--at one moment only the moon haze was there, next moment the
summer lightning played along fitful but incessant.  Then you could
see great banks of ugly rock-and-castle clouds in front, a sight that
made us think another baby tornado was a-brewin'.

"I was drawin' away at my pipe, and not saying a deal, when all of a
sudden the bo's'n seized me by the arm.

"He was all of a shake now, and his eyes was eyes of terror, as he
pointed aloft with outstretched arm.

"'Look! oh, look!'

"Yes, sure enough, cap'n, on the mizen topgallant mast-head, burned a
strange tapering light as tall as a man's arm.

"We both stood mute with fear.  It burned brightly for a minute, then
flickered and went out.  Only to reappear, however, in a few seconds,
this time more blue than white.  Then, flickering once more, it fled,
and we saw it not again.

"Neither spoke for long seconds.  We looked into each others' faces
inquiringly-like.

"'That,' said the bo's'n, 'is St. Helmo's (St. Elmo's) fire, and this
bloomin' ship is doomed.'

"I said nothing.  I merely walked below, and passin' thro' the saloon
entered the skipper's cabin and touched him gentle-like on the
shoulder.  Two candles was burnin' in jimbles, and a book he had been
reading lay on the white coverlet.  Sound asleep as a baby he were,
but sailor-like he opened his eyes the moment I touched him.

"'Well, Goodwin, anything up?'

"'Nothin' much, sir.  Only St. Helmo's fire been a burnin' on the
mizen truck.'

"'That's nothing, lad.  How's the ship's head?'

"'Why,' says I, 'you might as well ask how her stern is.  Both are
anyhow.  Not a capful o' wind.  She is (again I was quoting pottery)--

  "'As idle as a painted ship
    Upon a painted ocean'.


"'And,' I adds, 'we may as well get the fires up, for we're precious
near the Sea of Sargasso.  If we gets swallowed up there with mebbe a
broken screw it may be a two years' job, if ever we sees blue water
again in this world.'

"'Well, well, lad.  If the winds doesn't blow get steam up.
Meanwhile, go and whistle for the wind.  I'm tired!'

"I left the cabin slowly, only just stopping to have a tot o' rum,
for there was a kind o' hincubus a-weighing me down.  But little did
I know of the horror to come."




CHAPTER XIX.

THE BURNING SHIP.

"At twelve o'clock," continued Goodwin, "I went below to call old
Deadlight, our first mate.

"When he came up, I stopped a few minutes to talk to him and tell him
what we'd seen, and the captain's orders in case of getting too near
the Sargasso Sea.

"I was just slueing round to go below, when I couldn't help thinking
I felt smoke, like.

"At first the mate wouldn't have it.  It was my imagination, he said.
I'd been thinking too much about St. Elmo's fire, and all that rot.
I'd better go and turn in, I should be better in the morning.  He
were just agoin' on like this and laughin' low to hisself, when up
the fore-hatch comes the bo's'n.

"'Beggin' your pardon, sir,' he said, 'but I think the cargo is
a-fire on the port side.'

"Deadlight and I hurried below now.  Yes, sure enough, there was
smoke coming up from the hold through the crevices of the hatchway.

"The cap'n was called, and was on deck afore you could have said
'binnacle'.

"He and the mate were very cool.  So was all hands; and, cap'n, I
always think it is a blessing when the ship and precious lives are in
danger not to have any ladies on board, or longshore passenger
swells.  They beat creation with the fuss they make.

"I was precious sorry now that I hadn't got steam up instead of
waitin' for the wind, for then we could have turned it into the hold
and soon put out the fire.

"All hands were called and the pumps were manned.

"We cut a hole in the fore-hatch of the hold, and poured tons of
water down.  But even there where we stood our soles burned with
heat, and we walked cautiously lest we should fall through the
under-charred deck and be devoured by the fire below.

"I guess, cap'n, that the water we poured in just sunk through a
portion o' the cargo, like, and lay at the bottom.

"It was an anxious time,--you bet your last rupee on that, sir!--but
all hands worked like grim death in cholera times, and we hadn't time
to funk.

"Hours and hours, taking turn and turn about.  Provisions and rum
were got to the upper deck, and water too, for it was evident that
the skipper feared the worst.  At the same time the boats were
hoisted to the davits and hung over the sea, all ready to let go.
And they were provisioned, every one of the three o' them, for ten
days.

"Nothing was forgotten, gentlemen, that seamanship could suggest.

"To our dismay we found that the fire was now working farther aft, so
we determined to clear the after-hold of cargo.

"A working-party was at once organized, but, cap'n, when the hatch
was opened, such a stream of sparks and such stiflin' clouds of smoke
rolled up, that glad was we when we got that hatch back in position.

"Fires was now well lit, though, and steam was turned into the hold.

"This seemed to do good at first, and we worked with redoubled
vigour, singing merry sea-songs as we did so.  But while so engaged,
suddenly not only did volumes of smoke roll up, but tongues of flame
ten feet high, that soon would have fired the middle-deck had we not
succeeded in battening it down.

"Our object was to keep the fire confined to the hold, until we
should succeed, if possible, in reaching some of the islands of the
Azores, there to beach her and escape in our boats.

"It was not to be, although the boys worked like African slaves.

"We scuppered the decks now in the cabin, and down through the hole
made thus, cap'n, we put the nozzle of the hose.

"And so we worked away all that fearful night and long into next
forenoon.  We didn't think much o' rest, gentlemen, nor food either.
We just choked down a bit o' junk now and then, or a morsel o'
biscuit, and kept it down with a peg o' rum.  But, bless you, sir,
our eyes was burnin', our faces hangin' in bags of blisters, and our
mouths so dry by this time that there was no good trying to sing, for
we were hardly fit to talk.

"Soon, now, the deck all along became so hot that the men had to
leave in relays to put their shoes on.

"The end came so suddenly that we was thunderstruck.  Somewhere near
the fore-hatch the deck blew up with the force of the steam.

"Ah, what a sight!  The clouds of smoke risin' as high as the
foretop, and the tongues of red flame following and licking them up!

"About the same time the fire spread up out of the scuppered hole,
and the saloon was all in a blaze 'fore ye could have said
'marling-spike'.  It was all over now.

"But, next minute, and just as we was preparin' to lower the boats, a
white squall came thunderin' over the sea, took the _Ossian_ aback,
and for five minutes at least we stood holding on to the riggin' or
stays, while she went ploughin' astern.  We 'xpected, cap'n, to see
her go under, stern foremost, every minute.  Mebbe I was a bit white,
cap'n.  I don't know, but my pals was."

"It was really a fearful situation," said Captain Leeward.

"Yes, sir, and gettin' worse as the time went on, for so long as the
squall lasted the smoke and fire and sparks flew over us.  But it
stopped at last, and the breeze came round the other way.

"Then we worked like devils, cap'n, to get her afore it, and when we
did it weren't quite so bad.

"Well, you know, gentlemen, a squall often brings on dirty weather.
So did this.  Seemed to me it was a choice o' deaths--to stay on
board and sink with the burnin' ship, or lower the boats to go to
Davy Jones in them.  There was more hope in the last idea, so we
lowered the boats one by one.  I insisted on the skipper goin' in the
gig--she was a good boat,--and then came the lowerin' o' the last,
and that was the one, sir, that God's mercy enabled us to fetch you
in.

"The lowerin' o' a boat, as you know, sir, is a ticklish thing in a
heavy sea-way.  Somehow our boat didn't take the water on an even
keel, but stern first, but we got her righted and scrambled in at
last.  Night were a-comin' on now, cap'n, fast and dark, and a dirty
night it were bound to be.

"We had a compass in each boat, but not a rag of a sail, just the
oars; and so wild was the sea that, what with keepin' her head on to
the big coombing waves that else would have sunk us, precious little
progress was made, I can assure you.

"We saw that burning ship an hour after we'd left her.  Then she
suddenly disappeared, and at the same moment the roar of an
explosion, louder 'n thunder, rolled over the sea, and for the time
being the waves hadn't a chance o' bein' heard.

"About the beginning of the middle watch the wind began to go down,
and the sea too.  'I think, boys,' I said to my pals, 'we can have a
bite and a sup, now.'  But, mercy on us, sir! when I bent down to
scramble for the provisions--none was there!  The tack must have
slipped overboard as we lowered the boat stern first.

"There was a bottle o' rum, that was all.  I poured out just a
little, in the shell of an old silver watch my poor mother had given
me, and the men was thankful.

"But they was mostly exhausted, and I was feared they'd sleep.  So,
getting hold of some lanyard, I made 'em make the oars fast to the
rowlocks, with freedom to move and no more.

"In an hour's time the storm had passed away, and the night was
clear.  I put just two to the oars, leaving two men to sleep and to
relieve their pals when they began to nod.  Good thing I'd tied the
oars, cap'n, for by an' by one poor beggar fell off the thwart and I
kicked up a sleeping chap to take his place.

"Well, now that the sea was quiet, steerin' was of no account like.
I just told 'em to go on and keep their weather eye on a certain star
I pointed out.

"Then I curled up and slept like a stone.  It was daybreak when I
awoke.  There was a glittering blood-red path across the waters where
the crimson sun was shinin'.  The sea was lumpy now, but the day
promised fine."

"Where were the other boats?"

"Not one, sir, to be seen near or far, and we've never seen or
overhauled them since.  This was a terrible trial for us, as we had
no food.  No, nor water.  On'y the rum, that could only excite us and
make us by and by more wretched and unhappy.

"I put it to the vote, cap'n.  Should we drink the rum or leave it
till it was more wanted?  Right bravely came the answer, ringing from
for'ard:

"'We won't touch or taste it, till we ain't able to sit up.'

"All that day we rowed as well as we could, watchin' sea, watchin'
sky, for a sight of a boat of our own, for sight of a sail.  But the
sun went down like a great blood orange, and weary and faint now, we
hardly cared to row.

"There was neither moon nor stars that night, and so I just lashed
the helm so as to keep her driftin' a kind of in her course.

"We stepped a little mast for'ard, and hung up our lantern.  We
blessed God that we had this, anyhow.

"Then we tumbled down to sleep, and long and sound that sleep must
have been, for it was the short gray gloamin' o' mornin' when we
pulled ourselves together again.

"And what think you was the first thing my hot eyes caught sight of?

"Why, cap'n, as sure as,--thanks to you!--I'm now a livin' man, it
was our own biggest boat--a kind o' pinnace.  She was stove in at the
bows, and bottom up."

"How could it have happened?" said Captain Leeward, sympathetically.

"She must have fouled the other boat, sir, and without doubt both of
the crews went to Davy Jones together.  The skipper had been in the
big boat.  Poor chap! he leaves a young wife and three pretty kids.

"Our hearts sunk down, down after this.  No one cared to speak much
above his breath, and I noticed more'n once that day, cap'n, the
tears quietly streamin' over the cheeks of a young sailor.  Our fate,
we feared, would be worse by far than that of our other brave
shipmates.

"I told out a watch-shell of rum all round at eight bells, and we
were a little heartened after this.

"But now, cap'n, the wind began to rise and moan over the sea once
more, and though it was right for us, if it increased we couldn't
keep her long afloat.  Well, what does we do, sir, but tie two
jackets together to make a sail, and bent them on two oars.

"The poor fellows were half-dead now, and couldn't have rowed two
hours longer.  After a rest and a kind of dreamy doze, we found the
wind still higher, and the seas breakin' on board of us all the time.

"Nothing for it now but bail her out.  We had two pannikins and our
sou'-westers, and wi' these we just managed to keep her afloat till
the second dog-watch.

"Another little tot o' rum at eight, and when the sea and most o' the
wind went down we bailed her out once more, and then just tumbled
down in the bottom, wet, shivery, wretched.

"When day dawned, and there was still no sail nor land in sight, we
kind o' gave up in despair.  The young sailor,--Tom Ball were his
name,--sort of went dotty, cap'n, and tried to eat the flesh oft the
ball of his thumb.  I gave him four watch-shells of rum, and he sunk
like a wet swab down between the thwarts.  Bill Jones took off his
own coat and covered him up.

"We suffered more from thirst than hunger, though, and Tom had drunk
salt water, which sent him nearly mad, you see.  So none o' the
others touched it.

"I dozed again several times that day, and always my dreams, cap'n,
was the self-same.  I was wanderin' among beautiful woods, near my
own old home in Berkshire, birds was singin' in the trees, there was
wild flowers all along the banks of a stream, and again and again I
stooped to drink, then all became dark and dreadful and I awoke with
a shriek.

"You don't mind me quotin' pottery, cap'n, do you?  For I really is
main fond of it.

  "'All in a hot and copper sky,
    The bloody sun, at noon,
  Right up above the mast did stand.
    No bigger than the moon.

  "'Water, water everywhere,
    And all the boards did shrink:
  Water, water everywhere,
    Nor any drop to drink.'


"And again, sir, I may say:

  "'There passed a weary time.  Each throat
    Was parched, and glazed each eye;
  A weary time, a weary time,
    How glazed each weary eye!'


"How that night wore along I cannot tell you, cap'n.  No one rowed,
no one steered.

"Next day our sufferings were fearful.  Oh, cap'n, may you never know
what it is to be afloat in a foodless boat on the bosom of a deserted
ocean.

  "'And every tongue, through utter drought,
    Was withered at the root;
  We could not speak, no more than if
    We had been choked with soot.'


"I served out more rum towards evening.

"Having swallowed it, Mearns, an able-bodied seaman, leant forward
towards me and said hoarsely, with a mad gleam in his bloodshot eyes:

"'Mate, we must cast lots who shall die, or shall we chance it and
kill the young un?"

"I knew this man would soon be a raving maniac, so I gave him four
more shells of the rum; then he slept.

"Another sunset.

"Another weary night begun.

"I prayed then, cap'n, as I'd never prayed before, that God in his
mercy would let us pass from life before we woke.

"Then once more I dozed, once more I dreamt, and again the green
summer woods all a-wavin' in the sunshine, the bird-song and the
purlin' brook.

"But I had not slept long ere I was aroused.  It was the young Tom
Ball shriekin' in a strange high-pitched voice--for his throat was as
dry as emery paper.

"'Mate, mate, mate!'

"'Yes, yes, here am I, boy.'

"'A ship, sir,--away down yonder!"

"I rubbed my eyes for a time, then saw your lights through a kind of
haze.

"'The lantern--quick!' I cried.

"It was handed me, and with my hand all a-shakin' I brought out my
match-box.

"O God, cap'n, there was but one lucifer there!  On this our lives
depended, and I felt that, if I did not succeed in lightin' that
lamp, I myself should go mad and throw myself into the sea, to be
devoured by the shark that, all throughout this weary time, had
followed in our wake.  I stood the hurricane-lantern under the
stern-sheets; then I put one hand holdin' the empty box inside, lest
a breath of air should blow out our only hope.

"Then I struck the match.  A flare at first, then only a tiny blaze
of blue.  I turned it round, and its light grew brighter and whiter.

"The lantern was lit, and Bill Jones seized it from me, just as I
fell down in the bottom of the boat in a dead faint.

"Young Tom Ball crept aft to me, while Bill kept waving the lantern
on high.

"I was all doubled up, with my chin on my breast, and but for that
young fellow Tom I should have died.  But he laid me flat out, and
rubbed my chest with rum, and when I sighed--a sad, sobbing kind of
sigh it were, so he says--he got me to swallow a mouthful, and just
as we got alongside your ship, cap'n, I was able to sit up.

"And I knew we was saved, though I didn't know then that the two
hands lying asleep, like, in the bottom of the boat, was dead."




CHAPTER XX.

GUN-ROOM FUN.

If the reader--who I sincerely hope is going to be a sailor, for
there is no life like that on the ocean wave--will take a glance at a
map of the world and ferret out Venezuela, he will note that by
sailing south-west by west in almost a bee-line for about 4700 miles,
he would strike this land of beauty, and land of flowers and forests.

After leaving Azores, if his ship called there, he would find himself
in a long and lonesome sea indeed, and after some weeks the Caribbean
Islands would heave in sight, and our young sailor would know then he
was far, far away from home.

Our own land--God bless it, and wouldn't you and I fight for it
just?--is but like the cloud of fog that hangs over a city, compared
to the loveliness of many of these fairy isles.  The blue sky is
fringed with the tall palm-trees that shoot from the soil, the
islands themselves as you approach them appear to hang on the
horizon, and so azure is the ocean, so cerulean the sky, you scarce
can tell in fine weather where they meet and kiss.

The water around one's yacht or ship is sometimes so clear, so
pellucid, that you see the bottom full ten fathoms beneath, where
corals lie deep, where gorgeous and magnificently coloured shell-fish
move slowly about, where marine gardens--more lovely far than any on
earth,--planted and attended to by mermaids one would think, dazzle
the eyes and delight the senses, and where on clear yellow patches of
sand you may see flat fishes float, their sides so bedecked with
patches of bright crimson, orange, and blue, that you cannot help
thinking there must be a fish's fancy-dress ball on.

Then between you and the bottom float medusæ or jelly-fishes--bigger
and more transparent than even those in Skye, for the limbs of these
seem to be rainbow-tinted, or studded with gems of purest ray serene,
diamonds, rubies, and amethysts.  Yet all the creatures in that
submarine garden wide and wild are not beautiful.  Perhaps you are
lying in a boat, gazing down through your water-telescope entranced,
and half believing you will presently see a mermaid come out of a
little cave combing her bonnie yellow hair, when, instead of the tiny
mermaid, some patches of black-brown weeds are visibly stirred, and
an awful head with fore-fins or fore-feet and claws, you cannot tell
which, is protruded.  Oh that deformed, scaly, warty head and these
awful eyes, bearing some faint resemblance to a nightmarish
caricature of man or fiend!  If you are a nervous lad you will think
and dream about this slimy apparition for weeks.

Well, all around Bermuda the rocks and sea-gardens are almost quite
as lovely.  Had the _Osprey_ been going straight to Venezuela it
would have been out of her course to stop here, but she had
despatches to leave.

Two of the _Ossian's_ shipwrecked crew were left there, but the mate
begged to be allowed to remain and the captain had no objections.
Goodwin was a naval reserve man, and even a lieutenant in that
service.

This mate of a merchantman was in some ways a singular being, for
although I think that the English he spoke was often rude, he could
talk the language purely when he chose.  Moreover, he was a student
of gunnery, and could have worked a gun with any officer afloat.  He
was made an honorary member of the warrant officers' mess, and having
no particular duties to perform, he spent most of his time making
models of the newest guns and machinery of great iron-clads.  Having
got together, with the aid of the gunner and carpenter, some nice
models, he announced in the gun-room that he was willing to give
lessons to the midshipmen therein which would be of use to them when
war's pennant floated red and bloody over the main.  And many availed
themselves of the kind offer, chief among them being Creggan himself
and the Ugly Duckling--more about the latter presently.  But even
some of the ward-room officers, and now and then the captain himself,
would look on as this ultra-enthusiast in naval warfare described the
play of a battle of giant iron-clads, and the use of the terrible
guns.

"Ah, boys," he would say, "there was much romance attached to the
glorious days of Nelson, when hostile fleets lay in rows, mebbe two
deep, one to support t'other like.  When it was ship to ship, and
hammer and tongs till one blazed, blew up, and sank, or when the
skipper of a Britisher shouted through his trumpet to the master at
the wheel: 'Lay us aboard that frog-eating Frenchman!'  When the
master steered so close to the foe that guns met muzzle to muzzle,
and high o'er the din o' battle rang out the order: 'Away, boarders!
Give the beggars Rule Britannia, lads!'  The days when our brave
blue-jackets used to swarm over the sides of the enemy's ship, or
creep in through the ports, pistol in hand, cutlass in mouth perhaps,
and lay the Frenchees dead at their guns.

"Yes, boys, these were the dashin' days of old, and somehow I sighs
w'en I think they're gone.

"But the future sea-fights, young gents, are goin' to be fought with
cool heads on sturdy shoulders.  Excitement or rashness will mean
annihilation; manoeuvring will be prominent, ay, and pre-eminent."

Here Goodwin would pause perhaps, look funnily down at his models and
smile.

"You may think it a droll remark o' me to make, lads, but I do
believe that, given two hostile battleships, encountering each other,
then that skipper who is a good whist player, and has a long head
that can see a bit into futurity as it were, or guesses before-hand
what t'other chap will do when he, the whist man, plays his next
card, will win the game o' war.

"This will kind o' knock some o' the romance out o' naval warfare.
But not so much as we may think.  Moral courage, mind you, boys, is
of a far higher sort of quality than physical.  And altho' the poet
asks--

  "'And how can man die better,
    Than facing fearful odds,
  For the ashes of his fathers
    And the temples of his gods?'

one might answer him thus: He may die more truly courageously, more
bravely too, if calm, if he meets his fate on a sinking iron-clad
man-o'-war."

* * * * * * * * * * *

After their visit to Bermuda, and a delightful ramble through the
beautiful island, Creggan was glad enough to find himself steering
south and away via Puerto Rico, and bearing up for Venezuela.  For
the sea had already cast a glad glamour over the young man's life and
soul.

Whenever he had time he wrote long delightful letters to his mother,
to Daddy the hermit, to Archie, and to the Nugents, as well as to the
manse.  Perhaps his best and dearest of letters were those received
by Matty.  For Creggan couldn't help loving the child, and often he
used to dream of her when far away at sea.  Somehow she always
appeared to him sitting in the stern of the skiff, her bonnie yellow
hair toyed with by the breeze, and her eyes glistening with joy and
happiness.

It was not pleasant, however, to be awakened from such a delightful
dream at the dark hour of midnight to go on deck to keep watch on an
angry sea.

It is needless to say that Creggan's letters were received at home
with joy, read over and over again, and even laid aside for future
perusal.

Goodwin was frequently invited to spend an evening in the gun-room
mess, and these were red-letter nights for the middies, for this
warlike mate of a merchantman could even make the sallow-faced young
clerk smile.  As for the Ugly Duckling, he smiled aloud till the
beams rung and the plates on the table wanted to skip like lambs.

This midshipman's mess was always a merry one.  Guns may change their
form in the service, and ships as well, but our bold blue-jackets,
and our daft, fun-loving and gallant middies, will never change as
long as Britain's flag is unfurled,

  "To brave the battle and the breeze".


Creggan, though somewhat older than midshipman Robertson, the
plain-faced lad whose sense of humour nevertheless carried his
mess-mates by storm, liked the droll boy very much, and they were
together on shore whenever there was a chance.  Along with them
usually went the gentle Sidney Wickens.

Poor Sidney--he is dead and gone now--enjoyed a joke but never played
one, but his smile was very pleasant, and at times even sad.  He had,
however, a quiet, quaint way of putting things that often made his
mess-mates laugh.  His fad during this cruise, as well as in the
flag-ship at Sheerness, was the collection of beautiful gold rings.
He often asked one or two of the warrant officers to look at these of
an evening.  And if the bo's'n, for instance, particularly fancied
and admired one, Sidney would quietly hand it over his shoulder,
saying, "Here, will you accept it, and wear it for my sake?"

Gun-room officers are fond of chaff, and unsparing in the use of it,
no matter how it gives offence or how it is taken.  But they always
like best when the banter is returned.  There is the banterer and the
banteree, and woe betide the latter if he gets angry!

I believe Sidney--he was always called by his Christian name in a
kindly, brotherly way, and somehow no one ever chaffed him--Sidney, I
was going to say, was often sorry for the Ugly Duckling.  But nothing
could possibly upset the Ugly Duckling himself.  Not even Bobbie's
chaff.  So good-natured was this droll duckling, that his extreme and
quaint ugliness was really never observable.  And his manner was as
soft and gentle as that of a young girl, except when his soul was
just bursting with fun and merriment, then he used to take to the
rigging with Admiral Jacko to expand his extra steam, and allay his
feelings.

A question whether Admiral Jacko or Duckie was the uglier, at times
arose in the mess, even in the lad's presence.  One day midshipmite
Bobbie had the cheek to ask the Duckling to sit side by side with the
Admiral during dinner, so that the right conclusion might be arrived
at, and our friend did so readily and good-naturedly.

The Ugly Duckling is, you will readily believe when I tell you, a
sketch from the life, and now that my memory brings him once more up
before my mind's eye, I believe I am right in asserting that poor Mr.
Duckling's face was more droll than ugly.  Somewhat difficult to
describe too.  Forehead receded somewhat; nose nowhere, or hardly
anywhere; eyes half-shut and full of fun; plenty of cheek, moral and
physical; a longish, protruding upper lip; and an immense square jaw.
His ears stuck out too, like lug-sails.

"Mind, Mr. Ugly Duckling," Bobbie told him one day at mess, "you must
never get lost on the coast of Benin."

"Why, Scottie?"

"Why?  How can you ask?  Forgotten all your history?  The king of
Benin, you know, always nails his captives by the ears to a tree, and
your ears you know, _mon ami_, are wonderfully suggestive!"

That day when the Duckling sat beside Admiral Jacko there was a good
deal of amusement.  The Admiral, I may tell you, was a very large and
by no means handsome species of ape, and though he could not use a
knife and fork, he ate most contentedly from the plate that M'Carthy
the steward always placed before him, and he even used a
table-napkin.  On this particular day he more than once put his head
cheek-by-jowl with the Duckling's, and the merriment increased.

The Admiral was exceedingly fond of the Ugly Duckling.

"Oh, look, mess-mates, look, now that their heads are together!"
This from Bobbie.  "Why, I declare that Jacko takes the cake!"

"For ugliness?"

"No; for beauty, boys!"

But Admiral Jacko had another very dear friend, namely, the ship's
cat, a beautiful, half-bred brindled Persian.

After every meal Jacko used to collect tit-bits and stuff them into
his jowl till his cheek stuck out, then he went at once in search of
pussy and fed him.  The action was almost human.  Indeed it might
have been called more so, for the "lower animals", as we are all too
fond of calling them, often exhibit more kindness to each other than
mankind does to any of them.

There was something quite out of the common about Jacko in many ways.
He really had less mischief in his mental composition than monkeys
generally.  Hurricane Bob and Oscar used to be washed regularly once
a week.  The gun-room steward, superintended by Creggan himself, used
to perform this operation.  After the rubbing and rinsing with warm
water and soap, they were always deluged with pailfuls of clear, soft
water, and after they were dried down with half a dozen towels--the
dogs' own property--they were combed and brushed.

Then ensued a wild scamper round and round the _Osprey's_ decks, that
made everyone laugh who saw it.

Admiral Jacko used to squat on top of the capstan while the doggies
were being washed, and from the long, doleful face he wore, it was
evident he pitied them.  But as soon as the scamper up and down the
decks after belaying-pins that the men threw to them was over, both
dogs went and lay down on the quarter-deck in the sunshine.  And now
Jacko considered that his duties had commenced.  He would leap
solemnly down from the top of the capstan, Creggan would hand him the
comb, then off he went to his friends the dogs.  No peasant woman in
Normandy could have combed her boy's hair more carefully than did
Jacko go over Hurricane Bob's coat first, and then honest Oscar's,
with finger-nails and brush.  Well, if he did catch an errant flea it
was executed on the spot; but the earnestness with which Jacko did
the work, and the exceeding gravity of his face while at it, would
have drawn laughter from a California mule.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I myself have never yet seen a more active middy on board a British
man-o'-war than the Ugly Duckling was.  No part of the ship's rigging
was inaccessible to him.  He would climb to the main-truck and wave
his cap to those below.

One day, however, he attempted a feat that, although he had often
performed it in harbour, was undoubtedly dangerous at sea, even on
the calmest day.  The sea all around that forenoon was as still and
quiet as the grave, and the _Osprey_ was on an even keel.  They were
now nearing the north coast of South America, and though steam was
up, and the ship churning up a long wake of froth that trailed for
miles in the rear, it made no other motion save vibration.  Well,
Jacko and the Ugly Duckling had been having fine fun that forenoon,
much to the delight of those below.  Up aloft they went, to top after
top, and down again to deck by a back-stay.  Hand over hand up that
back-stay again, and so on, seeming to have no tire in them.  But at
last, to the horror, it must be said, of the officers on the
quarter-deck, the Ugly Duckling slowly drew himself up to the top of
the gilded truck, and then slowly and cautiously stood up.

There was no laughing now among those below, all were mute with fears
for the poor boy's fate.  This daring middy balanced himself first on
one foot and then on the other, and then--will it be believed?--he
took from his jacket pocket a tiny ebony fife, at playing which he
was a great adept, and commenced to pipe _The Girl I left behind me_.

He never finished the tune, however.

Something had suddenly unnerved him, and well he knew that to fall
deckwards would be death.  He was seen, therefore, to suddenly
crouch, and putting his hands in swimming fashion above his head, to
spring into the air.  He came down like a flash, and sunk far into
the water, many yards on the port side of the ship.

"Away, life-boat's crew!"

Never, perhaps, was that life-boat launched more speedily.  A
life-buoy, too, had been thrown overboard.

The Ugly Duckling was too good a swimmer, however, to need such
assistance, only he kept close to it, as he did not wish it to be
lost.

Now the great danger was the sharks, cruel tigers of the seas, that
in these hot latitudes swarm.

But the boat picked the middy up just at the very moment that two
monster sharks sprang at the life-buoy and hauled it down.

The Ugly Duckling had stuck to his fife all the time, and now much to
the amusement of the life-boat's crew commenced once more to play
_The Girl I left behind me_, and continued to play till the boat got
alongside.  Then up ran the still dripping Duckling, and on gaining
the quarter-deck first saluted it and then saluted Captain Leeward.

"Come to report myself, sir," he said, "for leaving the ship without
leave."

"And I ought to punish you, sir," said the captain, trying in vain to
suppress a smile; "but I will forgive you if you promise not to stand
on the truck again."

"I promise, sir, readily; for, sir, it wouldn't be half good enough
to be swallowed by a shark, fife and all."

And down below dived this queer middy to change his dripping garments.




CHAPTER XXI.

JACKO STEALS THE CAPTAIN'S PUDDING.

It would take a good many chapters to tell my readers all the tricks
that this favourite of the gun-room mess played.

The surgeon, Dr. Grant, and he were excellent friends, and were often
together; and sometimes if one of his mess-mates was a bit off
colour, the Ugly Duckling would prescribe or pretend to prescribe for
him, and his prescriptions were at times droll, to say the least.

One day, for instance, the white-faced young clerk was ailing.  He
frequently was.

"No use you going to Dr. Grant," said the Duckling; "he'll only give
you black-strap and make you worse.  Here, out with your note-book
and I'll dictate a prescription.  Are you ready?"

"Yes, Duckie."

"Well then, heave round: '_Recipe_'.  Got that down?  It's Latin, you
know, so have a care, but all the rest is English.  Place a saucepan
on the galley fire, and when it is heated to redness pour therein
seven ounces of spirits of wine."

"Yes."

"When it comes to the boil place therein the tail of a toad--"

"But toads have got no tails."

"Well, a frog's tail will do."

"And frogs have no tails, Duckie.  You're a bit off your natural
history."

"Well," cried the Duckling, "a garden worm will do.  That's all tail.
Got 'im down?"

"Yes."

"Next, place in your cauldron a hair of the dog that bit you."

"Yes."

"And next--mind, this is very important, and will greatly aid the
efficacy of the medicine--five drops of the sweat of a murderer's
right hand."

The white-faced young clerk glared up aghast.

"Wh--wh--why," he faltered, "there is no murderer on board!"

"Well then, kill somebody yourself!" shouted the Ugly Duckling.
"Ta-ta!  I'm off to give the doctor a dancing lesson on the
main-deck."

Well, that was precisely what he was doing five minutes after.

Dr. Grant was a splendid dancer of Highland flings and reels, &c.,
but, good-looking fellow though he was, he would have told you
himself that he always felt a fool at an English ball or hop, and he
hated being a wall-flower.

So the Ugly Duckling had offered to teach him, and had you come
forward on the fighting-deck during practising-time, you would have
seen a sight to amuse you.  There was the chief bo's'n, a capital
violinist, seated astraddle on one of the big guns, and playing some
sweet, sad waltz, and yonder the little Duckling and the great Scotch
doctor floating round and round the deck, with an awkwardness,
however, that caused all the onlookers to shout with merriment.

The doctor didn't laugh a bit.  It was a very serious matter for him
indeed.  His happiness was at stake; so he stuck to it, and tripped
on the not very light fantastic toe.

His assiduity was finally rewarded, however, and he became one of the
best dancers on board, and on shore was quite a favourite with the
ladies.

* * * * * * * * * * *

At first the great monkey had been simply called Jacko, or
Able-seaman Jacko.  But the Duckling determined to raise him to the
rank of admiral.  First and foremost, however, he took no small pains
in teaching his simian friend to walk erect.  This he soon learned.
Then to salute, &c.

After he was perfect in these accomplishments Jacko's promotion came.
Well, you know, reader, it isn't the first time one of a ship's crew
has risen from powder-monkey to admiral.

Then why shouldn't Jacko?  Why not indeed?

The Duckling took up some nice ship's serge and buttons and gold-lace
from the paymaster, and then he made friends with the ship's tailor.
In less than a week after this, behold Jacko rigged out in the
full-dress of a rear-admiral, cocked-hat, sword, and all.

No ward-room officer except Dr. Grant was "in the know", and the
doctor good-naturedly gave the Duckling the use of the sick-bay for
training purposes, and for the practice of their evolutions.

I verily believe, from the aptitude to learn which Jacko evinced,
that the droll rascal was not a little proud of his splendid uniform
and epaulettes.

Anyhow, his education was soon complete.  So one evening, as the
captain, all alone in his quarters, was bending over a chart--the
ship being then not far from land,--Bobbie, the wee Scotch
midshipmite, who was a great favourite with Captain Leeward, knocked
smartly at his door and quickly entered.

"An admiral come off to see you, sir!" he squeaked.  "Shall I show
him in?"

"Most certainly, Mr. Robertson.  But--"

And the captain rose in some agitation, and pushed back his chair.

The state of his feelings may be better conceived than printed when
in marched Admiral Jacko.

Jacko took off his cocked hat, and bowed.

"Ah--ha--ah--ha," the monkey said, for all the world like a nervous
man beginning a speech, and held out his little black hand as if to
shake.

Bobbie stuffed his mouth with his handkerchief.  It would have been
rude to laugh before his captain, but when the latter threw himself
down in his chair in an apparent state of convulsions, then the
midshipmite laughed too, and even the captain's steward could not
refrain from joining the chorus.

Five minutes after this the ship seemed shaken from stem to stern by
the wild hilarity of the ward-room officers.  They had been at their
dessert when Bobbie introduced the Admiral.

The best of it all was, that Jacko himself looked as grave as an
Oxford don.  Never a smile was on his face.  Not even the ghost of
one.

But the new admiral was given a chair and a plate, and, behaving
himself with all decorum, enjoyed a hearty feast of nuts and raisins.
After this, accompanied by Bobbie, he bowed and took his leave.  He
had taken good care, however, to stuff one of his cheeks with nuts
before he got down off his chair, till it stuck out like--so the
doctor phrased it--a very bad case of inflammation of the parotid
gland.

Admiral Jacko, it must be admitted, was a very funny fellow, but I
fear I could not certify that he was strictly honest.  Real
rear-admirals would never, for instance, do what Admiral Jacko did
once.  He was on the fighting-deck one day, and noticed the captain's
steward pass into the saloon with a nice little plum-pudding.

Jacko, in full uniform, walked past the door several times and had a
sniff, the sentry smiling and presenting arms to him.  But presently
an officer entered to inform the captain that a strange man-o'-war
was in sight, and leaving his luncheon he went on deck to have a look
at her.  This was the Rear-admiral's chance.  He rushed in and as
quickly came out again, hugging the brown and savoury pudding in his
arms.

The sentry didn't present arms to him this time, only he determined
not to tell upon poor Jacko.

"Bring in the pudding, steward," said Captain Leeward.

"Oh, sir, I brought it!"

"Then where is it?"

"That's what I should like to know, sir!"

He clapped his hand to his head, and for a moment looked confused.

"Oh, sir," he cried next minute, "I'd lay my life if you'd let me,
sir, that Admiral Jacko has collared it!  Shall I run and hunt him up
and recover it?"

"No, no, steward; it wouldn't be much worth by this time."

And, sure enough, there was Admiral Jacko in the main-top discussing
that delicious "plum-duff", with half-shut eyes and all the airs and
graces of an epicure.  After he had eaten all he could swallow, he
stuffed both cheeks, pitched the remains down on the head of an able
seaman, then slid down a stay to find and feed the cat.

* * * * * * * * * * *

On the whole, then, I think it must be admitted that the _Osprey_ was
rather a happy ship.

When they neared the coast of Venezuela they had the good luck to
fall in with the flag-ship of the station.  Captain Leeward delivered
his despatches and letters for officers and crew, and then to his
surprise found that the admiral had a cablegram for him.  It was to
the effect that he, Captain Leeward, was to join the South American
fleet for a few months.  This was on account of a cloud that was
gathering in Venezuela concerning disputed British possessions on the
borders.  At that time the cloud was no bigger than a man's hand, but
it might spread till it covered all the sky, and darken even our
relations with the United States of America, whose president was
apparently spoiling for a fight with Britain.

The fleet was to hold itself in readiness to land blue-jackets and
marines at any moment.

So they all went cruising together.

The poor Irish "stupidnumerary" was transferred for service to a tiny
gun-vessel, and very sorry indeed he was to part with his mess-mates.
For, bar chaff, they had all been as happy together as a summer's day
is long.

* * * * * * * * * * *

For months the fleet hovered around the coast, only putting out to
sea now and then if a storm threatened to blow them on to a
lee-shore.  But there was much intercourse between the various ships,
and at the towns they anchored near, the inhabitants were most
hospitable.  The flag-ship often gave a dinner or a dance on the
upper deck, which was tented over in its after part, and gay with
flags and flowers and perfumed foliage.

What a happy, jolly life is that of a young naval officer on
occasions like these, and how quickly, while waltzing with some
lovely young girl to dreamy music, does he forget all the dangers of
the ocean that he has come through!

He just lives for the present.  And oh! that present glides far, far
too quickly away, yet it is something to look back to with pleasure
when once more he is out upon the lone blue sea!




CHAPTER XXII.

IN THE WILDS OF VENEZUELA.

Although the _Osprey's_ visit to Venezuela may have but little
interest for the reader, still it would be unfair to drag him away
from that land without first inviting him on shore to have a look at
some of its wild and lovely scenery.

A young fellow--a Spaniard, though he talked capital English--came
off one forenoon.  He was received by Creggan and the Duckling at the
gangway, and after talking for a short time on deck they invited him
below.

This Spaniard was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and
possessed of all that old Castalian courtesy and urbanity which you
see so little of in these matter-of-fact days.  He owned, too, that
he was independent, if not indeed rich.

"Oh, señor," he said to Creggan, "think you that your captain would
permit you to spend a few weeks on shore with me?  And your dear
friend here?  I will do all I can to make you happy."

"I do not doubt that for a moment," said Creggan, "and if we can
succeed in getting leave we are at your command."

"Oh, I rejoice!" cried young Miguel.

"I myself," he added, "am bound up in botany, in sport, and in
natural history.  Ah! we will enjoy our little selves, see if we
don't!"

Leave was asked for and granted that very day.  The _Osprey_ was
going down the coast and would leave them here, returning again in
three weeks' time.

"Ah!" said dark-eyed young Miguel, "that does mean six, my capitan.
You look good, and good you must be."

The captain smiled.

"Oh, señor, Venezuela is a vast country!"

"Well, well, Miguel, I'll let the young fellows oft for five or six
weeks.  I think they will be safe with you, and it will do them both
good."

"Oh, safe, sir, as the everlasting mountains.  And I have two
houses--one is my yacht, and the other my dwelling on shore on the
banks of the great Orinoco.  You have no such rivers in Britain, I
believe, señor capitan?"

"Well, no," replied Leeward, smiling.  "You see, we are somewhat
cramped for space, and a river broader than any of our two counties
we should find somewhat inconvenient, to say the least."

"A thousand thanks for the leave, sir!" cried Creggan impulsively.

Then he added:

"Pardon me, sir, but you are so different from Commander Flint."

Well, Creggan and the Ugly Duckling had as many good-byes and
hand-shakings given them as if they had been going off for a whole
year to fight for their Queen and country.

The Duckling's parting from Admiral Jacko was quite affecting, as far
as feeling on the part of this strange but clever ape went.  Perhaps
from his excessive and droll ugliness Jacko looked upon the middy as
a brother.  Be that as it may, he hung with his arms around his neck
and his cheek against the Duckling's, and the expression of his face
was so sad that the gun-room officers would not have been at all
surprised had he burst into tears.

"Take care of my brother Jacko, boys!"

These were the Ugly Duckling's last words as he seated himself in
Miguel's boat, and the sturdy semi-Spanish sailors bent bravely to
their work.  Out there, where the _Osprey_ lay at anchor near to a
small but beautiful island, there was a kind of "jabble" of small
waves, caused by cross seas and currents.  But after bearing in
towards the green-fringed shore for about three miles, the men
singing as they rowed to the sweet, soft notes of a guitar touched by
the fingers of Miguel himself, they rounded another island, and were
soon lost to view from the deck of the _Osprey_.

The water was now more smooth, though the outward current ran high.
The tide in fact was ebbing.  When it flows here it flows fast and
furiously, and there are times when the battle betwixt sea and river
is so furious, that no boat could float in the turmoil of breaking
waters.

The Orinoco is undoubtedly a grand river, though certainly not so
wide as Captain Leeward would lead one to infer.  It is a grand
stream, and a wildly romantic one too--higher up, I mean, for, like
the river Nile, it forms a delta.  This is about one hundred and
thirty miles from the wide Atlantic, and here it divides itself into
a great number of mouths, most of them navigable.

The principal mouth or main-stream is called the Boca de Navios, and
it was up this great stream that our heroes went with Miguel next
morning, in his pretty little steam-yacht, of which the young fellow
was so justly proud.

So light was this craft and so little water did she draw, that she
could go anywhere, and being strong even in a buffeting sea-way,
could have done anything.  She was not, however, quite so light as
the Yankee's boat that was warranted to sail wherever there was a
heavy dew.

I am writing from memory only, so I cannot give the exact tonnage of
the _Orinoco Queen_, but fifty tons is near enough.  Her beam was
broad, though.  Her little cabin or cuddy quite a lady's boudoir,
adorned and perfumed with the rarest tropical flowers, through which
at night peeped coyly the glow of fairy-lights.  The one great lamp
that swung from the skylight had a crimson shade, and thus the cabin
looked like a scene from dream-land.

At night Miguel played his guitar, and sang wild and martial ballads
of the romantic Spain of years gone by, or soft lullaby-like love
ditties.  The music of these latter seemed to breathe o'er the
strings.  You could have told it was a serenade, and in imagination
you might have seen a beautiful girl-face appear one moment at an
open lattice-window above, and next, from a white and shapely hand
extended, you might imagine a flower drop down, to be rapturously
caught and pressed to the lips of the serenader.  Spain, deprived of
its romance, were nothing now.

Hammocks were hung on deck, and surrounded, as far as Miguel's guests
were concerned, by mosquito curtains.  But the captain, Miguel
himself, slept on a grass mat.

The crew of the _Orinoco Queen_ consisted of five men and a boy, two
of the men being engineers.  This little river craft, however, had a
main and fore mast, on which were carried, alow and aloft only,
fore-and-aft sails.  The men were lanky and brown, dark in hair and
eyes, with bare necks and chests, and legs all exposed below the
knees.  But they were as lithe and active as panthers.

From the very first Creggan and the Duckling knew that they were
going to have a real good time of it.  Miguel believed in taking life
easy.  With half-shut eyes, while the yacht steamed slowly up the
river, he would lie or recline on a grass hammock on deck, a small
perfumed cigar between his lips, making little else save
interjectional remarks for an hour at a time.

Miguel had no middle-mind, if I may so express it; that is, he was
either dreamy happy in a kind of lethargy, or as active as a pole-cat
on the war-path.

In this respect he resembled the monster caymans, or huge alligators
with which the yellow-white waters of the river swarmed.  Terrible
monsters indeed these are!  You can see their great heads protruding
over the moon-lit water, if you are keeping the middle watch.  So
lazy look they, that scarcely could you believe that anything could
excite them, or wake them into activity.  But let a man fall
overboard, or--awful accident!--a boat capsize, and they cleave the
water, quick as seals, and Heaven have mercy on the mariners, for the
caymans have none!

In five days' time, taking it very easy, and often-times landing on
wooded islands, or at the mouths of rivers--tributaries to the
"Mother of Waters",--they reached Ciudad Bolivar.

Both the Ugly Duckling and Creggan were fond of the beautiful in
nature, and everything they saw on the pretty arboreal islands which
they touched at was new and strange.  Many of these were inhabited,
and the languid natives, who lived in thatch huts of wattle and clay,
existing for the most part on fish, I think, were exceedingly kind to
them.  They brought them light wine, fruit, eggs, fish, and goat's
milk.

Sometimes on a day of racing clouds and sunshine, Miguel would cast
anchor at the mouth of a tributary river, and in his boat would start
up stream with his guests.

Such rivers were wondrously beautiful.  The overhanging trees, laden
down with green foliage till the tips of the branches touched the
water, were cloud-lands of a beauty that was rich and rare.  For not
only were their leaves a sight to see, but the climbing flowers that
often bound them into great crimson, blue, or orange garlands,
dazzled the eyes with their loveliness.

I said the branches bent downwards, yes, and formed cool sylvan
arbours, in which the boat could lie for luncheon.

Miguel--kind-hearted he was and thoughtful--had forgotten nothing
that could minister to the comfort of his guests, and serve to make
this visit to Venezuela an ever-memorable one.

The mosquitoes of these regions are very lively little persons, and
very fond of British blood, but a tincture that Miguel gave to the
boys with which to rub face and hands, kept them well at bay.

After luncheon Miguel would sing and play for an hour.

Meanwhile the great snakes that lay sometimes all their length on the
branches above, or hung head down therefrom, were no source of
comfort either to Creggan or his friend.  They could not keep from
looking at them at first, fearful lest they might drop into the boat;
and these serpents are deadly monsters.

"Do not look, my friends," said Miguel; "they may fascinate you."

"Is that story about fascination not all a myth?" said Creggan.

Miguel leaned forward and lit another cigarette before he replied:
"Not so, Creggan.  I have heard many stories of the power these
monsters possess over the minds of men.

"But," he added, "one I do remember personally.  I and a friend from
Trinidad were hunting the panther in a piece of forest-land far away
north of here, and among the Llanos[1].


[1] Tracks of uplands, covered with wild grass, trees, &c., and with
cañons between.


"We came to a snake-infested jungle, but being very tired we
determined to camp there for the night.  We tied our donkeys to
leafless cocoanut-trees, that looked at a distance like masts of
ships.  Then we swung our grass hammocks ready, and cooked supper.

"We were only on the borders of the ugly jungle.  Yet it contained
game-birds, and in pursuit of these Antoine and I entered its gloom.
We got several, and were returning to our camp, I being about ten
yards ahead of my companion.  Suddenly--it makes me shudder even
now--I heard my friend utter that strange quavering low scream that
issues from a man in nightmare.

"_Oo--oo--hoo--oo!_

"I turned quickly.  There stood poor Antoine, a huge snake depending
from a tree not a yard from his face, and evidently about to strike.

[Illustration: ANTOINE WAS IN A STATE OF MESMERIC FASCINATION, AND
PALE AS DEATH]

"Antoine was in a state of mesmeric fascination--visage pale as
death, staring upturned eyes, arms straight down by his side, and
clenched hands.

"I fired at once, and the snake fell with shattered head, but
writhing, leaping, and dancing body.

"A snake, my friends, never looks more hideous than when, headless,
he twists and coils in the thraldom of death.

"My friend Antoine had fainted, but though he soon revived I noted
something strange in his manner.  It put me in mind of the childish
hysterical nervousness of speech and movement a wine-bibber sometimes
exhibits.

"But I marked also, that whenever that day he saw a huge snake
hanging on a tree, he would stop and gaze at it with dilated eyes,
and even after passing on he would turn again and again to look once
more into the ever-open glassy eyes of the serpent.

"My friends, the worst was to come.  I may tell you first, that the
nights at this time were brightly moonlit.  Well, we supped and
turned into our hammocks, but after I had slept for hours I awoke
suddenly with a strange kind of fear and coldness at my heart.

"I naturally glanced towards Antoine's hammock.  It was too loose and
puckered to have anyone in it.

"My friend had fled!

"I turned out at once and roused my men, and together we hurried down
through a bit of savannah to the jungle.  I was hoping against hope.
But to all our shouting no response was given, except from the
throats of wild beasts.  We returned to camp now disheartened, to
await the coming of daylight.

"At last, dear friends, the sun's crimson rays darted through the
deep orange hue on the horizon, and after a hasty breakfast we
hastened back to the jungle.

"We had not entered far, when, O Dios! my friends, the sight that met
our gaze seemed to turn our hearts to ice.  I shall never, never
forget it.

"Antoine lay on his back; his face and hands were purple and swollen;
on his brow were two vivid spots of vermilion; while his open glassy
eyes were staring unmeaningly heavenwards through the trees.

"Dead?  Yes, my friend was dead, and coiled around his neck was a
large and fearful snake!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

As Miguel finished his little story, Creggan gazed upwards at the
overhanging boughs and the ever-present snakes.  But his host
hastened to reassure him.

"Do not fear," he cried, "do not dread.  Snakes are never vicious.
They are good and kindly creatures, and at no time will they strike
unless attacked, or in defence of their homes and their progeny."

I--the author--have had in my time a larger experience of snakes than
I ever at any time desired, and I can quite believe the story that
Miguel told his guests that day.  Nevertheless, Creggan was never
very sorry when the boat was once more out in the open stream.

The bird and insect life in these lonely dreamy woods it would be
impossible for me to describe.  Suffice it to say, that they were
beautiful beyond compare.  And yet the birds--that looked like flying
flowers--had but little song.  Their beauty of colour is granted them
by God that they may resemble the orchids, and so deceive their
reptile foes.  If they sang much their presence would be revealed.




CHAPTER XXIII.

DOLCE FAR NIENTE.

Few authors bother themselves, or their friends either, with maps.
But I am an exception.  Wherever my bark may be, in whatever part of
the globe, on whatever sea, I like to know my bearings and view my
position on the chart.  It is the same if I journey inland.

Then, when writing my tales, I like my boy and girl readers to be
with me, and each of them to keep his or her weather eye lifting, as
I do mine.  Indeed, as to my latitude and longitude in any portion of
this small world, I am as particular and as "pernicketty" as any old
maid is over her cat, or her cup of brown tea.

So--if thou lovest me, lad or lass,--just take your atlas and turn to
the northern parts of South America, and you shall speedily find
Venezuela, and the great Orinoco river also.  Cast your eyes inland,
along this mighty stream, and you will strike Ciudad Bolivar
(Angostura) on the south bank and Soledad on the other.

It was for Soledad that Miguel made tracks first, and here he and his
guests went on shore and dined at the poseda or hotel.  It was a
brisk time here at this business season.  For to Soledad come now
many a well-laden wain, and many a string of hardy, loaded mules,
bringing with them the produce of the northern interior to ship over
across stream for Ciudad Bolivar itself.

Tobacco, cereals, horns, hoofs, and hides, with cotton, corn, and
rice, great cheeses, poor ill-used pigs, and quacking ducks with
fowls in bundles and baskets.

Our heroes were lucky to arrive at such a time, and the landlady,
though busy, set aside her best rooms and cooked her best dishes to
please the "boy" Miguel, as she fondly called him.  The boy had
brought his guitar with him, and rejoiced the hearts of many lads and
lasses from up country, who had come down with their fathers' wains
to buy their dresses and bonnie things, and so go back again happy to
the solitude of upland and forest.

Heigho!  I fear Miguel was a sad flirt.  He wasn't going to play the
guitar all the evening, I can assure you.  No, he must needs hand the
instrument to a friend, while he mingled in the glad, the mad, the
merry fandango.  Well, those beautifully graceful girl dancers, with
their innocent sweetness of face and dark languishing eyes, were
enough to make a less susceptive young fellow than Miguel flirt.  I
cannot say whether Creggan flirted or not--I shouldn't like to say he
didn't, but I know he danced, though it was hot work.

Poor Duckling!  He was sitting half-hidden in a bank of flowers that
adorned one end of the hall.

"I'm too ugly," he told Creggan, "to get a partner.  I'll be a
wall-flower for one night."

But--think of it--a sweetly pretty girl, after waltzing past through
several dances, eyed him many times and oft.  I'm sure from what
followed that she pitied the poor sailor-boy in his sad loneliness.
For presently, fanning herself prettily, she sat near to him.

She peeped shyly over the top of her fan a few times, then summoned
courage to say:

"You no can dance--valse?"

He smiled drolly.

"Oh yes, dear, I can dance well.  But--but--I think I am too ugly to
find a partner."

"No, señor; no, no.  A good heart is yours.  I see it in your eye.
Come, dance with me."

And she waltzed with him almost continually till the poseda closed.

Kind-hearted was she not?

* * * * * * * * * * *

Well, after a few days spent here the yacht was taken over to Ciudad
Bolivar, in the neighbourhood of which was Miguel's house.  Here
dwelt this rich roving lad's mother, and he was the only son.  The
father had been a man who for many years held very high rank in the
country, but the excitement of business and politics killed him at
last.

I wish I had time and space to linger over the happy life those young
sailors spent for over a fortnight at Miguel's mansion.  His little
sister--strange to say, she was blue-eyed--took quite a fancy to the
Ugly Duckling.  It might have been a case of Beauty and the Beast!
Some ill-natured beings would not have hesitated to say so, but
Natina saw only the boy's mind, and his kindly ways and manners.

She was only twelve.  But in her innocence and naïveté she told him
once that if he returned in a few years she would love him still
more, and that then the _padre_ should join their hands, and they
would and should live happy ever after.

Creggan had never seen the Duckling blush before, but he did so now.
Still, he held out his brown sailor hand and clasped Natina's wee
white one:

"I'll come back, Natina, and marry you.

"Ah!" thought true-hearted Duckie, "shall I ever get here again?  Do
sailors e'er return?"

However, he ratified the agreement in the most natural way possible,
and this precocious little lady henceforward considered herself of no
small account, being engaged, you know.

Duckie, as his mess-mates often called him, mostly for fun but partly
for fondness, measured her finger and promised to send her a ring.  I
may as well add here that he did, and that the correspondence kept up
between them was, on her part anyhow, of a somewhat gushing
description.

The temptation to remain longer at this beautiful house, with its
terraced lawns, its tropical gardens, in which were fountains through
the spray of which rare and beautiful birds dashed backwards and
forwards all day long, and with the grand old forest stretching away
behind to the far-off Llanos, was very great indeed, but time
pressed, and there was yet very much to be seen in this land of
delight.  As to the parting between Natina and Duckie, I must tell
you that Natina cried a good deal in a quiet way, wiping her eyes
with her bonnie black hair, and that, woman-like, one of the last
things she said was:

"Señor Duckie will not forget his Natina's little ring?"

* * * * * * * * * * *

Ships from all nations call at Ciudad Bolivar, although the
population cannot be over seventy thousand, judging from memory.
Then, though the streets are narrow in the business parts, Ciudad
Bolivar looks charming as seen on a bright moonlight night--as seen
from the river, I mean.  The stream here makes an inward bend,
forming a kind of bay, and is escarped by bold rocks, on which wave a
few trees.  Then the houses and mansions rise up and up the hill in
rows or crescents, till they reach the top, where stands the lofty
cathedral.

Creggan and his friend brought from Ciudad Bolivar many strange
curios, and at the first chance that offered he sent these home to
his mother, and many to Matty, for sailors when far away at sea never
forget the dear ones at home.

After dropping down to the mouth of the river Orinoco, young Señor
Miguel stood out to sea some distance to be clear of shoals.  Then
the wind being fair, though light, fires were banked on the little
yacht, and slowly along the coast northwards they held a course.

All around here the sea is very lovely indeed--beyond compare.

When at Miguel's mansion our heroes had been startled by a shock of
earthquake, accompanied by terrible thunder and lightning, more vivid
than they had ever seen before.  Miguel made light of it next day.
He said it was only a baby-quake, and couldn't have rocked a cradle
or basinette.

Anyhow, it seemed to have brought fine weather, and now the sky above
and the sea below were both an azure blue, the wavelets sparkling
like diamond dust, and now and then breaking into tiny caps of
snow-white spray, as the gentle wind toyed with and fanned them.

Skip-jacks now and then darted from wave to wave; blue-black
flying-fish, too, flew high into the sunshine, apparently singing _I
would I were a bird_.

Sometimes these got on board at night, leaping high towards the
lanterns.  When Creggan saw them there, he picked them up and threw
them safely back into the sea.

"Why should we," he said, "who have so many of the good things of
this world, cruelly take the lives of those gems of the ocean wave?"

Shoals of porpoises were common enough, and occasionally a sea-cow
with splendid eyes would raise her beautiful sleek, dark head above
the water, and gaze long and curiously at the white-sailed passing
yacht.

Sometimes Miguel laid to his vessel and lowered a boat, that he and
his guests might enjoy a few hours' fishing.  And it was fishing,
too.  The fish seemed as keen to be caught as they were in Duntulm
Bay when Creggan, our hero, was a little boy, and this brought back
to him sunny memories of days never to be forgotten, so that he often
closed his eyes in the bright sunshine that he might think once more
of the past, and long to be back again in Skye, the Island of Wings.

A week after this we find our heroes in the yacht anchored in the
Caño Colorado--Caño meaning a creek; but in this case, at all events,
it really is no creek, but the long quiet mouth of El rio del
Guarapiche, a river that, rising afar among the wild hills and
forests of the west and north, sweeps briskly on for many a league,
forming here and there a cataract, and here and there a broad brown
pool, where fishes love to bask in the sweet sunshine or leap gladly
up to catch the passing flies.

It is all youth and sunshine and joy with the river at first.
Beautiful wild flowers nod over its banks and use it as a mirror,
bright-winged birds dip in it as they go skimming through the air,
and cloudlands of trees bend down to kiss the gurgling stream.  But
after many more miles, it goes roaring through dark wild cañons, and
is overhung by frowning rocks which narrow and deepen it.  The river
passes through jungle also, where nightly the wild beasts fight and
roar.  Then, getting broader now--its happy youth all gone,--less
transparent old age seems to gather over its once glad waters, till,
weary at last, it glides calmly, softly, into the great Atlantic
Ocean.

Miguel landed at the Caño.  The young fellow appeared to have friends
everywhere, and to be everywhere as welcome as early primroses.

The owner of a property that lay up a creeklet, and had thereon a
pretty wooden bungalow, was most happy to see Miguel and his friends.
Of course they must stay to dinner, and that meal was one that
Creggan could not despise.  Delightful curry, most delicious fish,
plantains, sweet potatoes, and the rarest of fruit.

And so with talk and song the evening passed away.  Then down the
creek in the starlight they dropped, and just about

  "The wee short 'oor ayont the twal"

everybody was fast asleep--except the sentry--on board the yacht.

On next day towards Maturin.

In no hurry, however.  'Twas best to lounge and dawdle thus, enjoying
the _dolce far niente_ by the river's green wooded banks, or out
amid-stream in the sparkling sunshine.

On shore many times and oft, however, to enjoy the scenery.  Once a
huge and insolent cayman attempted to seize a boatman where he sat.
They were just then nearing the yacht.  Almost instantly after the
crack of a heavy rifle in the bows of the _Queen_ sounded the
death-knell of that terrible cayman.  Even before the sound had
ceased to reverberate from rock to rock, he was lashing the water
with his tail like some fabled monster of a bygone age, and dyeing
the water with his blood.

Once they landed on the north bank of the river, and after dragging
the light boat a long way through a rough country, they launched her
on a lovely lake of cerulean blue, that, extending far on every side,
looked like some vast inland sea.

Miguel had brought along to-day an extra good luncheon.  The water
teemed with fish, so sport was excellent.  They landed in a little
cove,

  "O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green",

and there in cool umbrageous shade they dined.  Then romantic Miguel,
who never went anywhere without his sweet-and-sad guitar, played and
sang.

They returned not until the moon was shining high and clear over the
mirrored lake.  Some hands from the yacht met them in the
landing-cove, and the boat was again dragged riverwards.

Not without adventure, however.

Creggan always took with him from his ship a Highland plaid, to be
worn at night if belated.  He was wrapped in that--happily for
him--on this particular evening.

The boat was still being dragged along a terribly rough cattle-track,
and Creggan was a little way behind.  Suddenly from out the jungle
came a roar that seemed to shake the earth, and next moment a huge
dark beast sprang high in the moonlit air, and our hero was thrown
violently to the ground.

The American lion, his yellow eyes glaring, his red mouth spitting
spume, tore at the Highland plaid.  But the beast's last hour had
come, for with an activity but little less than his own, Miguel
attacked him.  It was a clear-shining dagger that shone aloft.  It
descended with a dull thud, and was lifted again wet with red blood.
In less than ten seconds the wild beast was despatched.

His skin was taken as a trophy by the men, and presented, after being
cured, to Creggan himself.  That skin is now lying as a rug in the
drawing-room of Creggan's mother's house at Torquay.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Half-way up the river Guarapiche lies the town or city of Maturin.
Spanish, of course, with quaintly-tiled or thatched houses, laid out
in terraces, streets, and squares.

The people are peaceable enough, though sometimes quarrels ensue in
gambling or drinking dens, knives are drawn, and red blood spurts all
over glasses, decanters, and counter.

There are many Europeans here, and, I think, they stand by Scotch or
Italian.  The latter may occasionally draw a stiletto, but Sandie
doesn't.  Sandie usually owns a fist as hard and big as the butt-end
of an elephant rifle, and if a row begins, he finds that fist
wondrous handy.

I believe that Miguel never thought anything about the cruelty of
cock-fighting and bull-baiting; and at his invitation our young
heroes went to see both.  They were disgusted with the former, and
even more so with the latter.  The poor horses are often gored even
to death, and on that night our Creggan and his friends saw one
unhappy animal rushing wildly around the arena with--will it be
believed?--a portion of his entrails gushing from his side.  The only
incident of this one-sided bull-fight which the Ugly Duckling really
enjoyed, was when a bull picked a fallen matador airily up by the
trews--the fellow was on his face--and flung him over into the crowd.

The twisting of the tails of the bulls is very cruel and shocking.
The matadors want Britishers to believe that they throw the bull over
by sheer strength of arm.  Nothing of the sort.  The nobler animal
throws himself over to avoid the excruciating agony of the twist.

These matadors are, as far as I could ever judge, cowardly fellows,
as all cruel men are.  I asked one once to have a boxing round or two
with me, for love.  He excused himself prettily in Spanish, and I
think he did well, because there was no hospital anywhere near to
carry him to after the engagement.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Well, the time was getting on, flying fast indeed, but to return
without seeing the strange, wild, and dreary scenery of the Llanos
would have been out of the question.

The yacht was left in charge of its somewhat ragged crew, and the
three friends with servants and plenty of arms for sport--well
provisioned too--started at last, and after a long, stiff climb found
themselves, full three hundred feet above the sea-level, on a wide
and open plain.

It extended--oh, such a distance far away to the horizon!  The sea
itself seemed less extensive than these

  "High plains......
  And vast savannahs, where the wandering eye,
    Unfixed, is in a verdant ocean lost".




CHAPTER XXIV.

ON THE LONESOME LLANOS.

The vast and lonesome uplands, called Llanos, on which our heroes now
found themselves, are the pampas of the far southern districts of
South America.

There is a weirdness about them, especially in the silence of the
night, that strikes one with awe.  But sometimes, indeed, day is more
silent than night, for then the stillness is unbroken by howl of wild
beasts or scream of birds of prey.  So quiet is it then on some
portions of the Llanos, that you can hear the sound of the human
voice in ordinary conversation full two hundred yards away, while if
you wander long here, so great is the strain on one's nerves that the
slightest sound will make one start--a tiny snake rustling among the
grass, a breaking reed, or lizard nibbling at a stalk of couch.

Humboldt, the great traveller, is not, I fear, much read nowadays,
but he speaks about these solitary regions as follows:--

"Here in the Llanos, all around us, the plains seemed to rise to
heaven; and this vast and silent desert appeared to our eyes like a
sea that is covered with sea-weed, or the algae of the deep ocean.
According to the inequality of the vapour floating on the atmosphere,
and the alternate temperature of the breezes contending against each
other, was the appearance of the horizon; in some places clearly and
sharply defined, in others wavy, crooked, and, as it were, striped.

"The earth there seemed to mingle with heaven.  Through the dry mist
we sometimes perceived palm-trees in the distance.  Stripped of their
leaves and green feathery summits, these stems, rising out of the
low-lying fog, resembled the masts of ships, which one descries on
the horizon at sea."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Miguel's little party was accompanied by donkeys; some of these had
panniers, on which the luggage or baggage was carried, as well as the
general commissariat.  But while two of Miguel's sailors trotted on
foot, he himself with Creggan and his friends bestrode strong and
agile donkeys.

As guides, they had two hardy Llaneros or plainsmen.  These fellows
are wilder far than your Mexican cow-boy,--who, by the way, is just
as often as not a braggart and a coward.  But your true Llanero, with
his brown skin, his tattered clothes and cow-hide boots, and the
ever-ready lasso across his chest, a knife or pistol in his belt, is
as daring as a puma or panther itself.  He knows no fear, and takes
no hurt wherever he sleeps, or however hard his toil and poor his
fare.

No need for a traveller to fear these men.  Treat them fairly and
squarely, and they will do their duty, ay, and fight to grim death
for the man they have undertaken to watch and guide.

Our brave youngsters were marching southwards and west, and would so
march for days, until, after crossing many a creek and cañon, and
many a river that goes roaring, brown and awful, through gorges among
the hills and woods, they should strike the River Tigre itself.

One of the rivers they crossed is wildly beautiful--the Mapiriti.
They spent two nights and days near to its green banks, and in a
bonny wooded and bosky glen.  But they had shooting and fishing also.

Night alone was dreary--and dangerous too.  To protect the donkeys
from the attacks of wild beasts, they had to cut down branches and
throw up a kind of laager, for after supper was cooked and eaten, and
the fires burning low warned them that it was time to sleep, the
cries and roaring of beasts of prey began, and the brutes came all
too close to camp to be agreeable.  But the sentries--two there
were--had orders to fire if they heard but a bush stirring.  The
quick sharp ring of the rifles generally ensured peace for a time.

Miguel slept on some bundles of grass, with a pillow of the same
material.  Nor wild beasts, snakes, nor mosquitoes ever seemed to
annoy him.

But the Ugly Duckling and Creggan had each a hammock, hung
gipsy-fashion from crossed sticks a few feet above the ground.

After Creggan had said his prayers and lain down, he used to promise
himself that he would lie awake for some time and think of his
far-off Highland home.  But he never succeeded in doing so with any
degree of satisfaction.  The fatigue of travel, the pure, fresh, and
bracing air, to say nothing of a good supper, all tended to induce
slumber, and soon indeed was he in the land of forgetfulness, seldom
opening his eyes till breakfast was steaming and simmering over the
fire.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I must draw in my horns, as the snail said to the blackbird; for it
was not my intention to give an elaborate account of this great land
of Llanos, of broad bright rivers studded with islands like emerald
gems, of cayman-haunted creeks, of green savannahs, of waving palms,
of deep dark forests surrounding many a lonesome gloomy leaden lake,
and of mountains towering to the moon.  No; see Venezuela for
yourselves, boys.  If you do, you can say afterwards that you have
lived, should you never visit any other foreign land save itself.

Suffice it to say that, laden with the spoils of the chase, the
_Queen_ one beautiful forenoon brought our heroes safely back to the
mouth of the great river Orinoco, and that their arrival was a scene
of rejoicing.

Poor Admiral Jacko was worn and thin, for sadly had he missed his
Ugly Duckling, and now sprang into his arms with a fond and plaintive
cry, and in his own strange language told him a weary, weary tale.

It was delightful to get home again to the ship after all, and that
night, after they had dined with the captain, Miguel being also a
guest, our wanderers slept more soundly than they had done for many
and many a day.




CHAPTER XXV.

PROMOTION.

I may tell my would-be or will-be sailor-boys, that time flies fast
enough when one is serving in a pleasant and happy ship on a foreign
shore.  Just a little weariness and longing there may be for the
first month or two, then one settles down.

You do not cease to think of home, however.  As regards love of home,
absence really makes the heart grow fonder.  You think of it often
and often when keeping your lonesome middle-watch, as you gaze
upwards at the star-studded sky, or outwards far across the darkling
sea, and you dream of it while rocked in your hammock or tiny
cabin-cot; and somehow these dreams are nearly always pleasant.  Then
again, a dear delight it is to receive letters from home.  The next
greatest pleasure is in writing them.

Writing letters home, as far as the Royal Navy is concerned, is an
occupation one should engage in at all odd moments.  The letters
should be ready to go at any time, for you never know when a chance
may occur.  A homeward-bound ship may be sighted and lie to, then aft
and forward rings the cry, "Letters for home!"

If the midshipman of the watch or a bo's'n draws aside the gun-room
curtain, and shouts "Any letters for England, gentlemen?" and you
have not got yours ready, owing to a spirit of procrastination that
lately dominated you,--well, you will be ready to bite the tip off
your tongue.  You will feel just real mad with yourself.

But so many incidents and adventures, to say nothing of duty's strict
routine, go to make up a sailor's life, whether young or not, that it
is wonderful how speedily pass the months, ay, and the years too,
until the "Ordered home" arrives.

Then indeed is there excitement.  But once the jib-boom is pointing
straight ahead towards our own beloved land, time no longer flies, it
abjures the swift, darting flight of the swallow and lags along at
the pace of a slug.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Well now, two whole years have passed away since Creggan and his
friend made that memorable though all too brief tour in Venezuela
with the kindly young landsman Miguel, and it would be difficult
indeed to cram the story of all their ups and downs into even a dozen
chapters.  I have no such intention.  In fact, though I tell this
story from the life, it is impossible for me to remember all they did
or didn't do in that time.

I will just inform you, that at the end of two years they were once
more back again at the mouth of the great white rolling Orinoco, and,
as history repeats itself, Miguel once more came on board, looking
not a bit changed, and once more Creggan and the Ugly Duckling went
with him up stream to his mother's beautiful mansion.

This time they intended going no farther, but they were accompanied
by dear, kind little Sidney Wickens, and also by their two staunch
friends, Hurricane Bob and Oscar.

Now, I must tell you something.  Sidney was a genial but quiet young
fellow, whose very manner appeared to invite the confidence of his
fellows, and when, one evening, nobody but he and Duckie sat together
in their little mess-room--this was shortly after their first visit
to Venezuela,--the latter had suddenly begun to laugh.

"Oh," cried Sidney, "give us a chance to join you, old man.  A good
laugh is invaluable, from a health point of view."

"Well, I'll tell you, though I wouldn't tell everybody."

"No?  Well, let me hear."

"Then," said the Duckling, "you wouldn't think that anyone so awfully
ugly as I am would have a little sweetheart."

"My dear fellow," said Sidney soothingly, "I'll tell you the truth.
As to beauty you are not an Adonis, but your manner is so
good-natured and pleasant and humorsome and all that, one never
thinks about your features.  Besides, as a rule girls hate pretty
faces on men; that is, sensible girls do."

"Well, but my sweetheart is only a child."

"Tell me."

The Ugly Duckling did, from the beginning of the story down to the
parting and the promised engagement-ring.

Sidney was much interested.

Then getting up he said quietly, "I'll be back in a minute."

He drew aside, the curtain and disappeared.  Down to his big
sea-chest in the cockpit he dived, and soon returned singing low to
himself, with his jewel-case in one hand.  He placed it on the table,
and opened his show of sparkling gems.

"Give me that bit of cardboard," he said, "with the size of Natina's
finger in it.  Ah!" he cried jubilantly a moment after, "this one
will just fit.  A trifle large, but her sweet wee finger will grow to
it.  See how it sparkles!  Isn't it just too awfully lovely for
anything?"

"But, dear Wickens, I--I--"

"Come now, none of that.  If you won't have it, why, I'll keep it and
give it to the pretty Natina myself, and so cut you out."

"I shall have it," cried his companion laughing as he stretched out
his hand, "But, how can I thank you?"

"By not saying a word.  If you thank me I'll shy a bit of biscuit at
you.  So there!"

Well, on this second visit the Ugly Duckling would not go up stream
without Sidney, and they all spent a most happy week.

Of course Natina was greatly delighted with the ring, and just as
pretty and affectionate as ever, only she divided her affections most
impartially between the dogs and the Duckling.

Miguel gave a party and a dance or play every night.  His guests
stopped at the mansion, and when good-byes were said at last they
were very sincere indeed, and, as far as innocent little Natty was
concerned, accompanied by tears.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The _Osprey_ had got her anchor up, and started now on a very long
cruise indeed--all the way to New Zealand and Australia.

I always think the study of a really good map of the world is quite a
delight.  It gives one such a thorough insight as to the bearings of
his own little land, to the seas and vast continents in other parts
of the globe.  Geography, I believe, should always be taught and
learned in the easiest and most pleasant way possible.

Now, I suppose that if I were to tell you that Cape Horn was the
southernmost point of land in South America, and that the ship was
now going to coast down and round this stormy cape, you would
naturally think her course would lie south all the way.

Not at all.  Oblige me by looking at your map.

And now let us sail along in the jolly old frigate.

We leave, then, the mouth of the mighty Orinoco, and instead of
steering south it is pretty nearly all easting until we reach
Trinidad, the most southerly of all the West India islands, then our
course is about south-east and by east till we cross the burning
equator and round Cape St. Roque, then about south till we look in at
Rio Janeiro.

Rio Janeiro stands next to Edinburgh as the most romantic in
situation and surroundings in the world.  The city itself perhaps
looks best at a distance--well, Scot though I be, I must confess that
there are some parts of Old Edinburgh itself that at best will hardly
bear close inspection.  Rio simply means a river, and Rio Janeiro is
the city of romance.

We take a course now with a bit of westerly in it, and in time reach
another Rio--the Rio de la Plata.  Yonder on our starboard beam lies
the great and painfully-neglected Argentine Republic.

Coasting still to the south we skirt the shores of Patagonia.

Somehow we associate everything big and large with this long stretch
of wild country.  Land of giants, land of the llama and
swiftly-bounding guanaco.  Land of the lasso, too, and stalwart men
on fleet horses that can use it.  Not a bad lot of fellows at all, if
you take them the right way.

But here we are at the entrance to the Straits of Magellan.  No, we
are not going through this voyage.  We pass between the coast and the
lonely Falkland Islands.  These islands of the far south are somewhat
akin in climate to our Orkneys, healthy and bracing, though the
country is subject to terrible storms.  It has hills and dells and
glens, with many a dark tarn and rippling stream, crowded with fish
that are by no means shy.  The islands number about eighty in all.
The summer is very pleasant.  If you and I go there to spend a few
months, reader, we'll have excellent sport, and no letters or morning
papers to worry over.  The Falklands are almost treeless, but that
does not signify much so long as one is happy and can eat a good
breakfast.

Well, here is Staten Island.  Rather different is this Argentine isle
from the Staten of New York.

Ugh! how bitterly the north-western winds are howling around its
rocks.  And see, yonder--summer though it be--its dark gloomy cliffs,
home of the penguin and many a strange bird besides, are capped with
snow; so, too, are its mountains.

Occasionally now a sea-elephant looks up to stare at us, and now and
then a shoal of the ubiquitous porpoises go dancing and cooing past,
or a solitary whale ploughs across our hawse but deigns not even to
look at us.  He or she is intent only on her own business.  Perhaps
she has a calf alongside her sucking like an overgrown puppy--great,
sweet innocent,--and she is taking it north to warmer water.

My conscience!--as they say in the north of bonnie Scotland,--how
ships that can only sail have to rough it while rounding the Cape!
Snow and fog, icebergs, and sometimes howling winds from the
west-north-west!

  "And now there came both mist and snow,
    And it grew wondrous cold;
  And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
    As green as emerald."


Yes, green enough as to its sides sometimes, but all clad in deep,
deep snow above.

And we now walk the icy decks carefully, blowing occasionally on our
half-frozen though mitted fingers.  The ear-lappets of our
sou'-westers are pulled down, our faces being either blue or white
according to the strength of the circulation.

Small pieces of ice rattle along our quarters and bump us, but we
care not for that; we do but pray that in the darkness of night we
may not foul the fore-foot of some fearful berg.  Should we do so,
backward our barque would reel and stagger, to sink all too soon in
the deepest, blackest sea, that rolls anywhere around this
terrestrial ball.

To our starboard, though we cannot see it, lies the terrible island
of Tierra del Fuego, literally the Land of Fire.  Land of the canoe
islanders, the most implacable savages to be met with anywhere.  Who
is going to take his life in his hand and spend a year in exploring
this wild country?  Will you come with me, boy-readers?  Why, we
should make a name to ourselves, if not fortunes.  We should come
back, if the savages didn't roast and eat us, with a book.  We should
add much to the geography and the anthropology of the world, and
discover--coals.

But our ship is clear away from the black stormy sea at last, and
clear of the ice.

So we sail merrily on across a wide and trackless ocean on a beam
wind for weeks and weeks, till, hurrah! we are past Bounty Island and
reach bonnie Dunedin itself.  And here let me tell you, that if there
be a single drop of Scottish blood in your veins, you are sure of a
Highland welcome.

The cruise described in this chapter is just as near to the life as I
can make it, and pretty much what our bold crew of the _Osprey_ found
it.  And the paddle-frigate soon after this came across the new
flag-ship for the Australian station.  Captain Leeward himself
boarded her, accompanied by a lieutenant, leaving the other officers
to wait impatiently for his return.

"I wonder," said the Ugly Duckling to Dr. Grant, "if we shall be
ordered home."

"Not the ghost of a chance of that, mother's brave and beautiful
boy," replied Grant; "but we'll have letters, and lots of further
despatches sending us off wild-goose chasing all over the world."

"Well, I like it," said Creggan.

"So do I," said Sidney Wickens.

Creggan was twenty-one now, and a handsome sailor he looked in his
jacket of blue, with his budding moustache of darkest down, his
bright face, and happy smile that nothing could banish.

When Captain Leeward returned, they soon found that Grant was right
in his surmise.  There was no "Ordered home", but plenty of
despatches for many parts of the world.

There were letters from home.  It is needless to say that these were
hailed with delight.

But there was something else as well, namely, an order addressed to
sub-lieutenants Creggan Ogg M'Vayne and Sidney Wickens to repair
forthwith on board the flag-ship and pay their respects to the
admiral.

"Something good, I'll be bound!" said Grant.  "Ah, you're lucky lads!
The Lords Commissioners seldom think of us poor slaving surgeons.
Heigho!"

The admiral received them on his quarter-deck with great affability.
Then he asked them in to his own quarters and bade them be seated.

"I have good news for you both," he said, "and, not to go about the
bush, you are both promoted to be lieutenants.

"And," he added, "you can go home in the _D----_, which will sail
from Port Phillip a month hence, and take up your commissions."

Both the young fellows smiled joyously and thanked him.

"Well, sir," said Creggan, "is it absolutely necessary that I should
go home?  Could you not grant me leave to remain in the dear old
_Osprey_, mess in the gun-room, and see all that is to be seen until
the paddler is ordered home?"

The admiral laughed right heartily.

"Well," he said, "it is the drollest application ever I heard.  What
about you, Mr. Wickens?"

"Oh please, admiral, I'll go home."

"Then I grant you leave to stay, Mr. M'Vayne.  But I have still
better news to give you.

"Commander Flint," he added with that pleasant smile of his, "under
whom you served, and whose life you saved in a particularly gallant
way, has been moving heaven and earth, and Whitehall as well, to
obtain for you the Victoria Cross for conspicuous bravery in presence
of the foe.  And I think I can assure you he will be successful, so
you may look forward, Mr. M'Vayne, to having that grand decoration
conferred on you by the hands of our dear Queen herself."

Creggan felt himself growing red and white by turns.  He could only
blurt out a few words which I dare say were very stupid.  But the
admiral laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.

"Go on board your own ship now, Lieutenant M'Vayne, and say no more.
But you must both come and dine with me to-night.  Till then, adieu."

Every man-Jack felt sad when Sidney Wickens sailed for home.  He had
endeared himself to all.  And his mess-mates never saw him more.  He
was buried, I think, at sea, in the bosom of the blue Levant.




CHAPTER XXVI.

ADVENTURE IN A PAPUAN LAKE-VILLAGE.

And now, if you will take one further wee glance at that
prettily-coloured map of yours, you shall find Australia easily
enough.  But look at its northern shores, and you will be able to see
a great gap there called the Gulf of Carpentaria, and on its eastern
shore and point is Cape York, separated from the large island called
New Guinea by the Straits of Torres.  There!  I am teaching you
geography in a more pleasant way than you have it dished up at school.

Well, this vast island has never been really or thoroughly explored,
for two reasons principally, because the inhabitants--a mixture of
Papuans and aboriginal Australians--are never quite civil to white
men, and because the climate is moist among the forests or tropical
verdure that lies low along the shores, and fever, therefore, always
ready to make a victim of the adventurer.  But inland, if one gets
safely through the regions of damp and forest fogs, will be found
many a beautiful hill and dell, quite a mountain-land, exceeding in
romantic grandeur some parts of Scotland itself.

It was in 1889 that brave Sir W. M'Gregor explored the island--to
some considerable extent.  New Guinea, he found, is almost everywhere
clothed with rich and highly diversified flora.  His party, after
passing successively through the dominions of tropical plants, such
as the cocoa-nut, sago, banana, mango, taro, and sugar-cane, and of
such temperate or sub-tropical growth as the cedar, oak, fig, acacia,
pine, and tree-fern, were gladdened in the higher slopes by the sight
of the wild strawberry, forget-me-not, daisy, buttercup, and other
familiar British plants; while towards the summit these were
succeeded by a true Alpine flora, in which Himalayan, Bohean, New
Zealand, and sub-Antarctic forms were all numerously represented.

And this was the strange wild island to which the _Osprey_ was now to
steer.  On what business bent I never could say for certain.  But I
rather think it was to spy out the land; our own half that is, for we
kindly and considerately permit the Germans and Dutch to do what they
like with the other half.  Neither make good colonists; the Dutch are
too slow, the Germans too frightened at natives.

These savages are either quite peaceable and industrious, or wild and
fierce, with a strong liking for "man-meat" or "long-pig".  These
terrible wretches like pork, but will lick the backs of their black
hands, and declare to you, that there is nothing in the world to beat
roast missionary, as a _piece de resistance_, or cold side-dish.  The
fiercest tribes live among the mountains.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The _Osprey_, with fine weather nearly all the way, reached Cape
York, lying in for a few days at the port of Albany.

Then she stood right away north to Port Moresby, where is a British
government-station--not of great consequence, it must be admitted.
Here the anchor was let go, and boats came off from shore.  Our
people shook brown, sun-tanned hands with their countrymen, and a
hearty welcome was accorded to all.

The blue-jackets were permitted to land in relays, on pain, however,
of punishment if they interfered in any way with the Papuan natives.
For really Jack's ways with niggers--as he calls all black or even
brown people--are sometimes rather free and easy, to say the least of
it.

Now, Captain Leeward was fully alive to the quiet pluck and bravery
that Creggan and his friend the Ugly Duckling had ever exhibited in
the presence of danger, and would have trusted them to go anywhere
and do anything.  And they were always so willing and cheerful, that
it was a pleasure to the captain to let them go exploring whenever so
minded.  He knew they would not be foolishly rash.

Well, when Creggan and his friend landed, they determined to have a
good look around, and even to make a dive into the splendid tropical
forest behind the settlement.

They took Goodwin the mate with them for a bodyguard, with one
sailor, bold Jack Hing--poor fellow, he was afterwards drowned on the
China station.  For a handful of coppers they obtained the guidance
of a "boy".  This "boy", however, was fully forty years of age,
judging from appearance.  But he seemed kindly disposed, showed a
splendid set of teeth when he smiled, and looked generally jolly.

Both Hurricane Bob and Oscar went on this picnic, and how they did
scamper around and enjoy themselves, to be sure!  But I must add that
they sadly frightened the black ladies and children, as the Ugly
Duckling grandly called them.  They ran shrieking away as soon as
Bob's voice sounded along the beach, and hid themselves in the cool
darkness of their leaf-and-bamboo huts.

This tribe seemed very industrious.  They were allowed but little
rum.  It is that which turns the ordinary savage into a wild raving
maniac, and causes him to run "amok" with knife, or spear, or nulla,
slaying every man, woman, or child he meets till he himself is slain.

The people here made pretty baskets, and worked in clay also, even
young children assisting.  Then Creggan found near to the shore many
cultivated fields surrounded by wattling and hedges.  In these grew
paddy, sweet potatoes, and the lordly yam.

The men, too, went out fishing.  There are two species of boats here.
One I might describe as a kind of Papuan gondola of large dimensions.
About fifteen tons or over.  These boats are low in the centre, but
sweep upwards at the stern and bows, rather prettily too.  Then there
is the ordinary dug-out, which is simply a tree-trunk formed into
boat-shape by axe and adze, the inside finished off with fire to
harden it, after which thwarts are nailed, or rather pegged across.
But your dug-out would turn turtle if not fitted on each side with
long out-riggers.  This dug-out is common also in most parts of
savage Africa.

Creggan's guide on this occasion was a very good specimen of his
tribe.  When you see one grown man you know what the rest are like.
The guide, then, was as black as--as--I was going to say soot, but
that is really a black that has a rusty tinge in it.  As black, then,
as the inside of an empty tar-barrel with the bung in.

Well, Ephraim--as Creggan called him, though why I am sure I could
not tell you--had, to begin with, such a mop of frizzly hair, that
had you turned him upside down it might have been used to sweep the
decks with.  This hair was black, but intermixed with silvery
threads.  Both brows and nose were rather prominent.  His nostrils
were wide, and moved about with every word he said.  He was most
spirited too, emphasizing every voluble sentence with strange
gestures and shrugging of shoulders.

Most of the men seen had their hair and beards stained with reddish
clay, but not so Ephraim.  He was proud of his gray hairs.  His mouth
was quite the same as the real African nigger; wide enough to have
engulfed an ordinary-sized turnip, and the lips were very bulgy and
thick.  Armlets, bangles, and ear-rings of brass are common to both
sexes.

Little children went about entirely naked.  Ephraim's whole suit of
wearing apparel could not have cost much anywhere.  He had a bit of
manilla rope round the waist, to which his sheathed knife was fixed,
and to which also was attached what looked like a dirty towel.  This
was tied to the rope in front, passed between the limbs, and was tied
to the rope again at the back.  But there was nothing repulsive about
this man.  He looked bold, erect, and honest; nor would his glance
have quailed before the Queen.

His wife, for he had one, was positively prepossessing; and I am
really glad to testify to this, for the pictures of Papuans placed
before our school-boys are terrible caricatures.

Ephraim's wife was certainly undressed from the waist upwards, with
the exception of bangles and a necklace of teeth, and pretty shells,
pink and snow-white.  From the waist to the knees she wore a skirt of
grass cloth, surmounted by a shorter one of fringed cocoa-nut fibre.
She smiled affably and innocently when Creggan spoke to her, showing
teeth as white as those of a six-months-old Newfoundland dog, and she
glanced upwards at the handsome lieutenant with eyes that were
certainly beautiful.

There was something truly good in Treekee's heart, I'm sure, for
seeing the dogs pant, she brought a calabash of water, and lying down
beside them in the shade of a tree-fern, made them drink from the
half of a cocoanut-shell.

Honest Bob licked Treekee's black face to show his gratitude.

That day our heroes had a long tour through the forest with Ephraim
and his wife.  They had come armed, but did not find much to shoot,
so they contented themselves by making a collection of splendid
butterflies and beautifully-coloured beetles.

Ephraim got them back by three o'clock.  He then proposed that they
should be rowed over in dug-outs to visit a lake-village.  Their own
boat was hauled up safely under the banana-trees.  So away they went.

It was certainly the strangest little town that Creggan had ever
visited.  It consisted of about sixty huts in all, each of which was
elevated above the water on strong poles or scaffolding, fully nine
feet above the surface.

The walls of these huts were of bamboo, that is, the framework.  Over
this slabs of pith were placed.  The roofs were of grass and plantain
leaves, and each was supplied with a shutter, generally open all day
to admit light and air, and get rid of smoke.  Into one of the
largest of these huts our heroes crawled by a withy ladder, while
Ephraim returned, promising to be back an hour before sunset.

Well, Creggan was quite astonished at the amount of room inside this
lake-dwelling, although the walls from platform to eaves were only
about five feet high.

The floor was of pith over bamboo, and spread with a
charmingly-worked grass carpet.  A fire could be lit, when needed for
cooking purposes, on a red-clay hearth at one end.  But at present it
was out, so the room was delightfully cool.

Their welcome was a hearty one, and as Creggan had brought beads and
ribbons and tobacco as gifts, the owner--a fine-looking
specimen,--his young wife, and two toddling children were all
delighted.

But Creggan, or rather Goodwin, had brought also a bountiful repast.
There was quite enough for all.

The chief--if chief he was--nodded significantly to his wife,
muttering something that our young fellows could not understand.  She
immediately arose and put both children to bed in a corner.  They
didn't require any undressing, for the dear wee black totties, as
Ugly Duckling called them, wore nothing save a string of kangaroo
teeth.

Then the good lady brought knives and spears, and other implements of
savage warfare, and laid them down on the mat on which Creggan and
his friends were squatting.

This was an act of good faith, and said plainly enough:

"Lo! you are safe in my hut.  Behold I place all my weapons at your
feet."

But this chief could talk fairly good English, and he spun some
terrible yarns, about the fierce men who dwelt among the wild
mountains.  He entreated them not to venture there, else they would
return "plenty dead, and much bloody".

This was not encouraging, so Creggan thought over a plan he had
formed for visiting the hills, and finally gave it up, for a time at
all events.

"Plenty bad mountain men.  Plenty white men dey makee fat, den roast
and gobble up.  Brains smashee out wi' one club.  Oh, mountain men
plenty mooch big fellows!"

"But for all that," said Creggan to his friend, "I should like to go
some day."

"Yes," replied the Duckling; "but I wouldn't like to be fed up and
killed and cooked--eh, would you?"

"Roast duckling and green peas," said Creggan maliciously.  "Come,
sing these folks a song, old chap, and you sha'n't be cooked.  There!"

The Duckling did as told, and the chief and his wife seemed charmed.
Even the children sat up on one end in the corner, and rolled their
white eyes in ecstasy.

So the time passed away very cheerfully indeed.  But lo! just before
the hour for the dug-outs to arrive a squall came on, the water or
spray dashed high over the roof of the hut, and when Creggan peeped
out it was all a-smother as far as he could see.

They hoped against hope that the weather would moderate, but squall
succeeded squall, and soon darkness fell over land and water.  It was
evident, therefore, that our heroes were prisoners for one night.

Well, your true sailor always tries to make the best of every
adventure.  They had plenty to eat of their own, and lighting the
fire the kindly Papuan lady cooked and placed fish before them on
palm-leaf plates.

Then they had delicious fruit--bananas such as you never see in our
land, guavas that tasted like strawberries smothered in cream,
glorious rosy mangoes, and cocoanut-milk to drink.

They were happy.

More songs were sung, more stories told, and then, with the utmost
confidence, our sailor-lads laid themselves back on their mats, using
their jackets for pillows, and were soon sound and fast asleep.

Daylight was shimmering in through the crevices of door and shutter
when Creggan awoke.  The room was hot, so, seeing him wipe the
perspiration from his brow, the chief, after nodding a kindly
good-morning, opened the gable door.

The water was deeply blue, not a cloud was to be seen in the cerulean
sky, and the wind was hushed.  Beyond was the beautiful cloudland of
forest trees and waving palms, and away on the horizon the
everlasting hills.




CHAPTER XXVII.

A TERRIBLE TRAGEDY.

The others were still asleep.

"No wake," said the chief.  "No wake, poor boys.  Plenty soon I
catchee breakfast.  Den my vife she cook.  Ah! man-meat no good.
Arrack no good.  God heself he send de cocoa-nut and de fish.
Missional man he tell me foh true."

Then down squatted this strange black man in his doorway, with his
legs dangling over, outside.  He had a short rod and line, and really
the fish required but little coaxing, for he soon hauled up seven or
eight big beauties.

These were sprinkled with salt and various kinds of pepper, placed on
hot stones over the fire, and covered with fragrant wet leaves.  They
were soon done to a turn.  So were yams and sweet potatoes.  Then
Creggan asked a blessing, and all declared that they had never eaten
a more delightful breakfast in their lives.

By and by a strange kind of chant was heard coming nearer and nearer
to the village, and presently the plash of paddles.

Lo! the dug-outs had arrived.  So, bidding their kind host and
hostess adieu, after filling the children's hands with sweets, they
lowered themselves into the canoes and were quickly paddled on shore.

They reached their own ship that forenoon in safety, much delighted
with all they had seen and heard, and now, business being transacted,
steam was got up, and the _Osprey_ went heading away for far northern
China seas.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The letters from home which last mail had brought Creggan were very
delightful reading, especially those from Daddy the hermit, from his
mother, and little Matty Nugent.  Nugent's own letter brought him sad
enough news, however, to the effect that poor M'Ian the minister had
been borne to his long home by his loving parishioners, and that all
that country-side of Skye was plunged in grief.

Mrs. M'Ian and her children, Rory and Maggie, had gone to reside in
Perth for the better education of the latter.  Maggie, or Sister
Maggie, wrote a sad little letter to Creggan--it was really blurred
with tears, and grief was en evidence throughout every page of it.

The voyage to Chinese and Japanese waters was a very long but
somewhat uneventful one.  It took them westward through Torres
Straits first, then across the bright and beautiful Sea of Arafura,
all dotted with little green-fringed islands hung like emeralds on
the horizon.  Next, across the Sea of Banda, and so away and away
past Molucca and Gilolo, till they skirted the Philippine Isles,
Formosa, and Loo-choo, then they were indeed in Chinese waters.

But no storm or tempest had marred the pleasure of this almost
idyllic voyage, and they reached Shanghai in safety.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Here they met several man-of-war ships, more than they expected to,
and everybody had a real good time of it.  Some of these ships of war
were sent from the East India station hurriedly, their object being
to protect British interests in these waters, and north beyond Corea,
in the Sea of Japan.

Well, Japan seems, to look at it on a map, only a little, little
island compared to that vast tract of land called China, that teems
with its hundreds of millions.  True, but Japan is civilized.  Japan
has a splendid army of fire-eating soldiers, and a navy fit to go
anywhere and do anything, while China is still wrapped in the mists
of heathendom, and ruled by a government as blind as it is ignorant.
Foreigners are hated by the Chinese.  Hated and hooted wherever they
go.  The country is two thousand years behind the age, and not even
while I write is it yet opened up to commerce.

Well, Captain Leeward learned now for the first time that war-clouds
were banking up in the eastern horizon, that the war-wind would blow
from the east, and that soon the storm would burst in all its fury
over Corea and the self-conceited Chinese.

No one knew the day or the hour when the first angry shot should go
shrieking through the air.

It was a season of breathless suspense, like that which thrills the
mariner's heart with its very silence, before the down-come of an
awful hurricane at sea; when the stillness is a stillness that can be
felt, when the very birds are silent and float listlessly on the
smooth oily billows, or perch on the fins of some basking shark.

But a vessel was now sent round to Bombay, and here despatches
awaited her which she was to carry back with her to the British fleet
in Chinese waters.

We were, it must be remembered, quite neutral in this great and
bloody war, but I think that the heart of every true-born Scot or
Englishman went out towards the brave Japanese, and followed them
with intense interest throughout all their glorious career.

I have no desire at this part of my story to be dry and technical.  I
am never so.  I am built, I trust, on the keel of common sense, but I
would rather laugh and be merry any day than talk politics, and would
rather spin a good sailor's yarn than preach.

But still it will do the reader no harm to know somewhat of the
provocation, that the brave Japanese received, before they let slip
the dogs of war.  I shall let the historian speak, however.  The bone
of contention really was the great Peninsula of Corea.

"The first complication in Corea," says the historian, "which
threatened the peace of the three countries of the far east, happened
in July, 1882.  Kim-Ok-Kim and other Coreans had been over to Japan.
Surprised and pleased at the wonders they had seen, they came back
partisans of progress and enthusiastic supporters of Japanese
influence.  Their ideas were not favourably received by the
ex-regent, or Tai-Wen-Kun, who was a hater of everything foreign, and
he began to intrigue with the Min, a peaceful faction in Corea.

"It was then decided to drive the Japanese out of the country by
violence.  The soldiers were infuriated by having their rations
diminished, and then malicious reports about the Japanese were spread
about the capital.  A furious mob began to hunt to death all the
defenceless Japanese that could be found.

"A Japanese officer, who had been drilling the Corean troops, and
seven others, were murdered in one day, the Legation was attacked and
burned, and the minister with twenty-eight Japanese had to fight
their way through the streets of Seoul (the capital), and through the
country to the sea, where they embarked in a junk, and were picked up
by the British gun-boat _Flying Fish_, which took them to Nagasaki.

"The Japanese government at once took measures to obtain redress for
the outrage; troops were got ready for any emergency, and the
minister was sent back to Seoul with a military force.  The Chinese
also sent troops to Corea.  The Corean government had then to
apologize to Japan, pay a large indemnity, and give pensions to the
widows and relations of the slain.

"Moreover, Japanese soldiers were now stationed permanently at Seoul
to protect the Legation."

China did not quite like this, and she sent a still larger detachment
of her hen-hearted soldiers; a soldiery that cannot fight half so
well as Newhaven fishwives, an opium-eating, deteriorated race, which
but to look at makes one think that the end of the world cannot be
far away, or that if these creatures called the Chinese are really
descended from the ape--with apologies to the monkey tribe,--they are
speedily "throwing back", as breeders say, to their ancestry.

Well, for two years longer things went smoothly enough in Corea,
though the Min or old fogey party had all the best places.

In December, 1884, a great party was given to celebrate the opening
of the post-office at Seoul.  This was more than the Chinese could
stand, an attack was made, the party was broken up, and there was a
massacre of ministers.  The old-fashioned Coreans, dominated by the
Chinese, wouldn't have progress at any price.  There were now the
same murderous riots and scenes in Corea, though on a larger scale,
that had taken place two years before, and not only were the Japs
attacked by a Corean mob, but by Chinese soldiers also.

A convention was afterwards signed between China and Japan, and it
was thought that peace would be permanent, but lo! in 1894,
Kim-Ok-Kim, the leader in the awful massacres of 1884, was murdered.
The facts are these.  After the defeat of his party he had fled to
Japan, but now he was prevailed upon to visit Shanghai by a Corean,
whose front name was Hung.  Perhaps he would have been better hung.
But he received great provocation from his highness Kim, for the
latter gave him a bogus cheque, for money owing, to the tune of five
thousand dollars.  Hung returned furious and made his way to Kim's
bedroom, where he found the man who had fooled him lying down.  He
shot him twice, and on Kim springing up and rushing into the
corridor, his assassin followed and completed the job.  He then fled.

Both these men were Coreans, but till now, at all events, Corea was
considered but a portion of China, subject to its rule and sway in
every way.

Things went on from bad to worse.  Two men nagging at each other
usually come to blows, and it is the same with nations.

Japan proposed reforms in Corea, China refused to honour these.
Corea was shilly-shallying.  Corea was like the fat party who sits
between two stools, and ultimately falls with legs in the air.  Japan
was discontented.  The memory of the murders rankled in her mind, and
she cared not how soon she drew the sword and went straight for stale
old China--China the multitudinous, China the effete.

Then came an attack on the king's palace at Seoul.

While hostilities had really broken out war was not yet officially
declared.  But that lurid cloud hovering over Corea and the seas
around, was soon to burst now, and terrible would be the results.

Next comes a brisk little naval action.  Chinese men-of-war had been
despatched to Corea, and three of the fastest Jap cruisers had at the
same time left Sasebo.  I don't want the reader to worry over the
names of these, for though to my ear they are musical enough they are
difficult to remember.

It was not very long before the Japanese cruisers met the two
battle-ships of China, near to the island of Phung.  (N.B.--So far as
the Chinamen were concerned, Phunk would have been a better name for
it.)

Now, although the Chinese knew of the doings in Corea and the attack
on the king's palace at Seoul, the Japanese had been at sea for
several days and didn't.  They were, therefore, much surprised to
note that the China captains did not return their salute, and that
they had really cleared for action.

"Oh, if that's their game," said the commander-in-chief of the three
cruisers, "it is one that we can bear a hand in!"

Now, I don't go in for cock-fighting--dog-fighting is worse, and
bull-fighting is terribly cruel; but I must confess that the story of
a neat little fight at sea makes my eyes sparkle, and I rub my hands
with delight.

I sha'n't say much about this battle, however, but the Japs tried to
get the Chinamen more into open water.  They meant business.  The
former didn't like it.  I suppose they thought the nearer to the land
they were the better.  Feather-bed sailors, you see.  So they opened
fire in a nasty, shabby kind of way.

Then at them went the Japs, hammer and tongs.  Oh, it was just too
awfully lovely for anything, as the Yankees express it.  How the guns
roared!  How viciously the fire spat out through the clouds of white
smoke!  How I wish I could have seen it!

Well, boys, in a very short time the _Kuang-yi_ (China) was _hors de
combat_, and had to run ashore, and the other battle-ship put up helm
and fled to Wei-hai-Wei, so riddled with shot that she looked like a
pepper-box, while down from her scupper-holes trickled the blood of
her wounded and slain.

But the Chinese--who are nothing if not distorters of the
truth--spread the report, or rather tried to, that on the whole they
had the best of it

It makes one laugh to read the Chinese report of the battle,
especially that yarn about killing the Jap admiral.  He was on the
bridge, says John, when he was shot, and he leapt so high in the air
that he turned three somersaults before descending, dead.  Well, I
have seen many a Chinaman turn somersaults, but Japanese are not so
cowardly active and tricky.

But this brisk little action did not terminate here, for it ended in
a fearful tragedy, thus.  While the Jap cruisers were chasing the
Chinamen, two other ships hove in sight.  One was a Chinese gun-boat,
acting as tender to the British S.S. _Kowshing_.  This steamer had
been chartered by the Chinese to carry troops to Corea, and had on
board about twelve hundred Chinese officers and men, with guns,
ammunition, &c.  The gun-boat was at once captured, and the
_Kowshing_ overhauled.

The European officers declared their willingness to return, but the
Chinese soldiers rushed to arms.  Fools!

The commander of the Jap cruiser, _Naniwa_, ordered the Europeans to
leave.  They were not allowed to by the Chinese.  Then after a
reasonable time the Jap cruiser ranged alongside.

Oh, it was horrible!  This great ship-load of helpless men was to be
sacrificed to the goddess of war.

Hear the roar of the great guns and the swish of the awful torpedo!

An awful explosion follows on board the _Kowshing_, and the vessel is
enveloped in black smoke and coal dust.  The European officers spring
overboard to swim for their lives, amidst a rain of Chinese bullets.
Again and again the guns of the _Naniwa_ roll their thunders over the
sea, and in twenty minutes' time the _Kowshing_ sinks.

No less than a thousand went down in that doomed ship.  Nor can we
altogether blame the Japs, but I do blame that British greed of gain
that leads us to carry the troops of foreign nations, and defiantly
run blockades.  No one can pity such merchantmen when they come to
grief.

The sinking of this ship probably went far to decide the future fate
of China in Corea, for had these twelve hundred picked men, under the
command of a skilful German general, landed in Corea, it would have
gone hard with the Japs at Asar.

War was at length formally declared, and soon it raged fast and
furious.  But in almost every engagement the Chinese, though double,
sometimes even triple in numbers, had to give way before the brave
and well-drilled Japs.

I have now to relate an adventure of a somewhat extraordinary kind,
and very sad in its way, which is more intimately connected with our
story than any narrative of the China-Japanese war could be.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

"THE BATTLE RAGES LOUD AND LONG."

I do not really know how far the old-fashioned, out of-date paddler
_Osprey_ could have gone in for protecting British interests.  In an
engagement, even with a cowardly Chinaman, she would very soon have
been paddle-less, and a good shell would have blown her two decks
into one.

I grant all this, but the bonnie white flag with its red jack in the
corner, that floats astern even on an unarmed man-o'-war officer's
boat, is one to be respected, and one that has made many a tyrant
tremble and pause thoughtfully, with, figuratively speaking, his hand
at his pistol-pocket.

That flag is respected wherever it waves, in battle or in breeze.
For behind it, though unseen, lies all the might and power of
Britain.  Moral suasion is often of more use than Gatling guns, and
so here is the _Osprey_, while around her, many times and oft,

  "The battle rages loud and long,
    And the stormy winds do blow".


One morning early, while lying off a Chinese river, it was necessary
to send letters to some British families--traders who, with their
wives and children, desired to be taken to a place of safety, the
Chinese having threatened their lives.

The messages sent were to assure them of protection.  They were told
to hold themselves in readiness, and that as soon as the weather
moderated they would be taken off.

Creggan was sent with this boat--the pinnace,--the Ugly Duckling
also, and Goodwin went as interpreter.  A good show of marines was
also to the fore, and these were to be left with our poor countrymen
by the river's brink.

Though the breakers ran mountains high on the bar, there was a gap,
and after a long pull and a strong pull Creggan and his merry men got
inside.  They then hugged the bank, and were at their destination by
seven bells in the forenoon watch.

They had come in time, for the Foo-kies, as our blue-jackets used to
call the Chinamen, were in swarms, and threatening to fire the houses
of the "foreign devils".

I may state here that they afterwards did so, and that our countrymen
had to fight for their lives in a laager, till rescued some days
afterwards.

Having dispersed the cowardly mob at the bayonet point, and received
assurance from the head-man that nothing should happen to the
Europeans, Creggan made all haste to join his ship.

They rushed the boat down-stream therefore, and were soon at the gap.
Here great caution was necessary, for a boiling sea was being driven
in on a high wind to fight with the quick-rolling river.

Alas! they had not gone far, ere a heavy sea struck the port bow and
dashed the boat round, broad-side on, to the waves.  At the same time
three men were washed away and speedily sank.

The breakers rushed over them now, and almost filled the pinnace.  To
make matters worse, night had all but fallen, despite the haste
Creggan had made.  Through the mist of that turmoil of breaking water
they could just descry the lights of the _Osprey_, and as Creggan had
got the boat's head round again, hope once more began to rise in his
heart.

Alas for hope in this case!  She was speedily struck by a huge wave,
and this time turned keel uppermost.

The officers and one man managed to cling to the upset boat, but so
terrible was the war 'twixt river and sea on this dread bar, that the
boat was sometimes keel uppermost, and sometimes right side up but
swamped.

How they struggled for life no one can ever understand who has not
been in the same fearful situation.

The sailor suddenly let go hold, and with a wild shriek threw up his
arms and disappeared.

Creggan gave all up for lost.  All his young life and loves arose
before his mind's eye now, and he prayed, as perhaps he had never
prayed before, that God in his mercy might spare them.  He soon found
that he could hold on no longer, but at that moment a light flashed
across his eyes, and a cheery hail resounded loud over the roar of
the breakers.

He knew no more until he opened his eyes and gazed bewilderingly
around.

A surgeon--Japanese--was bending over him, bathing tenderly a wound
in his temple.

"This is not the _Osprey_?" Creggan managed to mutter.

"No; your ship had dragged her anchor, and when nearly on the rocks
got up steam in time and saved herself by putting out to sea."

All this in perfect English.

"Pray, rest quiet," he continued; "you will be safe and sound
to-morrow.  This is our flag-ship, the _Matsushima_."

"One word, sir; are any saved but me?"

"Yes, sir; one officer--young, not handsome--and one brave brown man.
He would not permit himself to be saved until you and your friend
were hauled on board our boat."

How glad was Creggan next morning to meet Goodwin and the Duck.  All
were fresh, though the memory of the terrible accident lay heavy at
their hearts.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Japanese officers were more than civil, they were the
quintessence of hospitality.  They would do all they could for our
_Osprey_ heroes, but meanwhile they were guarding a fleet of thirty
transports, under the command of Marshal Yamagata, who was proceeding
to Corea to land 10,000 men, 4500 coolies, and nearly 4000 horses.

The Chinese fleet was somewhere else similarly engaged, and the bold
Japs were hoping to meet them.

"Ah!" said the surgeon laughing, as he addressed Creggan, "depend
upon it, we shall give them battle and blazes both.  You shall see
how our bold iron-clad navy can fight."

Both Creggan and his companions were delighted.

"If an engagement does take place," said the former, "I greatly fear
that we will not be able to resist the temptation to work a gun or
two."

"I was thinking," said the Jap doctor, "that as you belong to a
neutral nation, I should requisition your services to assist me with
the wounded down below."

"Too tame, doctor, too tame; I'm a Scot, sir."

"Oh!" cried the Jap doctor, "I have read your splendid history, and
of all your terrible struggles against the Saxons of the south, five
times your number.  I loved your Bruce, your Wallace, ay, and even
your bold Rob Roy."

"If I may speak a word," said Goodwin, "I am equally unwilling to do
cockpit duty."

"Well, well, well!" cried the bright, busy little doctor.  "I shall
address our admiral, and you all shall fight!"

Not as long as he lives will Creggan forget that memorable morning of
September 17th, 1894.  Both he and his true-hearted friends were up
betimes.  Time enough at all events to witness the rich and beautiful
sunrise.  The fleet, in fine order, was off Hai-Yang, in the estuary
of the Yalu river, and were now under steam for Tahi Island, when
there came a hail from aloft which, though couched in Japanese, even
Creggan could understand.

"The Chinese fleet in sight!"

This was at 11.30.

How that shout made the pulses of every man and officer in the
flag-ship, and in every other ship, thrill with joy--

  "That stern joy which warriors feel
  In foemen worthy of their steel!"


Bustle and excitement followed.  Yet not to any very great extent,
for in war-time the Japs are like the Britons, "Ready, aye ready".

Now, as far as my knowledge of the battle goes, I think that the
fleets were well matched, although the Chinese fleet numbered two
ships more (twelve against ten).  The Japs had it somewhat in tonnage
if not in guns.

But, boys mine, do not let anyone persuade you that because the
dashing days of old have passed away, with its ship-to-ship fights
and boarding cutlass in hand, men of heart and pluck count for
nothing.

Indeed, indeed they do.  Give me an admiral as courageous as a lion,
smart and clever, and possessed of an eye like a Scottish eagle, with
bold captains under him ready to obey every signal, and blue-jackets
of the British type on every ship, then I should not care if, in
action, the enemy's vessels outnumbered ours.  We should capture,
sink, or burn them,

  "For England, home, and beauty".


The Chinese were well supplied with torpedo boats, and could handle
them too, but in manoeuvring they did not show half the skill
exhibited by the now cool-headed and calculating Japs.

The battle was almost like a game of whist, owing to the Japanese
admiral's far-sightedness.  There were also gallant fellows enough to
work the signals.

The Jap fleet was divided into a flying and a main squadron.  Admiral
Ito had one disadvantage to contend against from the first, and I
trust we British will not forget the lesson.  The ships in his two
squadrons were not of the same speed, so that the swift fliers had to
wait for the slow.

It would be impossible, without diagrams, to give a correct notion of
the evolutions.  However, I can refer boys interested in this noble
naval battle to books on the China-Japanese war.

It was one o'clock before the two fleets approached on deadly warfare
bent.  The Chinese in a single line, its strongest ships in the
centre, which Ting the Chinese admiral thought would have to bear the
brunt of Ito's awful onset.

The flying squadron led the Japanese van, but soon separated and
skirted the enemy's right in fine form.

The main squadron also deviated, the bold _Yoshino_ leading and
bearing the brunt of a terrible fire from the foe.  But they
outflanked the Chinese thus early, and the Chinese weaker ships,
which had been placed at each end, were skilfully riddled, and the
_Yang-Wei_ was soon in flames.

Ito had meant to sweep right round the left flank of the enemy, and
the flying squadron had already ported to do so.  But seeing two new
Chinamen and six torpedo boats coming up to join, the flying squadron
attacked these and they fled.

And now the main squadron swept past the Chinese right, and soon had
another of their ships on fire.

It will be seen how pitiable it is to have ships in action of unequal
speed, when I tell you that the Japanese _Hiyei_ had to lag behind.
She was 2200 tons, but, exposed to the Chinese line, would soon have
been sunk, had not her brave commander instead of passing along this
fearful line of fire boldly dashed through the enemy's centre.
Fortune favours the brave, and this vessel escaped even the
torpedoes; but alas! when she rejoined her squadron she was in
flames.  She signalled to that effect, and a brave little ship, but
slow, steamed to her assistance.  Oh, the pluck of this bold wee
_Akaji_!  Mind, she was little over five hundred tons.[1]  She was
chased by a Chinaman double her size, her commander was killed, her
steam-pipe destroyed, still she fought like a fiend, and when her
main-mast was carried away she hoisted her flag upon the stump.  But
at last this brave wee Jap set her foe on fire, and the duel ended.
The _Akaji_ and _Hiyei_, however, were still in great danger, and
other Chinamen took up the pursuit.


[1] The _Akaji_ has not been reckoned in line of battle, nor the
_Saikio Maru_.


Admiral Ito ordered the flying squadron to their assistance, and some
terribly hot work ensued at 2.30 P.M.  For the Jap called the _Saikio
Maru_, was catching it very hot between two fires, while a torpedo
boat crossing her bows launched at her two torpedoes, both missing
their mark.  Down crashed the flying squadron and turned the odds, so
the three weaklings of the Jap fleet escaped and got out of battle
and reach.

Then the two squadrons swept round the Chinamen in opposite
directions.  The two Japanese fleets have now closed upon the foe on
both sides, and

  "The battle rages loud and long".

It was then that the two flag-ships _Matsushima_ and the Chinese
_Ting-Yuen_ faced each other, and fought the most fearful naval duel
of modern times.




CHAPTER XXIX.

LIKE A BATTLE OF OLDEN TIMES.

The fight between those two splendid battle-ships _Ting-Yuen_ of 7430
tons and the _Matsushima_ of 4300 tons, was a combat that puts us in
mind of some of the battles of olden days, when chiefs met
single-handed, and before their assembled armies decided the fate of
the day.

It will be observed that the Chinese ship was fully three thousand
tons heavier than the Japanese, and she carried more heavy guns too.

But the admiral of the latter had skill and daring and his vessel had
far greater speed, for, while the Chinaman could only steam fourteen
knots, the Jap could do over seventeen.  She had also more
quick-firing guns, and no living thing can stand a moment before
these terrible weapons of modern naval warfare.

Creggan was stationed in one barbette--the port--and his friend in
another, while Goodwin worked a gun not far from our hero.

I have never had a chance of interviewing my friend the Ugly Duckling
as to his feelings during their terrible ship-to-ship engagement, but
it is not long since I talked with Creggan himself.  He describes the
battle as a fearful tempest of fire and blood.

"What were your feelings, Creggan?" I asked.

"You mean," he answered, "when we ranged up to fight the Chinese
flag-ship?"

"Yes," I said.

"Well," he replied, "I cannot very well tell you.  For to begin with,
the _Matsushima_ had already received her baptism of blood, and I had
shuddered to see men mangled out of all shape of humanity by bursting
shells, and others borne below, leaving here a limb and there a
ghastly arm behind, the blood spurting fountain-like over the faces
and clothes of the bearers.

"It might be my turn next, and that of the brave men who crowded the
barbette.

"Was I afraid?" he continued.  "I confess I was.  It was something
more than fear that took possession of my soul.  I felt a cold terror
creeping round my heart, for I had no hopes of life.  Such terror as
this it must be that a doomed man experiences when walking towards
the scaffold with trembling limbs and cold perspiring knees.  But I
had prayer to support me.  I do not know if you will quite understand
me, when I say that I could see far beyond the awful din and roar and
smoke of battle, see an eye above bidding me be of good cheer,
whether death should come or not.

"Every bullet has it billet.  Yes, but a bursting projectile in
modern warfare has not one billet, but a hundred.  The destruction
some of these shells cause cannot be grasped by anyone who has not
seen it.

"But here is a curious thing.  No sooner did the first great boom of
one of our guns take place, and our huge shell go roaring away on its
mission of destruction, than all fear and terror passed away.  I was
as exalted now, although calm, as if I had taken a great dose of
morphia, such as Dr. Grant once gave me.

"The first shot came from the foe--I mean the first that told.  We
could see from where I stood the quick, spiteful puff of white smoke
and its awful tongue of red fire, and almost at the same time nearly
every man around me had fallen to the deck with the fearful
concussion as the Chinese projectile struck us almost amidships.

"But now the battle raged fast and furious.  Small though we were in
comparison with the Chinaman, we circled around, and hardly did we
fire a shot which did not tell.

"We soon had the intense satisfaction of seeing the _Ting-Yuen_ in
flames.  A few more of our shots and a torpedo would have sunk her,
had not her sister ship, the _Chen-Yuen_, come to her and stood by
her.

"The Chinese flag-ship was now unable to work her guns, but if," said
Creggan, "my memory serves me right, it was the last shell she fired
which worked such fearful havoc on board our poor ship.

"This shell was not only terrible in itself, but, bursting near to a
large heap of ammunition, it exploded it, tearing our decks almost to
pieces, and killing or wounding about eighty of our crew.

"I myself escaped that time," he continued.

"Yes," I said, "but you have an empty sleeve."

"True, but it was a shell from another vessel that tore away my
forearm after this.

"But poor honest Goodwin was rent in pieces.  I marked his brave
looks but a minute or two before this, next when I saw him he formed
one in that awful heap of carnage, when arms, limbs, heads, and
bodies were huddled together, with stanchions, broken pieces of
conning-tower, all torn up like pasteboard, and the smoke of warfare
rising slowly from the bleeding mass.

"Ah, well! so quick was the death, that honest Goodwin couldn't have
known what hit him.

"Meanwhile the battle raged on, and it was just an hour after this
when I had my own disaster.  I felt no pain.  There was a bright
flash of light across my eyes, that was all; and I was advancing to
assist in training my gun, when a comrade flung himself towards me.
I was for the moment unaware that I was wounded, but fell fainting to
the deck.

"When I recovered my senses, I was lying in the battery with a
tourniquet around my arm.  I was shortly after removed below, and saw
no more of the fearful fight.  But I was told that at half-past three
we sank the _King-Yuen_, and after this our fleet, which in its two
divisions, had circled right round the Chinese, causing them great
confusion, hemmed them in.

"The flying squadron passed the _Chih-Yuen_, giving her fits, turned,
swept back again, and finally under its terrible fire she heeled over
and sank with all hands.

"I may say that the carnage in our tops was fearful.  Blood spurting
from the dead and dying, and rushing in a red stream adown the masts.

"Owing to their wonderful strength and fourteen-inch armour belts,
the Chinese flag-ship and her sister, though utterly wrecked and
riddled as to their upper works, continued to float and fight to the
end.

"The Chinamen had certainly fought well, but shortly before sunset
thought they had had enough of it and fled.  Our flying squadron
followed, peppering them as they went, but just as gloaming was
descending on the now gray sea they were recalled, and thus ended the
ever-memorable naval battle of the Yalu river."

* * * * * * * * * * *

This brilliant Japanese victory, reader, had a great effect on the
campaign on land.

"Even without it," says the historian, "Japan's military superiority
was so overwhelming and China's collapse so complete, that no single
event could have altered the fortunes of the war.  But the crushing
defeat of the Chinese fleet, and the consequent command of the sea
held by the Japanese, facilitated all their operations, and enabled
them to land their armies when and where they chose, and to conceive
bold plans of campaign, which would have been too hazardous without
such a naval supremacy."

I must refer the reader who is interested in the subsequent triumphs
of Japanese soldiers to books on history.  And these are plentiful
enough.

* * * * * * * * * * *

One day about six weeks after the fearful fight in which Creggan had
lost his forearm, the British paddle-frigate _Osprey_ hove in sight,
and both our chief hero and the Duckling, who, by the way, had come
through the fiery ordeal all safe and unscathed, were transferred
once more to their floating home.

They were both very sorry indeed to bid adieu to the brave Japs.
Every officer was a gentleman, and had treated them with the greatest
kindness.




CHAPTER XXX.

COURT-MARTIALED.

It would be difficult indeed to say which of the animals was most
glad to welcome our heroes on their return.

Hurricane Bob, after a rough canine salute, must go dashing round and
round the deck, to the danger of the limbs if not the lives of the
honest sailors, flashing his white teeth and his red flag of a tongue
in a vain effort to allay his feelings.

Oscar was different, he had so much to say to his master, who was
once again soothing and petting him, that he got great-hearted, and
whined and scolded and cried by turns.  Just like a dog, you know.

But Admiral Jacko confined his attentions almost solely to his
master, and his joy was one of fondness, if not effusion.  He crept
into the Ugly Duckling's arms, and it was said that he really shed
tears.  But I do not quite believe that, for I am of opinion that man
is, after all, the only animal who weeps, or rather woman is.  Yes, I
have often heard of crocodiles' tears, and what is better still, I
have more than once examined the face of one of these saurian
monsters who dwell in the marshy interior of Africa, and I have never
seen the vestige of a tear about the ugly beast's cheeks.

Perhaps you may say I didn't go near enough.

No, catch me doing anything of the sort, because the crocodile would
have played the game of "catch me quick".  But I have stood at a
respectful distance, and made my inspection through the telescope.

Well, I have never seen a monkey weep.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Having done her duty in Chinese waters, and heard that the Foo-kies
had been well thrashed, as indeed they deserved to be, the good ship
_Osprey_ sailed once more for Bombay.

Thence she was sent down to Zanzibar with dispatches, and from that
place to the Cape of Good Hope again.

On boarding the flag-ship in company with poor one-armed Creggan, his
junior lieutenant, Captain Leeward was not sorry to find that at
long, long last the "Ordered home" had arrived.

It was time; the commission had been a long one, and the sanitary
condition of the ship was not everything that could be desired.  This
was principally owing to the millions of gigantic cockroaches that
swarmed everywhere.

There were very many other creepie-creepies on board the _Osprey_ as
well as cockroaches.  Of these latter there were two species, one the
little sort, about three-quarters of an inch in length, the other,
the true _Blatta orientalis_, two inches and a half from stem to
stern, with feelers three inches long, of immense breadth of beam,
spiked legs, and an outspread of wing when they flew of about three
inches.

Well, there were many kinds of spiders, scorpions, earwigs, an
occasional tarantula, whose bite may produce delirium and death, and
whole colonies of little ants.  But now and then a gigantic centiped
would appear, and these are dreaded even more than are snakes.

So on the whole, the _Osprey_ at the tail end of the commission
offered a fine field for the study of natural history.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Homeward-bound!  What joy it spreads over every heart on board a
ship, from that of the boy who helps the cook, feeds the pets, and
gets kicked about by all hands, to the captain himself, who, if he
does not say much, cannot hide the pleasure that beams in his face
and eyes.

There is a commander in the Royal Navy (retired), still alive while I
write, who was present at the funeral of Britain's greatest hero,
Admiral Nelson.  This officer might well be called the father of the
navy, for he is now in his hundredth year.

Well, had he come on board on Saturday night while the _Osprey_ was
making her long homeward-bound passage from the Cape to England, he
would certainly have considered himself back once more in the dear
days of old.

There certainly was not the same amount of tossing of cans, but the
main-brace was spliced by the captain's orders, and away forward down
below, around the galley and at the fo'c's'le head, many a song was
heard, many a yarn spun, and many a heart beat high and warm with the
thoughts of home and Merrie England.

It really appeared that the _Osprey_ herself knew she was homeward
bound.

She was the sauciest of the saucy, "for an old un", as Jack phrased
it.

"The old jade!" someone would remark, as she curtseyed to a wave,
flinging the spray far over the bows; "the old jade!  I believe she
is doing it on purpose.  Whoa, lass, whoa!"

And some of the songs sung on that Saturday night were perhaps homely
enough, but every one of them breathed of the brine and the billows.
Two verses, for example--they were trolled by Chips the carpenter,
the hoarse old bo's'n putting in a good bass, and some of Mother
Carey's chickens piping a tenor as they dashed from blue wave to blue
wave after itinerant white-bait--I give below:


  JACK AND HIS NANCY.

  "Scarce the foul hurricane was cleared,
    Scarce winds and waves had ceased to rattle,
  Ere a bold enemy appeared,
    And, dauntless, we prepared for battle.
  And now while some lov'd friend or wife
    Like lightning rush'd on ev'ry fancy,
  To Providence I trusted life,
    Put up a prayer--and thought of Nancy.

  "At last--'twas in the month of May,
    The crew, it being lovely weather,
  At three A.M. discovered day
    And England's chalky cliffs together;
  At seven up Channel how we bore!
    While hopes and fears rush'd on my fancy;
  At twelve I gaily jumped on shore,
    And to my throbbing heart press'd Nancy."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Well, that is all very well in song, but nowadays at all events Jack
doesn't get leave to jump on shore at twelve if his ship comes in at
seven.  Nor for a day or two, or even three.  There is a clean bill
of health to be got first, and any amount of little matters and
morsels of red tape to be seen to.

But Nancy may come on board, and Jack isn't a bit shy at such times.
Oh no, I never met a true sailor who was.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I have now to relate a very strange experience that befell Creggan
and his friend the Ugly Duckling.

The ship had not long lain at anchor off the Hoe, when, after a deal
of signalling from the admiral's office, Captain Leeward, with a
strange smile on his face, came up to the place where the two young
officers stood looking over the bulwarks at the crowd of shore-boats,
and passing many a quaint and humorous remark.

Seeing the captain, they turned and saluted at once.

"I regret to inform you, gentlemen," said Captain Leeward, "that you
are both prisoners.  Don't be afraid; it will be a mere formality, I
am sure.  Meanwhile, I must do my duty.  You are on parole, if you
give me your word you will make no attempt to leave the ship."

"Oh, certainly, sir.  But--may--may I ask you what we shall be tried
for?"

The captain laughed now.

"Why," he answered, "only for assisting the Japs against an enemy
with whom we are at peace.  Keep up your hearts, boys.  I sha'n't put
a sentry over you, but just give up your sword, Lieutenant Creggan
Ogg M'Vayne, and you, young sir, your dirk, to the officer of the
watch."

I have no desire at this end of my story to describe the
formalities--solemn enough in all conscience--of the court of inquiry.

That sword of Creggan's and the Ugly Duckling's dirk lay side by side
on the green-baize-covered table, surrounded by officers in fullest
uniform, and the two prisoners stood between marines with fixed
bayonets, near one end of the table.

Neither of the young officers denied anything, and when asked what he
had to say in his defence, Creggan replied:

"Nothing at all, except that I wear an empty sleeve in commemoration
of the grandest naval battle of modern times.  But I must add that I
would do the same again, for it isn't in British human nature to
stand by with finger in mouth while battle is raging round."

There was much grave conversation after the prisoners had been
withdrawn, and finally they were ordered in.

"I dare say," whispered the Duckling to Creggan a minute before this,
"it will be a shooting case.  Heigh-ho! what will become of poor
Jacko, and I'm sure my sister will break her heart!"

But to their joy, when they returned looking pale and anxious, the
sword and dirk were handed back, and they were told that they left
the court without a stain on their character.

There were positively tears in the eyes of both young fellows as the
officers shook hands with them.

The admiral of the port invited both to dinner that evening.  He was
as anxious as anybody could be to hear a personal narrative of the
great sea-fight.

I may mention here as well as elsewhere, that before Creggan went
back to his mother's house at Torquay he received the Victoria Cross
from the hands of Her Majesty herself, and for such an honour as this
I believe the bold young fellow would have been content to go through
far more than he had done.




CHAPTER XXXI.

SAFELY HOME AT LAST.

Yes, after all their tales and adventures, our heroes are once more
safe on British ground.  What says Dibdin?

  "No more of winds and waves the sport,
  Our vessel is arrived in port;
  At anchor, see, she safely rides,
  And gay red ropes adorn her sides.
  The sails are furl'd, the sheets belay'd;
  The flag that floats astern display'd,
  Deserted are the useless shrouds,
  The lasses row aboard by crowds.
  Then come, my lads, let joy abound,
  We're safely moor'd on English ground!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

It only remains for me to "muster by open list", as we say in the
Royal Navy.

Let me say a word or two, then, about my _dramatis personæ_, and so
clue up.

There are always a few surprises awaiting the sailor when he returns
home after a long cruise.  Jack looks forward to these with some
anxiety, as the ship is getting nearer and still more near to the
chalky cliffs of Old England.  He thinks himself a very happy man
indeed if these surprises turn out to be pleasant ones; which, alas!
they are not always.  Some dear one,--father, mother, wife, sister,
or sweetheart, who ought to have come out in a shore-boat to meet
him, is missing.

But there are friends alongside to bear him the sad tidings.

She is dead!  He is dead!

And poor Jack had been so expectantly happy for days and weeks before
this!  He had entirely forgotten that there was any such thing as
death in the world.

Look at his sadly bewildered face now.

"Courage, Jack, courage!" says some brave mess-mate with a tear in
his eye.  Jack returns the pressure of the hard yet friendly hand,
but--goes down below to weep.

* * * * * * * * * * *

As soon as the _Osprey_ was paid off, and he had bade farewell to his
mess-mates, Creggan, accompanied by his dearest friend the Ugly
Duckling, took train for Torquay.

He did not even telegraph to say he was coming.  The two arm in arm,
after paying off the hansom they had chartered, sauntered up the
terraced garden and rang the great hall bell.

Ah! but Matty herself had been watching.  A lovely girl she was now
of sweet seventeen.

The meeting of the lovers, for lovers I now may call them, was
heartfelt and cordial; but Creggan did not venture to kiss her.

Then she spied the empty sleeve, and, girl-like, burst into tears.

"Ah, never mind, dear!" said Creggan soothingly.  "See what it has
brought me--honour and glory, and the Victoria Cross."

"Oh, Creggan, Creggan," cried Matty, "the poor arm was worth a
thousand Victoria Crosses!"

"Oh, it wasn't for that I got the Cross!  But how do you come to be
here, Matty?"

"Oh, I've been living here for months.  Just keeping your dear mother
company."

"And where is mother?"

"She has gone into the town.  She will be home soon.  You will have
time to tell me quite a deal before she comes."

The Ugly Duckling, with Admiral Jacko in full uniform, had been
standing at some little distance, but now Creggan beckoned him
forward and introduced him.

"My dearest friend and shipmate, Matty."

The Duckling bowed, ship-shape and sailor-fashion; so did the Admiral.

Matty was laughing now right merrily.

"I'm sure," said his master, "Admiral Jacko would make a speech if he
could.  I must make one in his stead.  Well, Miss Matty, I can't help
saying what I think, you're just about the sweetest, all-tautest
little craft I've seen since I left Venezuela, and if I were not
engaged to be married, why--I'd--I'd run my friend aboard, cut him
out, and marry you myself."

Matty bent down over Oscar to caress him, but at the same time to
hide her blushes.

"Well, I'm going to take Jacko inside," said the Duckling.  "I'm sure
I shall find something for him to eat, and something to drink."

And away he marched, which was really very kind and thoughtful of him.

Then hand in hand down through the shrubbery and rose lawns went
Creggan and Matty.  Ah!--

  "There's nothing half so sweet in life
    As love's young dream".

Creggan felt almost too happy to speak.  But he did speak at last,
and from all I know he told the old, old, but ever new tale.

"Now tell me, Matty," he said after this, "how your father is.  You
have said my mother is well."

"Yes, and dear old father too.  But he is much in London now."

"And Willie?"

"Oh, that is why Daddy is in London.  Willie, you know, stood for the
borough of Blankham, and was duly elected.  Weren't we all so happy
just?  And I've been to the strangers' gallery myself, and saw Willie
in his place.  And really he looked by far the nicest there.  I only
wonder that--"

She paused.

"That what, Matty?"

"That when he rose to make a speech they coughed him down."

"Exceedingly rude!"

"Yes, but they did; and Willie got so red in the face, and I thought
he was going to cry.  But he just took up his hat and was going to
leave, when a kind-faced gentleman with long white hair put a hand on
his shoulder.  I don't know what he said, but Willie went straight
back to his seat and sat down again."

* * * * * * * * * * *

"But you haven't said a word about my Daddy the hermit, and I hope he
lives."

"Not only does he live, Creggan, but he has left Skye and his lonely
island, and has come to settle down close beside us here.  He dines
with us every night."

"How delightful!"

"The minister says he is clothed and in his right mind."

"Poor old Daddy, he always was in his right mind."

"Ah!  but you should see how nicely he dresses now.  You would take
him for some reverend old professor.  You will see him to-night."

"And Archie M'Lean?"

"Still in America, and I think will remain there for years.  They say
he is making money, and that he means to come back and marry Maggie."

"What, Maggie M'Ian?"

"Yes."

"Heigh-ho!" sighed Creggan.  "I feel getting very old."

Matty laughed right merrily.  "Poor old sailor!" she said roguishly.
"But, oh, look, here comes Daddy himself!"  And so it was.

Matty might well have said he looked like an old professor.  His hair
was long and gray, and he was dressed in broadcloth.  Yet there was
no sign of age about him as the glad smile of surprise brightened his
face, and he hurried up with both hands extended to greet and welcome
Creggan home.

"My own dear sailor boy!"

He could say no more just then, and like Matty took refuge in the
caresses he bestowed on Oscar.

Yes, Oscar knew him well after all these years, for dogs never, never
do forget the dear ones they love.

Need I add that the meeting betwixt Creggan and his mother was a
happy one?  Surely that is unnecessary.

The Ugly Duckling and Admiral Jacko were declared to be prisoners for
three weeks.

"But my sister, madam!" was all the former urged against his
imprisonment.

That objection was quickly set aside, for Creggan's mother sent for
her, and she joined the jolly party at "The Pines".

* * * * * * * * * * *

Years have gone since then.

Creggan has retired, of course.  One-armed sailors are not considered
available for active service.

But it is only a few months since our hero led Matty to the altar, a
bonnie, bonnie young bride indeed.

And the Ugly Duckling, who has also retired, having come into some
money, is now master of a beautiful barque (clipper), and she is all
his own.

He took the newly-wedded couple down the Mediterranean on a long
honeymoon.  This was all the more jolly because the hermit himself,
with Oscar and Admiral Jacko, were of the party.

And so the story ends.

Oh no, not quite; I must let the Ugly Duckling have the very last
word.

He and Creggan were sitting together on the quarter-deck while
sailing down the blue Levant, and while the stars, so lustreful,
shone above them and were reflected from the sea, it was in answer to
a remark of Creggan's that he spoke.

"Yes, dear boy," he said, "I'm going out to Venezuela soon, and if
Natina still loves me, she shall be my bride.  For who but romantic
Natina could think of giving her heart and hand to so ugly a duckling
as poor me?"




  THE BOYS' LIBRARY

  Uniform with this Volume

  Silas Verney.  Edgar Pickering.
  The Missing Merchantman.  Harry Collingwood.
  Brothers in Arms.  F. Bayford Harrison.
  The Lost Explorers.  Alex. Macdonald.
  The Great White Chief.  R. M. Macdonald.
  Brownsmith's Boy.  G. Manville Fenn.
  Nat the Naturalist.  G. Manville Fenn.
  Bunyip Land.  G. Manville Fenn.
  The Pirate Island.  Harry Collingwood.
  Dick o' the Fens.  G. Manville Fenn.
  Devon Boys.  G. Manville Fenn.
  In the King's Name.  G. Manville Fenn.
  The Golden Magnet.  G. Manville Fenn.
  The Log of the "Flying Fish".  Harry Collingwood.
  Across the Spanish Main.  Harry Collingwood.
  The Pilots of Pomona.  Robert Leighton.
  The Golden Galleon.  Robert Leighton.
  The Naval Cadet.  Dr. Gordon Stables.
  Grit Will Tell.  R. Stead.

  BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
  LONDON GLASGOW BOMBAY TORONTO

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 68480 ***