



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




THE RED ERIC, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE TALE BEGINS WITH THE ENGAGING OF A "TAIL"--AND THE CAPTAIN DELIVERS
HIS OPINIONS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.

Captain Dunning stood with his back to the fireplace in the back-parlour
of a temperance coffee-house in a certain town on the eastern seaboard
of America.

The name of that town is unimportant, and, for reasons with which the
reader has nothing to do, we do not mean to disclose it.

Captain Dunning, besides being the owner and commander of a South Sea
whale-ship, was the owner of a large burly body, a pair of broad
shoulders, a pair of immense red whiskers that met under his chin, a
short, red little nose, a large firm mouth, and a pair of light-blue
eyes, which, according to their owner's mood, could flash like those of
a tiger or twinkle sweetly like the eyes of a laughing child.  But his
eyes seldom flashed; they more frequently twinkled, for the captain was
the very soul of kindliness and good-humour.  Yet he was abrupt and
sharp in his manner, so that superficial observers sometimes said he was
hasty.

Captain Dunning was, so to speak, a sample of three primary colours--
red, blue, and yellow--a walking fragment, as it were, of the rainbow.
His hair and face, especially the nose, were red; his eyes, coat, and
pantaloons were blue, and his waistcoat was yellow.

At the time we introduce him to the reader he was standing, as we have
said, with his back to the fireplace, although there was no fire, the
weather being mild, and with his hands in his breeches pockets.  Having
worked with the said hands for many long years before the mast, until he
had at last worked himself _behind_ the mast, in other words, on to the
quarterdeck and into possession of his own ship, the worthy captain
conceived that he had earned the right to give his hands a long rest;
accordingly he stowed them away in his pockets and kept them there at
all times, save when necessity compelled him to draw them forth.

"Very odd," remarked Captain Dunning, looking at his black straw hat
which lay on the table before him, as if the remark were addressed to
it--"very odd if, having swallowed the cow, I should now be compelled to
worry at the tail."

As the black straw hat made no reply, the captain looked up at the
ceiling, but not meeting with any response from that quarter, he looked
out at the window and encountered the gaze of a seaman flattening his
nose on a pane of glass, and looking in.

The captain smiled.  "Ah! here's a tail at last," he said, as the seaman
disappeared, and in another moment reappeared at the door with his hat
in his hand.

It may be necessary, perhaps, to explain that Captain Dunning had just
succeeded in engaging a first-rate crew for his next whaling voyage
(which was the "cow" he professed to have swallowed), with the exception
of a cook (which was the "tail," at which he feared he might be
compelled to worry).

"You're a cook, are you?" he asked, as the man entered and nodded.

"Yes, sir," answered the "tail," pulling his forelock.

"And an uncommonly ill-favoured rascally-looking cook you are," thought
the captain; but he did not say so, for he was not utterly regardless of
men's feelings.  He merely said, "Ah!" and then followed it up with the
abrupt question--

"Do you drink?"

"Yes, sir, and smoke too," replied the "tail," in some surprise.

"Very good; then you can go," said the captain, shortly.

"Eh!" exclaimed the man:

"You can go," repeated the captain.  "You won't suit.  My ship is a
temperance ship, and all the hands are teetotalers.  I have found from
experience that men work better, and speak better, and in every way act
better, on tea and coffee than on spirits.  I don't object to their
smoking; but I don't allow drinkin' aboard my ship; so you won't do, my
man.  Good-morning."

The "tail" gazed at the captain in mute amazement.

"Ah! you may look," observed the captain, replying to the gaze; "but you
may also mark my words, if you will.  I've not sailed the ocean for
thirty years for nothing.  I've seen men in hot seas and in cold--on
grog, and on tea--and _I_ know that coffee and tea carry men through the
hardest work better than grog.  I also know that there's a set o' men in
this world who look upon teetotalers as very soft chaps--old wives, in
fact.  Very good," (here the captain waxed emphatic, and struck his fist
on the table.) "Now look here, young man, _I'm_ an old wife, and my
ship's manned by similar old ladies; so you won't suit."

To this the seaman made no reply, but feeling doubtless, as he regarded
the masculine specimen before him, that he would be quite out of his
element among such a crew of females, he thrust a quid of tobacco into
his cheek, put on his hat, turned on his heel and left the room,
shutting the door after him with a bang.

He had scarcely left when a tap at the door announced a second visitor.

"Hum!  Another `tail,' I suppose.  Come in."

If the new-comer _was_ a "tail," he was decidedly a long one, being six
feet three in his stockings at the very least.

"You wants a cook, I b'lieve?" said the man, pulling off his hat.

"I do.  Are you one?"

"Yes, I jist guess I am.  Bin a cook for fifteen year."

"Been to sea as a cook?" inquired the captain.

"I jist have.  Once to the South Seas, twice to the North, an' once
round the world.  Cook all the time.  I've roasted, and stewed, and
grilled, and fried, and biled, right round the 'arth, I have."

Being apparently satisfied with the man's account of himself, Captain
Dunning put to him the question--"Do you drink?"

"Ay, like a fish; for I drinks nothin' but water, I don't.  Bin born and
raised in the State of Maine, d'ye see, an' never tasted a drop all my
life."

"Very good," said the captain, who plumed himself on being a clever
physiognomist, and had already formed a good opinion of the man.  "Do
you ever swear?"

"Never, but when I can't help it."

"And when's that?"

"When I'm fit to bu'st."

"Then," replied the captain, "you must learn to bu'st without swearin',
'cause I don't allow it aboard my ship."

The man evidently regarded his questioner as a very extraordinary and
eccentric individual; but he merely replied, "I'll try;" and after a
little further conversation an agreement was come to; the man was sent
away with orders to repair on board immediately, as everything was in
readiness to "up anchor and away next morning."

Having thus satisfactorily and effectually disposed of the "tail,"
Captain Dunning put on his hat very much on the back of his head, knit
his brows, and pursed his lips firmly, as if he had still some important
duty to perform; then, quitting the hotel, he traversed the streets of
the town with rapid strides.



CHAPTER TWO.

IMPORTANT PERSONAGES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE READER--THE CAPTAIN MAKES
INSANE RESOLUTIONS, FIGHTS A BATTLE, AND CONQUERS.

In the centre of the town whose name we have declined to communicate,
there stood a house--a small house--so small that it might have been
more appropriately, perhaps, styled a cottage.  This house had a
yellow-painted face, with a green door in the middle, which might have
been regarded as its nose, and a window on each side thereof, which
might have been considered its eyes.  Its nose was, as we have said,
painted green, and its eyes had green Venetian eyelids, which were half
shut at the moment Captain Dunning walked up to it as if it were calmly
contemplating that seaman's general appearance.

There was a small garden in front of the house, surrounded on three
sides by a low fence.  Captain Dunning pushed open the little gate,
walked up to the nose of the house, and hit it several severe blows with
his knuckles.  The result was that the nose opened, and a servant-girl
appeared in the gap.

"Is your mistress at home?" inquired the captain.

"Guess she is--both of 'em!" replied the girl.

"Tell both of 'em I'm here, then," said the captain, stepping into the
little parlour without further ceremony; "and is my little girl in?"

"Yes, she's in."

"Then send her here too, an' look alive, lass."  So saying, Captain
Dunning sat down on the sofa, and began to beat the floor with his right
foot somewhat impatiently.

In another second a merry little voice was heard in the passage, the
door burst open, a fair-haired girl of about ten years of age sprang
into the room, and immediately commenced to strangle her father in a
series of violent embraces.

"Why, Ailie, my darling, one would think you had not seen me for fifty
years at least," said the captain, holding his daughter at arm's-length,
in order the more satisfactorily to see her.

"It's a whole week, papa, since you last came to see me," replied the
little one, striving to get at her father's neck again, "and I'm sure it
seems to me like a hundred years at least."

As the child said this she threw her little arms round her father, and
kissed his large, weather-beaten visage all over--eyes, mouth, nose,
chin, whiskers, and, in fact, every attainable spot.  She did it so
vigorously, too, that an observer would have been justified in expecting
that her soft, delicate cheeks would be lacerated by the rough contact;
but they were not.  The result was a heightening of the colour, nothing
more.  Having concluded this operation, she laid her cheek on the
captain's and endeavoured to clasp her hands at the back of his neck,
but this was no easy matter.  The captain's neck was a remarkably thick
one, and the garments about that region were voluminous; however, by
dint of determination, she got the small fingers intertwined, and then
gave him a squeeze that ought to have choked him, but it didn't: many a
strong man had tried that in his day, and had failed signally.

"You'll stay a long time with me before you go away to sea again, won't
you, dear papa?" asked the child earnestly, after she had given up the
futile effort to strangle him.

"How like!" murmured the captain, as if to himself, and totally
unmindful of the question, while he parted the fair curls and kissed
Ailie's forehead.

"Like what, papa?"

"Like your mother--your beloved mother," replied the captain, in a low,
sad voice.

The child became instantly grave, and she looked up in her father's face
with an expression of awe, while he dropped his eyes on the floor.

Poor Alice had never known a mother's love.  Her mother died when she
was a few weeks old, and she had been confided to the care of two maiden
aunts--excellent ladies, both of them; good beyond expression; correct
almost to a fault; but prim, starched, and extremely self-possessed and
judicious, so much so that they were injudicious enough to repress some
of the best impulses of their natures, under the impression that a
certain amount of dignified formality was essential to good breeding and
good morals in every relation of life.

Dear, good, starched Misses Dunning! if they had had their way, boys
would have played cricket and football with polite urbanity, and girls
would have kissed their playmates with gentle solemnity.  They did their
best to subdue little Alice, but that was impossible.  The child _would_
rush about the house at all unexpected and often inopportune seasons,
like a furiously insane kitten and she _would_ disarrange their collars
too violently every evening when she bade them good-night.

Alice was intensely sympathetic.  It was quite enough for her to see any
one in tears, to cause her to open up the flood-gates of her eyes and
weep--she knew not and she cared not why.  She threw her arms round her
father's neck again, and hugged him, while bright tears trickled like
diamonds from her eyes.  No diamonds are half so precious or so
difficult to obtain as tears of genuine sympathy!

"How would you like to go with me to the whale-fishery?" inquired
Captain Dunning, somewhat abruptly as he disengaged the child's arms and
set her on his knee.

The tears stopped in an instant, as Alice leaped, with the happy
facility of childhood, totally out of one idea and thoroughly into
another.

"Oh, I should like it _so_ much!"

"And how much is `so' much, Ailie?" inquired the captain.

Ailie pursed her mouth, and looked at her father earnestly, while she
seemed to struggle to give utterance to some fleeting idea.

"Think," she said quickly, "think something good _as much as ever you
can_.  Have you thought?"

"Yes," answered the captain, smiling.

"Then," continued Ailie, "its twenty thousand million times as much as
that, and a great deal more!"

The laugh with which Captain Dunning received this curious explanation
of how much his little daughter wished to go with him to the
whale-fishery, was interrupted by the entrance of his sisters, whose
sense of propriety induced them to keep all visitors waiting at least a
quarter of an hour before they appeared, lest they should be charged
with unbecoming precipitancy.

"Here you are, lassies; how are ye?" cried the captain as he rose and
kissed each lady on the cheek heartily.

The sisters did not remonstrate.  They knew that their brother was past
hope in this respect, and they loved him, so they suffered it meekly.

Having admitted that they were well--as well, at least, as could be
expected, considering the cataract of "trials" that perpetually
descended upon their devoted heads--they sat down as primly as if their
visitor were a perfect stranger, and entered into a somewhat lengthened
conversation as to the intended voyage, commencing, of course, with the
weather.

"And now," said the captain, rubbing the crown of his straw hat in a
circular manner, as if it were a beaver, "I'm coming to the point."

Both ladies exclaimed, "What point, George?" simultaneously, and
regarded the captain with a look of anxious surprise.

"_The_ point," replied the captain, "about which I've come here to-day.
It ain't a point o' the compass; nevertheless, I've been steerin' it in
my mind's eye for a considerable time past.  The fact is" (here the
captain hesitated), "I--I've made up my mind to take my little Alice
along with me this voyage."

The Misses Dunning wore unusually tall caps, and their countenances were
by nature uncommonly long, but the length to which they grew on hearing
this announcement was something preternaturally awful.

"Take Ailie to sea!" exclaimed Miss Martha Dunning, in horror.

"To fish for whales!" added Miss Jane Dunning, in consternation.

"Brother, you're mad!" they exclaimed together, after a breathless
pause; "and you'll do nothing of the kind," they added firmly.

Now, the manner in which the Misses Dunning received this intelligence
greatly relieved their eccentric brother.  He had fully anticipated, and
very much dreaded, that they would at once burst into tears, and being a
tender-hearted man he knew that he could not resist that without a hard
struggle.  A flood of woman's tears, he was wont to say, was the only
sort of salt water storm he hadn't the heart to face.  But abrupt
opposition was a species of challenge which the captain always accepted
at once--off-hand.  No human power could force him to any course of
action.

In this latter quality Captain Dunning was neither eccentric nor
singular.

"I'm sorry you don't like my proposal, my dear sisters," said he; "but
I'm resolved."

"You won't!" said Martha.

"You shan't!" cried Jane.

"I _will_!" replied the captain.

There was a pause here of considerable length, during which the captain
observed that Martha's nostrils began to twitch nervously.  Jane,
observing the fact, became similarly affected.  To the captain's
practised eye these symptoms were as good as a barometer.  He knew that
the storm was coming, and took in all sail at once (mentally) to be
ready for it.

It came!  Martha and Jane Dunning were for once driven from the shelter
of their wonted propriety--they burst simultaneously into tears, and
buried their respective faces in their respective pocket-handkerchiefs,
which were immaculately clean and had to be hastily unfolded for the
purpose.

"Now, now, my dear girls," cried the captain, starting up and patting
their shoulders, while poor little Ailie clasped her hands, sat down on
a footstool, looked up in their faces--or, rather, at the backs of the
hands which covered their faces--and wept quietly.

"It's very cruel, George--indeed it is," sobbed Martha; "you know how we
love her."

"Very true," remarked the obdurate captain; "but you _don't_ know how
_I_ love her, and how sad it makes me to see so little of her, and to
think that she may be learning to forget me--or, at least," added the
captain, correcting himself as Ailie looked at him reproachfully through
her tears--"at least to do without me.  I can't bear the thought.  She's
all I have left to me, and--"

"Brother," interrupted Martha, looking hastily up, "did you ever before
hear of such a thing as taking a little girl on a voyage to the
whale-fishing?"

"No, never," replied the captain; "what has that got to do with it?"

Both ladies held up their hands and looked aghast.  The idea of any man
venturing to do what no one ever thought of doing before was so utterly
subversive of all their ideas of propriety--such a desperate piece of
profane originality--that they remained speechless.

"George," said Martha, drying her eyes, and speaking in tones of deep
solemnity, "did you ever read _Robinson Crusoe_?"

"Yes, I did, when I was a boy; an' that wasn't yesterday."

"And did you," continued the lady in the same sepulchral tone, "did you
note how that man--that beacon, if I may use the expression, set up as a
warning to deter all wilful boys and men from reckless, and wicked, and
wandering, and obstreperous courses--did you note, I say, how that man,
that beacon, was shipwrecked, and spent a dreary existence on an
uninhabited and dreadful island, in company with a low, dissolute,
black, unclothed companion called Friday?"

"Yes," answered the captain, seeing that she paused for a reply.

"And all," continued Martha, "in consequence of his resolutely and
obstinately, and wilfully and wickedly going to sea?"

"Well, it couldn't have happened if he hadn't gone to sea, no doubt."

"Then," argued Martha, "will you, can you, George, contemplate the
possibility of your only daughter coming to the same dreadful end?"

George, not exactly seeing the connection, rubbed his nose with his
forefinger, and replied--"Certainly not."

"Then you are bound," continued Martha, in triumph, "by all that is
upright and honourable, by all the laws of humanity and _propriety_, to
give up this wild intention--and you _must_!"

"There!" cried Miss Jane emphatically, as if the argument were
unanswerable--as indeed it was, being incomprehensible.

The last words were unfortunate.  They merely riveted the captain's
determination.

"You talk a great deal of nonsense, Martha," he said, rising to depart.
"I've fixed to take her, so the sooner you make up your minds to it the
better."

The sisters knew their brother's character too well to waste more time
in vain efforts; but Martha took him by the arm, and said
earnestly--"Will you promise me, my dear George, that when she comes
back from this voyage, you will never take her on another?"

"Yes, dear sister," replied the captain, somewhat melted, "I promise
that."

Without another word Martha sat down and held out her arms to Ailie, who
incontinently rushed into them.  Propriety fled for the nonce,
discomfited.  Miss Martha's curls were disarranged beyond repair, and
Miss Martha's collar was crushed to such an extent that the very
laundress who had washed and starched and ironed it would have utterly
failed to recognise it.  Miss Jane looked on at these improprieties in
perfect indifference--nay, when, after her sister had had enough, the
child was handed over to her, she submitted to the same violent
treatment without a murmur.  For once Nature was allowed to have her
way, and all three had a good hearty satisfactory cry; in the midst of
which Captain Dunning left them, and, proceeding on board his ship,
hastened the preparations for his voyage to the Southern Seas.



CHAPTER THREE.

THE TEA-PARTY--ACCIDENTS AND INCIDENTS OF A MINOR KIND--GLYNN PROCTOR
GETS INTO TROUBLE.

On the evening of the day in which the foregoing scenes were enacted,
the Misses Dunning prepared a repast for their brother and one or two of
his officers, who were to spend the last evening in port there, and
discuss various important and unimportant matters in a sort of
semi-convivio-business way.

An event of this kind was always of the deepest interest and productive
of the most intense anxiety to the amiable though starched sisters;
first, because it was of rare occurrence; and second, because they were
never quite certain that it would pass without some unhappy accident,
such as the upsetting of a tea-cup or a kettle, or the scalding of the
cat, not to mention visitors' legs.  They seemed to regard a tea-party
in the light of a firearm--a species of blunderbuss--a thing which, it
was to be hoped, would "go off well"; and, certainly, if loading the
table until it groaned had anything to do with the manner of its "going
off," there was every prospect of its doing so with pre-eminent success
upon that occasion.

But besides the anxieties inseparable from the details of the pending
festivities, the Misses Dunning were overwhelmed and weighed down with
additional duties consequent upon their brother's sudden and unexpected
determination.  Little Ailie had to be got ready for sea by the
following morning!  It was absolute and utter insanity!  No one save a
madman or a sea-captain could have conceived such a thing, much less
have carried it into effect tyrannically.

The Misses Dunning could not attempt any piece of duty or work
separately.  They always acted together, when possible; and might, in
fact, without much inconvenience, have been born Siamese twins.
Whatever Martha did, Jane attempted to do or to mend; wherever Jane
went, Martha followed.  Not, by any means, that one thought she could
improve upon the work of the other; their conduct was simply the result
of a desire to assist each other mutually.  When Martha spoke, Jane
echoed or corroborated; and when Jane spoke, Martha repeated her
sentences word for word in a scarcely audible whisper--not after the
other had finished, but during the course of the remarks.

With such dispositions and propensities, it is not a matter to be
wondered at that the good ladies, while arranging the tea-table, should
suddenly remember some forgotten article of Ailie's wardrobe, and rush
simultaneously into the child's bedroom to rectify the omission; or,
when thus engaged, be filled with horror at the thought of having left
the buttered toast too near the fire in the parlour.

"It is really quite perplexing," said Martha, sitting down with a sigh,
and regarding the tea-table with a critical gaze; "quite perplexing.
I'm sure I don't know how I shall bear it.  It is too bad of George--
darling Ailie--(dear me, Jane, how crookedly you have placed the urn)--
it is really too bad."

"Too bad, indeed; yes, isn't it?" echoed Jane, in reference to the
captain's conduct, while she assisted Martha, who had risen to readjust
the urn.

"Oh!" exclaimed Martha, with a look of horror.

"What?" cried Jane, who looked and felt equally horrified, although she
knew not yet the cause.

"The eggs!"

"The eggs?"

"Yes, the eggs.  You know every one of the last dozen we got was bad,
and we've forgot to send for more," said Martha.

"For more; so we have!" cried Jane; and both ladies rushed into the
kitchen, gave simultaneous and hurried orders to the servant-girl, and
sent her out of the house impressed with an undefined feeling that life
or death depended on the instant procuring of two dozen fresh eggs.

It may be as well to remark here, that the Misses Dunning, although
stiff, and starched, and formal, had the power of speeding nimbly from
room to room, when alone and when occasion required, without in the
least degree losing any of their stiffness or formality, so that we do
not use the terms "rush," "rushed," or "rushing" inappropriately.
Nevertheless, it may also be remarked that they never acted in a rapid
or impulsive way in company, however small in numbers or unceremonious
in character the company might be--always excepting the servant-girl and
the cat, to whose company, from long habit, they had become used, and
therefore indifferent.

The sisters were on their knees, stuffing various articles into a large
trunk, and Ailie was looking on, by way of helping, with very red and
swollen eyes, and the girl was still absent in quest of eggs, when a
succession of sounding blows were administered to the green door, and a
number of gruff voices were heard conversing without.

"_There_!" cried Martha and Jane, with bitter emphasis, looking in each
other's faces as if to say, "We knew it.  Before that girl was sent away
for these eggs, we each separately and privately prophesied that they
would arrive, and that we should have to open the door.  And you see, so
it has happened, and we are not ready!"

But there was no time for remark.  The case was desperate.  Both sisters
felt it to be so, and acted accordingly, while Ailie, having been
forbidden to open the door, sat down on her trunk, and looked on in
surprise.  They sprang up, washed their hands simultaneously in the same
basin, with the same piece of soap broken in two; dried them with the
same towel, darted to the mirror, put on two identically similar clean
tall caps, leaped down-stairs, opened the door with slow dignity of
demeanour, and received their visitors in the hall with a calmness and
urbanity of manner that contrasted rather strangely with their flushed
countenances and heaving bosoms.

"Hallo!  Ailie!" exclaimed the captain, as his daughter pulled down his
head to be kissed.  "Why, you take a fellow all aback, like a white
squall.  Are you ready, my pet?  Kit stowed and anchor tripped?  Come
this way, and let us talk about it.  Dear me, Martha, you and Jane--look
as if you had been running a race, eh?  Here are my messmates come to
talk a bit with you.  My sisters, Martha and Jane--Dr Hopley."  (Dr
Hopley bowed politely.) "My first mate, Mr Millons" (Mr Millons also
bowed, somewhat loosely); "and Rokens--Tim Rokens, my chief harpooner."
(Mr Rokens pulled his forelock, and threw back his left leg, apparently
to counterbalance the bend in his body.) "He didn't want to come; said
he warn't accustomed to ladies' society; but I told him you warn't
ladies--a--I don't mean that--not ladies o' the high-flyin' fashionable
sort, that give themselves airs, you know.  Come along, Ailie."

While the captain ran on in this strain, hung up his hat, kissed Ailie,
and ran his fingers through his shaggy locks, the Misses Dunning
performed a mingled bow and courtsey to each guest as his name was
mentioned, and shook hands with him, after which the whole party entered
the parlour, where the cat was discovered enjoying a preliminary meal of
its own at one of the pats of butter.  A united shriek from Martha
and Jane, a nautical howl from the guests, and a rolled-up
pocket-handkerchief from Rokens sent that animal from the table as if it
had received a galvanic shock.

"I ax yer parding, ladies," said Mr Rokens, whose aim had been so
perfect that his handkerchief not only accelerated the flight of the
cat, but carried away the violated pat of butter along with it.  "I ax
yer parding, but them brutes is sich thieves--I could roast 'em alive,
so I could."

The harpooner unrolled his handkerchief, and picking the pat of butter
from its folds with his fingers, threw it into the fire.  Thereafter he
smoothed down his hair, and seated himself on the extreme edge of a
chair, as near the door as possible.  Not that he had any intention
whatever of taking to flight, but he deemed that position to be more
suited to his condition than any other.

In a few minutes the servant-girl returned with the eggs.  While she is
engaged in boiling them, we shall introduce Captain Dunning's friends
and messmates to the reader.

Dr Hopley was a surgeon, and a particular friend of the captain's.  He
was an American by birth, but had travelled so much about the world that
he had ceased to "guess" and "calculate," and to speak through his nose.
He was a man about forty, tall, big-boned, and muscular, though not
fat; and besides being a gentlemanly man, was a good-natured, quiet
creature, and a clever enough fellow besides, but he preferred to laugh
at and enjoy the jokes and witticisms of others rather than to
perpetrate any himself.  Dr Hopley was intensely fond of travelling,
and being possessed of a small independence, he indulged his passion to
the utmost.  He had agreed to go with Captain Dunning as the ship's
doctor, simply for the sake of seeing the whale-fishery of the South
Seas, having already, in a similar capacity, encountered the dangers of
the North.

Dr Hopley had few weaknesses.  His chief one was an extravagant belief
in phrenology.  We would not be understood to imply that phrenology is
extravagant; but we assert that the doctor's belief in it was
extravagant, assigning, as he did, to every real and ideal facility of
the human mind "a local habitation and a name" in the cranium, with a
corresponding depression or elevation of the surface to mark its
whereabouts.  In other respects he was a commonplace sort of a man.

Mr Millons, the first mate, was a short, hale, thick-set man, without
any particularly strong points of character.  He was about thirty-five,
and possessed a superabundance of fair hair and whiskers, with a large,
broad chin, a firm mouth, rather fierce-looking eyes, and a hasty, but
by no means a bad temper.  He was a trustworthy, matter-of-fact seaman,
and a good officer, but not bright intellectually.  Like most men of his
class, his look implied that he did not under-estimate his own
importance, and his tones were those of a man accustomed to command.

Tim Rokens was an old salt; a bluff, strong, cast-iron man, of about
forty-five years of age, who had been at sea since he was a little boy,
and would not have consented to live on dry land, though he had been
"offered command of a seaport town all to himself," as he was wont to
affirm emphatically.  His visage was scarred and knotty, as if it had
been long used to being pelted by storms--as indeed it had.  There was a
scar over his left eye and down his cheek, which had been caused by a
slash from the cutlass of a pirate in the China Seas; but although it
added to the rugged effect of his countenance, it did not detract from
the frank, kindly expression that invariably rested there.  Tim Rokens
had never been caught out of temper in his life.  Men were wont say he
had no temper to lose.  Whether this was true or no, we cannot presume
to say, but certainly he never lost it.  He was the best and boldest
harpooner in Captain Dunning's ship, and a sententious deliverer of his
private opinion on all occasions whatsoever.  When we say that he wore a
rough blue pilot-cloth suit, and had a large black beard, with a
sprinkling of silver hairs in it, we have completed his portrait.

"What's come of Glynn?" inquired Captain Dunning, as he accepted a large
cup of smoking tea with one hand, and with the other handed a plate of
buttered toast to Dr Hopley, who sat next him.

"I really cannot imagine," replied Miss Martha.

"No, cannot imagine," whispered Miss Jane.

"He promised to come, and to be punctual," continued Miss Martha
("Punctual," whispered Miss J), "but something seems to have detained
him.  Perhaps--"

Here Miss Martha was brought to an abrupt pause by observing that Mr
Rokens was about to commence to eat his egg with a teaspoon.

"Allow me, Mr Rokens," she said, handing that individual an ivory
eggspoon.

"Oh, cer'nly, ma'am.  By all means," replied Rokens, taking the spoon
and handing it to Miss Jane, under the impression that it was intended
for her.

"I beg pardon, it is for yourself, Mr Rokens," said Martha and Jane
together.

"Thank'ee, ma'am," replied Rokens, growing red, as he began to perceive
he was a little "off his course" somehow.  "I've no occasion for _two_,
an' this one suits me oncommon."

"Ah! you prefer big spoons to little ones, my man, don't you?" said
Captain Dunning, coming to the rescue.  "Let him alone, Martha, he's
used to take care of himself.  Doctor, can you tell me now, which is the
easiest of digestion--a hard egg or a soft one?"

Thus appealed to, Dr Hopley paused a moment and frowned at the teapot,
as though he were about to tax his brain to the utmost in the solution
of an abstruse question in medical science.

"Well now," he replied, stirring his tea gently, and speaking with much
deliberation, "that depends very much upon circumstances.  Some
digestions can manage a hard egg best, others find a soft one more
tractable.  And then the state of the stomach at the time of eating has
to be taken into account.  I should say now, that my little friend
Ailie, here, to judge from the rosy colour of her cheeks, could manage
hard or soft eggs equally well; couldn't you, eh?"

Ailie laughed, as she replied, "I'm sure I don't know, Doctor Hopley;
but I _like_ soft ones best."

To this, Captain Dunning said, "Of course you do, my sensible little
pet;" although it would be difficult to show wherein lay the sensibility
of the preference, and then added--"There's Rokens, now; wouldn't you,
doctor--judging from his rosy, not to say purple cheeks--conclude that
he wasn't able to manage even two eggs of any kind?"

"Wot, _me_!" exclaimed Mr Rokens, looking up in surprise, as indeed he
well might, having just concluded his fourth, and being about to
commence his fifth egg, to the no small anxiety of Martha and Jane, into
whose limited and innocent minds the possibility of such a feat had
never entered.  "Wot, _me_!  Why, capting, if they was biled as hard as
the head of a marline-spike--"

The expanding grin on the captain's face, and a sudden laugh from the
mate, apprised the bold harpooner at this point of his reply that the
captain was jesting, so he felt a little confused, and sought relief by
devoting himself assiduously to egg Number 5.

It fared ill with Tim Rokens that evening that he had rashly entered
into ladies' society, for he was a nervous man in refined company,
though cool and firm as a grounded iceberg when in the society of his
messmates, or when towing with the speed of a steamboat in the wake of a
sperm-whale.

Egg Number 5 proved to be a bad one.  Worse than that, egg Number 5
happened to belong to that peculiar class of bad eggs which "go off"
with a little crack when hit with a spoon, and sputter their unsavoury
contents around them.  Thus it happened, that when Mr Rokens, feeling
confused, and seeking relief in attention to the business then in hand,
hit egg Number 5 a smart blow on the top, a large portion of its
contents spurted over the fair white tablecloth, a small portion fell on
Mr Rokens' vest, and a minute yellow globule thereof alighted on the
fair Martha's hand, eliciting from that lady a scream, and as a matter
of course, an echo from Jane in the shape of a screamlet.

Mr Rokens flushed a deep Indian-red, and his nose assumed a warm blue
colour instantly.

"Oh! ma'am, I ax yer parding."

"Pray don't mention it--a mere accident.  I'm so sorry you have got a
bad--Oh!"

The little scream with which Miss Martha interrupted her remark was
caused by Mr Rokens (who had just observed the little yellow globule
above referred to) seizing her hand, and wiping away the speck with the
identical handkerchief that had floored the cat and swept away the pat
of butter.  Immediately thereafter, feeling heated, he wiped the
perspiration from his forehead, and unwittingly transferred the spot
thereto in the form of a yellow streak, whereat Ailie and the first mate
burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.  Even Miss Martha smiled,
although she rather objected to jesting, as being a dangerous amusement,
and never laughed at the weaknesses or misfortunes of others, however
ludicrous they might be, when she could help it.

"How can you, brother?" she said, reproachfully, shaking her head at the
captain, who was winking at the doctor with one eye in a most
obstreperous manner.  "Do try another egg, Mr Rokens; the others, I am
sure, are fresh.  I cannot imagine how a bad one came to be amongst
them."

"Ah, try another, my lad," echoed the captain.  "Pass 'em up this way,
Mr Millons."

"By no manner o' means; I'll eat this 'un!" replied the harpooner,
commencing to eat the bad egg with apparent relish.  "I like 'em this
way--better than nothin', anyhow.  Bless ye, marm, ye've no notion wot
sort o' things I've lived on aboard ship--"

Rokens came to an abrupt pause in consequence of the servant-girl, at a
sign from her mistresses (for she always received duplicate orders),
seizing his plate and carrying it off bodily.  It was immediately
replaced by a clean one and a fresh egg.  While Rokens somewhat
nervously tapped the head of Number 6, Miss Martha, in order to divert
attention from him, asked Mr Millons if sea-fare was always salt junk
and hard biscuit?

"Oh, no, madam," answered the first mate.  "We've sometimes salt pork,
and vegetables now and agin; and pea-soup, and plum-duff--"

"Plum-duff, Ailie," interrupted the captain, in order to explain, "is
just a puddin' with few plums and fewer spices in it.  Something like a
white-painted cannon-shot, with brown spots on it here and there."

"Is it good?" inquired Ailie.

"Oh, ain't it!" remarked Mr Rokens, who had just concluded Number 6,
and felt his self-possession somewhat restored.  "Yes, miss, it is; but
it ain't equal to whale's-brain fritters, it ain't; them's first-chop."

"Have whales got brains?" inquired Miss Martha, in surprise.

"Brains!" echoed Miss Jane, in amazement.

"Yes, madam, they 'ave," answered the first mate, who had hitherto
maintained silence, but having finished tea was now ready for any amount
of talk; "and what's more remarkable still, they've got several barrels
of oil in their skulls besides."

"Dear me!" exclaimed the sisters.

"Yes, ladies, capital oil it is, too; fetches a 'igher price hin the
markit than the other sort."

"By the bye, Millons, didn't you once fall into a whale's skull, and get
nearly drowned in oil?" inquired the doctor.

"I did," answered the first mate, with the air of a man who regarded
such an event as a mere trifle, that, upon consideration, might almost
be considered as rather a pleasant incident than otherwise in one's
history.

"Nearly drowned in oil!" exclaimed the sisters, while Ailie opened her
eyes in amazement, and Mr Rokens became alarmingly purple in the face
with suppressed chuckling.

"It's true," remarked Rokens, in a hoarse whisper to Miss Martha,
putting his hand up to his mouth, the better to convey the sound to her
ears; "I seed him tumble in, and helped to haul him out."

"Let's have the story, Millons," cried the captain, pushing forward his
cup to be replenished; "It's so long since I heard it, that I've almost
forgotten it.  Another cup o' tea, Martha, my dear--not quite so strong
as the last, and three times as sweet.  I'll drink `Success to the cup
that cheers, but don't inebriate.'  Go ahead, Millons."

Nothing rejoiced the heart of Mr Millons more than being asked to tell
a story.  Like most men who are excessively addicted to the habit, his
stories were usually very long and very dry; but he had a bluff
good-natured way of telling them, that rendered his yarns endurable on
shore, and positively desirable at sea.  Fortunately for the reader, the
story he was now requested to relate was not a long one.

"It ain't quite a _story_," he began--and in beginning he cleared his
throat with emphasis, thrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest,
and tilted his chair on its hind-legs--"it ain't quite a story; it's a
hanecdote, a sort of hincident, so to speak, and this is 'ow it
'appened:--

"Many years ago, w'en I was a very young man, or a big boy, I was on a
voyage to the South Seas after whales.  Tim Rokens was my messmate then,
and has bin so almost ever since, off, and on."  (Mr Rokens nodded
assent to this statement.) "Well, we came up with a big whale, and fixed
an iron cleverly in him at the first throw--"

"An iron?" inquired Miss Martha, to whose mind flat and Italian irons
naturally occurred.

"Yes, madam, an iron; we call the 'arpoons irons.  Well, away went the
fish, like all alive! not down, but straight for'ard, takin' out the
line at a rate that nearly set the boat on fire, and away we went along
with it.  It _was_ a chase, that.  For six hours, off and on, we stuck
to that whale, and pitched into 'im with 'arpoons and lances; but he
seemed to have the lives of a cat--nothin' would kill 'im.  At last the
'arpooner gave him a thrust in the life, an' up went the blood and
water, and the fish went into the flurries, and came nigh capsizin' the
boat with its tail as it lashed the water into foam.  At last it gave
in, and we had a four hours' pull after that, to tow the carcase to the
ship, for there wasn't a cat's-paw of wind on the water.

"W'en we came alongside, we got out the tackles, and before beginning to
flense (that means, ma'am, to strip off the blubber), we cut a hole in
the top o' the skull to get out the oil that was there; for you must
know that the sperm-whale has got a sort of 'ollow or big cavern in its
'ead, w'ich is full o' the best oil, quite pure, that don't need to be
cleared, but is all ready to be baled out and stowed away in casks.
Well, w'en the 'ole was cut in its skull I went down on my knees on the
edge of it to peep in, when my knees they slipped on the blubber, and in
I went 'ead-foremost, souse into the whale's skull, and began to swim
for life in the oil.

"Of course I began to roar for 'elp like a bull, and Rokens there, 'oo
'appened to be near, 'e let down the hend of a rope, but my 'ands was so
slippy with oil I couldn't ketch 'old of it; so 'e 'auls it up agin, and
lets down a rope with a 'ook at the hend, and I got 'old of this and
stuck it into the waistband o' my trousers, and gave the word, `'Eave
away, my 'earties;' and sure enough so they did, and pulled me out in a
trice.  And that's 'ow it was; and I lost a suit o' clo's, for nothing
on 'arth would take the oil out, and I didn't need to use pomatum for
six months after."

"No more you did," cried Rokens, who had listened to the narrative with
suppressed delight; "no more you did.  I never see sich a glazed rat as
you wos when you comed out o' that hole, in all my life; an' he wos jist
like a eel; it wos all we could do to keep 'old on 'im, marm, he was so
slippery."

While the captain was laughing at the incident, and Rokens was narrating
some of the minute details in the half-unwilling yet half-willing ears
of the sisters, the door opened, and a young man entered hastily and
apologised for being late.

"The fact is, Miss Dunning, had I not promised faithfully to come, I
should not have made my appearance at all to-night."

"Why, Glynn, what has kept you, lad?" interrupted the captain.  "I
thought you were a man of your word."

"Ay, that's the question, capting," said Rokens, who evidently regarded
the new arrival with no favourable feelings; "it's always the way with
them _gentlemen_ sailors till they're got into blue water and brought to
their bearin's."

Mr Rokens had wisdom enough to give forth the last part of his speech
in a muttered tone, for the youth was evidently a favourite with the
captain, as was shown by the hearty manner in which he shook him by the
hand.

"Messmates, this is Glynn Proctor, a friend o' mine," said Captain
Dunning, in explanation: "he is going with us this voyage _before_ the
mast, so you'll have to make the most of him as an equal to-night, for I
intend to keep him in his proper place when afloat.  He chooses to go as
an ordinary seaman, against my advice, the scamp; so I'll make him keep
his head as low as the rest when aboard.  You'll to keep your time
better, too, than you have done to-night, lad," continued the captain,
giving his young friend a slap on the shoulder.  "What has detained you,
eh?"

"Necessity, captain," replied the youth, with a smile, as he sat down to
table with an off-hand easy air that savoured of recklessness; "and I am
prepared to state, upon oath if need be, that necessity is not `the
mother of invention.'  If she had been, she would have enabled me to
invent a way of escape from my persecutors in time to keep my promise to
Miss Dunning."

"Persecutors, Glynn!" exclaimed Martha; "to whom do you refer?"

"To the police of this good city."

"Police!" echoed the captain, regarding his young friend seriously,
while the doctor and the first mate and Tim Rokens listened in some
surprise.

"Why, the fact is," said Glynn, "that I have just escaped from the hands
of the police, and if it had not been that I was obliged to make a very
wide detour, in order to reach this house without being observed, I
should have been here long ago."

"Boy, boy, your hasty disposition will bring you into serious trouble
one of these days," said the captain, shaking his head.  "What mischief
have you been about?"

"Ay, there you go--it's my usual fate," cried Glynn, laughing.  "If I
chance to get into a scrape, you never think of inquiring whether it was
my fault or my misfortune.  This time, however, it _was_ my misfortune,
and if Miss Dunning will oblige me with a cup of tea, I'll explain how
it happened.

"Little more than two hours ago I left the ship to come here to tea, as
I had promised to do.  Nikel Sling, the long-legged cook you engaged
this morning, went ashore with me.  As we walked up the street together,
I observed a big porter passing along with a heavy deal plank on his
shoulder.  The street was somewhat narrow and crowded at that part, and
Sling had turned to look in at a shop-window just as the big fellow came
up.  The man shouted to my shipmate to get out o' the way, but the noise
in the street prevented him from hearing.  Before I could turn to touch
the cook's arm, the fellow uttered an oath and ran the end of the plank
against his head.  Poor Sling was down in an instant.  Before I well
knew what I was about, I hit the porter between the eyes and down he
went with a clatter, and the plank above him.  In a moment three
policemen had me by the collar.  I tried to explain, but they wouldn't
listen.  As I was being hurried away to the lock-up, it flashed across
me that I should not only lose my tea and your pleasant society this
evening, but be prevented from sailing to-morrow, so I gave a sudden
twist, tripped up the man on my left, overturned the one on my right,
and bolted."

"They ran well, the rascals, and shouted like maniacs, but I got the
start of 'em, dived down one street, up another, into a by-lane, over a
back-garden wall, in at the back-door of a house and out at the front,
took a round of two or three miles, and came in here from the west; and
whatever other objections there may be to the whole proceeding, I cannot
say that it has spoiled my appetite."

"And so, sir," said Captain Dunning, "you call this your `misfortune?'"

"Surely, captain," said Glynn, putting down his cup and looking up in
some surprise--"surely, you cannot blame me for punishing the rascal who
behaved so brutally, without the slightest provocation, to my shipmate!"

"Hear, hear!" cried Rokens involuntarily.

"I do blame you, lad," replied the captain seriously.  "In the first
place, you had no right to take the law into your own hands.  In the
second place, your knocking down the man did no good whatever to your
shipmate; and in the third place, you've got yourself and me and the
ship into a very unsatisfactory scrape."

Rokens' face, which had hitherto expressed approval of Glynn's conduct,
began to elongate as the captain went on in this strain; and the youth's
recklessness of manner altogether disappeared as inquired, "How so,
captain?  I have escaped, as you see; and poor Sling, of course, was not
to blame, so he'll be all safe aboard, and well, I hope, by this time."

"There you're mistaken, boy.  They will have secured Sling and made him
tell the name of his ship, and also the name of his pugnacious comrade."

"And do you think he'd be so mean as to tell?" asked Glynn indignantly.

"You forget that the _first_ act in this nice little melodrama was the
knocking down of Sling, so that he could not know what happened after,
and the police would not be so soft as to tell him _why_ they wanted
such information until after they had got it."

Poor Glynn looked aghast, and Rokens was overwhelmed.

"It seems to me, I'd better go and see about this," said Millons, rising
and buttoning his coat with the air of a man who had business to
transact and meant to transact it.

"Right, Millons," answered the captain.  "I'm sorry to break up our
evening so soon, but we must get this man aboard by hook or crook as
speedily as possible.  You had better go too, doctor.  Rokens and I will
take care of this young scamp, who must be made a <DW65> of in order to
be got on board, for his face, once seen by these sharp limbs of
justice, is not likely soon to be forgotten."

Glynn Proctor was indeed a youth whose personal appearance was
calculated to make a lasting impression on most people.  He was about
eighteen years of age, but a strong, well-developed muscular frame, a
firm mouth, a large chin, and an eagle eye, gave him the appearance of
being much older.  He was above the middle height, but not tall, and the
great breadth of his shoulders and depth of his chest made him appear
shorter than he really was.  His hair was of that beautiful hue called
nut-brown, and curled close round his well-shaped head.  He was a model
of strength and activity.

Glynn Proctor had many faults.  He was hasty and reckless.  He was
unsteady, too, and preferred a roving idle life to a busy one; but he
had redeeming qualities.  He was bold and generous.  Above all, he was
unselfish, and therefore speedily became a favourite with all who knew
him.  Glynn's history is briefly told.  He was an Englishman.  His
father and mother had died when he was a child, and left him in charge
of an uncle, who emigrated to America shortly after his brother's death.
The uncle was a good man, after a fashion, but he was austere and
unlovable.  Glynn didn't like him; so when he attained the age of
thirteen, he quietly told him that he meant to bid him good-bye, and go
seek his fortune in the world.  The uncle as quietly told Glynn that he
was quite right, and the sooner he went the better.  So Glynn went, and
never saw his uncle again, for the old man died while he was abroad.

Glynn travelled far and encountered many vicissitudes of fortune in his
early wanderings; but he was never long without occupation, because men
liked his looks, and took him on trial without much persuasion.  To say
truth, Glynn never took the trouble to persuade them.  When his services
were declined, he was wont to turn on his heel and walk away without a
word of reply; and not unfrequently he was called back and employed.  He
could turn his hand to almost anything, but when he tired of it, he
threw it up and sought other work elsewhere.

In the course of his peregrinations, he came to reside in the city in
which our story finds him.  Here he had become a compositor in the
office of a daily newspaper, and, happening to be introduced to the
Misses Dunning, soon became a favourite with them, and a constant
visitor at their house.  Thus he became acquainted with their brother.
Becoming disgusted with the constant work and late hours of the
printing-office, he resolved to join Captain Dunning's ship, and take a
voyage to southern seas as an ordinary seaman.  Glynn and little Alice
Dunning were great friends, and it was a matter of extreme delight to
both of them that they were to sail together on this their first voyage.

Having been made a <DW65> of--that is, having had his face and hands
blackened in order to avoid detection--Glynn sallied forth with the
captain and Rokens to return to their ship, the _Red Eric_, which lay in
the harbour, not ten minutes' walk from the house.

They passed the police on the wharf without creating suspicion, and
reached the vessel.



CHAPTER FOUR.

THE ESCAPE.

"Well, Millons, what news?" inquired the captain, as he stepped on deck.

"Bad news, sir, I fear" replied the first mate.  "I found, on coming
aboard, that no one knew anything about Sling, so I went ashore at once
and 'urried up to the hospital, w'ere, sure enough, I found 'im lyin'
with his 'ead bandaged, and lookin' as if 'e were about gone.  They
asked me if I knew what ship 'e belonged to, as the police wanted to
know.  So I told 'em I knew well enough, but I wasn't going to tell if
it would get the poor fellow into a scrape.

"`Why don't you ask himself?' says I.

"They told me 'e was past speaking, so I tried to make 'im understand,
but 'e only mumbled in reply.  W'en I was about to go 'e seemed to
mumble very 'ard, so I put down my ear to listen, and 'e w'ispered quite
distinct tho' very low--`All right, my 'eartie.  I'm too cute for 'em by
a long way; go aboard an' say nothin'.'  So I came away, and I've scarce
been five minutes aboard before you arrived.  My own opinion is, that
'e's crazed, and don't know what 'e's sayin'."

"Oh!" ejaculated Captain Dunning.  "He said that, did he?  Then _my_
opinion is, that he's not so crazed as you think.  Tell the watch, Mr
Millons, to keep a sharp look-out."

So saying, Captain Dunning descended to the cabin, and Rokens to the
forecastle (in sea phraseology the "fok-sail"), while Glynn Proctor
procured a basin and a piece of soap, and proceeded to rub the coat of
charcoal off his face and hands.

Half-an-hour had not elapsed when the watch on deck heard a loud splash
near the wharf, as if some one had fallen into the water.  Immediately
after, a confused sound of voices and rapid footsteps was heard in the
street that opened out upon the quay, and in a few seconds the end of
the wharf was crowded with men who shouted to each other, and were seen
in the dim starlight to move rapidly about as if in search of something.

"Wot can it be?" said Tim Rokens in a low voice, to a seaman who leaned
on the ship's bulwarks close to him.

"Deserter, mayhap," suggested the man.

While Rokens pondered the suggestion, a light plash was heard close to
the ship's side, and a voice said, in a hoarse whisper, "Heave us a
rope, will ye.  Look alive, now.  Guess I'll go under in two minits if
ye don't."

"Oho!" exclaimed Rokens, in a low, impressive voice, as he threw over
the end of a rope, and, with the aid of the other members of the watch,
hauled Nikel Sling up the side, and landed him dripping and panting on
the deck.

"W'y--Sling! what on airth--?" exclaimed one of the men.

"It's lucky--I am--on airth--" panted the tall cook, seating himself on
the breech of one of the main-deck carronades, and wringing the water
from his garments.  "An' it's well I'm not at the bottom o' this 'ere
'arbour."

"But where did ye come from, an' why are they arter ye, lad?" inquired
Rokens.

"W'y? 'cause they don't want to part with me, and I've gi'n them the
slip, I guess."

When Nikel Sling had recovered himself so as to talk connectedly, he
explained to his wondering shipmates how that, after being floored in
the street, he had been carried up to the hospital, and on recovering
his senses, found Mr Millons standing by the bedside, conversing with
the young surgeons.  The first words of their conversation showed him
that something was wrong, so, with remarkable self-possession, he
resolved to counterfeit partial delirium, by which means he contrived to
give the first mate a hint that all was right, and declined, without
creating suspicion, to give any intelligible answers as to who he was or
where he had come from.

The blow on his head caused him considerable pain, but his mind was
relieved by one of the young surgeons, who remarked to another, in going
round the wards, that the "skull of that long chap wasn't fractured
after all, and he had no doubt he would be dismissed cured in a day or
two."  So the cook lay quiet until it was dark.

When the house-surgeon had paid his last visit, and the nurses had gone
their rounds in the accident-ward, and no sound disturbed the quiet of
the dimly-lighted apartment save the heavy fitful breathing and
occasional moans and restless motions of the sufferers, Nikel Sling
raised himself on his elbow, and glanced stealthily round on the rows of
pain-worn and haggard countenances around him.  It was a solemn sight to
look upon, especially at that silent hour of the night.  There were men
there with almost every species of painful wound and fracture.  Some had
been long there, wasting away from day to day, and now lay quiet, though
suffering, from sheer exhaustion.  Others there were who had been
carried in that day, and fidgeted impatiently in their unreduced
strength, yet nervously in their agony; or, in some cases, where the
fear of death was on them, clasped their hands and prayed in whispers
for mercy to Him whose name perhaps they had almost never used before
except for the purpose of taking it in vain.

But such sights had little or no effect on the cook, who had rubbed hard
against the world's roughest sides too long to be easily affected by the
sight of human suffering, especially when exhibited in men.  He paused
long enough to note that the nurses were out of the way or dozing, and
then slipping out of bed, he stalked across the room like a ghost, and
made for the outer gateway of the hospital.  He knew the way, having
once before been a temporary inmate of the place.  He reached the gate
undiscovered, tripped up the porter's heels, opened the wicket, and fled
towards the harbour, followed by the porter and a knot of chance
passers-by.  The pursuers swelled into a crowd as he neared the harbour.

Besides being long-limbed, Nikel Sling was nimble.  He distanced his
pursuers easily, and, as we have seen, swam off and reached his ship
almost as soon as they gained the end of the wharf.

The above narration was made much more abruptly and shortly than we have
presented it, for oars were soon heard in the water, and it behoved the
poor hunted cook to secrete himself in case they should take a fancy to
search the vessel.  Just as the boat came within a few yards of the ship
he hastily went below.

"Boat ahoy!" shouted Tim Rokens; "wot boat's that?"

The men lay on their oars.

"Have you a madman on board your ship?" inquired the gatekeeper of the
hospital, whose wrath at the unceremonious treatment he had received had
not yet cooled down.

"No," answered Rokens, laying his arms on the bulwarks, and looking down
at his questioner with a sly leer; "no, we ha'n't, but you've got a
madman aboord that boat."

"Who's that?" inquired the warder, who did not at first understand the
sarcasm.

"Why, yourself, to be sure," replied Rokens, "an' the sooner you takes
yourself off, an' comes to an anchor in a loo-natick asylum, the better
for all parties consarned."

"No, but I'm in earnest, my man--"

"_As_ far as that goes," interrupted the imperturbable Rokens, "so am
I."

"The man," continued the gatekeeper, "has run out of the hospital with a
smashed head, I calc'late, stark starin' mad, and gone off the end o'
the w'arf into the water--"

"You don't mean it!" shouted Rokens, starting with affected surprise.
"Now you _are_ a fine fellow, ain't you, to be talkin' here an' wastin'
time while a poor feller-mortal is bein' drownded, or has gone and
swummed off to sea--p'r'aps without chart, compass, or rudder!  Hallo,
lads! tumble up there!  Man overboard! tumble up, tumble up!"

In less than three minutes half-a-dozen men sprang up the hatchway,
hauled up the gig which swung astern, tumbled into it, and began to pull
wildly about the harbour in search of the drowning man.  The shouts and
commotion roused the crews of the nearest vessels, and ere long quite a
fleet of boats joined in the search.

"Wos he a big or a little feller?" inquired Rokens, panting from his
exertions, as he swept up to the boat containing the hospital warder,
round which several of the other boats began to congregate.

"A big fellow, I guess, with legs like steeples.  He was sloping when
they floored him.  A thief, I expect he must ha' bin."

"A thief!" echoed Rokens, in disgust; "why didn't ye say, so at first?
If he's a thief, he's born to be hanged, so he's safe and snug aboard
his ship long ago, I'll be bound.  Good-night t'ye, friend, and better
luck next time."

A loud laugh greeted the ears of the discomfited warder as the crews of
the boats dipped their oars in the water and pulled towards, their
respective ships.

Next morning, about daybreak, little Alice Dunning came on board her
father's ship, accompanied by her two aunts, who, for once, became
utterly and publicly regardless of appearances and contemptuous of all
propriety, as they sobbed on the child's neck and positively refused to
be comforted.

Just as the sun rose, and edged the horizon with a gleam of liquid fire,
the _Red Eric_ spread her sails and stood out to sea.



CHAPTER FIVE.

DAY DREAMS AND ADVENTURES AMONG THE CLOUDS--A CHASE, A BATTLE, AND A
VICTORY.

Early morning on the ocean!  There is poetry in the idea; there is music
in the very sound.  As there is nothing new under the sun, probably a
song exists with this or a similar title; if not, we now recommend it
earnestly to musicians.

Ailie Dunning sat on the bulwarks of the _Red Eric_, holding on tightly
by the mizzen-shrouds, and gazing in open-eyed, open-mouthed,
inexpressible delight upon the bright calm sea.  She was far, far out
upon the bosom of the Atlantic now.  Sea-sickness--which during the
first part of the voyage, had changed the warm pink of her pretty face
into every imaginable shade of green--was gone, and the hue of health
could not now be banished even by the rudest storm.  In short, she had
become a thorough sailor, and took special delight in turning her face
to windward during the wild storm, and drinking-in the howling blast as
she held on by the rigid shrouds, and laughed at the dashing spray--for
little Ailie was not easily frightened.  Martha and Jane Dunning had
made it their first care to implant in the heart of their charge a
knowledge of our Saviour's love, and especially of His tenderness
towards, and watchful care over, the lambs of His flock.  Besides this,
little Ailie was naturally of a trustful disposition.  She had implicit
confidence in the strength and wisdom of her father, and it never
entered into her imagination to dream that it was possible for any evil
to befall the ship which _he_ commanded.

But, although Ailie delighted in the storm, she infinitely preferred the
tranquil beauty and rest of a "great calm," especially at the hour just
before sunrise, when the freshness, brightness, and lightness of the
young day harmonised peculiarly with her elastic spirit.  It was at this
hour that we find her alone upon the bulwarks of the _Red Eric_.

There was a deep, solemn stillness around, that irresistibly and
powerfully conveyed to her mind the idea of rest.  The long, gentle
undulation of the deep did not in the least detract from this idea.  So
perfect was the calm, that several masses of clouds in the sky, which
shone with the richest saffron light, were mirrored in all their rich
details as if in a glass.  The faintest possible idea of a line alone
indicated, in one direction, where the water terminated and the sky
began.  A warm golden haze suffused the whole atmosphere, and softened
the intensity of the deep-blue vault above.

There was, indeed, little variety of object to gaze upon--only the water
and the sky.  But what a world of delight did not Ailie find in that
vast sky and that pure ocean, that reminded her of the sea of glass
before the great white throne, of which she had so often read in
Revelation.  The towering masses of clouds were so rich and thick, that
she almost fancied them to be mountains and valleys, rocks and plains of
golden snow.  Nay, she looked so long and so ardently at the rolling
mountain heights in the sky above, and their magical counterparts in the
sky below, that she soon, as it were, _thought herself into_ Fairyland,
and began a regular journey of adventures therein.

Such a scene at such an hour is a source of gladsome, peaceful delight
to the breast of man in every stage of life; but it is a source of
unalloyed, bounding, exhilarating, romantic, unspeakable joy only in the
years of childhood, when the mind looks hopefully forward, and before it
has begun--as, alas! it must begin, sooner or later--to gaze regretfully
back.

How long Ailie would have sat in motionless delight it is difficult to
say.  The man at the wheel having nothing to do, had forsaken his post,
and was leaning over the stern, either lost in reverie, or in a vain
effort to penetrate with his vision the blue abyss to the bottom.  The
members of the watch on deck were either similarly engaged or had stowed
themselves away to sleep in quiet corners among blocks and cordage.  No
one seemed inclined to move or speak, and she would probably have sat
there immovable for hours to come, had not a hand fallen gently on her
shoulder, and by the magic of its simple contact scattered the bright
dreams of Fairyland as the finger-touch destroys the splendour of the
soap-bubble.

"Oh!  Glynn," exclaimed Ailie, looking round and heaving a deep sigh;
"I've been away--far, far away--you can't believe how far."

"Away, Ailie!  Where have you been?" asked Glynn, patting the child's
head as he leaned over the gunwale beside her.

"In Fairyland.  Up in the clouds yonder.  Out and in, and up and down.
Oh, you've no idea.  Just look."  She pointed eagerly to an immense
towering cloud that rose like a conspicuous landmark in the centre of
the landscape of the airy world above.  "Do you see that mountain?"

"Yes, Ailie; the one in the middle, you mean, don't you?  Yes, well?"

"Well," continued the child, eagerly and hurriedly, as if she feared to
lose the thread of memory that formed the warp and woof of the delicate
fabric she had been engaged in weaving; "well, I began there; I went in
behind it, and I met a fairy--not really, you know, but I tried to think
I met one, so I began to speak to her, and then I made her speak to me,
and her voice was so small and soft and sweet.  She had on silver wings,
and a star--a bright star in her forehead--and she carried a wand with a
star on the top of it too.  So I asked her to take me to see her
kingdom, and I made her say she would--and, do you know, Glynn, I really
felt at last as if she didn't wait for me to tell her what to say, but
just went straight on, answering my questions, and putting questions to
me in return.  Wasn't it funny?

"Well, we went on, and on, and on--the fairy and me--up one beautiful
mountain of snow and down another, talking all the time so pleasantly,
until we came to a great dark cave; so I made up my mind to make a lion
come out of it; but the fairy said, `No, let it be a bear;' and
immediately a great bear came out.  Wasn't it strange?  It really seemed
as if the fairy had become real, and could do things of her own accord."

The child paused at this point, and looking with an expression of awe
into her companion's face, said--"Do you think, Glynn, that people can
_think_ so hard that fairies _really_ come to them?"

Glynn looked perplexed.

"No, Ailie, I suspect they can't--not because we can't think hard
enough, but because there are no fairies to come."

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry!" replied the child sadly.

"Why?" inquired Glynn.

"Because I love them _so_ much--of course, I mean the good ones.  I
don't like the bad ones--though they're very useful, because they're
nice to kill, and punish, and make examples of, and all that, when the
good ones catch them."

"So they are," said the youth, smiling.  "I never thought of that
before.  But go on with your ramble in the clouds."

"Well," began Ailie; "but where was I?"

"Just going to be introduced to a bear."

"Oh yes; well--the bear walked slowly away, and then the fairy called
out an elephant, and after that a 'noceros--"

"A 'noceros!" interrupted Glynn; "what's that?"

"Oh, you know very well.  A beast with a thick skin hanging in folds,
and a horn on its nose--"

"Ah, a _rhi_noceros--I see.  Well, go on, Ailie."

"Then the fairy told a camel to appear, and after that a monkey, and
then a hippopotamus, and they all came out one after another, and some
of them went away, and others began to fight.  But the strangest thing
of all was, that every one of them was _so_ like the pictures of wild
beasts that are hanging in my room at home!  The elephant, too, I
noticed, had his trunk broken exactly the same way as my toy elephant's
one was.  Wasn't it odd?"

"It was rather odd," replied Glynn; "but where did you go after that?"

"Oh, then we went on, and on again, until we came to--"

"It's your turn at the wheel, lad, ain't it?" inquired Mr Millons,
coming up at that moment, and putting an abrupt termination to the walk
in Fairyland.

"It is, sir," answered Glynn, springing quickly to the wheel, and
relieving the man who had been engaged in penetrating the ocean's
depths.

The mate walked forward; the released sailor went below, and Ailie was
again left to her solitary meditations;--for she was enough of a sailor
now, in heart, to know that she ought not to talk too much to the
steersman, even though the weather should be calm and there was no call
for his undivided attention to the duties of his post.

While Nature was thus, as it were, asleep, and the watch on deck were
more than half in the same condition, there was one individual in the
ship whose faculties were in active play, whose "steam," as he himself
would have remarked, "was up."  This was the worthy cook, Nikel Sling,
whose duties called him to his post at the galley-fire at an early hour
each day.

We have often thought that a cook's life must be one of constant
self-denial and exasperation of spirit.  Besides the innumerable
anxieties in reference to such important matters as boiling over and
over-boiling, being done to a turn, or over-done, or singed or burned,
or capsized, he has the diurnal misery of being the first human being in
his little circle of life, to turn out of a morning, and must therefore
experience the discomfort--the peculiar discomfort--of finding things as
_they were left_ the night before.  Any one who does not know what that
discomfort is, has only to rise an hour before the servants of a
household, whether at sea or on shore, to find out.  Cook, too, has
generally, if not always, to light the fire; and that, especially in
frosty weather, is not agreeable.  Moreover, cook roasts _himself_ to
such an extent, and at meal-times, in nine cases out of ten, gets into
such physical and mental perturbation, that he cannot possibly
appreciate the luxuries he has been occupied all the day in concocting.
Add to this, that he spends all the morning in preparing breakfast; all
the forenoon in preparing dinner; all the afternoon in preparing tea and
supper, and all the evening in clearing up, and perhaps all the night in
dreaming of the meals of the following day, and mentally preparing
breakfast, and we think that we have clearly proved the truth of the
proposition with which we started--namely, that a cook's life must be
one of constant self-denial and exasperation of spirit.

But this is by the way, and was merely suggested by the fact that, while
all other creatures were enjoying either partial or complete repose,
Nikel Sling was washing out pots and pans and kettles, and handling
murderous-looking knives and two-pronged tormentors with a demoniacal
activity that was quite appalling.

Beside him, on a little stool close to the galley-fire, sat Tim Rokens--
not that Mr Rokens was cold--far from it.  He was, to judge from
appearances, much hotter than was agreeable.  But Tim had come there and
sat down to light his pipe, and being rather phlegmatic when not
actively employed, he preferred to be partially roasted for a few
minutes to getting up again.

"We ought," remarked Tim Rokens, puffing at a little black pipe which
seemed inclined to be obstinate, "we ought to be gittin' among the fish
by this time.  Many's the one I've seed in them 'ere seas."

"I rather guess we should," replied the cook, pausing the midst of his
toils and wiping the perspiration from his forehead with an immense
bundle of greasy oakum.  "But I've seed us keep dodgin' about for weeks,
I have, later in the year than this, without clappin' eyes on a fin.
What sort o' baccy d'ye smoke, Rokens?"

"Dun know.  Got it from a Spanish smuggler for an old clasp-knife.
Why?"

"Cause it smells like rotten straw, an' won't improve the victuals.
Guess you'd better take yourself off, old chap."

"Wot a cross-grained crittur ye are," said Rokens, as he rose to depart.

At that moment there was heard a cry that sent the blood tingling to the
extremities of every one on board the _Red Eric_.

"Thar she blows! thar she blows!" shouted the man in the crow's-nest.

The crow's-nest is a sort of cask, or nest, fixed at the top of the
mainmast of whale-ships, in which a man is stationed all day during the
time the ships are on the fishing-ground, to look out for whales; and
the cry, "Thar she blows," announced the fact that the look-out had
observed a whale rise to the surface and blow a spout of steamy water
into the air.

No conceivable event--unless perhaps the blowing-up of the ship itself--
could have more effectually and instantaneously dissipated the deep
tranquillity to which we have more than once referred.  Had an electric
shock been communicated through the ship to each individual, the crew
could not have been made to leap more vigorously and simultaneously.
Many days before, they had begun to expect to see whales.  Every one was
therefore on the _qui vive_, so that when the well-known signal rang out
like a startling peal in the midst of the universal stillness, every
heart in the ship leaped in unison.

Had an observant man been seated at the time in the forecastle, he would
have noticed that from out of the ten or fifteen hammocks that swung
from the beams, there suddenly darted ten or fifteen pairs of legs which
rose to the perpendicular position in order to obtain leverage to "fetch
way."  Instantly thereafter the said legs descended, and where the feet
had been, ten or fifteen heads appeared.  Next moment the men were
"tumbling up" the fore-hatch to the deck, where the watch had already
sprung to the boat-tackles.

"Where away?" sang out Captain Dunning who was among the first on deck.

"Off the weather bow, sir, three points."

"How far?"

"About two miles.  Thar she blows!"

"Call all hands," shouted the captain.

"Starboard watch, ahoy!" roared the mate, in that curious hoarse voice
peculiar to boatswains of men-of-war.  "Tumble up, lads, tumble up!
Whale in sight!  Bear a hand, my hearties!"

The summons was almost unnecessary.  The "starboard watch" was--with the
exception of one or two uncommonly heavy sleepers--already on deck
pulling on its ducks and buckling its belts.

"Thar she breaches, thar she blows!" again came from the crow's-nest in
the voice of a Stentor.

"Well done, Dick Barnes, you're the first to raise the oil," remarked
one of the men, implying by the remark that the said Dick was fortunate
enough to be the first to sight a whale.

"Where away now?" roared the captain, who was in a state of intense
excitement.

"A mile an' a half to leeward, sir."

"Clear away the boats," shouted the captain.

"Masthead, ahoy!  D'ye see that whale now?"

"Ay, ay, sir.  Thar she blows!"

"Bear a hand, my hearties," cried the captain, as the men sprang to the
boats which were swinging at the davits.  "Get your tubs in!  Clear your
falls!  Look alive, lads!  Stand-by to lower!  All ready?"

"All ready, sir."

"Thar she blows!" came again from the masthead with redoubled energy.
"Sperm-whales, sir; there's a school of 'em."

"A _school_ of them!" whispered Ailie, who had left her post at the
mizzen-shrouds, and now stood by her father's side, looking on at the
sudden hubbub in unspeakable amazement.  "Do whales go to school?" she
said, laughing.

"Out of the road, Ailie, my pet," cried her father hastily.  "You'll get
knocked over.  Lower away, lads, lower away!"

Down went the starboard, larboard, and waist-boats as if the falls had
been cut, and almost before you could wink the men literally tumbled
over the side into them, took their places, and seized their oars.

"Here, Glynn, come with me, and I'll show you a thing or two," said the
captain.  "Jump in, lad; look sharp."

Glynn instantly followed his commander into the starboard boat, and took
the aft oar.  Tim Rokens, being the harpooner of that boat, sat at the
bow oar with his harpoons and lances beside him, and the whale-line
coiled in a tub in the boat's head.  The captain steered.

And now commenced a race that taxed the boats' crews to the utmost; for
it is always a matter keenly contested by the different crews, who shall
fix the first harpoon in the whale.  The larboard boat was steered by
Mr Millons, the first mate; the waist-boat by Mr Markham, the second
mate--the latter an active man of about five-and-twenty, whose size and
physical strength were herculean, and whose disposition was somewhat
morose and gloomy.

"Now, lads, give way!  That's it! that's the way.  Bend your backs, now!
_do_ bend your backs," cried the captain, as the three boats sprang from
the ship's side and made towards the nearest whale, with the white foam
curling at their bow.

Several more whales appeared in sight spouting in all directions, and
the men were wild with excitement.

"That's it!  Go it lads!" shouted Mr Millons, as the waist-boat began
to creep ahead.  "Lay it on! give way!  What d'ye say, boys; shall we
beat 'em?"

Captain Dunning stood in the stern-sheets of the starboard boat, almost
dancing with excitement as he heard these words of encouragement.

"Give way, boys!" he cried.  "They can't do it!  That whale's ours--so
it is.  Only bend your backs!  A steady pull!  Pull like steam-tugs!
That's it!  Bend the oars!  Double 'em up!  Smash 'em in bits, _do_!"

Without quite going the length of the captain's last piece of advice,
the men did their work nobly.  They bent their strong backs with a will,
and strained their sinewy arms to the utmost.  Glynn, in particular, to
whom the work was new, and therefore peculiarly exciting and
interesting, almost tore the rowlocks out of the boat in his efforts to
urge it on, and had the oar not been made of the toughest ash, there is
no doubt that he would have obeyed the captain's orders literally and
have smashed it in bits.

On they flew like racehorses.  Now one boat gained an inch on the
others, then it lost ground again as the crew of another put forth
additional energy, and the three danced over the glassy sea as if the
inanimate planks had been suddenly endued with life, and inspired with
the spirit that stirred the men.

A large sperm-whale lay about a quarter of a mile ahead, rolling lazily
in the trough of the sea.  Towards this the starboard boat now pulled
with incredible speed, leaving the other two gradually astern.  A number
of whales rose in various directions.  They had got into the midst of a
shoal, or school of them, as the whale-men term it; and as several of
these were nearer the other boats than the first whale was, they
diverged towards them.

"There go flukes," cried Rokens, as the whale raised its huge tail in
the air and "sounded"--in other words, dived.  For a few minutes the men
lay on their oars, uncertain in what direction the whale would come up
again; but their doubts were speedily removed by its rising within a few
yards of the boat.

"Now, Rokens," cried the captain; "now for it; give him the iron.  Give
way, lads; spring, boys.  Softly now, softly."

In another instant the boat's bow was on the whale's head, and Rokens
buried a harpoon deep in its side.

"Stern all!" thundered the captain.

The men obeyed, and the boat was backed off the whale just in time to
escape the blow of its tremendous flukes as it dived into the sea, the
blue depths of which were instantly dyed red with the blood that flowed
in torrents from the wound.

Down it went, carrying out the line at a rate that caused the chocks
through which it passed to smoke.  In a few minutes the line ceased to
run out, and the whale returned to the surface.  It had scarcely showed
its nose, when the slack of the line was hauled in, and a second harpoon
was fixed in its body.

Infuriated with pain, the mighty fish gave vent to a roar like a bull,
rolled half over, and lashed the sea with his flukes, till, all round
for many yards, it was churned into red slimy foam.  Then he turned
round, and dashed off with the speed of a locomotive engine, tearing the
boat through the waves behind it, the water curling up like a white wall
round the bows.

"She won't stand that long," muttered Glynn Proctor, as he rested on his
oar, and looked over his shoulder at the straining line.

"That she will, boy," said the captain; "and more than that, if need be.
You'll not be long of havin' a chance of greasin' your fingers, I'll
warrant."

In a few minutes the speed began to slacken, and after a time they were
able to haul in on the line.  When the whale again came to the surface,
a third harpoon was cleverly struck into it, and a spout of blood from
its blow-hole showed that it was mortally wounded.  In throwing the
harpoon, Tim Rokens slipped his foot, and went down like a stone
head-foremost into the sea.  He came up again like a cork, and just as
the boat flew past fortunately caught hold of Glynn Proctor's hand.  It
was well that the grasp was a firm one, for the strain on their two arms
was awful.  In another minute Tim was in his place, ready with his lance
to finish off the whale at its next rise.

Up it came again, foaming, breaching, and plunging from wave to wave,
flinging torrents of blood and spray into the air.  At one moment he
reared his blunt gigantic head high above the sea; the next he buried
his vast and quivering carcase deep in the gory brine, carrying down
with him a perfect whirlpool of red foam.  Then he rose again and made
straight for the boat.  Had he known his own power, he might have soon
terminated the battle, and come off the victor, but fortunately he did
not.  Tim Rokens received his blunt nose on the point of his lance, and
drove him back with mingled fury and terror.  Another advance was made,
and a successful lance-thrust delivered.

"That's into his life," cried the captain.

"So it is," replied Rokens.

And so it was.  A vital part had been struck.  For some minutes the huge
leviathan lashed and rolled and tossed in the trembling waves in his
agony, while he spouted up gallons of blood with every throe; then he
rolled over on his back, and lay extended a lifeless mass upon the
waters.

"Now, lads; three cheers for our first whale.  Hip! hip! hip!--"

The cheer that followed was given with all the energy and gusto inspired
by a first victory, and it was repeated again and again, and over again,
before the men felt themselves sufficiently relieved to commence the
somewhat severe and tedious labour of towing the carcase to the ship.

It was a hard pull, for the whale had led them a long chase, and as the
calm continued, those left aboard could not approach to meet the boats.
The exhausted men were cheered, however, on getting aboard late that
night, to find that the other boats had been equally successful, each of
them having captured a sperm-whale.



CHAPTER SIX.

DISAGREEABLE CHANGES--SAGACIOUS CONVERSATIONS, AND A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT.

A striking and by no means a pleasant change took place in the general
appearance of the _Red Eric_ immediately after the successful chase
detailed in the last chapter.

Before the arrival of the whales the decks had been beautifully clean
and white, for Captain Dunning was proud of his ship, and fond of
cleanliness and order.  A few hours after the said arrival the decks
were smeared with grease, oil, and blood, and everything from stem to
stern became from that day filthy and dirty.

This was a sad change to poor Ailie, who had not imagined it possible
that so sudden and disagreeable an alteration could take place.  But
there was no help for it; the duties of the fishery in which they were
engaged required that the whales should not only be caught, but cut up,
boiled down to oil, and stowed away in the hold in casks.

If the scene was changed for the worse a few hours after the cutting-up
operations were begun, it became infinitely more so when the _try-works_
were set going, and the melting-fires were lighted, and huge volumes of
smoke begrimed the masts, and sails, and rigging.  It was vain to think
of clearing up; had they attempted that, the men would have been
over-tasked without any good being accomplished.  There was only one
course open to those who didn't like it, and that was--to "grin and bear
it."

"Cutting out" and "trying in" are the terms used by whale-men to denote
the processes of cutting off the flesh or "blubber" from the whale's
carcase, and reducing it to oil.

At an early hour on the following morning the first of these operations
was commenced.

Ailie went about the decks, looking on with mingled wonder, interest,
and disgust.  She stepped about gingerly, as if afraid of coming in
contact with slimy objects, and with her nose and mouth screwed up after
the fashion of those who are obliged to endure bad smells.  The
expression of her face under the circumstances was amusing.

As for the men, they went about their work with relish, and total
indifference as to consequences.

When the largest whale had been hauled alongside, ropes were attached to
his head and tail, and the former was secured near the stern of the
ship, while the latter was lashed to the bow; the cutting-tackle was
then attached.  This consisted of an arrangement of pulleys depending
from the main-top, with a large blubber-hook at the end thereof.  The
cutting was commenced at the neck, and the hook attached; then the men
hove on the windlass, and while the cutting was continued in a spiral
direction round the whale's body, the tackle raised the mass of flesh
until it reached the fixed blocks above.  This mass, when it could be
hauled up no higher, was then cut off, and stowed away under the name of
a "blanket-piece."  It weighed upwards of a ton.  The hook being lowered
and again attached, the process was continued until the whole was cut
off.  Afterwards, the head was severed from the body and hoisted on
board, in order that the oil contained in the hollow of it might be
baled out.

From the head of the first whale ten barrels of oil were obtained.  The
blubber yielded about eighty barrels.

When the "cutting out" was completed, and the remnants of bone and flesh
were left to the sharks which swarmed round the vessel, revelling in
their unusually rich banquet, the process of "trying in" commenced.
"Trying in" is the term applied to the melting of the fat and the
stowing of it away in barrels in the form of oil; and an uncommonly
dirty process it is.  The large "blanket-pieces" were cut into smaller
portions, and put into the try-pots, which were kept in constant
operation.  At night the ship had all the appearance of a vessel on
fire, and the scene on deck was particularly striking and unearthly.

One night several of the men were grouped on and around the windlass,
chatting, singing, and "spinning yarns."  Ailie Dunning stood near them,
lost in wonder and admiration; for the ears and eyes of the child were
assailed in a manner never before experienced or dreamed of even in the
most romantic mood of cloud-wandering.

It was a very dark night, darker than usual, and not a breath of wind
ruffled the sea, which was like a sheet of undulating glass--for, be it
remembered, there is no such thing at any time as absolute stillness in
the ocean.  At all times, even in the profoundest calm, the long, slow,
gentle swell rises and sinks with unceasing regularity, like the bosom
of a man in deep slumber.

Dense clouds of black smoke and occasional lurid sheets of flame rose
from the try-works, which were situated between the foremast and the
main-hatch.  The tops of the masts were lost in the curling smoke, and
the black waves of the sea gleamed and flashed in the red light all
round the ship.  One man stood in front of the melting-pot, pitching in
pieces of blubber with a two-pronged pitchfork.  Two comrades stood by
the pots, stirring up their contents, and throwing their figures into
wild uncouth attitudes, while the fire glared in their greasy faces, and
converted the front of their entire persons into deep vermilion.

The oil was hissing in the try-pots; the rough weather-beaten faces of
the men on the windlass were smeared, and their dirty-white ducks
saturated, with oil.  The decks were blood-stained; huge masses of flesh
and blubber lay scattered about; sparks flew upwards in splendid showers
as the men raked up the fires; the decks, bulwarks, railings, try-works,
and windlass were covered with oil and slime, and glistening in the red
glare.  It was a terrible, murderous-looking scene, and filled Ailie's
mind with mingled feelings of wonder, disgust, and awe, as she leaned on
a comparatively clean spot near the foremast, listening to the men and
gazing at the rolling smoke and flames.

"Ain't it beautiful?" said a short, fat little seaman named Gurney, who
sat swinging his legs on the end of the windlass, and pointed, as he
spoke, with the head of his pipe to a more than usually brilliant burst
of sparks and flame that issued that moment from the works.

"Beautiful!" exclaimed a long-limbed, shambling fellow named Jim
Scroggles, "why, that ain't the word at all.  Now, I calls it
splendiferous."

Scroggles looked round at his comrades, as if to appeal to their
judgment as to the fitness of the word, but not receiving any
encouragement, he thrust down the glowing tobacco in his pipe with the
end of his little finger, and reiterated the word "splendiferous" with
marked emphasis.

"Did ye ever see that word in Johnson?" inquired Gurney.

"Who's Johnson?" said Scroggles, contemptuously.

"Wot, don't ye know who Johnson is?" cried Gurney, in surprise.

"In course I don't; how should I?" retorted Scroggles.  "There's ever so
many Johnsons in the world; which on 'em all do you mean?"

"Why, I mean Johnson wot wrote the diksh'nary--the great lexikragofer."

"Oh, it's _him_ you mean, is it?  In course I've knowed him ever since I
wos at school."

A general laugh interrupted the speaker.

"At school!" cried Nickel Sling, who approached the group at that moment
with a carving knife in his hand--he seldom went anywhere without an
instrument of office in his hand--"At school!  Wal now, that beats
creation.  If ye wos, I'm sartin ye only larned to forgit all ye orter
to have remembered.  I'd take a bet now, ye wosn't at school as long as
I've been settin' on this here windlass."

"Yer about right, Sling, it 'ud be unpossible for me to be as _long_ as
you anywhere, 'cause everybody knows I'm only five fut two, whereas
you're six fut four!"

"Hear, hear!" shouted Dick Barnes--a man with a huge black beard, who
the reader may perhaps remember was the first to "raise the oil."
"It'll be long before you make another joke like that, Gurney.  Come,
now, give us a song, Gurney, do; there's the cap'n's darter standin' by
the foremast, a-waitin' to hear ye.  Give us `Long, long ago.'"

"Ah! that's it, give us a song," cried the men.  "Come, there's a good
fellow."

"Well, it's so long ago since I sung that song, shipmates," replied
Gurney, "that I've bin and forgot it; but Tim Rokens knows it; where's
Rokens?"

"He's in the watch below."

In sea parlance, the men whose turn it is to take rest after their long
watch on deck are somewhat facetiously said to belong to the "watch
below."

"Ah! that's a pity; so we can't have that 'ere partickler song.  But
I'll give ye another, if ye don't object."

"No, no.  All right; go ahead, Gurney!  Is there a chorus to it?"

"Ay, in course there is.  Wot's a song without a chorus?  Wot's
plum-duff without the plums?  Wot's a ship without a 'elm?  It's my
opinion, shipmates, that a song without a chorus is no better than it
should be.  It's wus nor nothin'.  It puts them wot listens in the blues
an' the man wot sings into the stews--an' sarve him right.  I wouldn't,
no, I wouldn't give the fag-end o' nothin' mixed in bucket o' salt water
for a song without a chorus--that's flat; so here goes."

Having delivered himself of these opinions in an extremely vigorous
manner, and announced the fact that he was about to begin, Gurney
cleared his throat and drew a number of violent puffs from his pipe in
quick succession, in order to kindle that instrument into a glow which
would last through the first verse and the commencement of the chorus.
This he knew was sufficient, for the men, when once fairly started on
the chorus, would infallibly go on to the end with or without his
assistance, and would therefore afford him time for a few restorative
whiffs.

"It hain't got no name, lads."

"Never mind, Gurney--all right--fire away."

  "Oh, I once know'd a man as hadn't got a nose,
  An' this is how he come to hadn't--
  One cold winter night he went and got it froze--
  By the pain he was well-nigh madden'd.
  (_Chorus_.)  Well-nigh madden'd,
  By the pain he was well-nigh madden'd.

  "Next day it swoll up as big as my head,
  An' it turn'd like a piece of putty;
  It kivered up his mouth, oh, yes, so it did,
  So he could not smoke his cutty.
  (_Chorus_.)  Smoke his cutty,
  So he could not smoke his cutty.

  "Next day it grew black, and the next day blue,
  An' tough as a junk of leather;
  (Oh! he yelled, so he did, fit to pierce ye through)--
  An' then it fell off altogether!
  (_Chorus_.)  Fell off altogether,
  An' then it fell off altogether!

  "But the morial is wot you've now got to hear,
  An' it's good--as sure as a gun;
  An' you'll never forget it, my messmates dear,
  For this song it hain't got none!
  (_Chorus_.)  Hain't got none,
  For this song it hain't got none!"

The applause that followed this song was most enthusiastic, and
evidently gratifying to Gurney, who assumed a modest deprecatory air as
he proceeded to light his pipe, which had been allowed to go out at the
third verse, the performer having become so engrossed in his subject as
to have forgotten the interlude of puffs at that point.

"Well sung, Gurney.  Who made it?" inquired Phil Briant, an Irishman,
who, besides being a jack-of-all-trades and an able-bodied seaman, was
at that time acting-assistant to the cook and steward, the latter--a
half Spaniard and half <DW64>, of Californian extraction--being unwell.

"I'm bound not to tell," replied Gurney, with a conscious air.

"Ah, then, yer right, my boy, for it's below the average entirely."

"Come, Phil, none o' yer chaff," cried Dick Barnes, "that song desarves
somethin' arter it.  Suppose now, Phil, that you wos to go below and
fetch the bread-kid."

"Couldn't do it," replied Phil, looking solemn, "on no account wotiver."

"Oh, nonsense, why not?"

"'Cause its unpossible.  Why, if I did, sure that surly compound o' all
sorts o' human blood would pitch into me with the carvin'-knife."

"Who?  Tarquin?" cried Dick Barnes, naming the steward.

"Ay, sure enough that same--Tarquin's his name, an it's kuriously
befittin' the haythen, for of all the cross-grained mixtures o' buffalo,
bear, bandicoot, and crackadile I iver seed, he's out o' sight--"

"Did I hear any one mention my name?" inquired the steward himself who
came aft at that moment.  He was a wild Spanish-like fellow, with a
handsome-enough figure, and a swart countenance that might have been
good-looking but for the thickish lips and nose and the bad temper that
marked it.  Since getting into the tropics, the sailors had modified
their costumes considerably, and as each man had in some particular
allowed himself a slight play of fancy, their appearance, when grouped
together, was varied and picturesque.  Most of them wore no shoes, and
the caps of some were, to say the least, peculiar.  Tarquin wore a
broad-brimmed straw hat, with a conical crown, and a red silk sash tied
round his waist.

"Yes, Tarquin," replied Barnes, "we _wos_ engaged in makin'
free-an'-easy remarks on you; and Phil Briant there gave us to
understand that you wouldn't let us have the bread--kid up.  Now, it's
my opinion you ain't goin' to be so hard on us as that; you will let us
have it up to comfort our hearts on this fine night, won't you?"

The steward, whose green visage showed that he was too ill to enter into
a dispute at that time, turned on his heel and walked aft, remarking
that they might eat the bottom out o' the ship, for all he cared.

"There now, you misbemannered Patlander, go and get it, or we'll throw
you overboard," cried Scroggles, twisting his long limbs awkwardly as he
shifted his position on the windlass.

"Now, then, shipmates, don't go for to ax it," said Briant, remaining
immovable.  "Don't I know wot's best for ye?  Let me spaake to ye now.
Did any of ye iver study midsin?"

"No!" cried several with a laugh.

"Sure I thought not," continued Phil, with a patronising air, "or ye'd
niver ask for the bread--kid out o' saisin.  Now I was in the medical
way meself wance--ay, ye may laugh, but it's thrue--I wos 'prentice to a
'pothecary, an' I've mixed up more midsins than would pisen the whole
popilation of owld Ireland--barrin' the praists, av coorse.  And didn't
I hear the convarse o' all the doctors in the place?  And wasn't the
word always--`Be rigglar with yer mails--don't ait, avic, more nor three
times a day, and not too much, now.  Be sparin'.'"

"Hah! ye long-winded grampus," interrupted Dick Barnes, impatiently.
"An' warn't the doctors right?  Three times a day for sick folk, and six
times--or more--for them wot's well."

"Hear, hear!" cried the others, while two of them seized Briant by the
neck, and thrust him forcibly towards the after-hatch.  "Bring up the
kid, now; an' if ye come without it, look out for squalls."

"Och! worse luck," sighed the misused assistant, as he disappeared.

In a few minutes Phil returned with the kid, which was a species of tray
filled with broken sea-biscuit, which, when afloat, goes by the name of
"bread."

This was eagerly seized, for the appetites of sailors are always sharp,
except immediately after meals.  A quantity of the broken biscuit was
put into a strainer, and fried in whale-oil, and the men sat round the
kid to enjoy their luxurious feast, and relate their adventures--all of
which were more or less marvellous, and many of them undoubtedly true.

The more one travels in this world of ours, and the more one reads of
the adventures of travellers upon whose narratives we can place implicit
confidence, the more we find that men do not now require, as they did of
old, to draw upon their imaginations for marvellous tales of wild,
romantic adventure, in days gone by, travellers were few; foreign lands
were almost unknown.  Not many books were written; and of the few that
were, very few were believed.  In the present day men of undoubted
truthfulness have roamed far and wide over the whole world, their books
are numbered by hundreds, and much that was related by ancient
travellers, but not believed, has now been fully corroborated.  More
than that, it is now known that men have every where received, as true,
statements which modern discovery has proved to be false, and on the
other hand they have often refused to believe what is now ascertained to
be literally true.

We would suggest, in passing, that a lesson might be learned from this
fact--namely, that we ought to receive a statement in regard to a
foreign land, not according to the probability or the improbability of
the statement itself, but according to the credibility of him who makes
it.  Ailie Dunning had a trustful disposition; she acted on neither of
the above principles.  She believed all she heard, poor thing, and
therefore had a head pretty well stored with mingled fact and nonsense.

While the men were engaged with their meal, Dr Hopley came on deck and
found her leaning over the stern, looking down at the waves which shone
with sparkling phosphorescent light.  An almost imperceptible breeze had
sprung up, and the way made by the vessel as she passed through the
water was indicated by a stream of what appeared lambent blue flame.

"Looking at the fish, Ailie, as usual?" said the doctor as he came up.
"What are they saying to you to-night?"

"I'm not looking at the fish," answered Ailie; "I'm looking at the
fire--no, not the fire; papa said it wasn't fire, but it's so like it, I
can scarcely call it anything else.  What _is_ it, doctor?"

"It is called phosphorescence," replied the doctor, leaning over the
bulwarks, and looking down at the fiery serpent that seemed as if it
clung to the ship's rudder.  "But I dare say you don't know what that
means.  You know what fire-flies and glow-worms are?"

"Oh! yes; I've often caught them."

"Well, there are immense numbers of very small and very thin jelly-like
creatures in the sea, so thin and so transparent that they can scarcely
be observed in the water.  These Medusae, as they are called, possess
the power of emitting light similar to that of the fire-fly.  In short,
Ailie, they are the fire-flies and glow-worms of the ocean."

The child listened with wonder, and for some minutes remained silent.
Before she could again speak, there occurred one of those incidents
which are generally spoken of as "most unexpected" and sudden, but
which, nevertheless, are the result of natural causes, and might have
been prevented by means of a little care.

The wind, as we have said, was light, so light that it did not distend
the sails; the boom of the spanker-sail hung over the stern, and the
spanker-braces lay slack along the seat on which Ailie and the doctor
knelt.  A little gust of wind came: it was not strong--a mere puff; but
the man at the wheel was not attending to his duty: the puff, light as
it was, caused the spanker to jibe--that is to fly over from one side of
the ship to the other--the heavy boom passed close over the steersman's
head as he cried, "Look out!"  The braces tautened, and in so doing they
hurled Dr Hopley violently to the deck, and tossed Ailie Dunning over
the bulwarks into the sea.

It happened at that moment that Glynn Proctor chanced to step on deck.

"Hallo! what's wrong?" cried the youth, springing forward, catching the
doctor by the coat, as he was about to spring overboard, and pulling him
violently back, under the impression that he was deranged.

The doctor pointed to the sea, and, with a look of horror, gasped the
word "Ailie."

In an instant Glynn released his hold, plunged over the stern of the
ship, and disappeared in the waves.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE RESCUE--PREPARATIONS FOR A STORM.

It is impossible to convey by means of words an adequate idea of the
terrible excitement and uproar that ensued on board the _Red Eric_ after
the events narrated in the last chapter.  From those on deck who
witnessed the accident there arose a cry so sharp, that it brought the
whole crew from below in an instant.  But there was no confusion.  The
men were well trained.  Each individual knew his post, and whale-men are
accustomed to a sudden and hasty summons.  The peculiarity of the
present one, it is true, told every man in an instant that something was
wrong, but each mechanically sprang to his post, while one or two
shouted to ascertain what had happened, or to explain.

But the moment Captain Dunning's voice was heard there was perfect
silence.

"Clear away the starboard-quarter-boat," he cried, in a deep, firm tone.

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Stand-by the falls--lower away!"

There was no occasion to urge the sailors; they sprang to the work with
the fervid celerity of men who knew that life or death depended on their
speed.  In less time than it takes to relate, the boat was leaping over
the long ocean swell, as it had never yet done in chase of the whale,
and, in a few seconds, passed out of the little circle of light caused
by the fires and into the gloom that surrounded the ship.

The wind had been gradually increasing during all these proceedings, and
although no time had been lost, and the vessel had been immediately
brought up into the wind, Ailie and Glynn were left struggling in the
dark sea a long way behind ere the quarter-boat could be lowered; and
now that it was fairly afloat, there was still the danger of its failing
to hit the right direction of the objects of which it was in search.

After leaping over the stern, Glynn Proctor, the moment he rose to the
surface, gave a quick glance at the ship, to make sure of her exact
position, and then struck out in a straight line astern, for he knew
that wherever Ailie fell, there she would remain struggling until she
sank.  Glynn was a fast and powerful swimmer.  He struck out with
desperate energy, and in a few minutes the ship was out of sight behind
him.  Then he paused suddenly, and letting his feet sink until he
attained an upright position, trod the water and raised himself
breast-high above the surface, at the same time listening intently, for
he began to fear that he might have overshot his mark.  No sound met his
straining ear save the sighing of the breeze and the ripple of the water
as it lapped against his chest.  It was too dark to see more than a few
yards in any direction.

Glynn knew that each moment lost rendered his chance of saving the child
terribly slight.  He shouted "Ailie!" in a loud, agonising cry, and swam
forward again with redoubled energy, continuing the cry from time to
time, and raising himself occasionally to look round him.  The
excitement of his mind, and the intensity with which it was bent on the
one great object, rendered him at first almost unobservant of the flight
of time.  But suddenly the thought burst upon him that fully ten minutes
or a quarter of an hour had elapsed since Ailie fell overboard, and that
no one who could not swim could exist for half that time in deep water.
He shrieked with agony at the thought, and, fancying that he must have
passed the child, he turned round and swam desperately towards the point
where he supposed the ship lay.  Then he thought, "What if I have turned
just as I was coming up with her?"  So he turned about again, but as the
hopelessness of his efforts once more occurred to him, he lost all
presence of mind, and began to shout furiously, and to strike out wildly
in all directions.

In the midst of his mad struggles his hand struck an object floating
near him.  Instantly he felt his arm convulsively grasped, and the next
moment he was seized round the neck in a gripe so violent that it almost
choked him.  He sank at once, and the instinct of self-preservation
restored his presence of mind.  With a powerful effort he tore Ailie
from her grasp, and quickly raised himself to the surface, where he swam
gently with his left hand, and held the struggling child at arm's-length
with his right.

The joy caused by the knowledge that she had still life to struggle
infused new energy into Glynn's well-nigh exhausted frame, and he
assumed as calm and cheerful a tone as was possible under the
circumstances when he exclaimed--"Ailie, Ailie, don't struggle, dear,
I'll save you _if you keep quiet_."

Ailie was quiet in a moment.  She felt in the terror of her young heart
an almost irresistible desire to clutch at Glynn's neck; but the
well-known voice reassured her, and her natural tendency to place blind,
implicit confidence in others, served her in this hour of need, for she
obeyed his injunctions at once.

"Now, dear," said Glynn, with nervous rapidity, "don't grasp me, else we
shall sink.  Trust me.  _I'll never let you go_.  Will you trust me?"

Ailie gazed wildly at her deliverer through her wet and tangled tresses,
and with great difficulty gasped the word "Yes," while she clenched the
garments on her labouring bosom with her little hands, as if to show her
determination to do as she was bid.

Glynn at once drew her towards him and rested her head on his shoulder.
The child gave vent to a deep, broken sigh of relief, and threw her
right arm round his neck, but the single word "Ailie," uttered in a
remonstrative tone, caused her to draw it quickly back and again grasp
her breast.

All this time Glynn had been supporting himself by that process
well-known to swimmers as "treading water," and had been so intent upon
his purpose of securing the child, that he failed to observe the light
of a lantern gleaming in the far distance on the sea, as the boat went
ploughing hither and thither, the men almost breaking the oars in their
desperate haste, and the captain standing in the stern-sheets, pale as
death, holding the light high over his head, and gazing with a look of
unutterable agony into the surrounding gloom.

Glynn now saw the distant light, and exerting his voice to the utmost,
gave vent to a prolonged cry.  Ailie looked up in her companion's face
while he listened intently.  The moving light became stationary for a
moment, and a faint reply floated back to them over the waves.  Again
Glynn raised his voice to the utmost, and the cheer that came back told
him that he had been heard.

But the very feeling of relief at the prospect of immediate deliverance
had well-nigh proved fatal to them both; for Glynn experienced a sudden
relaxation of his whole system, and he felt as if he could not support
himself and his burden a minute longer.

"Ailie," he said faintly but quickly, "we shall be saved if you obey at
_once_; if not, we shall be drowned.  Lay your two hands on my breast,
and let yourself sink _down to the very lips_."

Glynn turned on his back as he spoke, spread out his arms and legs to
their full extent, let his head fall back, until it sank, leaving only
his lips, nose, and chin above water, and lay as motionless as if he had
been dead.  And now came poor Ailie's severest trial.  When she allowed
herself to sink, and felt the water rising about her ears, and lipping
round her mouth, terror again seized upon her; but she felt Glynn's
breast heaving under her hands, so she raised her eyes to heaven and
prayed silently to Him who is the only true deliverer from dangers.  Her
self-possession was restored, and soon she observed the boat bearing
down on the spot, and heard the men as they shouted to attract
attention.

Ailie tried to reply, but her tiny voice was gone, and her soul was
filled with horror as she saw the boat about to pass on.  In her agony
she began to struggle.  This roused Glynn, who had rested sufficiently
to have recovered a slight degree of strength.  He immediately raised
his head, and uttered a wild cry as he grasped Ailie again with his arm.

The rowers paused; the light of the lantern gleamed over the sea, and
fell upon the spray tossed up by Glynn.  Next moment the boat swept up
to them--and they were saved.

The scene that followed baffles all description.  Captain Dunning fell
on his knees beside Ailie, who was too much exhausted to speak, and
thanked God, in the name of Jesus Christ, again and again for her
deliverance.  A few of the men shouted; others laughed hysterically; and
some wept freely as they crowded round their shipmate, who, although
able to sit up, could not speak except in disjointed sentences.  Glynn,
however, recovered quickly, and even tried to warm himself by pulling an
oar before they regained the ship, but Ailie remained in a state of
partial stupor, and was finally carried on board and down into the
cabin, and put between warm blankets by her father and Dr Hopley.

Meanwhile, Glynn was hurried forward, and dragged down into the
forecastle by the whole crew, who seemed unable to contain themselves
for joy, and expressed their feelings in ways that would have been
deemed rather absurd on ordinary occasions.

"Change yer clo's, avic, at wance," cried Phil Briant, who was the most
officious and violent in his offers of assistance to Glynn.  "Och! but
it's wet ye are, darlin'.  Give me a howld."

This last request had reference to the right leg of Glynn's trousers,
which happened to be blue cloth of a rather thin quality, and which
therefore clung to his limbs with such tenacity that it was a matter of
the utmost difficulty to get them off.

"That's your sort, Phil--a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all
together," cried Dick Barnes, hurrying forward, with a bundle of
garments in his arms.  "Here's dry clo's for him."

"Have a care, Phil," shouted Gurney, who stood behind Glynn and held him
by the shoulders; "it'll give way."

"Niver a taste," replied the reckless Irishman.  But the result proved
that Gurney was right, for the words had scarce escaped his lips when
the garment parted at the knee, and Phil Briant went crashing back among
a heap of tin pannikins, pewter plates, blocks, and cordage.  A burst of
laughter followed, of course, but the men's spirits were too much roused
to be satisfied with this, so they converted the laugh into a howl, and
prolonged it into a cheer; as if their comrade had successfully
performed a difficult and praiseworthy deed.

"Hold on, lads," cried Glynn.  "I'm used up, I can't stand it."

"Here you are," shouted Nickel Sling, pushing the men violently aside,
and holding a steaming tumbler of hot brandy-and-water under Glynn's
nose.  "Down with it; that's the stuff to get up the steam fit to bust
yer biler, I calc'late."

The men looked on for a moment in silence, while Glynn drank, as if they
expected some remarkable chemical change to take place in his
constitution.

"Och! ain't it swate?" inquired Phil Briant, who, having gathered
himself up, now stood rubbing his shoulder with the fragment of the
riven garment.  "Av I wasn't a taytotaler, it's meself would like some
of that same."

In a few minutes our hero was divested of his wet garments, rubbed
perfectly dry by his kind messmates, and clad in dry costume, after
which he felt almost as well as if nothing unusual had happened to him.
The men meanwhile cut their jokes at him or at each other as they stood
round and watched, assisted, or retarded the process.  As for Tim
Rokens, who had been in the boat and witnessed the rescue, he stood
gazing steadfastly at Glynn without uttering a word, keeping his thumbs
the while hooked in the arm-holes of his vest, and his legs very much
apart.  By degrees--as he thought on what had passed, and the narrow
escape poor little Ailie had had, and the captain's tears, things he had
never seen the captain shed before and had not believed the captain to
have possessed--as he pondered these things, we say, his knotty visage
began to work, and his cast-iron chin began to quiver, and his shaggy
brows contracted, and his nose, besides becoming purple, began to twist,
as if it were an independent member of his face, and he came, in short,
to that climax which is familiarly expressed by the words "bursting into
tears."

But if anybody thinks the act, on the part of Tim Rokens, bore the
smallest resemblance to the generally received idea of that sorrowful
affection, "anybody," we take leave to tell him, is very much mistaken.
The bold harpooner did it thus--he suddenly unhooked his right hand from
the arm-hole of his vest, and gave his right thigh a slap which produced
a crack that would have made a small pistol envious; then he uttered a
succession of ferocious roars, that might have quite well indicated
pain, or grief, or madness, or a drunken cheer, and, un-hooking the left
hand, he doubled himself up, and thrust both knuckles into his eyes.
The knuckles were wet when he pulled them out of his eyes, but he dried
them on his pantaloons, bolted up the hatchway, and rushing up to the
man at the wheel, demanded in a voice of thunder--"How's 'er head?"

"Sou'-sou'-east-and-by-east," replied the man, in some surprise.

"Sou'-sou'-east-and-by-east!" repeated Mr Rokens, in a savage growl of
authority, as if he were nothing less than the admiral of the Channel
Fleet.  "That's two points and a half off yer course, sir.  Luff, luff,
you--you--"

At this point Tim Rokens turned on his heel, and began to walk up and
down the deck as calmly as if nothing whatever had occurred to disturb
his equanimity.

"The captain wants Glynn Proctor," said the second mate, looking down
the fore-hatch.

"Ay, ay, sir," answered Glynn, ascending, and going aft.

"Ailie wants to see you, Glynn, my boy," said Captain Dunning, as the
former entered the cabin; "and I want to speak to you myself--to thank
you Glynn.  Ah, lad! you can't know what a father's heart feels when--Go
to her, boy."  He grasped the youth's hand, and gave it a squeeze that
revealed infinitely more of his feelings than could have been done by
words.

Glynn returned the squeeze, and opening the door of Ailie's private
cabin, entered and sat down beside her crib.

"Oh, Glynn, I want to speak to you; I want to thank you.  I love you so
much for jumping into the sea after me," began the child, eagerly, and
raising herself on one elbow while she held out her hand.

"Ailie," interrupted Glynn, taking her hand, and holding up his finger
to impose silence, "you obeyed me _in_ the water, and now I insist on
your obedience _out_ of the water.  If you don't, I'll leave you.
You're still too weak to toss about and speak loud in this way.  Lie
down, my pet."

Glynn kissed her forehead, and forced her gently back on the pillow.

"Well, I'll be good, but don't leave me yet, Glynn.  I'm much better.
Indeed, I feel quite strong.  Oh! it was good of you--"

"There you go again."

"I love you," said Ailie.

"I've no objection to that," replied Glynn, "but don't excite yourself.
But tell me, Ailie, how was it that you managed to keep afloat so long?
The more I think of it the more I am filled with amazement, and, in
fact, I'm half inclined to think that God worked a miracle in order to
save you."

"I don't know," said Ailie, looking very grave and earnest, as she
always did when our Maker's name happened to be mentioned.  "Does God
work miracles still?"

"Men say not," replied Glynn.

"I'm sure I don't quite understand what a miracle is," continued Ailie,
"although Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane have often tried to explain it to
me.  Is floating on your back a miracle?"

"No," said Glynn, laughing; "it isn't."

"Well, that's the way I was saved.  You know, ever since I can remember,
I have bathed with Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane, and they taught me how to
float--and it's so nice, you can't think how nice it is--and I can do it
so easily now, that I never get frightened.  But, oh!--when I was tossed
over the side of the ship into the sea I _was_ frightened just.  I don't
think I _ever_ got such a fright.  And I splashed about for some time,
and swallowed some water, but I got upon my back somehow.  I can't tell
how it was, for I was too frightened to try to do anything.  But when I
found myself floating as I used to do long ago, I felt my fear go away a
little, and I shut my eyes and prayed, and then it went away altogether;
and I felt quite sure you would come to save me, and you _did_ come,
Glynn, and I know it was God who sent you.  But I became a good deal
frightened again when I thought of the sharks, and--"

"Now, Ailie, stop!" said Glynn.  "You're forgetting your promise, and
exciting yourself again."

"So she is, and I must order you out, Master Glynn," said the doctor,
opening the door, and entering at that moment.

Glynn rose, patted the child's head, and nodded cheerfully as he left
the little cabin.

The captain caught him as he passed, and began to reiterate his thanks,
when their conversation was interrupted by the voice of Mr Millons, who
put his head in at the skylight and said--"Squall coming, sir, I think."

"So, so," cried the captain, running upon deck.  "I've been looking for
it.  Call all hands, Mr Millons, and take in sail--every rag, except
the storm-trysails."

Glynn hurried forward, and in a few minutes every man was at his post.
The sails were furled, and every preparation made for a severe squall;
for Captain Dunning knew that that part of the coast of Africa off which
the _Red Eric_ was then sailing was subject to sudden squalls, which,
though usually of short duration, were sometimes terrific in their
violence.

"Is everything snug, Mr Millons?"

"All snug, sir."

"Then let the men stand-by till it's over."

The night had grown intensely dark, but away on the starboard-quarter
the heavens appeared of an ebony blackness that was quite appalling.
This appearance, that rose on the sky like a shroud of crape, quickly
spread upwards until it reached the zenith.  Then a few gleams of light
seemed to illuminate it very faintly, and a distant hissing noise was
heard.

A dead calm surrounded the ship, which lay like a log on the water, and
the crew, knowing that nothing more could be done in the way of
preparation, awaited the bursting of the storm with uneasy feelings.  In
a few minutes its distant roar was heard,--like muttered thunder.  On it
came, with a steady continuous roar, as if chaos were about to be
restored, and the crashing wreck of elements were being hurled in mad
fury against the yet unshattered portions of creation.  Another second,
and the ship was on her beam-ends, and the sea and sky were white as
milk as the wind tore up the waves and beat them flat, and whirled away
broad sheets of driving foam.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE STORM, AND ITS RESULTS.

Although the _Red Eric_ was thrown on her beam-ends, or nearly so, by
the excessive violence of the squall, the preparations to meet it had
been so well made that she righted again almost immediately, and now
flew before the wind under bare poles with a velocity that was
absolutely terrific.

Ailie had been nearly thrown out of her berth when the ship lay over,
and now when she listened to the water hissing and gurgling past the
little port that lighted her cabin, and felt the staggering of the
vessel, as burst after burst of the hurricane almost tore the masts out
of her, she lay trembling with anxiety and debating with herself whether
or not she ought to rise and go on deck.

Captain Dunning well knew that his child would be naturally filled with
fear, for this was the first severe squall she had ever experienced, so,
as he could not quit the deck himself, he called Glynn Proctor to him
and sent him down with a message.

"Well, Ailie," said Glynn, cheerfully, as he opened the door and peeped
in; "how d'ye get on, dear?  The captain has sent me to say that the
worst o' this blast is over, and you've nothing to fear."

"I am glad to hear that, Glynn," replied the child, holding out her
hand, while a smile lighted up her face and smoothed out the lines of
anxiety from her brow.  "Come and sit by me, Glynn, and tell me what
like it is.  I wish so much that I had been on deck.  Was it grand,
Glynn?"

"It was uncommonly grand; it was even terrible--but I cannot sit with
you more than a minute, else my shipmates will say that I'm skulking."

"Skulking, Glynn!  What is that?"

"Why, it's--it's shirking work, you know," said Glynn, somewhat puzzled.

Ailie laughed.  "But you forget that I don't know what `shirking' means.
You must explain that too."

"How terribly green you are, Ailie."

"No! am I?" exclaimed the child in some surprise.  "What _can_ have done
it?  I'm not sick."

Glynn laughed outright at this, and then proceeded to explain the
meaning of the slang phraseology he had used.  "Green, you must know,
means ignorant," he began.

"How funny!  I wonder why."

"Well, I don't know exactly.  Perhaps it's because when a fellow's asked
to answer questions he don't understand, he's apt to turn either blue
with rage or yellow with fear--or both; and that, you know, would make
him green.  I've heard it said that it implies a comparison of men to
plants--very young ones, you know, that are just up, just born, as it
were, and have not had much experience of life, are green of course--but
I like my own definition best."

It may perhaps be scarcely necessary to remark that our hero was by no
means singular in this little preference of his own definition to that
of any one else!

"Well, and what does skulking mean, and shirking work?" persisted Ailie.

"It means hiding so as to escape duty, my little catechist; but--"

"Hallo!  Glynn, Glynn Proctor," roared the first mate from the
deck--"where's that fellow?  Skulking, I'll be bound.  Lay aloft there
and shake out the foretopsail.  Look alive."

"Ay, ay, sir," was the ready response as the men sprang to obey.

"There, you have it now, Ailie, explained and illustrated," cried Glynn,
starting up.  "Here I am, at this minute in a snug, dry berth chatting
to you, and in half a minute more I'll be out on the end o' the foreyard
holding on for bare life, with the wind fit to tear off my jacket and
blow my ducks into ribbons, and the rain and spray dashing all over me
fit to blot me out altogether.  There's a pretty little idea to turn
over in your mind, Ailie, while I'm away."

Glynn closed the door at the last word, and, as he had prophesied, was,
within half a minute, in the unenviable position above referred to.

The force of the squall was already broken, and the men were busy
setting close-reefed topsails, but the rain that followed the squall bid
fair to "blot them out," as Glynn said, altogether.  It came down, not
in drops, but in masses, which were caught up by the fierce gale and
mingled with the spray, and hurled about and on with such violent
confusion, that it seemed as though the whole creation were converted
into wind and water, and had engaged in a war of extermination, the
central turmoil of which was the _Red Eric_.

But the good ship held on nobly.  Although not a fast sailer she was an
excellent sea-boat, and danced on the billows like a sea-mew.  The
squall, however, was not over.  Before the topsails had been set many
minutes it burst on them again with redoubled fury, and the main-topsail
was instantly blown into ribbons.  Glynn and his comrades were once more
ordered aloft to furl the remaining sails, but before this could be done
the foretopmast was carried away, and in falling it tore away the
jib-boom also.  At the same moment a tremendous sea came rolling on
astern; in the uncertain light it looked like a dark moving mountain
that was about to fall on them.

"Luff, luff a little--steady!" roared the captain, who saw the summit of
the wave toppling over the stern, and who fully appreciated the danger
of being "pooped," which means having a wave launched upon the
quarterdeck.

"Steady it is," replied the steersman.

"Look out!" shouted the captain and several of the men, simultaneously.

Every one seized hold of whatever firm object chanced to be within
reach; next moment the black billow fell like an avalanche on the poop,
and rushing along the decks, swept the waist-boat and all the loose
spars into the sea.  The ship staggered under the shock, and it seemed
to every one on deck that she must inevitably founder; but in a few
seconds she recovered, the water gushed from the scuppers and sides in
cataracts, and once more they drove swiftly before the gale.

In about twenty minutes the wind moderated, and while some of the men
went aloft to clear away the wreck of the topsails and make all snug,
others went below to put on dry garments.

"That was a narrow escape, Mr Millons," remarked the captain, as he
stood by the starboard-rails.

"It was, sir," replied the mate.  "It's a good job too, sir, that none
o' the 'ands were washed overboard."

"It is, indeed, Mr Millons; we've reason to be thankful for that; but
I'm sorry to see that we've lost our waist-boat."

"We've lost our spare sticks, sir," said the mate, with a lugubrious
face, while he wrung the brine out of his hair; "and I fear we've
nothink left fit to make a noo foretopmast or a jib-boom."

"True, Mr Millons; we shall have to run to the nearest port on the
African coast to refit; luckily we are not very far from it.  Meanwhile,
tell Mr Markham to try the well; it is possible that we may have sprung
a leak in all this straining, and see that the wreck of the foretopmast
is cleared away.  I shall go below and consult the chart; if any change
in the weather takes place, call me at once."

"Yes, sir," answered the mate, as he placed his hand to windward of his
mouth, in order to give full force to the terrific tones in which he
proceeded to issue his captain's commands.

Captain Dunning went below, and looking into Ailie's berth, nodded his
wet head several times, and smiled with his damp visage benignly--which
acts, however well meant and kindly they might be, were, under the
circumstances, quite unnecessary, seeing that the child was sound
asleep.  The captain then dried his head and face with a towel about as
rough as the mainsail of a seventy-four, and with a violence that would
have rubbed the paint off the figurehead of the _Red Eric_.  Then he sat
down to his chart, and having pondered over it for some minutes, he went
to the foot of the companion-ladder and roared up--"Lay the course
nor'-nor'-east-and-by-nor'-half-nor', Mr Millons."

To which Mr Millons replied in an ordinary tone, "Ay, ay, sir," and
then roared--"Lay her head nor'-nor'-east-and-by-nor'-half-nor'," in an
unnecessarily loud and terribly fierce tone of voice to the steersman,
as if that individual were in the habit of neglecting to obey orders,
and required to be perpetually threatened in what may be called a tone
of implication.

The steersman answered in what, to a landsman, would have
sounded as a rather amiable and forgiving tone of
voice--"Nor'-nor'-east-and-by-nor'-half-nor' it is, sir;" and thereupon
the direction of the ship's head was changed, and the _Red Eric_,
according to Tim Rokens, "bowled along" with a stiff breeze on the
quarter, at the rate of ten knots, for the west coast of Africa.



CHAPTER NINE.

RAMBLES ON SHORE, AND STRANGE THINGS AND CEREMONIES WITNESSED THERE.

Variety is charming.  No one laying claim to the smallest amount of that
very uncommon attribute, common-sense, will venture to question the
truth of that statement.  Variety is so charming that men and women,
boys and girls, are always, all of them, hunting after it.  To speak
still more emphatically on this subject, we venture to affirm that it is
an absolute necessity of animal nature.  Were any positive and
short-sighted individual to deny this position, and sit down during the
remainder of his life in a chair and look straight before him, in order
to prove that he could live without variety, he would seek it in change
of position.  If he did not do that, he would seek it in change of
thought.  If he did not do _that_, he would die!

Fully appreciating this great principle of our nature, and desiring to
be charmed with a little variety, Tim Rokens and Phil Briant presented
themselves before Captain Dunning one morning about a week after the
storm, and asked leave to go ashore.  The reader may at first think the
men were mad, but he will change his opinion when we tell him that four
days after the storm in question the _Red Eric_ had anchored in the
harbour formed by the mouth of one of the rivers on the African coast,
where white men trade with the natives for bar-wood and ivory, and where
they also carry on that horrible traffic in <DW64>s, the existence of
which is a foul disgrace to humanity.

"Go ashore!" echoed Captain Dunning.  "Why, if you all go on at this
rate, we'll never get ready for sea.  However, you may go, but don't
wander too far into the interior, and look out for elephants and wild
men o' the woods, boys--keep about the settlements."

"Ay, ay, sir, and thank'ee," replied the two men, touching their caps as
they retired.

"Please, sir, I want to go too," said Glynn Proctor, approaching the
captain.

"What! more wanting to go ashore?"

"Yes, and so do I," cried Ailie, running forward and clasping her
father's rough hand; "I did enjoy myself _so_ much yesterday, that I
must go on shore again to-day, and I must go with Glynn.  He'll take
such famous care of me; now _won't_ you let me go, papa?"

"Upon my word, this looks like preconcerted mutiny.  However, I don't
mind if I do let you go, but have a care, Glynn, that you don't lose
sight of her for a moment, and keep to the shore and the settlements.
I've no notion of allowing her to be swallowed by an alligator, or
trampled on by an elephant, or run away with by a gorilla."

"Never fear, sir.  You may trust me; I'll take good care of her."

With a shout of delight the child ran down to the cabin to put on her
bonnet, and quickly reappeared, carrying in her hand a basket which she
purposed to fill with a valuable collection of plants, minerals and
insects.  These she meant to preserve and carry home as a surprise to
aunts Martha and Jane, both of whom were passionately fond of
mineralogy, delighted in botany, luxuriated in entomology, doted on
conchology, and raved about geology--all of which sciences they studied
superficially, and specimens of which they collected and labelled
beautifully, and stowed away carefully in a little cabinet, which they
termed (not jocularly, but seriously) their "Bureau of Omnology."

It was a magnificent tropical morning when the boat left the side of the
_Red Eric_ and landed Glynn and Ailie, Tim Rokens and Phil Briant on the
wharf that ran out from the yellow beach of the harbour in which their
vessel lay.  The sun had just risen.  The air was cool (comparatively)
and motionless, so that the ocean lay spread out like a pure mirror, and
revealed its treasures and mysteries to a depth of many fathoms.  The
sky was intensely blue and the sun intensely bright, while the
atmosphere was laden with the delightful perfume of the woods--a perfume
that is sweet and pleasant to those long used to it, how much more
enchanting to nostrils rendered delicately sensitive by long exposure to
the scentless gales of ocean?

One of the sailors who had shown symptoms of weakness in the chest
during the voyage, had begged to be discharged and left ashore at this
place.  He could ill be spared, but as he was fit for nothing, the
captain agreed to his request, and resolved to procure a <DW64> to act as
cook's assistant in the place of Phil Briant, who was too useful a man
to remain in so subordinate a capacity.  The sick man was therefore sent
on shore in charge of Tim Rokens.

On landing they were met by a Portuguese slave-dealer, an American
trader, a dozen or two partially-clothed <DW64>s, and a large concourse
of utterly naked little <DW64> children, who proved to demonstration that
they were of the same nature and spirit with white children, despite the
colour of their skins, by taking intense delight in all the amusements
practised by the fair-skinned juveniles of more northern lands--namely
scampering after each other, running and yelling, indulging in mischief,
spluttering in the waters, rolling on the sand, staring at the
strangers, making impudent remarks, and punching each other's heads.

If the youth of America ever wish to prove that they are of a distinct
race from the sable sons of Africa, their only chance is to become
paragons of perfection, and give up _all_ their wicked ways.

"Oh!" exclaimed Ailie, half amused, half frightened, as Glynn lifted her
out of the boat; "oh! how funny!  Don't they look so _very_ like as if
they were all painted black?"

"Good-day to you, gentlemen," cried the trader, as he approached the
landing.  "Got your foretop damaged, I see.  Plenty of sticks here to
mend it.  Be glad to assist you in any way I can.  Was away in the woods
when you arrived, else I'd have come to offer sooner."

The trader, who was a tall, sallow man in a blue cotton shirt, sailor's
trousers, and a broad-brimmed straw hat, addressed himself to Glynn,
whose gentlemanly manner led him to believe he was in command of the
party.

"Thank you," replied Glynn, "we've got a little damage--lost a good
boat, too; but we'll soon repair the mast.  We have come ashore just
now, however, mainly for a stroll."

"Ay," put in Phil Briant, who was amusing the black children--and
greatly delighting himself by nodding and smiling ferociously at them,
with a view to making a favourable impression on the natives of this new
country.  "Ay, sir, an' sure we've comed to land a sick shipmate who
wants to see the doctor uncommon.  Have ye sich an article in these
parts?"

"No, not exactly," replied the trader, "but I do a little in that way
myself; perhaps I may manage to cure him if he comes up to my house."

"We wants a <DW65> too," said Rokens, who, while the others were
talking, was extremely busy filling his pipe.

At this remark the trader looked knowing.

"Oh!" he said, "that's your game, is it?  There's your man there; I've
nothing to do with such wares."

He pointed to the Portuguese slave-dealer as he spoke.

Seeing himself thus referred to, the slave-dealer came forward, hat in
hand, and made a polite bow.  He was a man of extremely forbidding
aspect.  A long dark visage, which terminated in a black peaked beard,
and was surmounted by a tall-crowned broad-brimmed straw hat, stood on
the top of a long, raw-boned, thin, sinewy, shrivelled, but powerful
frame, that had battled with and defeated all the fevers and other
diseases peculiar to the equatorial regions of Africa.  He wore a short
light- cotton jacket and pantaloons--the latter much too short
for his limbs, but the deficiency was more than made up by a pair of
Wellington boots.  His natural look was a scowl.  His assumed smile of
politeness was so unnatural, that Tim Rokens thought, as he gazed at
him, he would have preferred greatly to have been frowned at by him.
Even Ailie, who did not naturally think ill of any one, shrank back as
he approached and grasped Glynn's hand more firmly than usual.

"Goot morning, gentl'm'n.  You was vish for git <DW65>, I suppose."

"Well, we wos," replied Tim, with a faint touch of sarcasm in his tone.
"Can _you_ get un for us?"

"Yees, sare, as many you please," replied the slave-dealer, with a wink
that an ogre might have envied.  "Have great many ob 'em stay vid me
always."

"Ah! then, they must be fond o' bad company," remarked Briant, in an
undertone, "to live along wid such a alligator."

"Well, then," said Tim Rokens, who had completed the filling of his
pipe, and was now in the full enjoyment of it; "let's see the feller,
an' I'll strike a bargain with him, if he seems a likely chap."

"You will have strike de bargin vid _me_," said the dealer.  "I vill
charge you ver' leetle, suppose you take full cargo."

The whole party, who were ignorant of the man's profession, started at
this remark, and looked at the dealer in surprise.

"Wot!" exclaimed Tim Rokens, withdrawing his pipe from his lips; "do you
_sell_ <DW65>s?"

"Yees, to be surely," replied the man, with a peculiarly saturnine
smile.

"A slave-dealer?" exclaimed Briant, clenching his fists.

"Even so, sare."

At this Briant uttered a shout, and throwing forward his clenched fists
in a defiant attitude, exclaimed between his set teeth--

"Arrah! come on!"

Most men have peculiarities.  Phil Briant had many; but his most
striking peculiarity, and that which led him frequently into extremely
awkward positions, was a firm belief that his special calling--in an
amateur point of view--was the redressing of wrongs--not wrongs of a
particular class, or wrongs of an excessively glaring and offensive
nature, but _all_ wrongs whatsoever.  It mattered not to Phil whether
the wrong had to be righted by force of argument or force of arms.  He
considered himself an accomplished practitioner in both lines of
business--and in regard to the latter his estimate of his powers was not
very much too high, for he was a broad-shouldered, deep-chested,
long-armed fellow, and had acquired a scientific knowledge of boxing
under a celebrated bruiser at the expense of a few hard-earned
shillings, an occasional bottle of poteen, and many a severe thrashing.

Justice to Phil's amiability of character requires, however, that we
should state that he never sought to terminate an argument with his
fists unless he was invited to do so, and even then he invariably gave
his rash challenger fair warning, and offered to let him retreat if so
disposed.  But when injustice met his eye, or when he happened to see
cruelty practised by the strong against the weak, his blood fired at
once, and he only deigned the short emphatic remark--"Come on,"
sometimes preceded by "Arrah!" sometimes not.  Generally speaking, he
accepted his own challenge, and _went_ on forthwith.

Of all the iniquities that draw forth the groans of humanity on this sad
earth, slavery, in the opinion of Phil Briant, was the worst.  He had
never come in contact with it, not having been in the Southern States of
America.  He knew from hearsay that the coast of Africa was its
fountain, but he had forgotten the fact, and in the novelty of the scene
before him, it did not at first occur to him that he was actually face
to face with a "live slave-dealer."

"Let me go!" roared the Irishman, as he struggled in the iron grip of
Tim Rokens; and the not less powerful grasp of Glynn Proctor.  "Och! let
me go!  _Doo_, darlints.  I'll only give him wan--jist _wan_!  Let me
go, will ye?"

"Not if I can help it," said Glynn, tightening his grasp.

"Wot a cross helephant it is," muttered Rokens, as he thrust his hand
into his comrade's neckcloth and quietly began to choke him as he
dragged him away towards the residence of the trader, who was an amused
as well as surprised spectator of this unexpected ebullition of passion.

At length Phil Briant allowed himself to be forced away from the beach
where the slave-dealer stood with his arms crossed on his breast, and a
sarcastic smile playing on his thin lips.  Had that Portuguese
trafficker in human flesh known how quickly Briant could have doubled
the size of his long nose and shut up both his eyes, he would probably
have modified the expression of his countenance; but he didn't know it,
so he looked after the party until they had entered the dwelling of the
trader, and then sauntered up towards the woods, which in this place
came down to within a few yards of the beach.

The settlement was a mere collection of rudely-constructed native huts,
built of bamboos and roofed with a thatch of palm-leaves.  In the midst
of it stood a pretty white-painted cottage with green-edged windows and
doors, and a verandah in front.  This was the dwelling of the trader;
and alongside of it, under the same roof, was the store, in which were
kept the guns, beads, powder and shot, etcetera, etcetera, which he
exchanged with the natives of the interior for elephants' tusks and
bar-wood, from which latter a beautiful dye is obtained; also ebony,
indiarubber, and other products of the country.

Here the trader entertained Tim Rokens and Phil Briant with stories of
the slave-trade; and here we shall leave them while we follow Glynn and
Ailie, who went off together to ramble along the shore of the calm sea.

They had not gone far when specimens of the strange creatures that dwell
in these lands presented themselves to their astonished gaze.  There
were birds innumerable on the shore, on the surface of the ocean, and in
the woods.  The air was alive with them; many being similar to the birds
they had been familiar with from infancy, while others were new and
strange.

To her immense delight Ailie saw many living specimens of the
bird-of-paradise, the graceful plumes of which she had frequently beheld
on very high and important festal occasions, nodding on the heads of
Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane.  But the prettiest of all the birds she saw
there was a small creature with a breast so red and bright, that it
seemed, as it flew about, like a little ball of fire.  There were many
of them flying about near a steep bank, in holes of which they built
their nests.  She observed that they fed upon flies which they caught
while skimming through the air, and afterwards learned that they were
called bee-eaters.

"Oh! look!" exclaimed Ailie in that tone of voice which indicated that a
surprising discovery had been made.  Ailie was impulsive, and the
_tones_ in which she exclaimed "Oh!" were so varied, emphatic, and
distinct, that those who knew her well could tell exactly the state of
her mind on hearing the exclamation.  At present, her "Oh!" indicated
surprise mingled with alarm.

"Eh! what, where?" cried Glynn, throwing forward his musket--for he had
taken the precaution to carry one with him, not knowing what he might
meet with on such a coast.

"The snake! look--oh!"

At that moment a huge black snake, about ten feet long, showed itself in
the grass.  Glynn took aim at once, but the piece, being an old
flint-lock, missed fire.  Before he could again take aim the
loathsome-looking reptile had glided into the underwood, which in most
places was so overgrown with the rank and gigantic vegetation of the
tropics as to be quite impenetrable.

"Ha! he's gone, Ailie!" cried Glynn, in a tone of disappointment, as he
put fresh priming into the pan of his piece.  "We must be careful in
walking here, it seems.  This wretched old musket!  Lucky for us that
our lives did not depend on it.  I wonder if it was a poisonous
serpent?"

"Perhaps it was," said Ailie, with a look of deep solemnity, as she took
her companion's left hand, and trotted along by his side.  "Are not all
serpents poisonous?"

"Oh dear, no.  Why, there are some kinds that are quite harmless.  But
as I don't know which are and which are not, we must look upon all as
enemies until we become more knowing."

Presently they came to the mouth of a river--one of those sluggish
streams on the African coast, which suggest the idea of malaria and the
whole family of low fevers.  It glided through a mangrove swamp, where
the tree seemed to be standing on their roots, which served the purpose
of stilts to keep them out of the mud.  The river was oily, and
sluggish, and hot-looking, and its mud-banks were slimy and liquid, so
that it was not easy to say whether the water of the river was mud, or
the mud on the bank was water.  It was a place that made one
involuntarily think of creeping monsters, and crawling objects, and
slimy things!

"Look! oh! oh! such a darling pet!" exclaimed Ailie, as they stood near
the banks of this river wondering what monster would first cleave the
muddy waters, and raise its hideous head.  She pointed to the bough of a
dead tree near which they stood, and on which sat the "darling pet"
referred to.  It was a very small monkey with white whiskers; a dumpy
little thing, that looked at them with an expression of surprise quite
equal in intensity to their own.

Seeing that it was discovered, the "darling pet" opened its little
mouth, and uttered a succession of "Ohs!" that rendered Ailie's
exclamations quite insignificant by comparison.  They were sharp and
short, and rapidly uttered, while, at the same time, two rows of most
formidable teeth were bared, along with the gums that held them.

At this Ailie and her companion burst into a fit of irrepressible
laughter, whereupon the "darling pet" put itself into such a passion--
grinned, and coughed, and gasped, and shook the tree, and writhed, and
glared, to such an extent that Glynn said he thought it would burst, and
Ailie agreed that it was very likely.  Finding that this terrible
display of fury had no effect on the strangers, the "darling pet" gave
utterance to a farewell shriek of passion, and, bounding nimbly into the
woods, disappeared.

"Oh, _what_ a funny beast," said Ailie, sitting down on a stone, and
drying her eyes, which had filled with tears from excessive laughter.

"Indeed it was," said Glynn.  "It's my opinion that a monkey is the
funniest beast in the world."

"No, Glynn; a kitten's funnier," said Ailie, with a degree of emphasis
that showed she had considered the subject well, and had fully made up
her mind in regard to it long ago.  "I think a kitten's the _very_
funniest beast in all the whole world."

"Well, perhaps it is," said Glynn thoughtfully.

"Did you ever see _three_ kittens together?" asked Ailie.

"No; I don't think I ever did.  I doubt if I have seen even two
together.  Why?"

"Oh! because they are so very, very funny.  Sit down beside me, and I'll
tell you about three kittens I once had.  They were very little--at
least they were little before they got big."

Glynn laughed.

"Oh, you know what I mean.  They were able to play when they were very
little, you know."

"Yes, yes, I understand.  Go on."

"Well, two were grey, and one was white and grey, but most of it was
white; and when they went to play, one always hid itself to watch, and
then the other two began, and came up to each other with little jumps,
and their backs up and tails curved, and hair all on end, glaring at
each other, and pretending that they were so angry.  Do you know, Glynn,
I really believe they sometimes forgot it was pretence, and actually
became angry.  But the fun was, that, when the two were just going to
fly at each other, the third one, who had been watching, used to dart
out and give them _such_ a fright--a _real_ fright, you know--which made
them jump, oh! three times their own height up into the air, and they
came down again with a _fuff_ that put the third one in a fright too; so
that they all scattered away from each other as if they had gone quite
mad.  What's that?"

"It's a fish, I think," said Glynn, rising and going towards the river,
to look at the object that had attracted his companion's attention.
"It's a shark, I do believe."

In a few seconds the creature came so close that they could see it quite
distinctly; and on a more careful inspection, they observed that the
mouth of the river was full of these ravenous monsters.  Soon after they
saw monsters of a still more ferocious aspect; for while they were
watching the sharks, two crocodiles put up their snouts, and crawled
sluggishly out of the water upon a mud-bank, where they lay down,
apparently with the intention of taking a nap in the sunshine.  They
were too far off, however, to be well seen.

"Isn't it strange, Glynn, that there are such ugly beasts in the world?"
said Ailie.  "I wonder why God made them?"

"So do I," said Glynn, looking at the child's thoughtful face in some
surprise.  "I suppose they must be of some sort of use."

"Oh! yes, _of course_ they are," rejoined Ailie quickly.  "Aunt Martha
and Aunt Jane used to tell me that every creature was made by God for
some good purpose; and when I came to the crocodile in my book, they
said it was certainly of use too, though they did not know what.  I
remember it very well, because I was _so_ surprised to hear that Aunt
Martha and Aunt Jane did not know _everything_."

"No doubt Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane were right," said Glynn, with a
smile.  "I confess, however, that crocodiles seem to me to be of no
other use than to kill and eat up everything that comes within the reach
of their terrible jaws.  But, indeed, now I think of it, the very same
may be said of man, for _he_ kills and eats up at least everything that
he _wants_ to put into his jaws."

"So he does," said Ailie; "isn't it funny?"

"Isn't what funny?" asked Glynn.

"That we should be no better than crocodiles--at least, I mean about
eating."

"You forget, Ailie, we cook our food."

"Oh! so we do.  I did not remember to think of that.  That's a great
difference, indeed."

Leaving Glynn and his little charge to philosophise on the resemblance
between men and crocodiles, we shall now return to Tim Rokens and Phil
Briant, whom we left in the trader's cottage.

The irate Irishman had been calmed down by reason and expostulation, and
had again been roused to great indignation several times since we left
him, by the account of things connected with the slave-trade, given him
by the trader, who, although he had no interest in it himself, did not
feel very much aggrieved by the sufferings he witnessed around him.

"You don't mane to tell me, now, that _whalers_ comes in here for
slaves, do ye?" said Briant, placing his two fists on his two knees, and
thrusting his head towards the trader, who admitted that he meant to say
that; and that he meant, moreover, to add, that the thing was by no
means of rare occurrence--that whaling ships occasionally ran into that
very port on their way south, shipped a cargo of <DW64>s, sold them at
the nearest slave-buying port they could make on the American coast, and
then proceeded on their voyage, no one being a whit the wiser.

"You don't mean it?" remarked Tim Rokens, crossing his legs and devoting
himself to his pipe, with the air of a man who mourned the depravity of
his species, but did not feel called upon to disturb his equanimity very
much because of it.

Phil Briant clenched his teeth, and glared.

"Indeed I do mean it," reiterated the trader.  "Would you believe it,
there was one whaler put in here, and what does he do but go and invite
a lot o' free blacks aboard to have a blow-out; and no sooner did he get
them down into the hold then he shut down the hatches, sailed away, and
sold 'em every one."

"Ah! morther, couldn't I burst?" groaned Phil; "an' ov coorse they left
a lot o' fatherless children and widders behind 'em."

"They did; but all the widders are married again, and most of the
children are grown up."

Briant looked as if he did not feel quite sure whether he ought to
regard this as a comforting piece of information or the reverse, and
wisely remained silent.

"And now you must excuse me if I leave you to ramble about alone for
some time, as I have business to transact; meanwhile I'll introduce you
to a <DW65> who will show you about the place, and one who, if I mistake
not, will gladly accompany you to sea as steward's assistant."

The trader opened a door which led to the back part of his premises, and
shouted to a stout <DW64> who was sawing wood there, and who came forward
with alacrity.

"Ho!  Neepeelootambo, go take these gentlemen round about the village,
and let them see all that is to be seen."

"Yes, massa."

"And they've got something to say to you about going to sea--would you
like to go?"

The <DW64> grinned, and as his mouth was of the largest possible size, it
is not exaggeration to say that the grin extended from ear to ear, but
he made no other reply.

"Well, please yourself.  You're a free man--you may do as you choose."

Neepeelootambo, who was almost naked, having only a small piece of cloth
wrapped round his waist and loins, grinned again, displaying a double
row of teeth worthy of a shark in so doing, and led his new friends from
the house.

"Now," said Tim Rokens, turning to the <DW64>, and pointing along the
shore, "we'll go along this way and jaw the matter over.  Business
first, and pleasure, if ye can get it, arterwards--them's my notions,
Nip--Nip--Nippi--what's your name?"

"Coo Tumble, I think," suggested Briant.

"Ay, Nippiloo Bumble--wot a jaw-breaker! so git along, old boy."

The <DW64>, who was by no means an "old boy," but a stalwart man in the
prime of life, stepped out, and as they walked along, both Rokens and
Briant did their best to persuade him to ship on board the _Red Eric_,
but without success.  They were somewhat surprised as well as chagrined,
having been led to expect that the man would consent at once.  But no
alluring pictures of the delights of seafaring life, or the pleasures
and excitements of the whale-fishery, had the least effect on their
sable companion.  Even sundry shrewd hints, thrown out by Phil Briant,
that "the steward had always command o' the wittles, and that his
assistant would only have to help himself when convanient," failed to
move him.

"Well, Nippi-Boo-Tumble," cried Tim Rokens, who in his disappointment
unceremoniously contracted his name, "it's my opinion--private opinion,
mark'ee--that you're a ass, an' you'll come for to repent of it."

"Troth, Nippi-Bumble, he's about right," added Briant coaxingly.  "Come
now, avic, wot's the raisin ye won't go?  Sure we ain't blackguards
enough to ax ye to come for to be sold; it's all fair and above board.
Why won't ye, now?"

The <DW64> stopped, and turning towards them, drew himself proudly up;
then, as if a sudden thought had occurred to him, he advanced a step and
held up his forefinger to impose silence.

"You no tell what I go to say? at least, not for one, two day."

"Niver a word, honour bright," said Phil, in a confidential tone, while
Rokens expressed the same sentiment by means of an emphatic wink and
nod.

"You mus' know," said the <DW64>, earnestly, "me expec's to be made a
king!"

"A wot?" exclaimed both his companions in the same breath, and very much
in the same tone.

"A king."

"Wot?" said Rokens; "d'ye mean, a ruler of this here country?"

Neepeelootambo nodded his head so violently that it was a marvel it
remained on his shoulders.

"Yis.  Ho! ho! ho! 'xpec's to be a king."

"And when are ye to be crowned, Bumble?" inquired Briant, rather
sceptically, as they resumed their walk.

"Oh, me no say me _goin'_ to be king; me only _'xpec's_ dat."

"Werry good," returned Rokens; "but wot makes ye for to expect it?"

"Aha!  Me berry clebber fellow--know most ebbery ting.  Me hab doo'd
good service to dis here country.  Me can fight like one leopard, and me
hab kill great few elephant and gorilla.  Not much mans here hab shoot
de gorilla, him sich terriferick beast; 'bove five foot six tall, and
bigger round de breast dan you or me--dat is a great true fact.  Also,
me can spok Englis'."

"An' so you expec's they're goin' to make you a king for all that?"

"Yis, dat is fat me 'xpec's, for our old king be just dead; but dey
nebber tell who dey going to make king till dey do it.  I not more sure
ob it dan the <DW65> dat walk dare before you."

Neepeelootambo pointed as he spoke to a <DW64> who certainly had a more
kingly aspect than any native they had yet seen.  He was a perfect
giant, considerably above six feet high, and broad in proportion.  He
wore no clothing on the upper part of his person, but his legs were
encased in a pair of old canvas trousers, which had been made for a man
of ordinary stature, so that his huge bony ankles were largely exposed
to view.

Just as Phil and Rokens stopped to take a good look at him before
passing on, a terrific yell issued from the bushes, and instantly after,
a <DW64> ran towards the black giant and administered to him a severe
kick on the thigh, following it up with a cuff on the side of the head,
at the same time howling something in the native tongue, which our
friends of course did not understand.  This man was immediately followed
by three other blacks, one of whom pulled the giant's hair, the other
pulled his nose, and the third spat in his face!

It is needless to remark that the sailors witnessed this unprovoked
assault with unutterable amazement.  But the most remarkable part of it
was, that the fellow, instead of knocking all his assailants down, as he
might have done without much trouble, quietly submitted to the
indignities heaped upon him; nay, he even smiled upon his tormentors,
who increased in numbers every minute, running out from among the bushes
and surrounding the unoffending man, and uttering wild shouts as they
maltreated him.

"Wot's he bin doin'?" inquired Rokens, turning to his black companion.
But Rokens received no answer, for Neepeelootambo was looking on at the
scene with an expression so utterly woe-begone and miserable that one
would imagine he was himself suffering the rough usage he witnessed.

"Arrah! ye don't appear to be chairful," said Briant, laughing, as he
looked in the <DW64>'s face.  "This is a quare counthrie, an' no
mistake;--it seems to be always blowin' a gale o' surprises.  Wot's
wrong wid ye, Bumble?"

The <DW64> groaned.

"Sure that may be a civil answer, but it's not o' much use.  Hallo! what
air they doin' wid the poor cratur now?"

As he spoke the crowd seized the black giant by the arms and neck and
hair, and dragged him away towards the village, leaving our friends in
solitude.

"A very purty little scene," remarked Phil Briant when they were out of
sight; "very purty indade, av we only knowed wot it's all about."

If the surprise of the two sailors was great at what they had just
witnessed, it was increased tenfold by the subsequent behaviour of their
<DW64> companion.

That eccentric individual suddenly checked his groans, gave vent to a
long, deep sigh, and assuming a resigned expression of countenance, rose
up and said--"Ho!  It all ober now, massa."

"I do believe," remarked Rokens, looking gravely at his shipmate, "that
the feller's had an attack of the mollygrumbles, an's got better all of
a suddint."

"No, massa, dat not it.  But me willin' to go wid you now to de sea."

"Eh? willin' to go?  Why, Nippi-Too-Cumble, wot a rum customer you are,
to be sure!"

"Yis, massa," rejoined the <DW64>.  "Me not goin' to be king now, anyhow;
so it ob no use stoppin' here.  Me go to sea."

"Not goin' to be king?  How d'ye know that?"

"'Cause dat oder <DW65>, him be made king in a berry short time.  You
mus' know, dat w'en dey make wan king in dis here place, de peeple
choose de man; but dey not let him know.  He may guess if him please--
like me--but p'raps him guess wrong--like me!  Ho! ho!  Den arter dey
fix on de man, dey run at him and kick him, as you hab seen dem do, and
spit on him, and trow mud ober him, tellin' him all de time, `You no
king yet, you black rascal; you soon be king, and den you may put your
foots on our necks and do w'at you like, but not yit; take dat, you
tief!'  An' so dey 'buse him for a littel time.  Den dey take him
straight away to de palace and crown him, an', oh! arter dat dey become
very purlite to him.  Him know dat well 'nuff, and so him not be angry
just now.  Ah! me did 'xpec, to hab bin kick and spitted on dis berry
day!"

Poor Neepeelootambo uttered the last words in such a deeply touching
tone, and seemed to be so much cast down at the thought that his chance
of being "kicked and spitted upon" had passed away for ever, that Phil
Briant burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and Tim Rokens exhibited
symptoms of internal risibility, though his outward physiognomy remained
unchanged.

"Och!  Bumble, you'll be the death o' me," cried Briant.  "An' are they
a-crownin' of him now?"

"Yis, massa.  Dat what dey go for to do jist now."

"Troth, then, I'll go an' inspict the coronation.  Come along, Bumble,
me darlint, and show us the way."

In a few minutes Neepeelootambo conducted his new friends into a large
rudely-constructed hut, which was open on three sides and thatched with
palm-leaves.  This was the palace before referred to by him.  Here they
found a large concourse of <DW64>s, whose main object at that time
seemed to be the creation of noise; for besides yelling and hooting,
they beat a variety of native drums, some of which consisted of bits of
board, and others of old tin and copper kettles.  Forcing their way
through the noisy throng they reached the inside of the hut, into which
they found that Ailie Dunning and Glynn Proctor had pushed their way
before them.  Giving them a nod of recognition, they sat down on a mat
by their side to watch the proceedings, which by this time were nearly
concluded.

The new king--who was about to fill the throne rendered vacant by the
recent death of the old king of that region--was seated on an elevated
stool looking very dignified, despite the rough ordeal through which he
had just passed.  When the noise above referred to had calmed down, an
old grey-headed <DW64> rose and made a speech in the language of the
country, after which he advanced and crowned the new king, who had
already been invested in a long scarlet coat covered with tarnished gold
lace, and cut in the form peculiar to the last century.  The crown
consisted of an ordinary black silk hat, considerably the worse for
wear.  It looked familiar and commonplace enough in the eyes of their
white visitors; but, being the only specimen of the article in the
district, it was regarded by the <DW64>s with peculiar admiration, and
deemed worthy to decorate the brows of royalty.

Having had this novel crown placed on the top of his woolly pate, which
was much too large for it, the new king hit it an emphatic blow on the
top, partly with a view to force it on, and partly, no doubt, with the
design of impressing his new subjects with the fact that he was now
their rightful sovereign, and that he meant thenceforth to exercise all
the authority, and avail himself of all the privileges that his high
position conferred on him.  He then rose and made a pretty long speech,
which was frequently applauded, and which terminated amid a most
uproarious demonstration of loyalty on the part of the people.

If you wish to gladden the heart of a black man, reader, get him into
the midst of an appalling noise.  The <DW64>'s delight is to shout, and
laugh, and yell, and beat tin kettles with iron spoons.  The greater the
noise, the more he enjoys himself.  Great guns and musketry, gongs and
brass bands, kettledrums and smashing crockery, crashing
railway-engines, blending their utmost whistles with the shrieks of a
thousand pigs being killed, all going at once, full blast, and as near
to him as possible, is a species of Elysium to the sable son of Africa.
On their occasions of rejoicing, <DW64>s procure and produce as much
noise as is possible, so that the white visitors were soon glad to seek
shelter, and find relief to their ears, on board ship.

But even there the sounds of rejoicing reached them, and long after the
curtain of night had enshrouded land and sea, the hideous din of royal
festivities came swelling out with the soft warm breeze that fanned
Ailie's cheek as she stood on the quarterdeck of the _Red Eric_,
watching the wild antics of the naked savages as they danced round their
bright fires, and holding her father's hand tightly as she related the
day's adventures, and told of the monkeys, crocodiles, and other strange
creatures she had seen in the mangrove-swamps and on the mud-banks of
the slimy river.



CHAPTER TEN.

AN INLAND JOURNEY--SLEEPING IN THE WOODS--WILD BEASTS EVERYWHERE--SAD
FATE OF A GAZELLE.

The damage sustained by the _Red Eric_ during the storm was found to be
more severe than was at first supposed.  Part of her false keel had been
torn away by a sunken rock, over which the vessel had passed, and
scraped so lightly that no one on board was aware of the fact, yet with
sufficient force to cause the damage to which we have referred.  A
slight leak was also discovered, and the injury to the top of the
foremast was neither so easily nor so quickly repaired as had been
anticipated.

It thus happened that the vessel was detained on this part of the
African coast for nearly a couple of weeks, during which time Ailie had
frequent opportunities of going on shore, sometimes in charge of Glynn,
sometimes with Tim Rokens, and occasionally with her father.

During these little excursions the child lived in a world of romance.
Not only were the animals, and plants, and objects of every kind with
which she came in contact, entirely new to her, except in so far as she
had made their acquaintance in pictures, but she invested everything in
the roseate hue peculiar to her own romantic mind.  True, she saw many
things that caused her a good deal of pain, and she heard a few stories
about the terrible cruelty of the <DW64>s to each other, which made her
shudder, but unpleasant thoughts did not dwell long on her mind; she
soon forgot the little annoyances or frights she experienced, and
revelled in the enjoyment of the beautiful sights and sweet perfumes
which more than counterbalanced the bad odours and ugly things that came
across her path.

Ailie's mind was a very inquiring one, and often and long did she ponder
the things she saw, and wonder why God made some so very ugly and some
so very pretty, and to what use He intended them to be put.  Of course,
in such speculative inquiries, she was frequently very much puzzled, as
also were the companions to whom she propounded the questions from time
to time, but she had been trained to _believe_ that everything that was
made by God was good, whether she understood it or not, and she noticed
particularly, and made an involuntary memorandum of the fact in her own
mind, that ugly things were very few in number, while beautiful objects
were absolutely innumerable.

The trader, who rendered good assistance to Captain Dunning in the
repair of his ship, frequently overheard Ailie wishing "so much" that
she might be allowed to go far into the wild woods, and one day
suggested to the captain that, as the ship would have to remain a week
or more in port, he would be glad to take a party an excursion up the
river in his canoe, and show them a little of forest life, saying at the
same time that the little girl might go too, for they were not likely to
encounter any danger which might not be easily guarded against.

At first the captain shook his head, remembering the stories that were
afloat regarding the wild beasts of those regions.  But, on second
thoughts, he agreed to allow a well-armed party to accompany the trader;
the more so that he was urged thereto very strongly by Dr Hopley, who,
being a naturalist, was anxious to procure specimens of the creatures
and plants in the interior, and being a phrenologist, was desirous of
examining what Glynn termed the "bumpological developments of the <DW64>
skull."

On still further considering the matter, Captain Dunning determined to
leave the first mate in charge of the ship, head the exploring party
himself, and take Ailie along with him.

To say that Ailie was delighted, would be to understate the fact very
much.  She was wild with joy, and went about all the day, after her
father's decision was announced, making every species of insane
preparation for the canoe voyage, clasping her hands, and exclaiming,
"Oh! _what_ fun!" while her bright eyes sparkled to such an extent that
the sailors fairly laughed in her face when they looked at her.

Preparations were soon made.  The party consisted of the captain and his
little child, Glynn Proctor (of course), Dr Hopley, Tim Rokens, Phil
Briant, Jim Scroggles, the trader, and Neepeelootambo, which last had
been by that time regularly domesticated on board, and was now known by
the name of King Bumble, which name, being as good as his own, and more
pronounceable, we shall adopt from this time forward.

The very morning after the proposal was made, the above party embarked
in the trader's canoe; and plying their paddles with the energy of men
bent on what is vulgarly termed "going the whole hog," they quickly
found themselves out of sight of their natural element, the ocean, and
surrounded by the wild, rich, luxuriant vegetation of equatorial Africa.

"Now," remarked Tim Rokens, as they ceased paddling, and ran the canoe
under the shade of a broad palm-tree that overhung the river, in order
to take a short rest and a smoke after a steady paddle of some
miles--"Now this is wot I calls glorious, so it is!  Ain't it?  Pass the
'baccy this way."

This double remark was made to King Bumble, who passed the tobacco-pouch
to his friend, after helping himself, and admitted that it was
"mugnifercent."

"Here have I bin a-sittin' in this here canoe," continued Rokens, "for
more nor two hours, an' to my sartin knowledge I've seed with my two
eyes twelve sharks (for I counted 'em every one) at the mouth of the
river, and two crocodiles, and the snout of a hopplepittimus; is that
wot ye calls it?"

Rokens addressed his question to the captain, but Phil Briant, who had
just succeeded in getting his pipe to draw beautifully, answered
instead.

"Och! no," said he; "that's not the way to pronounce it at all, at all.
It's a huppi-puppi-puttimus."

"I dun know," said Rokens, shaking his head gravely; "it appears to me
there's too many huppi puppies in that word."

This debate caused Ailie infinite amusement, for she experienced
considerable difficulty herself in pronouncing that name, and had a very
truthful picture of the hippopotamus hanging at that moment in her room
at home.

"Isn't Tim Rokens very funny, papa?" she remarked in a whisper, looking
up in her father's face.

"Hush! my pet, and look yonder.  There is something funnier, if I
mistake not."

He pointed, as he spoke, to a ripple in the water on the opposite side
of the river, close under a bank which was clothed with rank,
broad-leaved, and sedgy vegetation.  In a few seconds a large crocodile
put up its head, not farther off than twenty yards from the canoe, which
apparently it did not see, and opening its tremendous jaws, afforded the
travellers a splendid view of its teeth and throat.  Briant afterwards
asserted that he could see down its throat, and could _almost_ tell what
it had had for dinner!

"Plaze, sir, may I shoot him?" cried Briant, seizing his loaded musket,
and looking towards the captain for permission.

"It's of no use while in that position," remarked the trader, who
regarded the hideous-looking monster with the calm unconcern of a man
accustomed to such sights.

"You may try;" said the captain with a grin.  Almost before the words
had left his lips, Phil took a rapid aim and fired.  At the same
identical moment the crocodile shut his jaws with a snap, as if he had
an intuitive perception that something uneatable was coming.  The bullet
consequently hit his forehead, off which it glanced as if it had struck
a plate of cast-iron.  The reptile gave a wabble, expressive of lazy
surprise, and sank slowly back into the slimy water.

The shot startled more than one huge creature, for immediately
afterwards they heard several flops in the water near them, but the tall
sedges prevented their seeing what animals they were.  A whole troop of
monkeys, too, went shrieking away into the woods, showing that those
nimble creatures had been watching all their movements, although, until
that moment, they had taken good care to keep themselves out of sight.

"Never fire at a crocodile's head," said the trader, as the party
resumed their paddles, and continued their ascent of the stream; "you
might as well fire at a stone wall.  It's as hard as iron.  The only
place that's sure to kill it just behind the foreleg.  The <DW65>s
always spear them there."

"What do they spear them for?" asked Dr Hopley.

"They eat 'em," replied the trader; "and the meat's not so bad after you
get used to it."

"Ha!" exclaimed Glynn Proctor; "I should fancy the great difficulty is
to get used to it."

"If you ever chance to go for a week without tasting fresh meat,"
replied the trader quietly, "you'll not find it so difficult as you
think."

That night the travellers encamped in the woods, and a wild charmingly
romantic scene their night bivouac was--so thought Ailie, and so, too,
would you have thought, reader, had you been there.  King Bumble managed
to kindle three enormous fires, for the triple purpose of keeping the
party warm--for it was cold at night--of scaring away wild beasts, and
of cooking their supper.  These fires he fed at intervals during the
whole night with huge logs, and the way in which he made the sparks fly
up in among the strange big leaves of the tropical trees and parasitical
plants overhead, was quite equal, if not superior, to a display of
regular fireworks.

Then Bumble and Glynn built a little platform of logs, on which they
strewed leaves and grass, and over which they spread a curtain or canopy
of broad leaves and boughs.  This was Ailie's couch.  It stood in the
full blaze of the centre fire, and commanded a view of all that was
going on in every part of the little camp; and when Ailie lay down on it
after a good supper, and was covered up with a blanket, and further
covered over with a sort of gauze netting to protect her from the
mosquitoes, which were very numerous--when all this was done, we say,
and when, in addition to this, she lay and witnessed the jovial laughter
and enjoyment of His Majesty King Bumble, as he sat at the big fire
smoking his pipe, and the supreme happiness of Phil Briant, and the
placid joy of Tim Rokens, and the exuberant delight of Glynn, and the
semi-scientific enjoyment of Dr Hopley as he examined a collection of
rare plants; and the quiet comfort of the trader, and the awkward,
shambling, loose-jointed pleasure of long Jim Scroggles; and the beaming
felicity of her own dear father; who sat not far from her, and turned
occasionally in the midst of the conversation to give her a nod--she
felt in her heart that then and there she had fairly reached the very
happiest moment in all her life.

Ailie gazed in dreamy delight until she suddenly and unaccountably saw
at least six fires, and fully half-a-dozen Bumbles, and eight or nine
Glynns, and no end of fathers, and thousands of trees, and millions of
sparks, all jumbled together in one vast complicated and magnificent
pyrotechnic display; and then she fell asleep.

It is a curious fact, and one for which it is not easy to account, that
however happy you may be when you go to sleep out in the wild woods, you
invariably awake in the morning in possession of a very small amount of
happiness indeed.  Probably it is because one in such circumstances is
usually called upon to turn out before he has had enough sleep; perhaps
it may be that the fires have burnt low or gone out altogether, and the
gloom of a forest before sunrise is not calculated to elevate the
spirits.  Be this as it may, it is a fact that when Ailie was awakened
on the following morning about daybreak, and told to get up, she felt
sulky--positively and unmistakably sulky.

We do not say that she looked sulky or acted sulkily--far from it; but
she felt sulky, and that was a very uncomfortable state of things.  We
dwell a little on this point because we do not wish to mislead our young
readers into the belief that life in the wild woods is _all_ delightful
together.  There are shadows as well as lights there--some of them,
alas! so deep that we would not like even to refer to them while writing
in a sportive vein.

But it is also a fact, that when Ailie was fairly up and once more in
the canoe, and when the sun began to flood the landscape with his golden
light and turn the water into liquid fire, her temporary feelings of
discomfort passed away, and her sensation of intense enjoyment returned.

The scenery through which they passed on the second day was somewhat
varied.  They emerged early in the day upon the bosom of a large lake
which looked almost like the ocean.  Here there were immense flocks of
water-fowl, and among them that strange, ungainly bird, the pelican.
Here, too, there were actually hundreds of crocodiles.  The lake was
full of little mud islands, and on all of them these hideous and
gigantic reptiles were seen basking lazily in the sun.

Several shots were fired at them, but although the balls hit, they did
not penetrate their thick hides, until at last one took effect in the
soft part close behind the foreleg.  The shot was fired by the trader,
and it killed the animal instantly.  It could not have been less than
twenty feet long, but before they could secure it the carcass sank in
deep water.

"What a pity!" remarked Glynn, as the eddies circled round the spot
where it had gone down.

"Ah, so it is!" replied the doctor; "but he would have been rather large
to preserve and carry home as a specimen."

"I ax yer parding, sir," said Tim Rokens, addressing Dr Hopley; "but
I'm curious to know if crocodiles has got phrenoligy?"

"No doubt of it," replied the doctor, laughing.  "Crocodiles have
brains, and brains when exercised must be enlarged and developed,
especially in the organs that are most used, hence corresponding
development must take place in the skull."

"I should think, doctor," remarked the captain, who was somewhat
sceptical, "that their bumps of combativeness must be very large."

"Probably they are," continued the doctor; "something like my friend
Phil Briant here.  I would venture to guess, now, that his organ of
combativeness is well-developed--let me see."

The doctor, who sat close beside the Irishman, caused him to pull in his
paddle and submit his head for inspection.

"Ah! then, don't operate on me, doctor dear!  I've a mortial fear o'
operations iver since me owld grandmother's pig got its foreleg took off
at the hip-jint."

"Hold your tongue, Paddy.  Now the bump lies here--just under--eh! why,
you haven't got so much as--what!"

"Plaize, I think it's lost in fat, sur," remarked Briant, in a plaintive
tone, as if he expected to be reprimanded for not having brought his
bump of combativeness along with him.

"Well," resumed the doctor, passing his fingers through Briant's matted
locks, "I suppose you're not so combative as we had fancied--"

"Thrue for you," interrupted Phil.

"But, strange enough, I find your organ of veneration is very large,
_very_ large indeed; singularly so for a man of your character; but I
cannot feel it easily, you have such a quantity of hair."

"Which is it, doctor dear?" inquired Phil.

"This one I am pressing now."

"Arrah! don't press so hard, plaze, it's hurtin' me ye are.  Shure
that's the place where I run me head slap up agin the spanker-boom four
days ago.  Av _that's_ me bump o' vineration, it wos three times as big
an' twice as hard yisterday--it wos, indade."

Interruptions in this world of uncertainty are not uncommon, and in the
African wilds they are peculiarly frequent.  The interruption which
occurred on the present occasion to Dr Hopley's reply was, we need
scarcely remark, exceedingly opportune.  It came in the form of a
hippopotamus, which rose so close to the boat that Ailie got a severe
start, and Tim Rokens made a blow at its head with his paddle.  It did
not seem to notice the boat, but after blowing a quantity of water from
its nostrils, and opening its horrible mouth as if it were yawning, it
slowly sank again into the flood.

"Wot an 'orrible crittur!" exclaimed Jim Scroggles, in amazement at the
sight.

"The howdacious willain!" remarked Rokens.

"Is that another on ahead?" said Glynn, pointing to an object floating
on the water about a hundred yards up the river: for they had passed the
lake, and were now ascending another stream.  "D'ye see it, Ailie?
Look!"

The object sank as he spoke, and Ailie looked round just in time to see
the tail of a crocodile flop the water and follow its owner to the
depths below.

"Oh! oh!" exclaimed Ailie, with one of those peculiar intonations that
told Glynn she saw something very beautiful, and that induced the
remainder of the crew to rest on their paddles, and turn their eyes in
the direction indicated.

They did not require to ask what she saw, for the child's finger
directed their eyes to a spot on the bank of the river, where, under the
shadow of a spreading bush with gigantic leaves, stood a lovely little
gazelle.  The graceful creature had trotted down to the stream to drink,
and did not observe the canoe, which had been on the point of rounding a
bank that jutted out into the river where its progress was checked.  The
gazelle paused a moment, looked round to satisfy itself that no enemy
was near, and then put its lips to the water.

Alas! for the timid little thing!  There were enemies near it and round
it in all directions.  There were leopards and serpents of the largest
size in the woods, and man upon the river--although on this occasion it
chanced that most of the men who gazed in admiration at its pretty form
were friends.  But its worst enemy, a crocodile, was lurking close under
the mud-bank at its feet.

Scarcely had its parched lips reached the stream when a black snout
darted from the water, and the next instant the gazelle was struggling
in the crocodile's jaws.  A cry of horror burst from the men in the
boat, and every man seized a musket; but before an aim could be taken
the struggle was over; the monster had dived with its prey, and nothing
but a few streaks of red foam floated on the troubled water.

Ailie did not move.  She stood with her hands tightly clasped and her
eyes starting almost out of their sockets.  At last her feelings found
vent.  She threw her arms round her father's neck, and burying her face
in his bosom, burst into a passionate flood of tears.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

NATIVE DOINGS, AND A CRUEL MURDER--JIM SCROGGLES SEES WONDERS, AND HAS A
TERRIBLE ADVENTURE.

It took two whole days and nights to restore Ailie to her wonted
cheerful state of mind, after she had witnessed the death of the
gazelle.  But although she sang and laughed, and enjoyed herself as much
as ever, she experienced the presence of a new and strange feeling, that
ever after that day, tinged her thoughts and influenced her words and
actions.

The child had for the first time in her life experienced one of those
rude shocks--one of those rough contacts with the stern realities of
life which tend to deepen and intensify our feelings.  The mind does not
always grow by slow, imperceptible degrees, although it usually does so.
There are periods in the career of every one when the mind takes, as it
were, a sharp run and makes a sudden and stupendous jump out of one
region of thought into another in which there are things new as well as
old.

The present was such an occasion to little Ailie Dunning.  She had
indeed seen bloody work before, in the cutting-up of a whale.  But
although she had been told it often enough, she did not _realise_ that
whales have feelings and affections like other creatures.  Besides, she
had not witnessed the actual killing of the whale; and if she had, it
would probably have made little impression on her beyond that of
temporary excitement--not even that, perhaps, had her father been by her
side.  But she _sympathised_ with the gazelle.  It was small, and
beautiful, and lovable.  Her heart had swelled the moment she saw it,
and she had felt a longing desire to run up to it and throw her arms
round its soft neck, so that, when she saw it suddenly struggling and
crushed in the tremendous jaws of the horrible crocodile, every tender
feeling in her breast was lacerated; every fibre of her heart trembled
with a conflicting gush of the tenderest pity and the fiercest rage.
From that day forward new thoughts began to occupy her mind, and old
ideas presented themselves in different aspects.

We would not have the reader suppose, for a moment, that Ailie became an
utterly changed creature.  To an unobservant eye--such as that of Jim
Scroggles, for instance--she was the same in all respects a few days
after as she had been a few hours before the event.  But new elements
had been implanted in her breast, or rather, seeds which had hitherto
lain dormant were now caused to burst forth into plants by the All-wise
Author of her being.  She now _felt_ for the first time--she could not
tell why--that enjoyment was _not_ the chief good in life.

Of course she did not argue or think out all this clearly and
methodically to herself.  Her mind, on most things, material as well as
immaterial, was very much what may be termed a jumble; but undoubtedly
the above processes of reasoning and feeling, or something like them,
were the result to Ailie of the violent death of that little gazelle.

The very next day after this sad event the travellers came to a native
village, at which they stayed a night, in order to rest and procure
fresh provisions.  The trader was well-known at this village, but the
natives, all of whom were black, of course, and nearly naked, had never
seen a little white girl before, so that their interest in and wonder at
Ailie were quite amusing to witness.  They crowded round her, laughing
and exclaiming and gesticulating in a most remarkable manner, and taking
special notice of her light-brown glossy hair, which seemed to fill them
with unbounded astonishment and admiration; as well it might, for they
had never before seen any other hair except the coarse curly wool on
their own pates, and the long lank hair of the trader, which happened to
be coarse and black.

The child was at first annoyed by the attentions paid her, but at last
she became interested in the sooty little naked children that thronged
round her, and allowed them to handle her as much as they pleased, until
her father led her to the residence of the chief or king of the tribe.
Here she was well treated, and she began quite to like the people who
were so kind to her and her friends.  But she chanced to overhear a
conversation between the doctor and Tim Rokens, which caused her
afterwards to shrink from the <DW64>s with horror.

She was sitting on a bank picking wild-flowers some hours after the
arrival of her party, and teaching several black children how to make
necklaces of them, when the doctor and Rokens happened to sit down
together at the other side of a bush which concealed her from their
view.  Tim was evidently excited, for the tones of his voice were loud
and emphatic.

"Yes," he said, in reply to some questions put to him by the doctor;
"yes, I seed 'em do it, not ten minutes agone, with my own two eyes.
Oh! but I would like to have 'em up in a row--every black villain in the
place--an' a cutlass in my hand, an'--an' wouldn't I whip off their
heads?  No, I wouldn't; oh, no, by no means wotiver."

There was something unusually fierce in Rokens' voice that alarmed
Ailie.

"I was jist takin' a turn," continued the sailor, "down by the creek
yonder, when I heerd a great yellin' goin' on, and saw the trader in the
middle of a crowd o' black fellows, a-shakin' his fists; so I made sail,
of course, to lend a hand if he'd got into trouble.  He was scoldin'
away in the native lingo, as if he'd bin a born <DW65>.

"`Wot's all to do?' says I.

"`They're goin' to kill a little boy,' says he, quite fierce like,
`'cause they took it into their heads he's bewitched.'

"An' sayin' that, he sot to agin in the other lingo, but the king came
up an' told him that the boy had to be killed 'cause he had a devil in
him, and had gone and betwitched a number o' other people; an' before he
had done speakin', up comes two fellers, draggin' the poor little boy
between them.  The king axed him if he wos betwitched, and the little
chap--from sheer fright, I do believe--said he wos.  Of coorse I
couldn't understand 'em, but the trader explained it all arter.  Well,
no sooner had he said that, than they all gave a yell, and rushed upon
the poor boy with their knives, and cut him to pieces.  It's as sure as
I'm sittin' here," cried Rokens, savagely, as his wrath rose again at
the bare recital of the terrible deed he had witnessed.  "I would ha'
knocked out the king's brains there and then, but the trader caught my
hand, and said, in a great fright, that if I did, it would not only cost
me my life, but likely the whole party; so that cooled me, and I come
away; an' I'm goin' to ax the captin wot we shud do."

"We can do nothing," said the doctor sadly.  "Even suppose we were
strong enough to punish them, what good would it do?  We can't change
their natures.  They are superstitious, and are firmly persuaded they
did right in killing that poor boy."

The doctor pondered for a few seconds, and then added, in a low voice,
as if he were weighing the meaning of what he said: "Clergymen would
tell us that nothing can deliver them from this bondage save a knowledge
of the true God and of His Son Jesus Christ; that the Bible might be the
means of curing them, if Bibles were only sent, and ministers to preach
the gospel."

"Then why ain't Bibles sent to 'em at once?" asked Rokens, in a tone of
great indignation, supposing that the doctor was expressing his own
opinion on the subject.  "Is there nobody to look arter these matters in
Christian lands?"

"Oh, yes, there are many Bible Societies, and both Bibles and
missionaries have been sent to this country; but it's a large one, and
the societies tell us their funds are limited."

"Then why don't they git more funds?" continued Rokens, in the same
indignant tone, as his mind still dwelt upon the miseries and wickedness
that he had seen, and that _might_ be prevented; "why don't they git
more funds, and send out heaps o' Bibles, an' no end o' missionaries?"

"Tim Rokens," said the doctor, looking earnestly into his companion's
face, "if I were one of the missionaries, I might ask you how much money
_you_ ever gave to enable societies to send Bibles and missionaries to
foreign lands?"

Tim Rokens was for once in his life completely taken aback.  He was by
nature a stolid man, and not easily put out.  He was a shrewd man, too,
and did not often commit himself.  When he did, he was wont to laugh at
himself, and so neutralise the laugh raised against him.  But here was a
question that was too serious for laughter, and yet one which he could
not answer without being self-condemned.  He looked gravely in the
doctor's face for two minutes without speaking; then he heaved a deep
sigh, and said slowly, and with a pause between each word--

"Doctor Hopley--I--never--gave--a--rap--in--all--my--life."

"So then, my man," said the doctor, smiling, "you're scarcely entitled
to be indignant with others."

"Wot you remark, doctor, is true; I--am--not."

Having thus fully and emphatically condemned himself, and along with
himself all mankind who are in a similar category, Tim Rokens relapsed
into silence, deliberately drew forth his pipe, filled it, lit it, and
began to smoke.

None of the party of travellers slept well that night, except perhaps
the trader, who was accustomed to the ways of the <DW64>s, and King
Bumble, who had been born and bred in the midst of cruelties.  Most of
them dreamed of savage orgies, and massacres of innocent children, so
that when daybreak summoned them to resume their journey, they arose and
embarked with alacrity, glad to get away from the spot.

During that day and the next they saw a great number of crocodiles and
hippopotami, besides strange birds and plants innumerable.  The doctor
filled his botanical-box to bursting.  Ailie filled her flower-basket to
overflowing.  Glynn hit a crocodile on the back with a bullet, and
received a lazy stare from the ugly creature in return, as it waddled
slowly down the bank on which it had been lying, and plumped into the
river.  The captain assisted Ailie to pluck flowers when they landed,
which they did from time to time, and helped to arrange and pack them
when they returned to the canoe.  Tim Rokens did nothing particularly
worthy of record; but he gave utterance to an immense number of
sententious and wise remarks, which were listened to by Bumble with deep
respect, for that sable gentleman had taken a great fancy for the bold
harpooner, and treasured up all his sayings in his heart.

Phil Briant distinguished himself by shooting an immense serpent, which
the doctor, who cut off and retained its head, pronounced to be an
anaconda.  It was full twenty feet long; and part of the body was cut
up, roasted, and eaten by Bumble and the trader, though the others
turned from it with loathing.

"It be more cleaner dan one pig, anyhow," remarked Bumble, on observing
the disgust of his white friends; "an' you no objic' to eat dat."

"Clainer than a pig, ye spalpeen!" cried Phil Briant; "that only shows
yer benighted haithen ignerance.  Sure I lived in the same cabin wid a
pig for many a year--not not to mintion a large family o' cocks and
hens--an' a clainer baste than that pig didn't stop in that cabin."

"That doesn't say much for your own cleanliness, or that of your
family," remarked Glynn.

"Och! ye've bin to school, no doubt, haven't ye?" retorted Phil.

"I have," replied Glynn.

"Shure I thought so.  It's there ye must have larned to be so oncommon
cliver.  Don't you iver be persuaded for to go to school, Bumble, if ye
iver git the chance.  It's a mighty lot o' taichin' they'd give ye, but
niver a taste o' edication.  Tin to wan, they'd cram ye till ye turned
white i' the face, an' that wouldn't suit yer complexion, ye know, King
Bumble, be no manes."

As for the trader, he acted interpreter when the party fell in with
<DW64>s, and explained everything that puzzled them, and told them
anecdotes without end about the natives and the wild creatures, and the
traffic of the regions through which they passed.  In short, he made
himself generally useful and agreeable.

But the man who distinguished himself most on that trip was Jim
Scroggles.  That lanky individual one day took it into his wise head to
go off on a short ramble into the woods alone.  He had been warned by
the trader, along with the rest of the party, not to venture on such a
dangerous thing; but being an absent man the warning had not reached his
intellect although it had fallen on his ear.  The party were on shore
cooking dinner when he went off, without arms of any kind, and without
telling whither he was bound.  Indeed, he had no defined intentions in
his own mind.  He merely felt inclined for a ramble, and so went away,
intending to be back in half-an-hour or less.

But Jim Scroggles had long legs and loved locomotion.  Moreover, the
woods were exceedingly beautiful and fragrant, and comparatively cool:
for it happened to be the coolest season of the year in that sultry
region, else the party of Europeans could not have ventured to travel
there at all.

Wandering along beneath the shade of palm-trees and large-leaved shrubs
and other tropical productions, with his hands in his breeches pockets,
and whistling a variety of popular airs, which must have not a little
astonished the monkeys and birds and other creatures--such of them, at
least, as had any taste for or knowledge of music--Jim Scroggles
penetrated much farther into the wilds than he had any intention of
doing.  There is no saying how far, in his absence of mind, he might
have wandered, had he not been caught and very uncomfortably entangled
in a mesh-work of wild vines and thorny plants that barred his further
progress.

Jim had encountered several such before in his walk, but had forced his
way through without more serious damage than a rent or two in his shirt
and pantaloons, and several severe scratches to his hands and face; but
Scroggles had lived a hard life from infancy, and did not mind
scratches.  Now, however, he could not advance a step, and it was only
by much patient labour and by the free use of his clasp-knife, that he
succeeded at length in releasing himself.  He left a large portion of
one of the legs of his trousers and several bits of skin on the bushes,
as a memorial of his visit to that spot.

Jim's mind was awoken to the perception of three facts--namely, that he
had made himself late for dinner; that he would be the means of
detaining his party; and that he had lost himself.

Here was a pretty business!  Being a man of slow thought and much
deliberation, he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and looking up,
as men usually do when soliloquising, exclaimed--

"My eye, here's a go!  Wot is to be done?"

A very small monkey, with an uncommonly wrinkled and melancholy cast of
visage, which chanced to be seated on a branch hard by, peering down at
the lost mariner, replied--

"O! o-o-o, O! o-o!" as much as to say, "Ah, my boy, that's just the
question."

Jim Scroggles shook his head, partly as a rebuke to the impertinent
little monkey and partly as an indication of the hopelessness of his
being able to return a satisfactory answer to his own question.

At last he started up, exclaiming, "Wotever comes on it, there's no use
o' sitting here," and walked straight forward at a brisk pace.  Then he
suddenly stopped, shook his head again, and said, "If I goes on like
this, an' it shud turn out to be the wrong course arter all--wot'll come
on't?"

Being as unable to answer this question as the former, he thrust both
hands into his pockets, looked at the ground and began to whistle.  When
he looked up again he ceased whistling very abruptly, and turned deadly
pale--perhaps we should say yellow.  And no wonder, for there, straight
before him, not more than twenty yards off, stood a creature which, to
his ignorant eyes, appeared to be a fiend incarnate, but which was in
reality a large-sized and very ancient sheego monkey.

It stood in an upright position like a man, and was above four feet
high.  It had a bald head, grey whiskers, and an intensely black
wrinkled face, and, at the moment Jim Scroggles' eyes encountered it,
that face was working itself into such a variety of remarkable and
hideous contortions that no description, however graphic, could convey a
correct notion of it to the reader's mind.  Seen behind the bars of an
iron cage it might, perhaps, have been laughable; but witnessed as it
was, in the depths of a lonely forest, it was appalling.

Jim Scroggles' knees began to shake.  He was fascinated with horror.
The huge ape was equally fascinated with terror.  It worked its wrinkled
visage more violently than ever.  Jim trembled all over.  In another
second the sheego displayed not only all its teeth--and they were
tremendous--but all its gums, and they were fearful to behold, besides
being scarlet.  Roused to the utmost pitch of fear, the sheego uttered a
shriek that rang through the forest like a death-yell.  This was the
culminating point.  Jim Scroggles turned and fled as fast as his long
and trembling legs could carry him.

The sheego, at the same instant, was smitten with an identically similar
impulse.  It turned, uttered another yell, and fled in the opposite
direction; and thus the two ran until they were both out of breath.
What became of the monkey we cannot tell; but Jim Scroggles ran at
headlong speed straight before him, crashing through brake and bush, in
the full belief that the sheego was in hot pursuit, until he came to a
mangrove swamp; here his speed was checked somewhat, for the trees grew
in a curious fashion that merits special notice.

Instead of rising out of the ground, the mangroves rose out of a sea of
mud, and the roots stood up in a somewhat arched form, supporting their
stem, as it were, on the top of a bridge.  Thus, had the ground beneath
been solid, a man might have walked _under_ the roots.  In order to
cross the swamp, Jim Scroggles had to leap from root to root--a feat
which, although difficult, he would have attempted without hesitation.
But Jim was agitated at that particular moment.  His step was uncertain
at a time when the utmost coolness was necessary.  At one point the leap
from one root to the next was too great for him.  He turned his eye
quickly to one side to seek a nearer stem; in doing so he encountered
the gaze of a serpent.  It was not a large one, probably about ten feet
long, but he knew it to be one whose bite was deadly.  In the surprise
and fear of the moment he took the long leap, came short of the root by
about six inches, and alighted up to the waist in the soft mud.

Almost involuntarily he cast his eyes behind him, and saw neither sheego
nor serpent.  He breathed more freely, and essayed to extricate himself
from his unpleasant position.  Stretching out his hands to the root
above his head, he found that it was beyond his reach.  The sudden fear
that this produced caused him to make a violent struggle, and in his
next effort he succeeded in catching a twig; it supported him, for a
moment, then broke, and he fell back again into the mud.  Each
successive struggle only sank him deeper.  As the thick adhesive
semi-liquid clung to his lower limbs and rose slowly on his chest, the
wretched man uttered a loud cry of despair.  He felt that he was brought
suddenly face to face with death in its most awful form.  The mud was
soon up to his arm-pits.  As the hopelessness of his condition forced
itself upon him, he began to shout for help until the dark woods
resounded with his cries; but no help came, and the cold drops of sweat
stood upon his brow as he shrieked aloud in agony, and prayed for mercy.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

JIM SCROGGLES RESCUED, AND GLYNN AND AILIE LOST--A CAPTURE, UPSET,
CHASE, ESCAPE, AND HAPPY RETURN.

The merciful manner in which God sends deliverance at the eleventh hour
has been so often experienced and recognised, that it has originated the
well-known proverb, "Man's extremity is God's opportunity;" and this
proverb is true not only in reference to man's soul, but often, also, in
regard to his temporal affairs.

While the wretched sailor was uttering cries for help, which grew
feebler every moment as he sank deeper and deeper into what now he
believed should be his grave, his comrades were hastening forward to his
rescue.

Alarmed at his prolonged absence, they had armed themselves, and set out
in search of him, headed by the trader and led by the <DW64>, who tracked
his steps with that unerring certainty which seems peculiar to all
savages.  The shrieks uttered by their poor comrade soon reached their
ears, and after some little difficulty, owing to the cries becoming
faint, and at last inaudible, they discovered the swamp where he lay,
and revived his hope and energy by their shouts.  They found him nearly
up to the neck in mud, and the little of him that still remained above
ground was scarcely recognisable.

It cost them nearly an hour, with the aid of poles, and ropes
extemporised out of their garments, to drag Jim from his perilous
position and place him on solid ground; and after they had accomplished
this, it took more than an hour longer to clean him and get him
recruited sufficiently to accompany them to the spot where they had left
the canoe.

The poor man was deeply moved; and when he fully realised the fact that
he was saved, he wept like a child, and then thanked God fervently for
his deliverance.  As the night was approaching, and the canoe, with
Ailie in it, had been left in charge only of Glynn Proctor, Jim's
recovery was expedited as much as possible, and as soon as he could walk
they turned to retrace their steps.

Man knows not what a day or an hour will bring forth.  For many years
one may be permitted to move on "the even tenor of his way," without
anything of momentous import occurring to mark the passage of his little
span of time as it sweeps him onward to eternity.  At another period of
life, events, it may be of the most startling and abidingly impressive
nature, are crowded into a few months or weeks, or even days.  So it was
now with our travellers on the African river.  When they reached the
spot where they had dined, no one replied to their shouts.  The canoe,
Glynn, and the child were gone.

On making this terrible discovery the whole party were filled with
indescribable consternation, and ran wildly hither and thither, up and
down the banks of the river, shouting the names of Glynn Proctor and
Ailie, until the woods rang again.  Captain Dunning was almost mad with
anxiety and horror.  His imagination pictured his child in every
conceivable danger.  He thought of her as drowned in the river and
devoured by crocodiles; as carried away by the natives into hopeless
captivity; or, perhaps, killed by wild beasts in the forest.  When
several hours had elapsed, and still no sign of the missing ones could
be discovered, he fell down exhausted on the river's bank, and groaned
aloud in his despair.

But Ailie was not lost.  The Heavenly Father in whom she trusted still
watched over and cared for her, and Glynn Proctor's stout right arm was
still by her side to protect her.

About half-an-hour after the party had gone off in search of their lost
companion, a large canoe, full of <DW64>s, came sweeping down the river.
Glynn and Ailie hid themselves in the bushes, and lay perfectly still,
hoping they might be passed by.  But they forgot that the blue smoke of
their fire curled up through the foliage and revealed their presence at
once.  On observing the smoke, the savages gave a shout, and, running
their canoe close in to the bank, leaped ashore and began to scamper
through the wood like baboons.

Only a few minutes passed before they discovered the two hiders, whom
they surrounded and gazed upon in the utmost possible amazement,
shouting the while with delight, as if they had discovered a couple of
new species of monkey.  Glynn was by nature a reckless and hasty youth.
He felt the power of a young giant within him, and his first impulse was
to leap upon the newcomers, and knock them down right and left.
Fortunately, for Ailie's sake as well as his own, he had wisdom enough
to know that though he had possessed the power of ten giants, he could
not hope, singly, to overcome twenty <DW64>s, all of whom were strong,
active, and lithe as panthers.  He therefore assumed a good-humoured
free-and-easy air, and allowed himself and Ailie to be looked at and
handled without ceremony.

The savages were evidently not ill-disposed towards the wanderers.  They
laughed a great deal, and spoke to each other rapidly in what, to Glynn,
was of course an unknown tongue.  One who appeared to be the chief of
the party passed his long black fingers through Ailie's glossy curls
with evident surprise and delight.  He then advanced to Glynn, and said
something like--

"Holli--boobo--gaddle--bump--um--peepi--daddle--dumps."

To which Glynn replied very naturally, "I don't understand you."

Of course he did not.  And he might have known well enough that the
<DW64> could not understand _him_.  But he deemed it wiser to make a
reply of some kind, however unintelligible, than to stand like a post
and say nothing.

Again the <DW64> spoke, and again Glynn made the same reply; whereupon
the black fellow turned round to his comrades and looked at them, and
they, in reply to the look, burst again into an immoderate fit of
laughter, and cut a variety of capers, the very simplest of which would
have made the fortune of any merry-andrew in the civilised world, had he
been able to execute it.  This was all very well, no doubt, and
exceedingly amusing, not to say surprising; but it became quite a
different matter when, after satisfying their curiosity, these dark
gentlemen coolly collected the property of the white men, stowed it away
in the small canoe, and made signs to Glynn and Ailie to enter.

Glynn showed a decided objection to obey, on which two stout fellows
seized him by the shoulders, and pointed sternly to the canoe, as much
as to say, "Hobbi-doddle-hoogum-toly-whack," which, being interpreted
(no doubt) meant, "If you don't go quietly, we'll force you."

Again the young sailor's spirit leaped up.  He clenched his fists, his
brow flushed crimson, and, in another instant, whatever might have been
the consequence, the two <DW64>s would certainly have lain recumbent on
the sward, had it not suddenly occurred to Glynn that he might, by
appearing to submit, win the confidence of his captors, and, at the
first night-encampment, quietly make his escape with Ailie in his arms!

Glynn was at that romantic age when young men have a tendency to think
themselves capable of doing almost anything, with or without ordinary
facilities, and in the face of any amount of adverse circumstance.  He
therefore stepped willingly and even cheerfully into the canoe, in which
his and his comrades' baggage had been already stowed, and, seating
himself in the stern, took up the steering-paddle.  He was ordered to
quit that post, however, in favour of a powerful <DW64>, and made to sit
in the bow and paddle there.  Ailie was placed with great care in the
centre of the canoe among a heap of soft leopard-skins; for the savages
evidently regarded her as something worth preserving--a rare and
beautiful specimen, perhaps, of the white monkey!

This done, they leaped into their large canoe, and, attaching the
smaller one to it by means of a rope, paddled out from the bank, and
descended the stream.

"Oh!  Glynn," exclaimed Ailie, in a whisper--for she felt that things
were beginning to look serious--"what _are_ we to do?"

"Indeed, my pet, I don't know," replied Glynn, looking round and
encountering the gaze of the <DW64> in the stern, at whom he frowned
darkly, and received a savage grin by way of reply.

"I would like _so_ much to say something to you," continued Ailie, "but
I'm afraid _he_ will know what I say."

"Never fear, Ailie; he's as deaf as a post to our language.  Out with
it."

"Could you not," she said, in a half-whisper, "cut the rope, and then
paddle away back while _they_ are paddling down the river?"

Glynn laughed in spite of himself at this proposal.

"And what, my pretty one," he said, "what should we do with the fellow
in the stern?  Besides, the rascals in front might take it into their
heads to paddle after us, you know, and what then?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Ailie, beginning to cry.

"Now, don't cry, my darling," said Glynn, looking over his shoulder with
much concern.  "I'll manage to get you out of this scrape somehow--now
see if I don't."

The youth spoke so confidently, that the child felt somehow comforted,
so drying her eyes she lay back among the leopard-skins, where, giving
vent to an occasional sob, she speedily fell fast asleep.

They continued to advance thus in silence for nearly an hour, crossed a
small lake, and again entered the river.  After descending this some
time, the attention of the whole party was attracted to a group of
hippopotami, gambolling in the mud-banks and in the river a short
distance ahead.  At any other time Glynn would have been interested in
the sight of these uncouth monsters, but he had seen so many within the
last few days that he was becoming comparatively indifferent to them,
and at that moment he was too much filled with anxiety to take any
notice of them.  The creatures themselves, however, did not seem to be
so utterly indifferent to the strangers.  They continued their gambols
until the canoes were quite near, and then they dived.  Now,
hippopotami, as we have before hinted, are clumsy and stupid creatures,
so much so that they occasionally run against and upset boats and
canoes, quite unintentionally.  Knowing this, the natives in the large
canoe kept a sharp look-out in order to steer clear of them.

They had almost succeeded in passing the place, when a huge fellow, like
a sugar-punchean, rose close to the small canoe, and grazed it with his
tail.  Apparently he considered this an attack made upon him by the
boat, for he wheeled round in a rage, and swam violently towards it.
The <DW64> and Glynn sprang to their feet on the instant, and the former
raised his paddle to deal the creature a blow on the head.  Before he
could do so, Glynn leaped lightly over Ailie, who had just awakened,
caught the savage by the ankles, and tossed him overboard.  He fell with
a heavy splash just in front of the cavernous jaws of the hippopotamus!
In fact, he had narrowly escaped falling head-first into the creature's
open throat.

The nearness of the animal at the time was probably the means of saving
the <DW64>'s life, for it did not observe where he had vanished to, as he
sank under its chin, and was pushed by its forelegs right under its
body.  In its effort to lay hold of the <DW64>, the hippopotamus made a
partial dive, and thus passed the small canoe.  When it again rose to
the surface the large canoe met its eye.  At this it rushed, drove its
hammer-like skull through the light material of which it was made, and
then seizing the broken ends in its strong jaws upset the canoe, and
began to rend it to pieces in its fury.

Before this occurred, the crew had leaped into the water, and were now
swimming madly to the shore.  At the same moment Glynn cut the line that
fastened the two canoes together, and seizing his paddle, urged his
craft up the river as fast as possible.  But his single arm could not
drive it with much speed against the stream, and before he had advanced
a dozen yards, one of the natives overtook him and several more followed
close behind.  Glynn allowed the first one to come near, and then gave
him a tremendous blow on the head with the edge of the paddle.

The young sailor was not in a gentle frame of mind at that time, by any
means.  The blow was given with a will, and would probably have
fractured the skull of a white man; but that of a <DW64> is proverbially
thick.  The fellow was only stunned, and fell back among his comrades,
who judiciously considering that such treatment was not agreeable and
ought not to be courted, put about, and made for the shore.

Glynn now kept his canoe well over to the left side of the stream while
the savages ran along the right bank, yelling ferociously and
occasionally attempting to swim towards him, but without success.  He
was somewhat relieved, and sent them a shout of defiance, which was
returned, of course with interest.  Still he felt that his chance of
escape was poor.  He was becoming exhausted by the constant and violent
exertion that was necessary in order to make head against the stream.
The savages knew this, and bided their time.

As he continued to labour slowly up, Glynn came to the mouth of a small
stream which joined the river.  He knew not where it might lead to, but
feeling that he could not hold out much longer, he turned into it,
without any very definite idea as to what he would attempt next.  The
stream was sluggish.  He advanced more easily, and after a few strokes
of the paddle doubled round a point and was hid from the eyes of the
<DW64>s, who immediately set up a yell and plunged into the river,
intending to swim over; but fortunately it was much too rapid in the
middle, and they were compelled to return.  We say fortunately, because,
had they succeeded in crossing, they would have found Glynn in the
bushes of the point behind which he had disappeared, in a very exhausted
state, though prepared to fight to the last with all the energy of
despair.

As it was, he had the extreme satisfaction of seeing his enemies, after
regaining the right bank, set off at a quick run down the river.  He now
remembered having seen a place about two miles further down that looked
like a ford, and he at once concluded his pursuers had set off to that
point, and would speedily return and easily recapture him in the narrow
little stream into which he had pushed.  To cross the large river was
impossible--the canoe would have been swamped in the rapid.  But what
was to hinder him from paddling close in along the side, and perhaps
reach the lake while the <DW64>s were looking for him up the small
stream?

He put this plan into execution at once; and Ailie took a paddle in her
small hands and did her utmost to help him.  It wasn't much, poor thing;
but to hear the way in which Glynn encouraged her and spoke of her
efforts, one would have supposed she had been as useful as a full-grown
man!  After a couple of hours' hard work, they emerged upon the lake,
and here Glynn felt that he was pretty safe, because, in the still
water, no man could swim nearly as fast as he could paddle.  Besides, it
was now getting dark, so he pushed out towards a rocky islet on which
there were only a few small bushes, resolved to take a short rest there,
and then continue his flight under cover of the darkness.

While Glynn carried ashore some biscuit, which was the only thing in the
boat they could eat without cooking, Ailie broke off some branches from
the low bushes that covered the little rocky islet, and spread them out
on a flat rock for a couch; this done, she stood on the top of a large
stone and gazed round upon the calm surface of the beautiful lake, in
the dark depths of which the stars twinkled as if there were another sky
down there.

"Now, Ailie," said Glynn, "come along and have supper.  It's not a very
tempting one, but we must content ourselves with hard fare and a hard
bed to-night, as I dare not light a fire lest the <DW64>s should observe
it and catch us."

"I'm sorry for that," replied the child; "for a fire is _so_ nice and
cheery; and it helps to keep off the wild beasts, too, doesn't it?"

"Well, it does; but there are no wild beasts on such a small rock as
this, and the sides are luckily too steep for crocodiles to crawl up."

"Shall we sleep here till morning?" asked Ailie, munching her hard
biscuit and drinking her tin pannikinful of cold water with great
relish, for she was very hungry.

"Oh, no!" replied Glynn.  "We must be up and away in an hour at
farthest.  So, as I see you're about done with your luxurious supper, I
propose that you lie down to rest."

Ailie was only too glad to accede to this proposal.  She lay down on the
branches, and after Glynn had covered her with a blanket, he stretched
himself on a leopard-skin beside her, and both of them fell asleep in
five minutes.  The mosquitoes were very savage that night, but the
sleepers were too much fatigued to mind their vicious attacks.

Glynn slept two hours, and then he wakened with a start, as most persons
do when they have arranged, before going to sleep, to rise at a certain
hour.  He rose softly, carried the provisions back to the canoe, and in
his sleepy condition almost stepped upon the head of a huge crocodile,
which, ignorant of their presence, had landed its head on the islet in
order to have a snooze.  Then he roused Ailie, and led her, more than
half asleep, down to the beach, and lifted her into the canoe, after
which he pushed off, and paddled briskly over the still waters of the
star-lit lake.  Ailie merely yawned during all these proceedings; said,
"Dear me! is it time to--yeaow! oh, I'm _so_ sleepy;" mumbled something
about papa wondering what had become of Jim Scroggles, and about her
being convinced that--"yeaow!--the ship must have lost itself among the
whales and monkeys;" and then, dropping her head on the leopard-skins
with a deep sigh of comfort, she returned to the land of Nod.

Glynn Proctor worked so well that it was still early in the morning and
quite dark when he arrived at the encampment where they had been made
prisoners.  His heart beat audibly as he approached the dark
landing-place, and observed no sign of his comrades.  The moment the bow
of the canoe touched the shore, he sprang over the side, and, without
disturbing the little sleeper, drew it gently up the bank, and fastened
the bow-rope to a tree; then he hurried to the spot where they had slept
and found all the fires out except one, of which a few dull embers still
remained; but no comrade was visible.

It is a felicitous arrangement of our organs of sense, that where one
organ fails to convey to our inward man information regarding the
outward world, another often steps in to supply its place, and perform
the needful duty.  We have said that Glynn Proctor saw nothing of his
comrades,--although he gazed earnestly all round the camp--for the very
good reason that it was almost pitch-dark; but although his eyes were
useless, his ears were uncommonly acute, and through their
instrumentality he became cognisant of a sound.  It might have been
distant thunder, but was too continuous and regular for that.  It might
have been the distant rumbling of heavy wagons or artillery over a paved
road; but there were neither wagons nor roads in those African wilds.
It might have been the prolonged choking of an alligator--it might, in
fact, have been _anything_ in a region like that, where _everything_,
almost, was curious, and new, and strange, and wild, and unaccountable;
and the listener was beginning to entertain the most uncomfortable ideas
of what it probably was, when a gasp and a peculiar snort apprised him
that it was a human snore!--at least, if not a human snore, it was that
of some living creature which indulged to a very extravagant degree in
that curious and altogether objectionable practice.

Stepping cautiously forward on tip-toe, Glynn searched among the leaves
all round the fire, following the direction of the sounds, but nothing
was to be found; and he experienced a slight feeling of supernatural
dread creeping over him, when a peculiarly loud metallic snore sounded
clear above his head.  Looking up, he beheld by the dull red light of
the almost extinct fire, the form of Phil Briant, half-seated,
half-reclining, on the branch of a tree not ten feet from the ground,
and clasping another branch tightly with both arms.

At that moment, Ailie, who had awakened, ran up, and caught Glynn by the
hand.

"Hallo!  Briant!" exclaimed Glynn.

A very loud snore was the reply.

"Briant!  Phil Briant, I say; hallo!  Phil!" shouted Glynn.

"Arrah! howld yer noise will ye," muttered the still sleeping
man--"sno--o--o--o--re!"

"A fall! a fall!--all hands ahoy! tumble up there, tumble up!" shouted
Glynn, in the nautical tones which he well knew would have their effect
upon his comrade.

He was right.  They had more than their usual effect on him.  The
instant he heard them, Phil Briant shouted--"Ay, ay, sir!" and, throwing
his legs over the side of what he supposed to be his hammock, he came
down bodily on what he supposed to be the deck with a whack that caused
him to utter an involuntary but tremendous howl.

"Oh! och! oh! murther! oh whirra!" he cried, as he lay half-stunned.
"Oh, it's kilt I am entirely--dead as mutton at last, an' no mistake.
Sure I might have knowd it--och! worse luck!  Didn't yer poor owld
mother tell ye, Phil, that ye'd come to a bad end--she did--"

"Are ye badly hurt?" said Glynn, stooping over his friend in real alarm.

At the sound of his voice Briant ceased his wails, rose into a sitting
posture, shaded his eyes with his hand (a most unnecessary proceeding
under the circumstances), and stared at him.

"It's me, Phil; all right, and Ailie.  We've escaped, and got safe back
again."

"It's jokin' ye are," said Briant, with the imbecile smile of a man who
only half believes what he actually sees.  "I'm draimin', that's it.  Go
away, avic, an' don't be botherin' me."

"It's quite true, though, I assure you, my boy.  I've managed to give
the <DW65>s the slip; and here's Ailie, too, all safe, and ready to
convince you of the fact."

Phil Briant looked at one and then at the other in unbounded amazement
for a few seconds, after which he gave a short laugh as if of pity for
his own weakness, and his face assumed a mild aspect as he said softly,
"It's all a draim, av coorse it is!"  He even turned away his eyes for a
moment in order to give the vision time to dissipate.  But on looking
round again, there it was, as palpable as ever.  Faith in the fidelity
of his own eyesight returned in a moment, and Phil Briant, forgetting
his bodily pains, sprang to his feet with a roar of joy, seized Ailie in
his arms and kissed her, embraced Glynn Proctor with a squeeze like that
of a loving bear, and then began to dance an Irish jig, quite regardless
of the fact that the greater part of it was performed in the fire, the
embers of which he sent flying in all directions like a display of
fireworks.  He cheered, too, now and then like a maniac--"Oh, happy day!
I've found ye, have I? after all me trouble, too!  Hooray! an' wan
chair more for luck.  Av me sowl only don't lape clane out o' me body,
it's meself'll be thankful!  But, sure--I'm forgittin'--"

Briant paused suddenly in the midst of his uproarious dance, and seized
a burning stick, which he attempted to blow into a flame with intense
vehemence of action.  Having succeeded, he darted towards an open space
a few yards off, in the centre of which lay a large pile of dry sticks.
To these he applied the lighted brand, and the next instant a glare of
ruddy flame leaped upwards, and sent a shower of sparks high above the
forest trees into the sky.  He then returned, panting a good deal, but
much composed, and said--"Now, darlints, come an' help me to gather the
bits o' stick; somebody's bin scatterin' them all over the place, they
have, bad luck to them! an' then ye'll sit down and talk a bit, an' tell
me all about it."

"But what's the fire for?" asked Ailie.

"Ay, ye may say that," added Glynn; "we don't need such a huge bonfire
as that to cook our supper with."

"Och! be aisy, do.  It'll do its work; small doubt o' that.  The cap'n,
poor man, ye know, is a'most deranged, an' they're every one o' them off
at this good minute scourin' the woods lookin' for ye.  O, then, it's
sore hearts we've had this day!  An' wan was sent wan way, an' wan
another, an' the cap'n his-self he wint up the river, and, before he
goes, he says to me, says he, `Briant, you'll stop here and watch the
camp, for maybe they'll come wanderin' back to it, av they've bin and
lost theirselves; an' mind ye don't lave it or go to slape.  An' if they
do come, or ye hear any news o' them, jist you light up a great fire,
an' I'll be on the look-out, an' we'll all on us come back as fast as we
can.'  Now, that's the truth, an' the whole truth, an' nothin' but the
truth, as the judge said to the witness when he swore at him."

This was a comforting piece of information to Glynn and Ailie, so,
without further delay, they assisted their overjoyed comrade to collect
the scattered embers of the fire and boil the kettle.  In this work they
were all the more energetic that the pangs of hunger were beginning to
remind them of the frugal and scanty nature of their last meal.

The bonfire did its work effectually.  From all parts of the forest to
which they had wandered, the party came, dropping in one by one to
congratulate the lost and found pair.  Last of all came Captain Dunning
and Tim Rokens, for the harpooner had vowed he would "stick to the cap'n
through thick and thin."  Tim kept his word faithfully.  Through thick
tangled brakes and thin mud-swamps did he follow his wretched commander
that night until he could scarcely stand for fatigue, or keep his eyes
open for sleep; and when the captain rushed into the camp at last, and
clasped his sobbing child to his heart, Tim Rokens rushed in along with
him, halted beside him, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked
on, while his eyes blinked with irresistible drowsiness, and his
mud-bespattered visage beamed with excessive joy.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

PHILOSOPHICAL REMARKS ON "LIFE"--A MONKEY SHOT AND A MONKEY FOUND--JACKO
DESCRIBED.

"Such is life!"  There is deep meaning in that expression, though it is
generally applied in a bantering manner to life in all its phases, under
all its peculiar and diversified circumstances.  Taking a particular
view of things in general, we may say of life that it is composed of
diverse and miscellaneous materials--the grave and the gay; the sad and
the comic; the extraordinary and the commonplace; the flat and the
piquant; the heavy and the light; the religious and the profane; the
bright and the dark; the shadow and the sunshine.  All these, and a
great deal more, similar as well as dissimilar, enter into the
composition of what we familiarly term life.

These elements, too, are not arranged according to order, at least,
order that is perceptible to our feeble human understandings.  That
there does exist both order and harmony is undeniable; but we cannot see
it.  The elements appear to be miscellaneously intermingled--to be
accidentally thrown together; yet, while looking at them in detail there
seems to us a good deal of unreasonable and chaotic jumble, in regarding
them as a whole, or as a series of wholes, it becomes apparent that
there is a certain harmony of arrangement that may be termed
kaleidoscopically beautiful; and when, in the course of events, we are
called to the contemplation of something grand or lovely, followed
rather abruptly by something curiously contemptible or absurd, we are
tempted to give utterance to the thoughts that are too complicated and
deep for rapid analysis, in the curt expression "Such is life."

The physician invites his friends to a social _reunion_.  He chats and
laughs at the passing jest, or takes part in the music--the glee, or the
comic song.  A servant whispers in his ear.  Ten minutes elapse, and he
is standing by the bed of death.  He watches the flickering flame; he
endeavours to relieve the agonised frame; he wipes the cold sweat from
the pale brow, and moistens the dry lips, or pours words of true,
earnest, tender comfort into the ears of the bereaved.  The contrast
here is very violent and sudden.  We have chosen, perhaps, the most
striking instance of the kind that is afforded in the experience of men;
yet such, in a greater or less degree, is life, in the case of every one
born into this wonderful world of ours, and such, undoubtedly, it was
intended to be.  "There is a time for all things."  We were made capable
of laughing and crying; therefore, these being sinless indulgences in
the abstract, we _ought_ to laugh and cry.  And one of our great aims in
life should be to get our hearts and affections so trained that we shall
laugh and cry at the right time.  It may be well to remark, in passing,
that we should avoid, if possible, doing both at once.

Now, such being life, we consider that we shall be doing no violence to
the harmonies of life if we suddenly, and without further preface,
transport the reader into the middle of next day, and a considerable
distance down the river up which we have for some time been travelling.

Here he (or she) will find Ailie and her father, and the whole party in
fact, floating calmly and pleasantly down the stream in their canoe.

"Now, this is wot I do enjoy," said Rokens, laying down his paddle and
wiping the perspiration from his brow; "it's the pleasantest sort o'
thing I've known since I went to sea."

To judge from the profuse perspiration that flowed from his brow, and
from the excessive redness of his face, one would suppose that Rokens'
experience of "pleasant sort o' things" had not hitherto been either
extensive or deep.  But the man meant what he said, and a well-known
proverb clears up the mystery--"What's one man's meat is another's
poison!"  Hard work, violent physical exertion, and excessive heat were
Rokens' delight, and, whatever may be the opinion of flabby-muscled,
flat individuals, there can be no reasonable doubt that Rokens meant it,
when he added, emphatically, "It's fuss-rate; tip-top; A1 on Lloyd's,
that's a fact!"

Phil Briant, on hearing this, laid down his paddle, also wiped his
forehead with the sleeve of his coat, and exclaimed--"Ditto, says I."

Whereupon Glynn laughed, and Jim Scroggles grunted (this being _his_
method of laughing), and the captain shook his head, and said--

"P'r'aps it is, my lads, a pleasant sort o' thing, but the sooner we're
out of it the better.  I've no notion of a country where the natives
murder poor little boys in cold blood, and carry off your goods and
chattels at a moment's notice."

The captain looked at Ailie as he spoke, thereby implying that she was
part of the "goods and chattels" referred to.

"Shure it's a fact; an' without sayin' by yer lave, too," added Briant,
who had a happy facility of changing his opinion on the shortest notice
to accommodate himself to circumstances.

"Oh, the monkey!" screamed Ailie.

Now as Ailie screamed this just as Briant ceased to speak, and,
moreover, pointed, or appeared to point, straight into that individual's
face, it was natural to suppose that the child was becoming somewhat
personal--the more so that Briant's visage, when wrinkled up and tanned
by the glare of a tropical sun, was not unlike to that of a large
baboon.  But every one knew that Ailie was a gentle, well-behaved
creature--except, perhaps, when she was seized with one of her gleeful
fits that bordered sometimes upon mischief--so that instead of supposing
that she had made a personal attack on the unoffending Irishman, the
boat's crew instantly directed their eyes close past Briant's face and
into the recesses of the wood beyond, where they saw a sight that filled
them with surprise.

A large-leaved tree of the palm species overhung the banks of the river
and formed a support to a wild vine and several bright-flowering
parasitical plants that drooped in graceful luxuriance from its branches
and swept the stream, which at that place was dark, smooth, and deep.
On the top of this tree, in among the branches, sat a monkey--at least
so Ailie called it; but the term ape or baboon would have been more
appropriate, for the creature was a very large one, and, if the
expression of its countenance indicated in any degree the feelings of
its heart, also a very fierce one--an exceedingly ferocious one indeed.
This monkey's face was as black as coal, and its two deep-seated eyes
were, if possible, blacker than coal.  Its head was bald, but the rest
of its body was plentifully covered with hair.

Now this monkey was evidently caught--taken by surprise--for instead of
trying to escape as the canoe approached, it sat there chattering and
exhibiting its teeth to a degree that was quite fiendish, not to say--
under the circumstances--unnecessary.  As the canoe dropped slowly down
the river, it became obvious that this monkey had a baby, for a very
small and delicate creature was seen clinging round the big one's waist
with its little hands grasping tightly the long hair on the mother's
sides, its arms being much too short to encircle her body.  Ailie's
heart leapt with an emotion of tender delight as she observed that the
baby monkey's face was white and sweet-looking; yes, we might even go
the length of saying that, for a monkey, it was actually pretty.  But it
had a subdued, sorrowful look that was really touching to behold.  It
seemed as though that infantine monkey had, in the course of its brief
career, been subjected to every species of affliction, to every
imaginable kind of heart-crushing sorrow, and had remained deeply meek
and humble under it all.  Only for one brief instant did a different
expression cross its melancholy face.  That was when it first caught
sight of the canoe.  Then it exposed its very small teeth and gums after
the fashion of its mother; but repentance seemed to follow instantly,
for the sad look, mixed with a dash of timidity, resumed its place, and
it buried its face in its mother's bosom.

At that moment there was a loud report.  A bullet whistled through the
air and struck the old monkey in the breast.  We are glad to say, for
the credit of our sailors, that a howl of indignation immediately
followed, and more than one fist was raised to smite the trader who had
fired the shot.  But Captain Dunning called the men to order in a
peremptory voice, while every eye was turned towards the tree to observe
the effect of the shot.  As for Ailie, she sat breathless with horror at
the cruelty of the act.

The old monkey gave vent to a loud yell, clutched her breast with her
hands, sprang wildly into the air, and fell to the ground.  Her leap was
so violent that the young one was shaken off and fell some distance from
its poor mother, which groaned once or twice and then died.  The baby
seemed unhurt.  Gathering itself nimbly up, it ran away from the men who
had now landed, but who stood still, by the captain's orders, to watch
its motions.  Looking round, it observed its mother's form lying on the
ground, and at once ran towards it and buried its little face in her
breast, at which sight Ailie began to cry quietly.  In a few seconds the
little monkey got up and gently pawed the old one; then, on receiving no
sign of recognition, it uttered a faint wail, something like
"Wee-wee-wee-wee-oo!" and again hid its face in the breast of its dead
parent.

"Ah! the poor cratur," said Briant, in a tone of voice that betrayed his
emotion.  "O, why did ye kill her?"

"Me ketch 'im?" said Bumble, looking inquiringly at the captain.

"Oh, do!" answered Ailie, with a sob.

The <DW64> deemed this permission sufficient, for he instantly sprang
forward, and throwing a piece of net over the little monkey, secured it.

Now the way in which that baby monkey struggled and kicked and shrieked,
when it found itself a prisoner, was perfectly wonderful to see!  It
seemed as if the strength of fifty little monkeys had been compressed
into its diminutive body, and King Bumble had to exert all his strength
in order to hold the creature while he carried it into the canoe.  Once
safely there and in the middle of the stream, it was let loose.  The
first thing it did on being set free was to give a shriek of triumph,
for monkeys, like men, when at last _allowed_ to do that which they have
long struggled in vain to accomplish, usually take credit for the
achievement of their own success.

Its next impulse was to look round at the faces of the men in search of
its mother; but the poor mother was now lying dead covered with a cloth
in the bottom of the canoe, so the little monkey turned from one to
another with disappointment in its glance and then uttered a low wail of
sorrow.  Glynn Proctor affirmed positively that it looked twice at Phil
Briant and even made a motion towards him; but we rather suspect that
Glynn was jesting.  Certain it is, however, that it looked long and
earnestly at Ailie, and there is little doubt that, young though it was,
it was able to distinguish something in her tender gaze of affection and
pity that proved attractive.  It did not, however, accept her invitation
to go to her, although given in the most persuasive tones of her silver
voice, and when any of the men tried to pat its head, it displayed such
a row of sharp little teeth and made such a fierce demonstration of its
intention to bite, that they felt constrained to leave it alone.  At
last Ailie held her hand towards it and said--

"Won't it come to me, dear, sweet pet?  _Do_ come; I'll be as kind to
you almost as your poor mother."  The monkey looked at the child, but
said nothing.

"Come, monkey, dear puggy, _do_ come," repeated Ailie, in a still more
insinuating voice.

The monkey still declined to "come," but it looked very earnestly at the
child, and trembled a good deal, and said, "Oo-oo-wee; oo-oo-wee!"

As Ailie did not quite understand this, she said, "Poor thing!" and
again held out her hand.

"Try it with a small taste o' mate," suggested Briant.

"Right," said the captain.  "Hand me the biscuit-bag, Glynn.  There,
now, Ailie, try it with that."

Ailie took the piece of biscuit offered to her by her father, and held
it out to the monkey, who advanced with nervous caution, and very
slowly, scratching its side the while.  Putting out its very small hand,
it touched the biscuit, then drew back the hand suddenly, and made a
variety of sounds, accompanied by several peculiar contortions of
visage, all of which seemed to say, "Don't hurt me, now; _don't_ deceive
me, pray."  Again it put forth its hand, and took the biscuit, and ate
it in a very great hurry indeed; that is to say, it stuffed it into the
bags in its cheeks.

Ailie gave it a bit more biscuit, which it received graciously, and
devoured voraciously; whereupon she put forth her hand, and sought to
pat the little creature on the head.  The attempt was successful.  With
many slight grins, as though to say, "Take care, now, else I'll bite,"
the small monkey allowed Ailie to pat its head and stroke its back.
Then it permitted her to take hold of its hand, and draw it towards her.
In a few minutes it showed evident symptoms of a desire to be patted
again, and at length it drew timidly towards the child, and took hold of
her hand in both of its delicate pink paws.  Ailie felt quite tenderly
towards the creature, and stroked its head again, whereupon it seemed
suddenly to cast aside all fear.  It leaped upon her knee, put its
slender arms as far round her neck as possible, said "Oo-oo-wee!"
several times in a very sad tone of voice, and laid its head upon her
bosom.

This was too much for poor Ailie; she thought of the dead mother of this
infant monkey, and wept as she stroked its hairy little head and
shoulders.  From that time forward the monkey adopted Ailie as its
mother, and Ailie adopted the monkey as her child.

Now the behaviour of that monkey during the remainder of that voyage was
wonderful.  Oh, you know, it was altogether preposterous, to say the
very least of it.  Affection, which displayed itself in a desire to
conciliate the favour of every one, was ingrained in its bones; while
deception, which was evinced in a constant effort to appear to be intent
upon one thing, when it was really bent upon another, was incorporated
with its marrow!

At first it was at war with every one, excepting, of course, Ailie, its
adopted mother; but soon it became accustomed to the men, and in the
course of a few days would go to any one who called it.  Phil Briant was
a particular favourite; so was Rokens, with whose black beard it played
in evident delight, running its slender fingers through it,
disentangling the knots and the matted portions which the owner of the
beard had never yet been able to disentangle in a satisfactory way for
himself; and otherwise acting the part of a barber and hairdresser to
that bold mariner, much to his amusement, and greatly to the delight and
admiration of the whole party.

To say that that small monkey had a face, would be to assert what was
unquestionably true, but what, also, was very far short of the whole
truth.  No one ever could make up his mind exactly as to how many faces
it had.  If you looked at it at any particular time, and then shut your
eyes and opened them a moment after, that monkey, as far as expression
went, had another and a totally different face.  Repeat the operation,
and it had a third face; continue the process, and it had a fourth face;
and so on, until you lost count altogether of its multitudinous faces.
Now it was grave and pensive; anon it was blazing with amazement; again
it bristled with indignation; then it glared with anger, and presently
it was all serene--blended love and wrinkles.  Of all these varied
expressions, that of commingled surprise and indignation was the most
amusing, because these emotions had the effect of not only opening its
eyes and its mouth to the form of three excessively round O's, but also
raised a small tuft of hair just above its forehead into a bristling
position, and threw its brow into an innumerable series of wrinkles.
This complex expression was of frequent occurrence, for its feelings
were tender and sensitive, so that it lived in the firm belief that its
new friends (always excepting Ailie) constantly wished to insult it; and
was afflicted with a chronic state of surprise at the cruelty, and of
indignation at the injustice, of men who could wantonly injure the
feelings of so young, and especially so small a monkey.

When the men called it, it used to walk up to them with calm, deliberate
condescension in its air; when Ailie held out her hand, it ran on its
two legs, and being eager in its affections, it held out its arms in
order to be caught up.  As to food, that monkey was not particular.  It
seemed to be omnivorous.  Certain it is that it never refused anything,
but more than once it was observed quietly to throw away things that it
did not relish.  Once, in an unguarded moment, it accepted and chewed a
small piece of tobacco; after which it made a variety of entirely new
faces, and became very sick indeed--so sick that its adopted mother
began to fear she was about to lose her child; but after vomiting a good
deal, and moaning piteously for several days, it gradually recovered,
and from that time entertained an unquenchable hatred for tobacco, and
for the man who had given it to him, who happened to be Jim Scroggles.

Ailie, being of a romantic temperament, named her monkey Albertino, but
the sailors called him Jacko, and their name ultimately became the
well-known one of the little foundling, for Ailie was not obstinate; so,
seeing that the sailors did not or could not remember Albertino, she
soon gave in, and styled her pet Jacko to the end of the chapter, with
which piece of information we shall conclude _this_ chapter.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

RENCONTRE WITH SLAVE-TRADERS--ON BOARD AGAIN--A START, A MISFORTUNE, A
GHOST STORY, A MISTAKE, AND AN INVITATION TO DINNER.

On the evening of the second day after the capture of Jacko, as the
canoe was descending the river and drawing near to the sea-coast, much
to the delight of everyone--for the heat of the interior had begun to
grow unbearable--a ship's boat was observed moored to the wharf near the
slave-station which they had passed on the way up.  At first it was
supposed to be one of the boats of the _Red Eric_, but on a nearer
approach this proved to be an erroneous opinion.

"Wot can it be a-doin' of here?" inquired Tim Rokens, in an abstracted
tone of voice, as if he put the question to himself, and therefore did
not expect an answer.

"No doubt it's a slaver's boat," replied the trader; "they often come up
here for cargoes of <DW65>s."

"Och! the blackguards!" exclaimed Phil Briant, all his blood rising at
the mere mention of the horrible traffic; "couldn't we land, capting,
and give them a lickin'?  I'll engage meself to put six at laste o' the
spalpeens on their beam-ends."

"No, Phil, we shan't land for that purpose; but we'll land for some
gunpowder an' a barrel or two of plantains; so give way, lads."

In another moment the bow of the canoe slid upon the mud-bank of the
river close to the slaver's boat, which was watched by a couple of the
most villainous-looking men that ever took part in that disgraceful
traffic.  They were evidently Portuguese sailors, and the scowl of their
bronzed faces, when they saw the canoe approach the landing-place,
showed that they had no desire to enter into amicable converse with the
strangers.

At this moment the attention of the travellers was drawn to a gang of
slaves who approached the wharf, chained together by the neck, and
guarded by the crew of the Portuguese boat.  Ailie looked on with a
feeling of dread that induced her to cling to her father's hand, while
the men stood with folded arms, compressed lips, and knitted brows.

On the voyage up they had landed at this station, and had seen the
slaves in their places of confinement.  The poor creatures were
apparently happy at that time, and seemed totally indifferent to their
sad fate; but their aspect was very different now.  They were being
hurried away, they knew not whither, by strangers whom they had been
taught to believe were monsters of cruelty besides being cannibals, and
who had purchased them for the purpose of killing them and eating their
bodies.  The wild, terrified looks of the men, and the subdued looks and
trembling gait of the women showed that they expected no mercy at the
hands of their captors.

They hung back a little as they drew near to the boat, whereupon one of
their conductors, who seemed to be in command of the party, uttered a
fierce exclamation in Portuguese, and struck several of the men and
women indiscriminately severe blows with his fists.  In a few minutes
they were all placed in the boat, and the crew had partly embarked, when
Phil Briant, unable to restrain himself, muttered between his teeth to
the Portuguese commander as he passed--

"Ye imp o' darkness, av I only had ye in the ring for tshwo minits--jist
tshwo--ah thin, wouldn't I polish ye off."

"Fat you say, sare?" cried the man, turning fiercely towards Briant, and
swearing at him in bad English.

"Say, is it?  Oh, then _there's_ a translation for ye, that's understood
in all lingos."

Phil shook his clenched fist as close as possible to the nose of the
Portuguese commander without actually coming into contact with that
hooked and prominent organ.

The man started back and drew his knife, at the same time calling to
several of his men, who advanced with their drawn knives.

"Ho!" cried Briant, and a jovial smile overspread his rough countenance
as he sprang to a clear spot of ground and rolled up both sleeves of his
shirt to the shoulders, thereby displaying a pair of arms that might, at
a rapid glance, have been mistaken for a pair of legs--"that's yer game,
is it? won't I stave in yer planks! won't I shiver yer timbers, and
knock out yer daylights, bless yer purty faces!  I didn't think ye had
it in ye; come on darlints--toothpicks and all--as many as ye like; the
more the better--wan at a time, or all at wance, it don't matter, not
the laste, be no manes!"

While Briant gave utterance to these liberal invitations, he performed a
species of revolving dance, and flourished his enormous fists in so
ludicrous a manner, that despite the serious nature of the fray the two
parties were likely to be speedily engaged in, his comrades could not
restrain their laughter.

"Go it, Pat!" cried one.

"True blue!" shouted another.

"Silence!" cried Captain Dunning, in a voice that enforced obedience.
"Get into the canoe, Briant."

"Och! capting," exclaimed the wrathful Irishman, reproachfully, "sure ye
wouldn't spile the fun?"

"Go to the canoe, sir."

"Ah! capting dear, jist wan round!"

"Go to the canoe, I say."

"I'll do it all in four minits an' wan quarter, av ye'll only shut yer
eyes," pleaded Phil.

"Obey orders, will you?" cried the captain, in a voice there was no
mistaking.

Briant indignantly thrust his fists into his breeches pockets, and
rolled slowly down towards the canoe, as--to use one of his own
favourite expressions--sulky as a bear with a broken head.

Meanwhile the captain stepped up to the Portuguese sailors and told them
to mind their own business, and let _honest_ men alone; adding, that if
they did not take his advice, he would first give them a licking and
then pitch them all into the river.

This last remark caused Briant to prick up his ears and withdraw his
fists from their inglorious retirement, in the fond hope that there
might still be work for them to do; but on observing that the
Portuguese, acting on the principle that discretion is the better part
of valour, had taken the advice and were returning to their own boat, he
relapsed into the sulks, and seated himself doggedly in his place in the
canoe.

During all this little scene, which was enacted much more rapidly than
it had been described, master Jacko, having escaped from the canoe, had
been seated near the edge of the wharf, looking on, apparently, with
deep interest.  Just as the Portuguese turned away to embark in their
boat, Ailie's eye alighted on her pet; at the same moment the foot of
the Portuguese commander alighted on her pet's tail.  Now the tails of
all animals seem to be peculiarly sensitive.  Jacko's certainly was so,
for he instantly uttered a shriek of agony, which was as quickly
responded to by its adopted mother in a scream of alarm as she sprang
forward to the rescue.  When one unintentionally treads on the tail of
any animal and thereby evokes a yell, he is apt to start and trip--in
nine cases out of ten he does trip.  The Portuguese commander tripped
upon this occasion.  In staggering out of the monkey's way he well-nigh
tumbled over Ailie, and in seeking to avoid her, he tumbled over the
edge of the wharf into the river.

The difference between the appearance of this redoubtable slave-buying
hero before and after his involuntary immersion was so remarkable and
great that his most intimate friend would have failed to recognise him.
He went down into the slimy liquid an ill-favoured Portuguese, clad in
white duck; he came up a worse-favoured monstrosity, clothed in mud!
Even his own rascally comrades grinned at him for a moment, but their
grins changed into a scowl of anger when they heard the peals of
laughter that burst from the throats of their enemies.  As for Briant,
he absolutely hugged himself with delight.

"Och! ye've got it, ye have," he exclaimed, at intervals.  "Happy day!
who'd ha' thought it? to see him tumbled in the mud after all by purty
little Ailie and Jacko.  Come here to me Jacko, owld <DW53>.  Oh, ye swate
cratur!"

Briant seized the monkey, and squeezed it to his breast, and kissed it--
yes, he actually kissed its nose in the height of his glee, and
continued to utter incoherent exclamations, and to perpetrate
incongruous absurdities, until long after they had descended the river
and left the muddy Portuguese and his comrades far behind them.

Towards evening the party were once more safe and sound on board the
_Red Eric_, where they found everything repaired, and the ship in a fit
state to proceed to sea immediately.

His Majesty King Bumble was introduced to the steward, then to the cook,
and then to the caboose.  Master Jacko was introduced to the ship's crew
and to his quarters, which consisted of a small box filled with straw,
and was lashed near the foot of the mizzen-mast.  These introductions
having been made, the men who had accompanied their commander on his
late excursion into the interior, went forward and regaled their
messmates for hours with anecdotes of their travels in the wilds of
Africa.

It is well-known, and generally acknowledged, that all sublunary things,
pleasant as well as unpleasant, must come to an end.  In the course of
two days more the sojourn of the crew of the _Red Eric_ on the coast of
Africa came to a termination.  Having taken in supplies of fresh
provisions, the anchor was weighed, and the ship stood out to sea with
the first of the ebb tide.  It was near sunset when the sails were
hoisted and filled by a gentle land breeze, and the captain had just
promised Ailie that he would show her blue water again by breakfast-time
next morning, when a slight tremor passed through the vessel's hull,
causing the captain to shout, with a degree of vigour that startled
everyone on board, "All hands ahoy! lower away the boats, Mr Millons,
we're hard and fast aground on a mud-bank!"

The boats were lowered away with all speed, and the sails dewed up
instantly, but the _Red Eric_ remained as immovable as the bank on which
she had run aground; there was, therefore, no recourse but to wait
patiently for the rising tide to float her off again.  Fortunately the
bank was soft and the wind light, else it might have gone ill with the
good ship.

There is scarcely any conceivable condition so favourable to quiet
confidential conversation and story-telling as the one in which the men
of the whale-ship now found themselves.  The night was calm and dark,
but beautiful, for a host of stars sparkled in the sable sky, and
twinkled up from the depths of the dark ocean.  The land breeze had
fallen, and there was scarcely any sound to break the surrounding
stillness except the lipping water as it kissed the black hull of the
ship.  A dim, scarce perceptible light rendered every object on board
mysterious and unaccountably large.

"Wot a night for a ghost story," observed Jim Scroggles, who stood with
a group of the men, who were seated on and around the windlass.

"I don't b'lieve in ghosts," said Dick Barnes stoutly, in a tone of
voice that rendered the veracity of his assertion, to say the least of
it, doubtful.

"Nother do I," remarked Nikel Sling, who had just concluded his culinary
operations for the day, and sought to employ his brief interval of
relaxation in social intercourse with his fellows.  Being engaged in
ministering to the animal wants of his comrades all day, he felt himself
entitled to enjoy a little of the "feast of reason and the flow of soul"
at night:

"No more duv I," added Phil Briant firmly, at the same time hitting his
thigh a slap with his open hand that caused all round him to start.

"You don't, don't you?" said Tim Rokens, addressing the company
generally, and looking round gravely, while he pushed the glowing
tobacco into his pipe with the point of a marline-spike.

To this there was a chorus of "Noes," but a close observer would have
noticed that nearly the whole conversation was carried on in low tones,
and that many a glance was cast behind, as if these bold sceptics more
than half expected all the ghosts that did happen to exist to seize them
then and there and carry them off as a punishment for their unbelief.

Tim Rokens drew a few whiffs of his pipe, and looked round gravely
before he again spoke; then he put the following momentous question,
with the air of a man who knew he could overturn his adversary whatever
his reply should be--

"An' why don't ye b'lieve in 'em?"

We cannot say positively that Tim Rokens put the question to Jim
Scroggles, but it is certain that Jim Scroggles accepted the question as
addressed to him, and answered in reply--

"'Cause why?  I never seed a ghost, an' nobody never seed a ghost, an' I
don't b'lieve in what I can't see."

Jim said this as if he thought the position incontestable.  Tim regarded
him with a prolonged stare, but for some time said nothing.  At last he
emitted several strong puffs of smoke, and said--

"Young man, did you ever _see_ your own mind?"

"No, in course not."

"Did anybody else ever see it?"

"Cer'nly not."

"Then of course you don't believe in it!" added Rokens, while a slight
smile curled his upper lip.

The men chuckled a good deal at Jim's confusion, while he in vain
attempted to explain that the two ideas were not parallel by any means.
At this juncture, Phil Briant came to the rescue.

"Ah now, git out," said he.  "I agree with Jim intirely; an' Tim Rokens
isn't quite so cliver as he thinks.  Now look here, lads, here's how it
stands, 'xactly.  Jim says he never seed his own mind--very good; and he
says as how nobody else niver seed it nother; well, and wot then?  Don't
you observe it's 'cause he han't got none at all to see?  He han't got
even the ghost of one, so how could ye expect anybody to see it?"

"Oh, hold yer noise, Paddy," exclaimed Dick Barnes, "an' let's have a
ghost story from Tim Rokens.  He b'lieves in ghosts, anyhow, an' could
give us a yarn about 'em, I knows, if he likes.  Come along now, Tim,
like a good fellow."

"Ay, that's it," cried Briant; "give us a stiff 'un now.  Don't be
afeard to skear us, old boy."

"Oh, I can give ye a yarn about ghosts, cer'nly," said Tim Rokens,
looking into the bowl of his pipe in order to make sure that it was
sufficiently charged to last out the story.  "I'll tell ye of a ghost I
once seed and knocked down."

"Knocked down!" cried Nikel Sling in surprise; "why, I allers thought as
how ghosts was spirits, an' couldn't be knocked down or cotched
neither."

"Not at all," replied Rokens; "ghosts is made of all sorts o' things--
brass, and iron, and linen, and buntin', and timber; it wos a brass
ghost the feller that I'm goin' to tell ye about--"

"I say, Sling," interrupted Briant, "av ghosts wos spirits, as you
thought they wos, would they be allowed into the State of Maine?"

"Oh, Phil, shut up, do!  Now then, Tim, fire away."

"Well, then," began Rokens, with great deliberation, "it was on a
Vednesday night as it happened.  I had bin out at supper with a friend
that night, and we'd had a glass or two o' grog; for ye see, lads, it
was some years ago, afore I tuk to temp'rance.  I had a long way to go
over a great dark moor afore I could git to the place where I lodged, so
I clapped on all sail to git over the moor, seein' the moon would go
down soon; but it wouldn't do: the moon set when I wos in the very
middle of the moor, and as the road wasn't over good, I wos in a state
o' confumble lest I should lose it altogether.  I looks round in all
directions, but I couldn't see nothin'--cause why? there wasn't nothin'
to be seen.  It was 'orrid dark, I can tell ye.  Jist one or two stars
a-shinin', like half-a-dozen farden dips in a great church; they only
made darkness wisible.  I began to feel all over a cur'ous sort o'
peculiar unaccountableness, which it ain't easy to explain, but is most
oncommon disagreeable to feel.  It wos very still, too--desperate still.
The beatin' o' my own heart sounded quite loud, and I heer'd the
tickin' o' my watch goin' like the click of a church clock.  Oh, it was
awful!"

At this point in the story the men crept closer together, and listened
with intense earnestness.

"Suddently," continued Rokens--"for things in sich circumstances always
comes suddently--suddently I seed somethin' black jump up right ahead o'
me."

Here Rokens paused.

"Wot was it?" inquired Gurney, in a solemn whisper.

"It was," resumed Rokens slowly, "the stump of a old tree."

"Oh, I thought it had been the ghost," said Gurney, somewhat relieved,
for that fat little Jack-tar fully believed in apparitions, and always
listened to a ghost story in fear and trembling.

"No it wasn't the ghost; it was the stump of a tree.  Well, I set sail
again, an' presently I sees a great white thing risin' up ahead o' me."

"Hah! _that_ was it," whispered Gurney.

"No, that wasn't it," retorted Rokens; "that was a hinn, a white-painted
hinn, as stood by the roadside, and right glad wos I to see it, I can
tell ye, shipmates, for I wos gittin' tired as well as frightened.  I
soon roused the landlord by kickin' at the door till it nearly comed off
its hinges; and arter gettin' another glass o' grog, I axed the landlord
to show me my bunk, as I wanted to turn in.

"It was a queer old house that hinn wos.  A great ramblin' place, with
no end o' staircases and passages.  A dreadful gloomy sort o' place.  No
one lived in it except the landlord, a dark-faced surly fellow as one
would like to kick out of his own door, and his wife, who wos little
better than his-self.  They also had a hostler, but he slept with the
cattle in a hout-house.

"`Ye won't be fear'd,' says the landlord, as he hove ahead through the
long passages holdin' the candle high above his head to show the way,
`to sleep in the far end o' the house.  It's the old bit; the new bit's
undergoin' repairs.  You'll find it comfortable enough, though it's
raither gusty, bein' old, ye see; but the weather ain't cold, so ye
won't mind it.'

"`Oh! niver a bit,' says I, quite bold like; `I don't care a rap for
nothin'.  There ain't no ghosts, is there?'

"`Well, I'm not sure; many travellers wot has stayed here has said to me
they've seed 'em, particklerly in the old part o' the buildin', but they
seems to be quite harmless, and never hurts any one as lets 'em alone.
I never seed 'em myself, an' there's cer'nly not more nor half-a-dozen
on 'em--hallo!--'

"At that moment, shipmates, a strong gust o' cold air came rushin' down
the passage we was in, and blow'd out the candle.  `Ah! it's gone out,'
said the landlord; `just wait here a moment, and I'll light it;' and
with that he shuffled off, and left me in the blackest and most thickest
darkness I ever wos in in all my life.  I didn't dare to move, for I
didn't know the channels, d'ye see, and might ha' run myself aground or
against the rocks in no time.  The wind came moanin' down the passage;
as if all the six ghosts the landlord mentioned, and a dozen or two o'
their friends besides, was a-dyin' of stommick-complaint.  I'm not easy
frightened, lads, but my knees did feel as if the bones in 'em had
turned to water, and my hair began to git up on end, for I felt it
risin'.  Suddenly I saw somethin' comin' along the passage towards me--"

"That's the ghost, _now_," interrupted Gurney, in a tremulous whisper.

Rokens paused, and regarded his fat shipmate with a look of contemptuous
pity; then turning to the others, he said--

"It wos _the landlord_, a-comin' back with the candle.  He begged pardon
for leavin' me in the dark so long, and led the way to a room at the far
end o' the passage.  It was a big, old-fashioned room, with a
treemendius high ceiling, and no furniture, 'cept one chair, one small
table, and a low camp-bed in a corner.  `Here's your room,' says the
landlord; `it's well-aired.  I may as well mention that the latch of the
door ain't just the thing.  It sometimes blows open with a bang, but
when you know it may happen, you can be on the look-out for it, you
know, and so you'll not be taken by surprise.  Good-night.'  With that
the fellow set the candle down on the small table at the bedside, and
left me to my cogitations.  I heerd his footsteps echoin' as he went
clankin' along the passages; then they died away, an' I was alone.

"Now, I tell ye wot it is, shipmates; I've bin in miny a fix, but I
niver wos in sich a fix as that.  The room was empty and big; so big
that the candle could only light up about a quarter of it, leavin' the
rest in gloom.  There was one or two old picturs on the walls; one on
'em a portrait of a old admiral, with a blue coat and brass buttons and
white veskit.  It hung just opposite the fut o' my bunk, an' I could
hardly make it out, but I saw that the admiral kep his eye on me
wheriver I turned or moved about the room, an' twice or thrice, if not
more, I saw him wink with his weather eye.  Yes, he winked as plain as I
do myself.  Says I to myself, says I, `Tim Rokens, you're a British tar,
an' a whaler, an' a harpooner; so, Tim, my boy, don't you go for to be a
babby.'

"With that I smoked a pipe, and took off my clo's, and tumbled in, and
feeling a little bolder by this time, I blew out the candle.  In gittin'
into bed I knocked over the snuffers, w'ich fell with an awful clatter,
and my heart lep' into my mouth as I lep' under the blankets, and
kivered up my head.  Howsever, I was uncommon tired, so before my head
was well on the pillow, I went off to sleep.

"How long I slep' I can't go for to say, but w'en I wakened it wos
pitch-dark.  I could only just make out the winder by the pale starlight
that shone through it, but the moment I set my two eyes on it, wot does
I see?  I seed a sight that made the hair on my head stand on end, and
my flesh creep up like a muffin.  It was a--"

"A ghost!" whispered Gurney, while his eyes almost started out of his
head.

Before Tim Rokens could reply, something fell with a heavy flop from the
yard over their heads right in among the men, and vanished with a
shriek.  It was Jacko, who, in his nocturnal rambles in the rigging, had
been shaken off the yard on which he was perched, by a sudden lurch of
the vessel as the tide began to move her about.  At any time such an
event would have been startling, but at such a time as this it was
horrifying.  The men recoiled with sharp cries of terror, and then burst
into laughter as they observed what it was that had fallen amongst them.
But the laughter was subdued, and by no means hearty.

"I'll be the death o' that brute yet," said Gurney, wiping the
perspiration from his forehead; "but go on, Rokens; what was it you
saw?"

"It _was_ the ghost," replied Rokens, as the men gathered round him
again--"a long, thin ghost, standin' at my bedside.  The light was so
dim that I couldn't well make it out, but I saw that it was white, or
pale-like, and that it had on a pointed cap, like the cap o' an old
witch.  I thought I should ha' died outright, and I lay for full five
minits tremblin' like a leaf and starin' full in its face.  At last I
started up in despair, not knowin' well wot to do; and the moment I did
so the ghost disappeared.

"I thought this was very odd, but you may be sure I didn't find fault
with it; so after lookin' all round very careful to make quite sure that
it was gone, I lay down again on my back.  Well, would ye b'lieve it,
shipmates, at that same moment up starts the ghost again as bold as
iver?  And up starts I in a fright; but the moment I was up the ghost
was gone.  `Now, Tim Rokens,' says I to myself, always keepin' my eye on
the spot where I'd last seed the ghost, `this _is_ queer; this is quite
remarkable.  You're dreamin', my lad, an' the sooner ye put a stop to
that 'ere sort o' dreamin' the better.'

"Havin' said this, I tried to feel reckless, and lay down again, and up
started the ghost again with its long thin white body, an' the pointed
cap on its head.  I noticed, too, that it wore its cap a little on one
side quite jaunty like.  So, wheniver I sot up that 'ere ghost
disappeared, and wheniver I lay down it bolted up again close beside me.
At last I lost my temper, and I shouts out quite loud, `Shiver my
timbers,' says I, `ghost or no ghost, I'll knock in your daylights if ye
carry on like that any longer;' and with that I up fist and let drive
straight out at the spot where its bread-basket should ha' bin.  Down it
went, that ghost did, with a clatter that made the old room echo like an
empty church.  I guv it a rap, I did, sich as it hadn't had since it was
born--if ghosts be born at all--an' my knuckles paid for it, too, for
they was skinned all up; then I lay down tremblin', and then, I dun know
how it was, I went to sleep.

"Next mornin' I got up to look for the ghost, and, sure enough, I found
his _remains_!  His pale body lay in a far corner o' the room doubled up
and smashed to bits, and his pointed cap lay in another corner almost
flat.  That ghost," concluded Rokens, with slow emphasis--"that ghost
was the _candle_, it wos!"

"The candle!" exclaimed several of the men in surprise.

"Yes, the candle, and brass candlestick with the stinguisher a-top o't.
Ye see, lads, the candle stood close to the side o' my bed on the table,
an' when I woke up and I saw it there, it seemed to me like a big thing
in the middle o' the room, instead o' a little thing close to my nose;
an' when I sot up in my bed, of coorse I looked right over the top of it
and saw nothin'; an' when I lay down, of coorse it rose up in the very
same place.  An', let me tell you, shipmates," added Tim, in conclusion,
with the air of a philosopher, "_all_ ghosts is o' the same sort.
They're most of 'em made o' wood or brass, or some sich stuff, as I've
good cause to remimber, for I had to pay the price o' that 'ere ghost
before I left that there hinn on the lonesome moor, and for the washin'
of the blankets, too, as wos all kivered with blood nixt mornin' from my
smashed knuckles.  There's a morial contained in most things, lads, if
ye only try for to find it out; an' the morial of my story is this--
don't ye go for to b'lieve that everything ye don't 'xactly understand
is a ghost until ye've got to know more about it."

While Tim Rokens was thus recounting his ghostly experiences, and
moralising thereon, for the benefit of his comrades, the silent tide was
stealthily creeping up the sides of the _Red Eric_, and placing her
gradually on an even keel.  At the same time a British man-of-war was
creeping down upon that innocent vessel with the murderous intention of
blowing her out of the water, if possible.

In order to explain this latter fact, we must remind the reader of the
boat and crew of the Portuguese slaver which was encountered by the
party of excursionists on their trip down the river.  The vessel to
which that boat belonged had been for several weeks previous creeping
about off the coast, watching her opportunity to ship a cargo of slaves,
and at the same time to avoid falling into the hands of a British
cruiser which was stationed on the African coast to prevent the
villainous traffic.  The Portuguese ship, which was very similar in size
and shape to the _Red Eric_, had hitherto managed to elude the cruiser,
and had succeeded in taking a number of slaves on board ere she was
discovered.  The cruiser gave chase to her on the same afternoon as that
on which the _Red Eric_ grounded on the mud-bank off the mouth of the
river.  Darkness, however, favoured the slaver, and when the land breeze
failed, she was lost sight of in the intricacies of the navigation at
that part of the coast.

Towards morning, while it was yet dark, the _Red Eric_ floated, and
Captain Dunning, who had paced the deck all night with a somewhat
impatient tread, called to the mate--"Now, Mr Millons, man the boats,
and let some of the hands stand-by to trim the sails to the first puff
of wind."

"Ay, ay, sir," answered the mate, as he sprang to obey.

Now it is a curious fact, that at that identical moment the captain of
the cruiser addressed his first lieutenant in precisely the same words,
for he had caught a glimpse of the whaler's topmasts against the dark
sky, and mistook them, very naturally, for those of the slaver.  In a
few seconds the man-of-war was in full pursuit.

"I say, Dr Hopley," remarked Captain Dunning, as he gazed intently into
the gloom astern, "did you not hear voices? and, as I live, there's a
large ship bearing right down on us!"

"It must be a slaver," replied the doctor; "probably the one that owned
the boat we saw up the river."

"Ship on the larboard bow!" shouted the look-out on the forecastle.

"Hallo! ships ahead and astern!" remarked the captain, in surprise.
"There seems to be a `school' of 'em in these waters."

At this moment the oars of the boats belonging to the ship astern were
heard distinctly, and a light puff of wind at the same time bulged out
the sails of the _Red Eric_, which instantly forged ahead.

"Ship ahoy!" shouted a voice from the boats astern in a tone of
authority; "heave-to, you rascal, or I'll sink you!"

Captain Dunning turned to the doctor with a look of intense surprise.

"Why, doctor, that's the usual hail of a pirate, or something like it.
What it can be doing here is past my comprehension.  I would as soon
expect to find a whale in a wash-tub as a black flag in these waters!
Port, port a little" (turning to the steersman)--"steady--so.  We must
run for it, anyhow, for we're in no fightin' trim.  The best answer to
give to such a hail is silence."

Contrary to expectation the boats did not again hail, but in a few
minutes the dark hull of the British cruiser became indistinctly visible
as it slipped swiftly through the water before the freshening breeze,
and neared the comparatively slow-going whaler rapidly.  Soon it came
within easy range, and while Captain Dunning looked over the taffrail
with a troubled countenance, trying to make her out, the same voice came
hoarsely down on the night breeze issuing the same peremptory command.

"Turn up the hands, Mr Millons, and serve out pistols and cutlasses.
Get the carronades on the forecastle and quarterdeck loaded, Mr
Markham, and look alive; we must show the enemy a bold front, whoever he
is."

As the captain issued these orders, the darkness was for an instant
illuminated by a bright flash; the roar of a cannon reverberated over
the sea; a round-shot whistled through the rigging of the _Red Eric_,
and the next instant the foretopsail-yard came rattling down upon the
deck.

Immediately after, the cruiser ranged up alongside, and the order to
heave-to was repeated with a threat that was calculated to cause the
hair of a man of peace to stand on end.  The effect on Captain Dunning
was to induce him to give the order--

"Point the guns there, lads, and aim high; I don't like to draw first
blood--even of a pirate."

"Ship ahoy!  Who are you, and where from?" inquired Captain Dunning,
through the speaking-trumpet.

"Her British Majesty's frigate _Firebrand_.  If you don't heave-to, sir,
instantly, I'll give you a broadside.  Who are you, and where bound?"

"Whew!" whistled Captain Dunning, to vent his feelings of surprise ere
he replied, "The _Red Eric_, South Sea whaler, outward bound."

Having given this piece of information, he ordered the topsails to be
backed, and the ship was hove-to.  Meanwhile a boat was lowered from the
cruiser, and the captain thereof speedily leaped upon the whaler's
quarterdeck.

The explanation that followed was not by any means calculated to allay
the irritation of the British captain.  He had made quite sure that the
_Red Eric_ was the slaver of which he was in search, and the discovery
of his mistake induced him to make several rather severe remarks in
reference to the crew of the _Red Eric_ generally and her commander in
particular.

"Why didn't you heave-to when I ordered you," he said, "and so save all
this trouble and worry?"

"Because," replied Captain Dunning drily, "I'm not in the habit of
obeying orders until I know that he who gives 'em has a right to do so.
But 'tis a pity to waste time talking about such trifles when the craft
you are in search of is not very far away at this moment."

"What mean you, sir?" inquired the captain of the cruiser quickly.

"I mean that yonder vessel, scarcely visible now on the lee bow, is the
slaver, in all likelihood."

The captain gave but one hasty glance in the direction pointed to by
Captain Dunning, and next moment he was over the side of the ship, and
the boat was flying swiftly towards his vessel.  The rapid orders given
on board the cruiser soon after, showed that her commander was eagerly
in pursuit of the strange vessel ahead, and the flash and report of a
couple of guns proved that he was again giving orders in his somewhat
peremptory style.

When daylight appeared, Captain Dunning was still on deck, and Glynn
Proctor stood by the wheel.  The post of the latter, however, was a
sinecure, as the wind had again fallen.  When the sun rose it revealed
the three vessels lying becalmed within a short distance of each other
and several miles off shore.

"So, so," exclaimed the captain, taking the glass and examining the
other vessels.  "I see it's all up with the slaver.  Serves him right;
don't it, Glynn?"

"It does," replied Glynn emphatically.  "I hope they will all be hanged.
Isn't that the usual way of serving these fellows out?"

"Well, not exactly, lad.  They don't go quite that length--more's the
pity; if they did, there would be less slave-trading; but the rascals
will lose both ship and cargo."

"I wonder," said Glynn, "how they can afford to carry on the trade when
they lose so many ships as I am told they do every year."

"You wouldn't wonder, boy, if you knew the enormous prices got for
slaves.  Why, the profits on one cargo, safely delivered, will more than
cover the loss of several vessels and cargoes.  You may depend on't they
would not carry it on if it did not pay."

"Humph!" ejaculated Glynn, giving the wheel a savage turn, as if to
express his thorough disapprobation of the slave-trade, and his extreme
disgust at not being able, by the strength of his own right arm, at once
to repress it.  "And who's to pay for our foretopsail-yard?" he
inquired, abruptly, as if desirous of changing the subject.

"Ourselves, I fear," replied the captain.  "We must take it
philosophically, and comfort ourselves with the fact that it _is_ the
foretopsail-yard, and not the bowsprit or the mainmast, that was carried
away.  It's not likely the captain of the cruiser will pay for it, at
any rate."

Captain Dunning was wrong.  That same morning he received a polite note
from the commander of the said cruiser, requesting the pleasure of his
company to dinner, in the event of the calm continuing, and assuring him
that the carpenter and the sail-maker of the man-of-war should be sent
on board his ship after breakfast to repair damages.  Captain Dunning,
therefore, like an honest, straightforward man as he was, admitted that
he had been hasty in his judgment, and stated to Glynn Proctor,
emphatically, that the commander of the _Firebrand_ was "a trump."



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

NEW SCENES--A FIGHT PREVENTED BY A WHALE--A STORM--BLOWN OFF THE
YARDARM--WRECK OF THE "RED ERIC".

Five weeks passed away, and really, when one comes to consider the
matter, it is surprising what a variety of events may be compressed into
five weeks; what an amount of space may be passed over, what an immense
change of scene and circumstance may be experienced in that
comparatively short period of time.

Men and women who remain quietly at home do not, perhaps, fully realise
this fact.  Five weeks to them does not usually seem either very long or
very short.  But let those quiet ones travel; let them rush away
headlong, by the aid of wind and steam, to the distant and wonderful
parts of this wonderful world of ours, and, ten to one, they will
afterwards tell you that the most wonderful discovery they had made
during their travels, is the fact that a miniature lifetime (apparently)
can be compressed into five weeks.

Five weeks passed away, and in the course of that time the
foretopsail-yard of the _Red Eric_ had been repaired; the _Red Eric_
herself had passed from equatorial into southern seas; Alice Dunning had
become very sea-sick, which caused her to look uncommonly green in the
face, and had got well again, which caused her to become fresh and rosy
as the early morning; Jacko had thoroughly established his reputation as
the most arrant and accomplished thief that ever went to sea: King
Bumble had been maligned and abused again and again, and over again,
despite his protestations of innocence, by grim-faced Tarquin, the
steward, for having done the deeds which were afterwards discovered to
have been committed by Jacko; fat little Gurney had sung innumerable
songs of his own composing, in which he was ably supported by Glynn
Proctor; Dr Hopley had examined, phrenologically, all the heads on
board, with the exception of that of Tarquin, who would not submit to
the operation on any account, and had shot, and skinned, and stuffed a
variety of curious sea-birds, and caught a number of remarkable
sea-fish, and had microscopically examined--to the immense interest of
Ailie, and consequently of the captain--a great many surprising
animalcules, called _Medusae_, which possessed the most watery and the
thinnest possible bodies, yet which had the power of emitting a
beautiful phosphoric light at night, so as to cause the whole ocean
sometimes to glow as if with liquid fire; Phil Briant had cracked more
jokes, good, bad, and indifferent, than would serve to fill a whole
volume of closely-printed pages, and had told more stories than would be
believed by most people; Tim Rokens and the other harpooners had, with
the assistance of the various boats' crews, slain and captured several
large whales, and Nikel Sling had prepared, and assisted to consume, as
many breakfasts, dinners, and suppers as there are days in the period of
time above referred to;--in short, those five weeks, which we thus
dismiss in five minutes, might, if enlarged upon, be expanded into
material to fill five volumes such as this, which would probably take
about five years to write--another reason for cutting this matter short.
All this shows how much may be compressed into little space, how much
may be done and seen in little time, and, therefore, how much value men
ought to attach to little things.

Five weeks passed away, as we have already remarked, and at the end of
that time the _Red Eric_ found herself, one beautiful sunny afternoon,
becalmed on the breast of the wide ocean with a strange vessel, also a
whaler, a few miles distant from her, and a couple of sperm-whales
sporting playfully about midway between the two ships.  Jim Scroggles on
that particular afternoon found himself in the crow's-nest at the
masthead, roaring "Thar she blows!" with a degree of energy so appalling
that one was almost tempted to believe that that long-legged individual
had made up his mind to compress his life into one grand but brief
minute, and totally exhaust his powers of soul and body in the
reiterated vociferation of that one faculty of the sperm-whale.
Allowance must be made for Jim, seeing that this was the first time he
had been fortunate enough to "raise the oil" since he became a whaler.

The usual scene of bustle and excitement immediately ensued.  The men
sprang to their appointed places in a moment; the tubs, harpoons,
etcetera, were got ready, and in a few minutes the three boats were
leaping over the smooth swell towards the fish.

While this was taking place on board the _Red Eric_, a precisely similar
scene occurred on board the other whale-ship, and a race now ensued
between the boats of the two ships, for each knew well that the first
boat that harpooned either of the whales claimed it.

"Give way, my lads," whispered Captain Dunning eagerly, as he watched
the other boats; "we shall be first--we shall be first; only bend your
backs."

The men needed not to be urged; they were quite as anxious as their
commander to win the races and bent their backs, as he expressed it,
until the oars seemed about to break.  Glynn sat on the after thwart,
and did good service on this occasion.

It soon became evident that the affair would be decided by the boats of
the two captains, both of which took the lead of the others, but as they
were advancing in opposite directions it was difficult to tell which was
the fleeter of the two.  When the excitement of the race was at its
height the whales went down, and the men lay on their oars to wait until
they should rise again.  They lay in anxious suspense for about a
minute, when the crew of Captain Dunning's boat was startled by the
sudden apparition of a waterspout close to them, by which they were
completely drenched.  It was immediately followed by the appearance of
the huge blunt head of one of the whales, which rose like an enormous
rock out of the sea close to the starboard-quarter.

The sight was received with a loud shout, and Tim Rokens leaped up and
grasped a harpoon, but the whale sheered off.  A spare harpoon lay on
the stern-sheets close to Glynn, who dropped his oar and seized it.
Almost without knowing what he was about, he hurled it with tremendous
force at the monster's neck, into which it penetrated deeply.  The
harpoon fortunately happened to be attached to a large buoy, called by
whalers a drogue, which was jerked out of the boat like a cannon-shot as
the whale went down, carrying harpoon and drogue along with it.

"Well done, lad," cried the captain, in great delight, "you've made a
noble beginning!  Now, lads, pull gently ahead, she won't go far with
such an ornament as that dangling at her neck.  A capital dart! couldn't
have done it half so well myself, even in my young days!"

Glynn felt somewhat elated at this unexpected piece of success; to do
him justice, however, he took it modestly.  In a few minutes the whale
rose, but it had changed its course while under water, and now appeared
close to the leading boat of the other ship.

By the laws of the whale-fishery, no boat of one vessel has a right to
touch a whale that has been struck by the boat of another vessel, so
long as the harpoon holds fast and the rope remains unbroken, or so long
as the float to which the harpoon is connected remains attached.
Nevertheless, in defiance of this well-known law, the boat belonging to
the captain of the strange ship gave chase, and succeeded in making fast
to the whale.

To describe the indignation of Captain Dunning and his men on witnessing
this act is impossible.  The former roared rather than shouted, "Give
way, lads!" and the latter bent their backs as if they meant to pull the
boat bodily out of the water, and up into the atmosphere.  Meanwhile all
the other boats were in hot pursuit of the second whale, which had led
them a considerable distance away from the first.

"What do you mean by striking that fish?" shouted Captain Dunning, when,
after a hard pull, he came up with the boat, the crew of which had just
succeeded in thrusting a lance deep into a mortal part of the huge
animal, which soon after rolled over, and lay extended on the waves.

"What right have you to ask?" replied the captain of the strange ship,
an ill-favoured, powerful man, whose countenance was sufficient to
condemn him in any society, save that of ruffians.  "Don't you see your
drogue has broke loose?"

"I see nothing of the sort.  It's fast at this moment; so you'll be good
enough to cut loose and take yourself off as fast as you please."

To this the other made no reply, but, turning to his men, said: "Make
fast there, lads; signal the other boats, and pull away for the ship;
look sharp, you lubbers."

"Och! captain dear," muttered Phil Briant, baring both arms up to the
shoulders, "only give the word; _do_, now!"

Captain Dunning, who was already boiling with rage, needed no
encouragement to make an immediate attack on the stranger, neither did
his men require an order; they plunged their oars into the water, ran
right into the other boat, sprang to their feet, seized lances,
harpoons, and knives, and in another moment would have been engaged in a
deadly struggle had not an unforeseen event occurred to prevent the
fray.  This was the partial recovery of the whale, which, apparently
resolved to make one final struggle for life, turned over and over,
lashed the sea into foam, and churned it up with the blood which spouted
in thick streams from its numerous wounds.

Both boats were in imminent danger, and the men sprang to their oars in
order to pull out of the range of the monster's dying struggles.  In
this effort the strange boat was successful, but that of Captain Dunning
fared ill.  A heavy blow from the whale's tail broke it in two, and
hurled it into the air, whence the crew descended, amid a mass of
harpoons, lances, oars, and cordage, into the blood-stained water.

The fish sheered away for some distance, dragging the other boat along
with it, and then rolled over quite dead.  Fortunately not one of the
crew of the capsized boat was hurt.  All of them succeeded in reaching
and clinging to the shattered hull of their boat; but there they were
destined to remain a considerable time, as the boat of the stranger,
having secured the dead fish, proceeded leisurely to tow it towards
their ship, without paying the slightest attention to the shouts of
their late enemies.

A change had now come over the face of the sky.  Clouds began to gather
on the horizon, and a few light puffs of air swept over the sea, which
enabled the strange vessel to bear down on her boat, and take the whale
in tow.  It also enabled the _Red Eric_ to beat up, but more slowly,
towards the spot where their disabled boat lay, and rescue their
comrades from their awkward position.  It was some time before the boats
were all gathered together.  When this was accomplished the night had
set in and the stranger had made off with her ill-gotten prize, the
other whale having sounded, and the chase being abandoned.

"Now, of all the disgustin' things that ever happened to me, this is the
worst," remarked Captain Dunning, in a very sulky tone of voice, as he
descended to the cabin to change his garments, Ailie having preceded him
in order to lay out dry clothes.

"Oh! my darling papa, what a fright I got," she exclaimed, running up
and hugging him, wet as he was, for the seventh time, despite his
efforts to keep her off.  "I was looking through the spy-glass at the
time it happened, and when I saw you all thrown into the air I cried--
oh!  I can't tell you how I cried."

"You don't need to tell me, Ailie, my pet, for your red, swelled-up eyes
speak for themselves.  But go, you puss, and change your own frock.
You've made it as wet as my coat, nearly; besides, I can't undress, you
know, while you stand there."

Ailie said, "I'm so very, very thankful," and then giving her father one
concluding hug, which completely saturated the frock, went to her own
cabin.

Meanwhile the crew of the captain's boat were busy in the forecastle
stripping off their wet garments, and relating their adventures to the
men of the other boats, who, until they reached the ship, had been
utterly ignorant of what had passed.

It is curious that Tim Rokens should open the conversation with much the
same sentiment, if not exactly the same phrase, as that expressed by the
captain.

"Now boys," said he, slapping his wet limbs, "I'll tell ye wot it is, of
all the aggrawations as has happened to me in my life, this is out o'
sight the wust.  To think o' losin' that there whale, the very biggest I
ever saw--"

"Ah!  Rokens, man," interrupted Glynn, as he pulled off his jacket, "the
loss is greater to me than to you, for that was my _first_ whale!"

"True, boy," replied the harpooner, in a tone of evidently genuine
sympathy; "I feel for ye.  I knows how I should ha' taken on if it had
happened to me.  But cheer up, lad; you know the old proverb, `There's
as good fish in the sea as ever came out o't.'  You'll be the death o'
many sich yet, I'll bet my best iron."

"Sure, the wust of it all is, that we don't know who was the big thief
as got that fish away with him," said Phil Briant, with a rueful
countenance.

"Don't we, though!" cried Gurney, who had been in the mate's boat; "I
axed one o' the men o' the stranger's boats--for we run up close
alongside durin' the chase--and he told me as how she was the
_Termagant_ of New York; so we can be down on 'em yet, if we live long
enough."

"Humph!" observed Rokens; "and d'ye suppose he'd give ye the right
name?"

"He'd no reason to do otherwise.  He didn't know of the dispute between
the other boats."

"There's truth in that," remarked Glynn, as he prepared to go on deck;
"but it may be a year or more before we foregather.  No, I give up all
claim to my first fish from this date."

"All hands ahoy!" shouted the mate; "tumble up there!  Reef topsails!
Look alive!"

The men ran hastily on deck, completing their buttoning and belting as
they went, and found that something very like a storm was brewing.  As
yet the breeze was moderate, and the sea not very high, but the night
was pitchy dark, and a hot oppressive atmosphere boded no improvement in
the weather.

"Lay out there, some of you, and close reef the topsails," cried the
mate, as the men ran to their several posts.

The ship was running at the time under a comparatively small amount of
canvas; for, as their object was merely to cruise about in those seas in
search of whales, and they had no particular course to steer, it was
usual to run at night under easy sail, and sometimes to lay-to.  It was
fortunate that such was the case on the present occasion; for it
happened that the storm which was about to burst on them came with
appalling suddenness and fury.  The wind tore up the sea as if it had
been a mass of white feathers, and scattered it high in air.  The
mizzen-topsail was blown to ribbons, and it seemed as if the other sails
were about to share the same fate.  The ship flew from billow to billow,
after recovering from the first rude shock, as if she were but a dark
cloud on the sea, and the spray flew high over her masts, drenching the
men on the topsail-yards while they laboured to reef the sails.

"We shall have to take down these t'gallant-masts, Mr Millons," said
the captain, as he stood by the weather-bulwarks holding on to a
belaying-pin to prevent his being washed away.

"Shall I give the order, sir?" inquired the first mate.

"You may," replied the captain.

Just as the mate turned to obey, a shriek was heard high above the
whistling of the fierce wind.

"Did you hear that?" said the captain anxiously.

"I did," replied the mate.  "I fear--I trust--"

The remainder of the sentence was either suppressed, or the howling of
the wind prevented its being heard.

Just then a flash of lightning lit up the scene, and a terrific crash of
thunder seemed to rend the sky.  The flash was momentary, but it served
to reveal the men on the yards distinctly.  They had succeeded in
close-reefing the topsails, and were hurrying down the rigging.

The mate came close to the captain's side and said, "Did you see, sir,
the way them men on the mainyard were scramblin' down?"

The captain had not time to reply ere a shout, "Man overboard!" was
heard faintly in the midst of the storm, and in another instant some of
the men rushed aft with frantic haste, shouting that one of their number
had been blown off the yard into the sea.

"Down your helm," roared the captain; "stand-by to lower away the
boats."

The usual prompt "Ay, ay, sir," was given, but before the men could
reach their places a heavy sea struck the vessel amidships, poured
several tons of water on the decks, and washed all the loose gear
overboard.

"Let her away," cried the captain quickly.

The steersman obeyed; the ship fell off, and again bounded on her mad
course like a wild horse set free.

"It's of no use, sir," said the mate, as the captain leaped towards the
wheel, which the other had already gained; "no boat could live in that
sea for a moment.  The poor fellow's gone by this time.  He must be more
than half-a-mile astern already."

"I know it," returned the captain, in a deep sad voice.  "Get these
masts down, Mr Millons, and see that everything is made fast.  Who is
it, did you say?"

"The men can't tell, sir; one of 'em told me 'e thinks it was young
Boswell.  It was too dark to see 'is face, but 'is figure was that of a
stout young fellow."

"A stout young fellow," muttered the captain, as the mate hurried
forward.  "Can it have been Glynn?"  His heart sank within him at the
thought, and he would have given worlds at that moment, had he possessed
them, to have heard the voice of our hero, whom, almost unwittingly, he
had begun to love with all the affection of a father.  While he stood
gazing up at the rigging, attempting to pierce the thick darkness, he
felt his sleeve plucked, and, looking down, observed Ailie at his side.

"My child," he cried, grasping her by the arm convulsively, "_you_ here!
How came you to leave your cabin, dear?  Go down, go down; you don't
know the danger you run.  Stay--I will help you.  If one of those seas
comes on board it would carry you overboard like a fleck of foam."

"I didn't know there was much danger, papa.  Glynn told me there
wasn't," she replied, as her father sprang with her to the
companion-ladder.

"How? when? where, child?  Did Glynn speak to you within the last ten
minutes?"

"Yes; he looked down the hatch just as I was coming up, and told me not
to be afraid, and said I must go below, and not think of coming on deck;
but I heard a shriek, papa, and feared something had happened, so I came
to ask what it was.  I hope no one is hurt."

"My darling Ailie," replied the captain, in an agitated voice, "go down
to your berth, and pray for us just now.  There is not _much_ danger;
but in all times of danger, whether great or slight, we should pray to
Our Father in Heaven, for we never know what a day or an hour may bring
forth.  I will speak to you about everything to-morrow; to-night I must
be on deck."

He kissed her forehead, pushed her gently into the cabin, shut the door,
and, coming on deck, fastened the companion-hatch firmly down.

In a short time the ship was prepared to face the worst.  The topsails
were close-reefed; the topgallant-masts sent down on deck; the spanker
and jib were furled, and, soon after, the mainsail and foresail were
also furled.  The boats were taken in and secured on deck, and the ship
went a little more easily through the raging sea; but as the violence of
the gale increased, sail had to be further reduced, and at
last everything was taken in except the main spencer and
foretopmast-staysail.

"I wouldn't mind this much," said the captain, as he and the first mate
stood close to the binnacle, "if I only knew our exact position.  But
we've not had an observation for several days, and I don't feel sure of
our whereabouts.  There are some nasty coral reefs in these seas.  Did
you find out who the poor fellow is yet?"

"It's young Boswell, I fear, Mr Markham is mustering the men just now,
sir."

As he spoke, the second mate came aft and confirmed their fears.  The
man who had thus been summoned in a moment, without warning, into the
presence of his Maker, had been a quiet, modest youth, and a favourite
with every one on board.  At any other time his death would have been
deeply felt; but in the midst of that terrible storm the men had no time
to think.  Indeed, they could not realise the fact that their shipmate
was really gone.

"Mr Markham," said the captain, as the second mate turned away, "send a
hand in to the chains to heave the lead.  I don't feel at all easy in my
mind, so near these shoals as we must be just now."

While the order was being obeyed the storm became fiercer and more
furious.  Bright gleams of lightning flashed repeatedly across the sky,
lighting up the scene as if with brightest moonlight, and revealing the
horrid turmoil of the raging sea in which the ship now laboured heavily.
The rapidity with which the thunder followed the lightning showed how
near to them was the dangerous and subtle fluid; and the crashing,
bursting reports that shook the ship from stem to stern gave the
impression that mountains were being dashed to atoms against each other
in the air.

All the sails still exposed to the fury of the gale were blown to
shreds; the foretopmast and the jib-boom were carried away along with
them and the _Red Eric_ was driven at last before the wind under bare
poles.  The crew remained firm in the midst of this awful scene; each
man stood at his post, holding on by any fixed object that chanced to be
within his reach, and held himself ready to spring to obey every order.
No voice could be heard in the midst of the howling winds, the lashing
sea, and the rending sky.  Commands were given by signs as well as
possible, during the flashes of lightning; but little or nothing
remained to be done.  Captain Dunning had done all that a man thoroughly
acquainted with his duties could accomplish to put his ship in the best
condition to do battle with the storm, and he now felt that the issue
remained in the hands of Him who formed the warring elements, and whose
will alone could check their angry strife.

During one of the vivid flashes of lightning the captain observed Glynn
Proctor standing near the starboard gangway, and, waiting for the next
flash, he made a signal to him to come to the spot where he stood.
Glynn understood it, and in a few seconds was at his commander's side.

"Glynn," my boy, said the latter, "you won't be wanted on deck for some
time.  There's little to be done now.  Go down and see what Ailie's
about, poor thing.  She'll need a little comfort.  Say I sent you."

Without other reply than a nod of the head, Glynn sprang to the
companion-hatch, followed by the captain, who undid the fastenings to
let him down and refastened them immediately, for the sea was washing
over the stern continually.

Glynn found the child on her knees in the cabin with her face buried in
the cushions of one of the sofas.  He sat down beside her and waited
until she should have finished her prayer; but as she did not move for
some time he laid his hand gently on her shoulder.  She looked up with a
happy smile on her face.

"Oh, Glynn, is that you?  I'm so glad," she said, rising, and sitting
down beside him.

"Your father sent me down to comfort you, my pet," said Glynn, taking
her hand in his and drawing her towards him.

"I have got comfort already," replied the child; "I'm so very happy,
now."

"How so, Ailie? who has been with you?"

"God has been with me.  You told me, Glynn, that there wasn't much
danger, but I felt sure that there was.  Oh!  I never heard such
terrible noises, and this dreadful tossing is worse than ever I felt
it--a great deal.  So I went down on my knees and prayed that God, for
Christ's sake would save us.  I felt very frightened, Glynn.  You can't
think how my heart beat every time the thunder burst over us.  But
suddenly--I don't know how it was--the words I used to read at home so
often with my dear aunts came into my mind; you know them, Glynn, `Call
upon Me in the time of trouble, and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt
glorify Me.'  I don't know where I read them.  I forget the place in the
Bible now; but when I thought of them I felt much less frightened.  Do
you think it was the Holy Spirit who put them into my mind?  My aunts
used to tell me that all my _good_ thoughts were given to me by the Holy
Spirit.  Then I remembered the words of Jesus, `I will never leave thee
nor forsake thee,' and I felt so happy after that.  It was just before
you came down.  I _think_ we shall not be lost.  God would not make me
feel so happy if we were going to be lost, would He?"

"I think not, Ailie," replied Glynn, whose conscience reproached him for
his ignorance of the passages in God's word referred to by his
companion, and who felt that he was receiving rather than administering
comfort.  "When I came down I did not very well know how I should
comfort you, for this is certainly the most tremendous gale I ever saw,
but somehow I feel as if we were in less danger now.  I wish I knew more
of the Bible, Ailie.  I'm ashamed to say I seldom look at it."

"Oh, that's a pity, isn't it, Glynn?" said Ailie, with earnest concern
expressed in her countenance, for she regarded her companion's ignorance
as a great misfortune; it never occurred to her that it was a sin.  "But
it's very easy to learn it," she added with an eager look.  "If you come
to me here every day we can read it together.  I would like to have you
hear me say it off, and then I would hear you."

Before he could reply the vessel received a tremendous shock which
caused her to quiver from stem to stern.

"She must have been struck by lightning," cried Glynn, starting up and
hurrying towards the door.  Ailie's frightened look returned for a few
minutes, but she did not tremble as she had done before.

Just as Glynn reached the top of the ladder the hatch was opened and the
captain thrust in his head.

"Glynn, my boy," said he, in a quick, firm tone, "we are ashore.
Perhaps we shall go to pieces in a few minutes.  God knows.  May He in
His mercy spare us.  You cannot do much on deck.  Ailie must be looked
after till I come down for her.  Glynn, _I depend upon you_."

These words were uttered hurriedly, and the hatch was shut immediately
after.  It is impossible to describe accurately the conflicting feelings
that agitated the breast of the young sailor as he descended again to
the cabin.  He felt gratified at the trust placed in him by the captain,
and his love for the little girl would at any time have made the post of
protector to her an agreeable one; but the idea that the ship had struck
the rocks, and that his shipmates on deck were struggling perhaps for
their lives while he was sitting idly in the cabin, was most trying and
distressing to one of his ardent and energetic temperament.  He was not,
however, kept long in suspense.

Scarcely had he regained the cabin when the ship again struck with
terrific violence, and he knew by the rending crash overhead that one or
more of the masts had gone over the side.  The ship at the same moment
slewed round and was thrown on her beam-ends.  So quickly did this occur
that Glynn had barely time to seize Ailie in his arms and save her from
being dashed against the bulkhead.

The vessel rose again on the next wave, and was hurled on the rocks with
such violence that every one on board expected her to go to pieces
immediately.  At the same time the cabin windows were dashed in, and the
cabin itself was flooded with water.  Glynn was washed twice across the
cabin and thrown violently against the ship's sides, but he succeeded in
keeping a firm hold of his little charge and in protecting her from
injury.

"Hallo, Glynn!" shouted the captain, as he opened the companion-hatch,
"come on deck, quick! bring her with you!"

Glynn hurried up and placed the child in her father's arms.

The scene that presented itself to him on gaining the deck was indeed
appalling.  The first grey streak of dawn faintly lighted up the sky,
just affording sufficient light to exhibit the complete wreck of
everything on deck, and the black froth-capped tumult of the surrounding
billows.  The rocks on which they had struck could not be discerned in
the gloom, but the white breakers ahead showed too clearly where they
were.  The three masts had gone over the side one after another, leaving
only the stumps of each standing.  Everything above board--boats,
binnacle, and part of the bulwarks--had been washed away.  The crew were
clinging to the belaying-pins and to such parts of the wreck as seemed
likely to hold together longest.  It seemed to poor Ailie, as she clung
to her father's neck that she had been transported to some far-distant
and dreadful scene, for scarcely a single familiar object remained by
which her ocean home, the _Red Eric_, could be recognised.

But Ailie had neither desire nor opportunity to remark on this
tremendous change.  Every successive billow raised the doomed vessel,
and let her fall with heavy violence on the rocks.  Her stout frame
trembled under each shock, as if she were endued with life, and shrank
affrighted from her impending fate; and it was as much as the captain
could do to maintain his hold of the weather-bulwarks and of Ailie at
the same time.  Indeed, he could not have done it at all had not Glynn
stood by and assisted him to the best of his ability.

"It won't last long, lad," said the captain, as a larger wave than usual
lifted the shattered hull and dashed it down on the rocks, washing the
deck from stern to stem, and for a few seconds burying the whole crew
under water.  "May the Almighty have mercy on us; no ship can stand this
long."

"Perhaps the tide is falling," suggested Glynn, in an encouraging voice,
"and I think I see something like a shore ahead.  It will be daylight in
half-an-hour or less."

The captain shook his head.  "There's little or no tide here to rise or
fall, I fear.  Before half-an-hour we shall--"

He did not finish the sentence, but looking at Ailie with a gaze of
agony, he pressed her more closely to his breast.

"I think we shall be saved," whispered the child, twining her arms more
closely round her father's neck, and laying her wet cheek against his.

Just then Tim Rokens crept aft, and said that he saw a low sandy island
ahead, and a rocky point jutting out from it close to the bows of the
ship.  He suggested that a rope might be got ashore when it became a
little lighter.

Phil Briant came aft to make the same suggestion, not knowing that
Rokens had preceded him.  In fact, the men had been consulting as to the
possibility of accomplishing this object, but when they looked at the
fearful breakers that boiled in white foam between the ship's bow and
the rocky point, their hearts failed them, and no one was found to
volunteer for the dangerous service.

"Is any one inclined to try it?" inquired the captain.  "There's niver a
wan of us but 'ud try it, cap'en, _if you gives the order_," answered
Briant.

The captain hesitated.  He felt disinclined to order any man to expose
himself to such imminent danger; yet the safety of the whole crew might
depend on a rope being connected with the shore.  Before he could make
up his mind, Glynn, who saw what was passing in his mind,
exclaimed--"I'll do it, captain;" and instantly quitting his position,
hurried forward as fast as circumstances would permit.

The task which Glynn had undertaken to perform turned out to be more
dangerous and difficult than at first he had anticipated.  When he stood
at the lee bow, fastening a small cord round his waist, and looking at
the turmoil of water into which he was about to plunge, his heart
well-nigh failed him, and he felt a sensation of regret that he had
undertaken what seemed now an impossibility.  He did not wonder that the
men had one and all shrunk from the attempt.  But he had made up his
mind to do it.  Moreover, he had _said_ he would do it, and feeling that
he imperilled his life in a good cause, he set his face as a flint to
the accomplishment of his purpose.

Well was it for Glynn Proctor that day that in early boyhood he had
learned to swim, and had become so expert in the water as to be able to
beat all his young companions!

He noticed, on looking narrowly at the foaming surge through which he
must pass in order to gain the rocky point, that many of the submerged
rocks showed their tops above the flood, like black spots, when each
wave retired.  To escape these seemed impossible--to strike one of them
he knew would be almost certain death.

"Don't try it, boy," said several of the men, as they saw Glynn hesitate
when about to spring, and turn an anxious gaze in all directions; "it's
into death ye'll jump, if ye do."

Glynn did not reply; indeed, he did not hear the remark, for at that
moment his whole attention was riveted on a ledge of submerged rock,
which ever and anon showed itself, like the edge of a knife, extending
between the ship and the point.  Along the edge of this the retiring
waves broke in such a manner as to form what appeared to be dead
water-tossed, indeed, and foam-clad, but not apparently in progressive
motion.  Glynn made up his mind in an instant, and just as the first
mate came forward with an order from the captain that he was on no
account to make the rash attempt, he sprang with his utmost force off
the ship's side and sank in the raging sea.

Words cannot describe the intense feeling of suspense with which the men
on the lee bow gazed at the noble-hearted boy as he rose and buffeted
with the angry billows.  Every man held his breath, and those who had
charge of the line stood nervously ready to haul him back at a moment's
notice.

On first rising to the surface he beat the waves as if bewildered, and
while some of the men cried, "He's struck a rock," others shouted to
haul him in; but in another second he got his eyes cleared of spray, and
seeing the ship's hull towering above his head, he turned his back on it
and made for the shore.  At first he went rapidly through the surge, for
his arm was strong and his young heart was brave; but a receding wave
caught him and hurled him some distance out of his course--tossing him
over and over as if he had been a cork.  Again he recovered himself, and
gaining the water beside the ledge, he made several powerful and rapid
strokes, which carried him within a few yards of the point.

"He's safe," said Rokens eagerly.

"No; he's missed it!" cried the second mate, who, with Gurney and Dick
Barnes, payed out the rope.

Glynn had indeed almost caught hold of the farthest-out ledge of the
point when he was drawn back into the surge, and this time dashed
against a rock and partially stunned.  The men had already begun to haul
in on the rope when he recovered, and making a last effort, gained the
rocks, up which he clambered slowly.  When beyond the reach of the waves
he fell down as if he had fainted.

This, however, was not the case; he was merely exhausted, as well as
confused, by the blows he had received on the rocks, and lay for a few
seconds quite still in order to recover strength, during which period of
inaction he thanked God earnestly for his deliverance, and prayed
fervently that he might be made the means of saving his companions in
danger.

After a minute or two he rose, unfastened the line from his waist, and
began to haul it ashore.  To the other end of the small line the men in
the ship attached a thick cable, the end of which was soon pulled up,
and made fast to a large rock.

Tim Rokens was now ordered to proceed to the shore by means of the rope
in order to test it.  After this a sort of swing was constructed, with a
noose which was passed round the cable.  To this a small line was
fastened, and passed to the shore.  On this swinging-seat Ailie was
seated, and hauled to the rocks, Tim Rokens "shinning" along the cable
at the same time to guard her from accident.  Then the men began to
land, and thus, one by one, the crew of the _Red Eric_ reached the shore
in safety; and when all had landed, Captain Dunning, standing in the
midst of his men, lifted up his voice in thanksgiving to God for their
deliverance.

But when daylight came the full extent of their forlorn situation was
revealed.  The ship was a complete wreck; the boats were all gone, and
they found that the island on which they had been cast was only a few
square yards in extent--a mere sandbank, utterly destitute of shrub or
tree, and raised only a few feet above the level of the ocean.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE SANDBANK--THE WRECKED CREW MAKE THE BEST OF BAD CIRCUMSTANCES.

It will scarcely surprise the reader to be told that, after the first
emotions of thankfulness for deliverance from what had appeared to the
shipwrecked mariners to be inevitable death, a feeling amounting almost
to despair took possession of the whole party for a time.

The sandbank was so low that in stormy weather it was almost submerged.
It was a solitary coral reef in the midst of the boundless sea.  Not a
tree or bush grew upon it, and except at the point where the ship had
struck, there was scarcely a rock large enough to afford shelter to a
single man.  Without provisions, without sufficient shelter, without the
means of escape, and _almost_ without the hope of deliverance, it seemed
to them that nothing awaited them but the slow, lingering pains and
horrors of death by starvation.

As those facts forced themselves more and more powerfully home to the
apprehension of the crew,--while they cowered for shelter from the storm
under the lee of the rocky point, they gave expression to their feelings
in different ways.  Some sat down in dogged silence to await their fate;
others fell on their knees and cried aloud to God for mercy; while a few
kept up their own spirits and those of their companions by affecting a
cheerfulness which, however, in some cages, was a little forced.  Ailie
lay shivering in her father's arms, for she was drenched with salt water
and very cold.  Her eyes were closed, and she was very pale from
exposure and exhaustion, but her lips moved as if in prayer.

Captain Dunning looked anxiously at Dr Hopley, who crouched beside
them, and gazed earnestly in the child's face while he felt her pulse.

"It's almost too much for her, I fear," said the captain, in a
hesitating, husky voice.

The doctor did not answer for a minute or two, then he said, as if
muttering to himself rather than replying to the captain's remark, "If
we could only get her into dry clothes, or had a fire, or even a little
brandy, but--" He did not finish the sentence, and the captain's heart
sank within him, and his weather-beaten face grew pale as he thought of
the possibility of losing his darling child.

Glynn had been watching the doctor with intense eagerness, and with a
terrible feeling of dread fluttering about his heart.  When he heard the
last remark he leaped up and cried--"If brandy is all you want you shall
soon have it."  And running down to the edge of the water, he plunged in
and grasped the cable, intending to clamber into the ship, which had by
this time been driven higher on the rocks, and did not suffer so much
from the violence of the breakers.  At the same instant Phil Briant
sprang to his feet, rushed down after him, and before he had got a yard
from the shore, seized him by the collar, and dragged him out of the sea
high and dry on the land.

Glynn was so exasperated at this unceremonious and at the moment
unaccountable treatment, that he leaped up, and in the heat of the
moment prepared to deal the Irishman a blow that would very probably
have brought the experiences of the "ring" to his remembrance; but
Briant effectually checked him by putting both his own hands into his
pockets, thrusting forward his face as if to invite the blow, and
exclaiming--

"Och! now, hit fair, Glynn, darlint; put it right in betwane me two
eyes!"

Glynn laughed hysterically, in spite of himself.

"What mean you by stopping me?" he asked somewhat sternly.

"Shure, I mane that I'll go for the grog meself.  Ye've done more nor
yer share o' the work this mornin', an' it's but fair to give a poor
fellow a chance.  More be token, ye mustn't think that nobody can't do
nothin' but yeself.  It's Phil Briant that'll shin up a rope with any
white man in the world, or out of it."

"You're right, Phil," said Rokens, who had come to separate the
combatants.  "Go aboord, my lad, an' I'll engage to hold this here young
alligator fast till ye come back."

"You don't need to hold me, Tim," retorted Glynn, with a smile; "but
don't be long about it, Phil.  You know where the brandy is kept--look
alive."

Briant accomplished his mission successfully, and, despite the furious
waves, brought the brandy on shore in safety.  As he emerged like a
caricature of old Neptune dripping from the sea, it was observed that he
held a bundle in his powerful grasp.  It was also strapped to his
shoulders.

"Why, what have you got there?" inquired the doctor, as he staggered
under the shelter of the rocks.

"Arrah! give a dhrop to the child, an' don't be wastin' yer breath,"
replied Briant, as he undid the bundle.  "Sure I've brought a few
trifles for her outside as well as her in."  And he revealed to the glad
father a bundle of warm habiliments which he had collected in Ailie's
cabin, and kept dry by wrapping them in several layers of tarpaulin.

"God bless you, my man," said the captain, grasping the thoughtful
Irishman by the hand.  "Now, Ailie, my darling pet, look up, and swallow
a drop o' this.  Here's a capital rig-out o' dry clothes too."

A few sips of brandy soon restored the circulation which had well-nigh
been arrested, and when she had been clothed in the dry garments, Ailie
felt comparatively comfortable, and expressed her thanks to Phil Briant
with tears in her eyes.

A calm often succeeds a storm somewhat suddenly, especially in southern
latitudes.  Soon after daybreak the wind moderated, and before noon it
ceased entirely, though the sea kept breaking in huge rolling billows on
the sandbank for many hours afterwards.  The sun, too, came out hot and
brilliant, shedding a warm radiance over the little sea-girt spot as
well as over the hearts of the crew.

Human nature exhibits wonderful and sudden changes.  Men spring from the
depths of despair to the very summit, of light-hearted hope, and very
frequently, too, without a very obvious cause to account for the violent
change.  Before the day after the storm was far advanced, every one on
the sandbank seemed to be as joyous as though there was no danger of
starvation whatever.  There was, however, sufficient to produce the
change in the altered aspect of affairs.  For one thing, the warm sun
began to make them feel comfortable--and really it is wonderful how
ready men are to shut their eyes to the actual state of existing things
if they can only enjoy a little present comfort.  Then the ship was
driven so high up on the rocks as to be almost beyond the reach of the
waves, and she had not been dashed to pieces, as had at first been
deemed inevitable, so that the stores and provisions in her might be
secured, and the party be thus enabled to subsist on their ocean prison
until set free by some passing ship.

Under the happy influence of these improved circumstances every one went
about the work of rendering their island home more comfortable, in good,
almost in gleeful spirits.  Phil Briant indulged in jests which a few
hours ago would have been deemed profane, and Gurney actually
volunteered the song of the "man wot got his nose froze;" but every one
declined to listen to it, on the plea that it reminded them too forcibly
of the cold of the early morning.  Even the saturnine steward, Tarquin,
looked less ferocious than usual, and King Bumble became so loquacious
that he was ordered more than once to hold his tongue and to "shut up."

The work they had to do was indeed of no light nature.  They had to
travel to and fro between the ship and the rocks on the rope-cable, a
somewhat laborious achievement, in order to bring ashore such things as
they absolutely required.  A quantity of biscuit, tea, coffee, and sugar
were landed without receiving much damage, then a line was fastened to a
cask of salt beef, and this, with a few more provisions, was drawn
ashore the first day, and placed under the shelter of the largest rock
on the point.  On the following day it was resolved that a raft should
be constructed, and everything that could in any way prove useful be
brought to the sandbank and secured.  For Captain Dunning well knew that
another storm might arise as quickly as the former had done, and
although the ship at present lay in comparatively quiet water, the huge
billows that would be dashed against her in such circumstances would be
certain to break her up and scatter her cargo on the breast of the
all-devouring sea.

In the midst of all this activity and bustle there sat one useless and
silent, but exceedingly grave and uncommonly attentive spectator,
namely, Jacko the monkey.  That sly and sagacious individual, seeing
that no one intended to look after him, had during the whole of the
recent storm wisely looked after himself.  He had ensconced himself in a
snug and comparatively sheltered corner under the afterpart of the
weather-bulwarks.  But when he saw the men one by one leaving the ship,
and proceeding to the shore by means of the rope, he began to evince an
anxiety as to his own fate which had in it something absolutely human.
Jacko was the last man, so to speak, to leave the _Red Eric_.  Captain
Dunning, resolving, with the true spirit of a brave commander; to
reserve that honour to himself, had seen the last man, he thought, out
of the ship, and was two-thirds of the distance along the rope on his
way to land, when Jim Scroggles, who was _always_ either in or out of
the way at the most inopportune moments, came rushing up from below,
whither he had gone to secure a favourite brass _finger-ring_, and
scrambled over the side.

It would be difficult to say whether Jim's head, or feet, or legs, or
knees, or arms went over the side first,--they all got over somehow,
nobody knew how--and in the getting over his hat flew off and was lost
for ever.

Seeing this, and feeling, no doubt, the momentous truth of that
well-known adage "Now or never," Master Jacko uttered a shriek, bounded
from his position of fancied security, and seized Jim Scroggles firmly
by the hair, resolved apparently to live or perish along with him.  As
to simply clambering along that cable to the shore.  Jacko would have
thought no more of it than of eating his dinner.  Had he felt so
disposed he could have walked along it, or hopped along it, or thrown
somersaults along it.  But to proceed along it while it was at one
moment thirty feet above the sea, rigid as a bar of iron, and the next
moment several feet under the mad turmoil of the raging billows--this it
was that filled his little bosom with inexpressible horror, and induced
him to cling with a tight embrace to the hair of the head of his
bitterest enemy!

Having gained the shore, Jacko immediately took up his abode in the
warmest spot on that desolate sandbank, which was the centre of the mass
of cowering and shivering men who sought shelter under the lee of the
rocks, where he was all but squeezed to death, but where he felt
comparatively warm, nevertheless.  When the sun came out he perched
himself in a warm nook of the rock near to Ailie, and dried himself,
after which, as we have already hinted, he superintended the discharging
of the cargo and the arrangements made for a prolonged residence on the
sandbank.

"Och! but yer a queer cratur," remarked Briant, as he passed, chucking
the monkey under the chin.

"Oo-oo-oo-ee-o!" replied Jacko.

"Very thrue, no doubt--but I haven't time to spake to ye jist yet, lad,"
replied Briant, with a laugh, as he ran down to the beach and seized a
barrel which had just been hauled to the water's edge.

"What are you going to do with the wood, papa?" asked Ailie.

The captain had seized an axe at the moment, and began vigorously to cut
up a rough plank which had been driven ashore by the waves.

"I'm going to make a fire, my pet, to warm your cold toes."

"But my toes are not cold, papa; you've no idea how comfortable I am."

Ailie did indeed look comfortable at that moment, for she was lying on a
bed of dry sand, with a thick blanket spread over her.

"Well, then, it will do to warm Jacko's toes, if yours don't want it;
and besides, we all want a cup of tea after our exertions.  The first
step towards that end, you know, is to make a fire."

So saying, the captain piled up dry wood in front of the place where
Ailie lay, and in a short time had a capital fire blazing, and a large
tin kettle full of fresh water boiling thereon.

It may be as well to remark here that the water had been brought in a
small keg from the ship, for not a single drop of fresh water was found
on the sandbank after the most careful search.  Fortunately, however,
the water-tanks of the _Red Eric_ still contained a large supply.

During the course of that evening _a_ sort of shed or tent was
constructed out of canvas and a few boards placed against the rock.
This formed a comparatively comfortable shelter, and one end of it was
partitioned off for Ailie's special use.  No one was permitted to pass
the curtain that hung before the entrance to this little boudoir, except
the captain, who claimed a right to do what he pleased, and Glynn, who
was frequently invited to enter in order to assist its fair occupant in
her multifarious arrangements, and Jacko, who could not be kept out by
any means that had yet been hit upon, except by killing him; but as
Ailie objected to this, he was suffered to take up his abode there, and,
to do him justice, he behaved very well while domiciled in that place.

It is curious to note how speedily little children, and men too,
sometimes, contrive to forget the unpleasant or the sad, or, it may be,
the dangerous circumstances in which they may chance to be placed, while
engaged in the minute details incident to their peculiar position.
Ailie went about arranging her little nest under the rock with as much
zeal and cheerful interest as if she were "playing at houses" in her own
room at home.  She decided that one corner was peculiarly suited for her
bed, because there was a small rounded rock in it which looked like a
pillow; so Glynn was directed to spread the tarpaulin and the blankets
there.  Another corner exhibited a crevice in the rock, which seemed so
suitable for a kennel for Jacko that the arrangement was agreed to on
the spot.  We say agreed to, because Ailie suggested everything to
Glynn, and Glynn always agreed to everything that Ailie suggested, and
stood by with a hammer and nails and a few pieces of plank in his hands
ready to fulfil her bidding, no matter what it should be.  So Jacko was
sent for to be introduced to his new abode, but Jacko was not to be
found, for the very good reason that he had taken possession of the
identical crevice some time before, and at that moment was enjoying a
comfortable nap in its inmost recess.  Then Ailie caused Glynn to put up
a little shelf just over her head, which he did with considerable
difficulty, because it turned out that nails could not easily be driven
into the solid rock.  After that a small cave at the foot of the
apartment was cleaned out and Ailie's box placed there.  All this and
sundry other pieces of work were executed by the young sailor and his
little friend with an amount of cheerful pleasantry that showed they
had, in the engrossing interest of their pursuit, totally forgotten the
fact that they were cast away on a sandbank on which were neither food
nor water, nor wood, except what was to be found in the wrecked ship,
and around which for thousands of miles rolled the great billows of the
restless sea.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

LIFE ON THE SANDBANK--AILIE TAKES POSSESSION OF FAIRYLAND--GLYNN AND
BUMBLE ASTONISH THE LITTLE FISHES.

In order that the reader may form a just conception of the sandbank on
which the crew of the _Red Eric_ had been wrecked, we shall describe it
somewhat carefully.

It lay in the Southern Ocean, a little to the west of the longitude of
the Cape of Good Hope, and somewhere between 2000 and 3000 miles to the
south of it.  As has been already remarked, the bank at its highest
point was little more than a few feet above the level of the ocean, the
waves of which in stormy weather almost, and the spray of which
altogether, swept over it.  In length it was barely fifty yards, and in
breadth about forty.  Being part of a coral reef, the surface of it was
composed of the beautiful white sand that is formed from coral by the
dashing waves.  At one end of the bank--that on which the ship had
struck--the reef rose into a ridge of rock, which stood a few feet
higher than the level of the sand, and stretched out into the sea about
twenty yards, with its points projecting here and there above water.  On
the centre of the bank at its highest point one or two very small blades
of green substance were afterwards discovered.  So few were they,
however, and so delicate, that we feel justified in describing the spot
as being utterly destitute of verdure.  Ailie counted those green blades
many a time after they were discovered.  There were exactly thirty-five
of them; twenty-six were, comparatively speaking, large; seven were of
medium size, and two were extremely small--so small and thin that Ailie
wondered they did not die of sheer delicacy of constitution on such a
barren spot.  The greater part of the surface of the bank was covered
with the fine sand already referred to, but there were one or two spots
which were covered with variously-sized pebbles, and an immense number
of beautiful small shells.

On such a small and barren spot one would think there was little or
nothing to admire.  But this was not the case.  Those persons whose
thoughts are seldom allowed to fix attentively on any subject, are apt
to fall into the mistake of supposing that in this world there are a
great many absolutely uninteresting things.  Many things are, indeed,
uninteresting to individuals, but there does not exist a single thing
which has not a certain amount of interest to one or another cast of
mind, and which will not afford food for contemplation, and matter
fitted to call forth our admiration for its great and good Creator.

We know a valley so beautiful that it has been for generations past, and
will probably be for generations to come, the annual resort of hundreds
of admiring travellers.  The valley cannot be seen until you are almost
in it.  The country immediately around it is no way remarkable; it is
even tame.  Many people would exclaim at first sight in reference to it,
"How uninteresting."

It requires a close view, a minute inspection, to discover the beauties
that lie hidden there.

So was it with our sandbank.  Ailie's first thoughts were, "Oh! how
dreary; how desolate!" and in some respects she was right; but she dwelt
there long enough to discover things that charmed her eye and her
imagination, and caused her sometimes to feel as if she had been
transported to the realms of Fairyland.

We do not say, observe, that the crew of the _Red Eric_ were ever
blessed with such dreams.  Jim Scroggles, for instance, had no eye for
the minute beauties or wonders of creation.  Jim, according to his own
assertion, could see about as far through a millstone as most men.  He
could apostrophise his eye, on certain occasions, and tell it--as though
its own power of vision were an insufficient medium of information--that
"that _wos_ a stunnin' iceberg;" or that "that _wos_ a gale and a half,
fit to tear the masts out o' the ship a'most."  But for any less
majestic object in nature, Jim Scroggles had nothing to say either to
his eye, or his nose, or his shipmates.

As was Jim Scroggles, so were most of the other men.  Hence they
grumbled a good deal at their luckless condition.  But upon the whole
they were pretty cheerful--especially at meal-times--and, considering
their circumstances, they behaved very well.

Glynn Proctor was a notable exception to the prevailing rule of
indifference to small things.  By nature he was of a superior stamp of
mind to his comrades; besides, he had been better educated; and more
than all, he was at that time under the influence of Ailie Dunning.  She
admired what she admired; he liked what she liked; he looked with
interest at the things which she examined.  Had Ailie sat down beside
the stock of an old anchor and looked attentively at it, Glynn would
have sat down and stared at it too, in the firm belief that there was
something there worth looking at!  Glynn laughed aloud sometimes at
himself, to think how deeply interested he had become in the child, for
up to that time he had rather avoided than courted the society of
children; and he used to say to Ailie that the sailors would begin to
call her his little sweetheart, if he spent so much of his time with
her; to which Ailie would reply by asking what a sweetheart was; whereat
Glynn would laugh immoderately; whereupon Ailie would tell him not to be
stupid, but to come and play with her!

All the sailors, even including the taciturn Tarquin, had a tender
feeling of regard for the little girl who shared their fortunes at that
time, but with the exception of Glynn, none were capable of sympathising
with her in her pursuits.  Tim Rokens, her father, and Dr Hopley did to
some extent, but these three had their minds too deeply filled with
anxiety about their critical position to pay her much attention, beyond
the kindest concern for her physical wants.  King Bumble, too, we beg
his pardon, showed considerable interest in her.  The sable assistant of
Nikel Sling shone conspicuous at this trying time, for his activity,
good-humour, and endurance, and in connection with Phil Briant, Gurney,
and Jacko, kept up the spirits of the shipwrecked men wonderfully.

Close under the rocks, on the side farthest removed from the spot where
the rude tent was pitched, there was a little bay or creek, not more
than twenty yards in diameter, which Ailie appropriated and called
Fairyland!  It was an uncommonly small spot, but it was exceedingly
beautiful and interesting.  The rocks, although small, were so broken
and fantastically formed, that when Ailie crept close in amongst them,
and so placed herself that the view of the sandbank was entirely shut
out, and nothing was to be seen but little pools of crystal water and
rocklets, with their margin of dazzling white sand, and the wreck of the
ship in the distance, with the deep blue sea beyond, she quite forgot
where she actually was, and began to wander in the most enchanting
daydreams.  But when, as often happened, there came towering thick
masses of snowy clouds, like mountain peaks and battlements in the
bright blue sky, her delight was so great that she could find no words
to express it.

At such times--sometimes with Glynn by her side, sometimes alone--she
would sit in a sunny nook, or in a shady nook if she felt too warm, and
invite innumerable hosts of fairies to come and conduct her through
interminable tracts of pure-white cloud region, and order such
unheard-of wild creatures (each usually wanting a tail, or a leg, or an
ear) to come out of the dark caves, that had they been all collected in
one garden for exhibition to the public, that zoological garden would
have been deemed, out of sight, the greatest of all the wonders of the
world!

When a little wearied with those aerial journeys she would return to
"Fairyland," and, leaning over the brinks of the pools, peer down into
their beautiful depths for hours at a time.

Ailie's property of Fairyland had gardens, too, of the richest possible
kind, full of flowers of the most lovely and brilliant hues.  But the
flowers were scentless, and, alas! she could not pluck them, for those
gardens were all under water; they grew at the bottom of the sea!

Yes, reader, if the land was barren on that ocean islet, the pools there
made up for it by presenting to view the most luxuriant marine
vegetation.  There were forests of branching coral of varied hues; there
were masses of fan-shaped sponges; there were groves of green and red
sea-weeds; and beds of red, and white, and orange, and striped creatures
that stuck to the rocks, besides little fish with bright  backs
that played there as if they really enjoyed living always under water--
which is not easy for us, you know, to realise!  And above all, the
medium of water between Ailie and these things was so pure and pellucid
when no breeze fanned the surface, that it was difficult to believe,
unless you touched it, there was any water there at all.

While Ailie thus spent her time, or at least her leisure time, for she
was by no means an idler in that busy little isle, the men were actively
engaged each day in transporting provisions from the _Red Eric_ to the
sandbank, and in making them as secure as circumstances would admit of.
For this purpose a raft had been constructed, and several trips a day
were made to and from the wreck, so that in the course of a few days a
considerable stock of provisions was accumulated on the bank.  This was
covered with tarpaulin, and heavy casks of salt junk were placed on the
corners and edges to keep it down.

"I'll tell ye wot it is, messmates," remarked Gurney, one day, as they
sat down round their wood fire to dine in front of their tent, "we're
purvisioned for six months at least, an' if the weather only keeps fine
I've no objection to remain wotiver."

"Maybe," said Briant, "ye'll have to remain that time whether ye object
or not."

"By no means, Paddy," retorted Gurney; "I could swum off to sea and be
drownded if I liked."

"No ye couldn't, avic," said Briant.

"Why not?" demanded Gurney.

"'Cause ye haven't the pluck," replied Phil.

"I'll pluck the nose off yer face," said Gurney, in affected anger.

"No ye won't," cried Phil, "'cause av ye do I'll spile the soup by
heavin' it all over ye."

"Oh!" exclaimed Gurney, with a look of horror, "listen to him,
messmates, he calls it `_soup_'--the nasty kettle o' dirty water!  Well,
well, it's lucky we hain't got nothin' better to compare it with."

"But, I say, lads," interposed Jim Scroggles, seriously, "wot'll we do
if it comes on to blow a gale and blows away all our purvisions?"

"Ay, boys," cried Dick Barnes, "that 'ere's the question, as Hamlet
remarked to his grandfather's ghost; wot is to come on us supposin' it
comes on to blow sich a snorin' gale as'll blow the whole sandbank away,
carryin' us and our prog overboard along with it?"

"Wot's that there soup made of?" demanded Tim Rokens.

"Salt junk and peas," replied Nikel Sling.

"Ah!  I thought there was somethin' else in it," said Tim, carelessly,
"for it seems to perdooce oncommon bad jokes in them wot eats of it."

"Now, Tim, don't you go for to be sorcostic, but tell us a story."

"Me tell a story?  No, no, lads; there's Glynn Proctor, he's the boy for
you.  Where is he?"

"He's aboard the wreck just now.  The cap'n sent him for charts and
quadrants, and suchlike cooriosities.  Come, Gurney, tell you one if Tim
won't.  How wos it, now, that you so mistook yer trade as to come for to
go to sea?"

"I can't very well tell ye," answered Gurney, who, having finished
dinner, had lit his pipe, and was now extended at full length on the
sand, leaning on one arm.  "Ye see, lads, I've had more or less to do
with the sea, I have, since ever I comed into this remarkable world--not
that I ever, to my knowledge, knew one less coorous, for I never was up
in the stars; no more, I s'pose, was ever any o' you.  I was born at
sea, d'ye see?  I don't 'xactly know how I comed for to be born there,
but I wos told that I wos, and if them as told me spoke truth, I s'pose
I wos.  I was washed overboard in gales three times before I comed for
to know myself at all.  When I first came alive, so to speak, to my own
certain knowledge, I wos a-sitting on the top of a hen-coop aboard an
East Indiaman, roarin' like a mad bull as had lost his senses; 'cause
why? the hens wos puttin' their heads through the bars o' the coops, and
pickin' at the calves o' my legs as fierce as if they'd suddenly turned
cannibals, and rather liked it.  From that time I began a life o'
misery.  My life before that had bin pretty much the same, it seems, but
I didn't know it, so it didn't matter.  D'ye know, lads, when ye don't
know a thing it's all the same as if it didn't exist, an' so, in coorse,
it don't matter."

"Oh!" exclaimed the first mate, who came up at the moment, "'ave hany o'
you fellows got a note-book in which we may record that horacular and
truly valuable hobserwation?"

No one happening to possess a note-book, Gurney was allowed to proceed
with his account of himself.

"Ships has bin my houses all along up to this here date.  I don't
believe, lads as ever I wos above two months ashore at a time all the
coorse of my life, an' mostly not as long as that.  The smell o' tar and
the taste o' salt water wos the fust things I iver comed across--'xcept
the Line, I comed across that jist about the time I wos born, so I'm
told--and the smell o' tar and taste o' salt water's wot I've bin used
to most o' my life, and moreover, wot I likes best.  One old gentleman
as took a fancy to me w'en I wos a boy, said to me, one fine day, w'en I
chanced to be ashore visitin' my mother--says he, `My boy, would ye like
to go with me and live in the country, and be a gardner?'  `Wot,' says
I, `keep a garding, and plant taters, and hoe flowers an' cabidges?'
`Yes,' says he, `at least, somethin' o' that sort.'  `No, thankee,' says
I; `I b'long to the sea, I do; I wouldn't leave that 'ere no more nor I
would quit my first love if I had one.  I'm a sailor, I am, out and out,
through and through--true blue, and no mistake, an' no one need go for
to try to cause me for to forsake my purfession, and live on shore like
a turnip'--that's wot I says to that old gen'lemen.  Yes, lads, I've
roamed the wide ocean, as the song says, far an' near.  I've bin
tattooed by the New Zealanders, and I've danced with the Hottentots, and
ate puppy dogs with the Chinese, and fished whales in the North Seas,
and run among the ice near the South Pole, and fowt with pirates, and
done service on boord of men-o'-war and merchantmen, and junks, and
bumboats; but I never," concluded Gurney, looking round with a sigh, "I
never came for to be located on a sandbank in the middle of the ocean."

"No more did any on us," added Rokens, "Moreover, if we're not picked up
soon by a ship o' some sort, we're not likely to be located here long,
for we can't live on salt junk for ever; we shall all die o' the
scurvy."

There was just enough of possible and probable truth in the last remark
to induce a feeling of sadness among the men for a few minutes, but this
was quickly put to flight by the extraordinary movements of Phil Briant.
That worthy had left the group round the fire, and had wandered out to
the extreme end of the rocky point, where he sat down to indulge,
possibly in sad, or mayhap hopeful reflections.  He was observed to
start suddenly up, and gaze into the sea eagerly for a few seconds; then
he cut a caper, slapped his thigh, and ran hastily towards the tent.

"What now? where away, Phil?" cried one of the men.

Briant answered not, but speedily reappeared at the opening of the tent
door with a fishing-line and hook.  Hastening to the point of rock, he
opened a small species of shell-fish that he found there, wherewith he
baited his hook, and then cast it into the sea.  In a few minutes he
felt a twitch, which caused him to return a remarkably vigorous twitch,
as it were in reply.

The fish and the sailor for some minutes acted somewhat the part of
electricians in a telegraph office; when the fish twitched, Briant
twitched; when the fish pulled and paused, Briant pulled and paused, and
when the fish held on hard, Briant pulled hard, and finally pulled him
ashore, and a very nice plump rock-codling he was.  There were plenty of
them, so in a short time there was no lack of fresh fish, and Rokens'
fear that they would have to live on salt junk was not realised.

Fishing for rock-codlings now became one of the chief recreations of the
men while not engaged in bringing various necessaries from the wreck.
But for many days at first they found their hands fully occupied in
making their new abode habitable, in enlarging and improving the tent,
which soon by degrees came to merit the name of a hut, and in inventing
various ingenious contrivances for the improvement of their condition.
It was not until a couple of weeks had passed that time began to hang
heavy on their hands and fishing became a general amusement.

They all fished, except Jacko.  Even Ailie tried it once or twice, but
she did not like it and soon gave it up.  As for Jacko, he contented
himself with fishing with his hands, in a sly way, among the provision
casks, at which occupation he was quite an adept; and many a nice
tit-bit did he fish up and secrete in his private apartment for future
use.  Like many a human thief, Jacko was at last compelled to leave the
greater part of his ill-gotten and hoarded gains behind him.

One day Glynn and Ailie sat by the margin of a deep pool in Fairyland,
gazing down into its clear depths.  The sun's rays penetrated to the
very bottom, revealing a thousand beauties in form and colour that
called forth from Ailie the most extravagant expressions of admiration.
She wound up one of those eloquent bursts by saying--

"Oh, Glynn, how very, _very_ much I do wish I could go down there and
play with the dear, exquisite, darling little fishes!"

"You'd surprise them, I suspect," said Glynn.  "It's rather too deep a
pool to play in unless you were a mermaid."

"How deep is it, Glynn?"

"'Bout ten feet, I think."

"So much?  It does not look like it.  What a very pretty bit of coral I
see over there, close to the white rock; do you see it?  It is bright
pink.  Oh, I would like _so_ much to have it."

"Would you?" cried Glynn, jumping up and throwing off his jacket; "then
here goes for it."

So saying he clasped his hands above his head, and bending forward,
plunged into the pool and went straight at the piece of pink coral,
head-foremost, like an arrow!

Glynn was lightly clad.  His costume consisted simply of a pair of white
canvas trousers and a blue striped shirt, with a silk kerchief round his
neck, so that his movements in the water were little, if at all, impeded
by his clothes.  At the instant he plunged into the water King Bumble
happened to approach, and while Ailie stood, petrified with fear as she
saw Glynn struggling violently at the bottom of the pool, her sable
companion stood looking down with a grin from ear to ear that displayed
every one of his white teeth.

"Don't be 'fraid, Missie Ally," said the <DW64>; "him's know wot him's
doin', ho yis!"

Before Ailie could reply, Glynn was on the surface spluttering and
brushing the hair from his forehead with one hand, while with the other
he hugged to his breast the piece of pink coral.

"Here--it--ha!--is.  My breath--oh--is a'most gone--Ailie--catch hold!"
cried he, as he held out the coveted piece of rock to the child, and
scrambled out of the pool.

"Oh, thank you, Glynn; but why did you go down so quick and stay so
long?  I got _such_ a fright."

"You bin pay your 'spects to de fishes," said Bumble, with a grin.

"Yes, I have, Bumble, and they say that if you stare at them any longer
with your great goggle eyes they'll all go mad with horror and die right
off.  Have you caught any codlings, Bumble?"

"Yis, me hab, an' me hab come for to make a preeposol to Missie Ally."

"A what, Bumble?"

"A preeposol--a digestion."

"I suppose you mean a suggestion, eh?"

"Yis, dat the berry ting."

"Well, out with it."

"Dis am it.  Me ketch rock-coddles; well, me put 'em in bucket ob water
an' bring 'em to you, Missie Ally, an' you put 'em into dat pool and
tame 'em, an' hab great fun with 'em.  Eeh! wot you tink?"

"Oh, it will be _so_ nice.  How good of you to think about it, Bumble;
do get them as quick as you can."

Bumble looked grave and hesitated.

"Why, what's wrong?" inquired Glynn.

"Oh, noting.  Me only tink me not take the trouble to put 'em into dat
pool where de fishes speak so imperently ob me.  Stop, me will go an'
ask if dey sorry for wot dey hab say."

So saying the <DW64> uttered a shout, sprang straight up into the air,
doubled his head down and his heels up, and cleft the water like a
knife.  Glynn uttered a cry something between a yell and a laugh, and
sprang after him, falling flat on the water and dashing the whole pool
into foam, and there the two wallowed about like two porpoises, to the
unbounded delight of Ailie, who stood on the brink laughing until the
tears ran down her cheeks, and to the unutterable horror, no doubt, of
the little fish.

The rock-codlings were soon caught and transferred to the pool, in
which, after that, neither Glynn nor Bumble were suffered to dive or
swim, and Ailie succeeded, by means of regularly feeding them, in making
the little fish less afraid of her than they were at first.

But while Ailie and Glynn were thus amusing themselves and trying to
make the time pass as pleasantly as possible, Captain Dunning was
oppressed with the most anxious forebodings.  They had now been several
weeks on the sandbank.  The weather had, during that time, been steadily
fine and calm, and their provisions were still abundant, but he knew
that this could not last.  Moreover, he found on consulting his charts
that he was far out of the usual course of ships, and that deliverance
could only be expected in the shape of a chance vessel.

Oppressed with these thoughts, which, however, he carefully concealed
from every one except Tim Rokens and the doctor, the captain used to go
on the point of rocks every day and sit there for hours, gazing out
wistfully over the sea.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

MATTERS GROW WORSE AND WORSE--THE MUTINY--COMMENCEMENT OF BOAT-BUILDING,
AND THREATENING STORMS.

One afternoon, about three weeks after the _Red Eric_ had been wrecked
on the sandbank, Captain Dunning went out on the point of rocks, and
took up his accustomed position there.  Habit had now caused him to go
to the point with as much regularity as a sentinel.  But on the present
occasion anxiety was more deeply marked on his countenance than usual,
for dark, threatening clouds were seen accumulating on the horizon, an
unnatural stillness prevailed in the hot atmosphere and on the glassy
sea, and everything gave indication of an approaching storm.

While he sat on a low rock, with his elbows on his knees, and his chin
resting in his hands, he felt a light touch on his shoulder, and looking
round, found Ailie standing by his side.  Catching her in his arms, he
pressed her fervently to his heart, and for the first time spoke to her
in discouraging tones.

"My own darling," said he, parting the hair from her forehead, and
gazing at the child with an expression of the deepest sadness, "I fear
we shall _never_ quit this dreary spot."

Ailie looked timidly in her father's face, for his agitated manner, more
than his words, alarmed her.

"Won't we leave it, dear papa," said she, "to go up yonder?" and she
pointed to a gathering mass of clouds overhead, which, although heavy
with dark shadows, had still a few bright, sunny points of resemblance
to the fairy realms in which she delighted to wander in her daydreams.

The captain made no reply; but, shutting his eyes, and drawing Ailie
close to his side, he uttered a long and fervent prayer to God for
deliverance, if He should see fit, or for grace to endure with Christian
resignation and fortitude whatever He pleased to send upon them.

When he concluded, and again looked up, Dr Hopley was standing beside
them, with his head bowed upon his breast.

"I fear, doctor," said the captain, "that I have broken my resolution
not to alarm my dear Ailie by word or look.  Yet why should I conceal
from her the danger of our position?  Her prayers for help ought to
ascend, as well as ours, to Him who alone can deliver us from evil at
any time, but who makes us to _feel_, as well as _know_, the fact at
such times as these."

"But I am not afraid, papa," said Ailie quickly.  "I'm never afraid when
you are by me; and I've known we were in danger all along, for I've
heard everybody talking about it often and often, and I've _always_
prayed for deliverance, and surely it must come; for has not Jesus said
if we ask anything in His name He will give it to us?"

"True, darling; but He means only such things as will do us good."

"Of course, papa, if I asked for a bad thing, I would not expect Him to
give me that."

"Deliverance from death," said the doctor, "is a good thing, yet we
cannot be sure that God will grant our prayer for that."

"There are worse things than death, doctor," replied the captain; "it
may be sometimes better for men to die than to live.  It seems to me
that we ought to use the words, `if it please the Lord,' more frequently
than we do in prayer.  Deliverance from sin needs no such `if,' but
deliverance from death does."

At this point the conversation was interrupted by Tim Rokens, who came
up to the captain, and said respectfully--

"If ye please, sir, it 'ud be as well if ye wos to speak to the men;
there's somethin' like mutiny a-goin' on, I fear."

"Mutiny! why, what about?"

"It's about the spirits.  Some on 'em says as how they wants to enjoy
theirselves here as much as they can, for they won't have much chance o'
doin' so ashore any more.  It's my belief that fellow Tarquin's at the
bottom o't."

"There's not much spirits aboard the wreck to fight about," said the
captain, somewhat bitterly, as they all rose, and hurried towards the
hut.  "I only brought a supply for medicine; but it must not be touched,
however little there is."

When the captain came up, he found the space in front of their rude
dwelling a scene of contention and angry dispute that bade fair to end
in a fight.  Tarquin was standing before the first mate, with his knife
drawn, and using violent language and gesticulations towards him, while
the latter stood by the raft, grasping a handspike, with which he
threatened to knock the steward down if he set foot on it.  The men were
grouped round them, some with looks that implied a desire to side with
Tarquin, while others muttered "Shame!"

"Shame!" cried Tarquin, looking fiercely round on his shipmates, "who
cried shame?  We're pretty sure all on us to be starved to death on this
reef; and it's my opinion, that since we haven't got to live long, we
should try to enjoy ourselves as much as we can.  There's not much
spirits aboard, more's the pity; but what there is I shall have.  So
again I say, who cried `Shame?'"

"I did," said Glynn Proctor, stepping quickly forward; "and I invite all
who think with me to back me up."

"Here ye are, me boy," said Phil Briant, starting forward, and baring
his brawny arms, as was his invariable custom in such circumstances.
"It's meself as'll stick by ye, lad, av the whole crew should go with
that half-caste crokidile."

Gurney and Dick Barnes immediately sided with Glynn also, but Jim
Scroggles and Nikel Sling, and, to the surprise of every one, Markham,
the second mate, sided with the steward.  As the opposing parties
glanced at each other, Glynn observed that, although his side was
superior in numbers, some of the largest and most powerful men of the
crew were among his opponents, and he felt that a conflict between such
men must inevitably be serious.  Matters had almost come to a crisis
when Dr Hopley and the captain approached the scene of action.  The
latter saw at a glance the state of affairs, and stepping up to the
steward, ordered him at once into the hut.

Tarquin seemed to waver for a moment under the stern gaze of his
commander; but he suddenly swore a terrible oath, and said that he would
not obey.

"You're no longer in command of us," he said gruffly, "now that you have
lost your ship.  Every man may do what he pleases."

"May he?" replied the captain; "then it pleases me to do that!" and,
launching out his clenched right hand with all his might, he hit the
steward therewith right between the eyes.

Tarquin went down as if he had been shot, and lay stunned and at full
length upon the sand.

"Now, my lads," cried the captain, turning towards the men, "what he
said just now is so far right.  Having lost my ship, I am no longer
entitled to command you; but my command does not cease unless a majority
of you choose that it should.  Tarquin has taken upon himself to decide
the question, without asking your opinion, which amounts to mutiny, and
mutiny, under the circumstances in which we are placed, requires to be
promptly dealt with.  I feel it right to say this, because I am a man of
peace, as you well know, and do not approve of a too ready appeal to the
fists for the settlement of a dispute."

"Ah, then, more's the pity!" interrupted Briant, "for ye use them
oncommon well."

A suppressed laugh followed this remark.

"Silence, men, this is no time for jesting.  One of our shipmates has,
not long since, been taken suddenly from us; it may be that we shall all
of us be called into the presence of our Maker before many days pass
over us.  We have much to do that will require to be done promptly and
well, if we would hope to be delivered at all, and the question must be
decided _now_ whether I am to command you, or every one is to do what he
pleases."

"I votes for Cap'en Dunning," exclaimed Gurney.

"So does I," cried Jim Scroggles; who, being somewhat weather-cockish in
his nature, turned always with wonderful facility to the winning side.

"Three cheers for the cap'en," cried Dick Barnes, suiting the action to
the word.

Almost every voice joined in the vociferous cheer with which this
proposal was received.

"An' wan more for Miss Ailie," shouted Phil Briant.

Even Jacko lent his voice to the tremendous cheer that followed, for
Briant in his energy chanced to tread on that creature's unfortunate
tail, which always seemed to be in his own way as well as in that of
every one else, and the shriek that he uttered rang high above the
laughter into which the cheer degenerated, as some one cried, "Ah, Pat,
trust you, my boy, for rememberin' the ladies!"

Order having been thus happily restored, and Captain Dunning having
announced that the late attempt at mutiny should thenceforth be buried
in total oblivion, a council was called, in order to consider seriously
their present circumstances, and to devise, if possible, some means of
escape.

"My lads," said the captain, when they were all assembled, "I've been
ponderin' over matters ever since we were cast away on this bank, an'
I've at last come to the conclusion that our only chance of gettin' away
is to build a small boat and fit her out for a long voyage.  I need not
tell you that this chance is a poor one--well-nigh a forlorn hope.  Had
it been better I would have spoken before now, and began the work
sooner; but I have lived from day to day in the hope of a ship heaving
in sight.  This is a vain hope.  We are far out of the usual track of
all ships here.  None come this way, except such as may chance to be
blown out of their course, as we were; and even if one did come within
sight, it's ten chances to one that we should fail to attract attention
on such a low bank as this.

"I've had several reliable observations of late, and I find that we are
upwards of two thousand miles from the nearest known land, which is the
Cape of Good Hope.  I propose, therefore, that we should strip off as
much of the planking of the wreck as will suit our purpose, get the
carpenter's chest landed, and commence work at once.  Now, what say you?
If anyone has a better plan to suggest, I'll be only to glad to adopt
it, for such a voyage in so slim a craft as we can build here will be
one necessarily replete with danger."

"I'll tell ye wot it is, cap'en," said Tim Rokens, rising up, taking off
his cap, and clearing his throat, as if he were about to make a studied
oration.  "We've not none on us got no suggestions to make wotsomdiver.
You've only got to give the word and we'll go to work; an' the sooner
you does so the better, for it's my b'lief we'll have a gale afore long
that'll pretty well stop work altogether as long as it lasts."

The indications in the sky gave such ample testimony to the justness of
Rokens' observations that no more time was wasted in discussion.  Dick
Barnes, who acted the part of ship's carpenter when not otherwise
engaged, went out to the wreck on the raft, with a party of men under
command of Mr Millons, to fetch planking and the necessary material for
the construction of a boat, while the remainder of the crew, under the
captain's superintendence, prepared a place near Fairyland for laying
the keel.

This spot was selected partly on account of the convenient formation of
the shore for the launching of the boat when finished, and partly
because that would be the lee side of the rocky point when the coming
storm should burst.  For the latter reason the hut was removed to
Fairyland, and poor Ailie had the mortification in a few hours of seeing
her little paradise converted into an unsightly wreck of confusion.
Alas! how often this is the case in human affairs of greater moment;
showing the folly of setting our hearts on the things of earth.  It
seems at first sight a hard passage, that, in the Word of God.  "What?"
the enthusiastic but thoughtless are ready to exclaim, "not love the
world! the bright, beautiful world that was made by God to be enjoyed?
Not love our fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, wives? not give our
warmest affections to all these?"  Truly, ye hasty ones, if you would
but earnestly consider it, you would find that God not only permits, but
requires us to love all that is good and beautiful here, as much as we
will, as much as we can; but we ought to love Himself _more_.  If this
be our happy condition, then our hearts are not "set on the world"; on
the contrary, they are set free to love the world and all that is
lovable in it--of which there is very, very much--more, probably than
the best of men suppose.  Else, wherefore does the Father love it and
care for it so tenderly?

But Ailie had not set her heart on her possessions on the sandbank.  She
felt deep regret for a time, it is true, and in feeling thus she
indulged a right and natural impulse, but that impulse did not lead to
the sin of murmuring.  Her sorrow soon passed away, and she found
herself as cheerful and happy afterwards in preparing for her long, long
voyage as ever she had been in watching the gambols of her fish, or in
admiring the lovely hues of the weeds and coral rocks in the limpid
pools of Fairyland.

It was a fortunate circumstance that Captain Dunning set about the
preparations for building the boat that afternoon, for the storm burst
upon them sooner than had been expected, and long before all the
requisite stores and materials had been rafted from the wreck.

The most important things, however, had been procured--such as the
carpenter's chest, a large quantity of planking, oakum, and cordage, and
several pieces of sail cloth, with the requisite thread and needles for
making boat sails.  Still, much was wanting when the increasing violence
of the wind compelled them to leave off work.

Some of the men were now ordered to set about securing such materials as
had been collected, while others busied themselves in fixing ropes to
the hut and rolling huge masses of coral rock against its fragile walls
to steady it.

"Av ye plaze, sir," said Briant to the Captain, wiping his forehead as
he approached with a lump of tarry canvas which he used in default of a
better pocket-handkerchief, "av ye plaze, sir, wot'll I do now?"

"Do something useful, lad, whatever you do," said the captain, looking
up from the hole which he was busily engaged in digging for the
reception of a post to steady the hut.  "There's lots of work; you can
please yourself as to choice."

"Then I comed fur to suggist that the purvisions and things a-top o' the
sandbank isn't quite so safe as they might be."

"True, Briant; I was just thinking of that as you came up.  Go and see
you make a tight job of it.  Get Rokens to help you."

Briant hurried off, and calling his friend, walked with him to the top
of the sandbank, leaning heavily against the gale, and staggering as
they went.  The blast now whistled so that they could scarcely hear each
other talk.

"We'll be blowed right into the sea," shouted Tim, as the two reached a
pile of casks and cases.

"Sure, that's me own belaif entirely," roared his companion.

"What d'ye say to dig a hole and stick the things in it?" yelled Rokens.

"We're not fit," screamed Phil.

"Let's try," shrieked the other.

To this Briant replied by falling on his knees on the lee side of the
goods, and digging with his hands in the sand most furiously.  Tim
Rokens followed his example, and the two worked like a couple of
sea-moles (if such creatures exist) until a hole capable of holding
several casks was formed.  Into this they stowed all the biscuit casks
and a few other articles, and covered them up with sand.  The remainder
they covered with tarpaulin, and threw sand and stones above it until
the heap was almost buried out of sight.  This accomplished, they
staggered back to the hut as fast as they could.

Here they found everything snugly secured, and as the rocks effectually
sheltered the spot from the gale, with the exception of an occasional
eddying blast that drove the sand in their faces, they felt
comparatively comfortable.  Lighting their pipes, they sat down among
their comrades to await the termination of the storm.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE STORM.

A storm in almost all circumstances is a grand and solemnising sight,
one that forces man to feel his own weakness and his Maker's might and
majesty.  But a storm at sea in southern latitudes, where the winds are
let loose with a degree of violence that is seldom or never experienced
in the temperate zones, is so terrific that no words can be found to
convey an adequate idea of its appalling ferocity.

The storm that at this time burst upon the little sandbank on which the
shipwrecked crew had found shelter, was one of the most furious,
perhaps, that ever swept the seas.  The wind shrieked as if it were
endued with life, tore up the surface of the groaning deep into masses
and shreds of foam, which it whirled aloft in mad fury, and then
dissipated into a thin blinding mist that filled the whole atmosphere,
so that one could scarcely see a couple of yards beyond the spot on
which he stood.  The hurricane seemed to have reached its highest point
soon after sunset that night, and a ray of light from the moon struggled
ever and anon through the black hurtling clouds, as if to reveal to the
cowering seamen the extreme peril of their situation.  The great ocean
was lashed into a wide sheet of foam, and the presence of the little
isle in the midst of that swirling waste of water was indicated merely
by a slight circle of foam that seemed whiter than the rest of the sea.

The men sat silently in their frail hut, listening to the howling blast
without.  A feeling of awe crept over the whole party, and the most
careless and the lightest of heart among the crew of the _Red Eric_
ceased to utter his passing jest, and became deeply solemnised as the
roar of the breakers filled his ear, and reminded him that a thin ledge
of rock alone preserved him from instant destruction.

"The wind has shifted a point," said the captain, who had just risen and
opened a chink of the rude door of the hut in order to look out.  "I see
that the keel of the boat is all fast and the planking beside it.  The
coral rock shelters it just now; but if the wind goes on shifting I fear
it will stand a poor chance."

"We'd better go out and give it a hextra fastening," suggested Mr
Millons.

"Not yet.  There's no use of exposing any of the men to the risk of
being blown away.  The wind may keep steady, in which case I've no fear
for it."

"I dun know," said Rokens, who sat beside Ailie, close to the embers of
their fire, with a glowing cinder from which he re-lighted his pipe for
at least the twentieth time that night.  "You never can tell wot's
a-goin' to turn up.  I'll go out, cap'en, if ye like, and see that all's
fast."

"Perhaps you're right, Tim; you may make a bolt across to it, and heave
another rock or two on the planking if it seems to require it."

The seaman rose, and putting aside his pipe, threw off his coat, partly
in order that he might present as small a surface to the wind as
possible, and partly that he might have a dry garment to put on when he
returned.  As he opened the little door of the hut a rude gust of wind
burst in, filling the apartment with spray, and scattering the embers of
the fire.

"I feared as much," said the captain, as he and the men started up to
gather together the pieces of glowing charcoal; "that shows the wind's
shifted another point; if it goes round two points more it'll smash our
boat to pieces.  Look sharp, Tim."

"Lean well against the wind, me boy," cried Briant, in a warning voice.

Thus admonished, Rokens issued forth, and dashed across the open space
that separated the hut from the low ledge of coral rock behind which the
keel of the intended boat and its planking were sheltered.  A very few
minutes sufficed to show Tim that all was fast, and to enable him to
place a few additional pieces of rock above the heap in order to keep it
down.  Then he prepared to dart back again to the hut, from the doorway
of which his proceedings, were watched by the captain and as many of the
men as could crowd round it.

Just as the harpooner sprang from the shelter of the rock the blast
burst upon the bank with redoubled fury, as if it actually were a
sentient being, and wished to catch the sailor in its rude grasp and
whirl him away.  Rokens bent his stout frame against it with all his
might, and stood his ground for a few seconds like a noble tree on some
exposed mountain side that has weathered the gales of centuries.  Then
he staggered, threw his arms wildly in the air, and a moment after was
swept from the spot and lost to view in the driving spray that flew over
the island.

The thing was so instantaneous that the horrified onlookers could
scarcely credit the evidence of their eyes, and they stood aghast for a
moment or two ere their feelings found vent in a cry of alarm.  Next
instant Captain Dunning felt himself rudely pushed aside, and Briant
leaped through the doorway, shouting, as he dashed out--

"If Tim Rokens goes, it's Phil Briant as'll go along with him."

The enthusiastic Irishman was immediately lost to view, and Glynn
Proctor was about to follow, when the captain seized him by the collar,
dragged him back, and shut the door violently.

"Keep back, lads," he cried, "no one must leave the hut.  If these two
men cannot save themselves by means of their own strong muscles, no
human power can save them."

Glynn, and indeed all of the men, felt this remark to be true, so they
sat down round the fire, and looked in each other's faces with the
expression of men who half believed they must be dreaming.  Little was
said during the next ten or fifteen minutes; indeed, it was difficult to
make their voices heard, owing to the noise of the wind and dashing
waves.  The captain stood at the door, looking out from time to time
with feelings of the deepest anxiety, each moment expecting to see the
two sailors struggling back towards the hut; but they did not return.
Soon the gale increased to such a degree that every one felt, although
no one would acknowledge it even to himself, that there was now no hope
of their comrades ever returning.

The wind shifted another point; and now their lost shipmates were for a
time forgotten in the anxieties of their own critical position, for
their rocky ledge formed only a partial shelter, and every now and then
the hut was shaken with a blast so terrible that it threatened to come
down about their ears.

"Don't you think our house will fall, dear papa?" inquired Ailie, as a
gust more furious than any that had hitherto passed swept round the
rocks, and shook the hut as if it had been made of pasteboard.

"God knows, my darling; we are in His hands."

Ailie tried to comfort herself with the thought that her Heavenly Father
was indeed the ruler of the storm, and could prevent it from doing them
harm if He pleased; but as gust after gust dashed against the frail
building, and almost shook it down, while the loud rattling of the
boards which composed it almost stunned her, an irresistible feeling of
alarm crept over her, despite her utmost efforts to control herself.

The captain now ordered the men to go out and see that the fastenings to
windward and the supports to leeward of the hut remained firm, and to
add more of them if possible.  He set the example by throwing off his
coat and leading the way.

This duty was by no means so difficult or dangerous as that which had
been previously performed by Rokens, for it must be remembered the hut
as yet was only exposed to partial gusts of eddying wind, not to the
full violence of the storm.  It involved a thorough wetting, however, to
all who went.  In ten minutes the men re-entered, and put on their dry
coats, but as no one knew how soon he might again be called upon to
expose himself, none thought of changing his other garments.

"Now, Ailie, my pet," said Captain Dunning, sitting down beside his
child on the sandy floor of the hut, "we've done all we can.  If the
wind remains as it is our house will stand."

"But have you not seen Rokens or Briant?" inquired Ailie with an anxious
face, while the tears rolled over her cheeks.

The captain shook his head, but made no reply, and the men looked
earnestly at each other, as if each sought to gather a ray of hope from
the countenance of his friend.  While they sat thus, a terrible blast
shook the hut to its foundation.  Again and again it came with
ever-increasing violence, and then it burst on them with a continuous
roar like prolonged thunder.

"Look out," cried the captain, instinctively clasping Ailie in his arms,
while the men sprang to their feet.  The stout corner-posts bent over
before the immense pressure, and the second mate placed his shoulder
against one of those on the windward side of the hut, while Dick Barnes
and Nikel Sling did the same to the other.

"It's all up with us," cried Tarquin, as part of the roof blew off, and
a deluge of water and spray burst in upon them, extinguishing the fire
and leaving them in total darkness.  At that moment Ailie felt herself
seized round the waist by a pair of tiny arms, and putting down her
hand, she felt that Jacko was clinging to her with a tight but trembling
grasp.

Even in that hour of danger, the child experienced a sensation of
pleasure at the mere thought that there was one living creature there
which looked up to and clung to her for protection; and although she
knew full well that if the stout arm of her father which encircled her
were removed, her own strength, in their present circumstances, could
not have availed to protect herself, yet she felt a gush of renewed
strength and courage at her heart when the poor little monkey put its
trembling arms around her.

"Lay your shoulders to the weather-wall, lads," cried the captain, as
another rush of wind bore down in the devoted hut.

The men obeyed, but their united strength availed nothing against the
mighty power that raged without.  The wind, as the captain had feared,
went round another point, and they were now exposed to the unbroken
force of the hurricane.  For a few minutes the stout corner-posts of the
hut held up, then they began to rend and crack.

"Bear down with the blast to the lee of the rocks, lads," cried the
captain; "it's your only chance; don't try to face it."

Almost before the words left his lips the posts snapped with a loud
crash; the hut was actually lifted off the ground by the wind, and swept
completely away, while most of the men were thrown violently to the
ground by the wreck as it passed over their heads.  The captain fell
like the rest, but he retained his grasp of Ailie, and succeeded in
rising, and as the gale carried him away with irresistible fury he bore
firmly down to his right, and gained the eddy caused by the rocks which
until now had sheltered the hut.  He was safe; but he did not feel
secure until he had staggered towards the most sheltered part, and
placed his child in a cleft of the rock.

Here he found Gurney and Tarquin before him, and soon after Glynn came
staggering in, along with one or two others.  In less than three minutes
after the hut had been blown away, all the men were collected in the
cleft, where they crouched down to avoid the pelting, pitiless spray
that dashed over their heads.

It is difficult to conceive a more desperate position than that in which
they were now placed, yet there and at that moment a thrill of joy
passed through the hearts of most, if not all of them, for they heard a
shout which was recognised to be the voice of Tim Rokens.  It came from
the rocks a few yards to their right, and almost ere it had died away,
Rokens himself staggered into the sheltering cleft of rock, accompanied
by Phil Briant.

Some of the men who had faced the dangers to which they had been exposed
with firm nerves and unblanched cheeks, now grew pale, and trembled
violently, for they actually believed that the spirits of their lost
shipmates had come to haunt them.  But these superstitious fears were
soon put to flight by the hearty voice of the harpooner, who shook
himself like a great Newfoundland dog as he came up, and exclaimed--

"Why, wot on airth has brought ye all here?"

"I think we may say, what has brought _you_ here?" replied the captain,
as he grasped them each by the hand and shook them with as much energy
as if he had not met them for ten years past.

"It's aisy to tell that," said Briant, as he crouched down in the midst
of the group; "Tim and me wos blow'd right across the bank, an' we
should no doubt ha' bin blow'd right into the sea, but Tim went full
split agin one o' the casks o' salt junk, and I went slap agin _him_,
and we lay for a moment all but dead.  Then we crep' in the lee o' the
cask, an' lay there till a lull came, when we clapped on all sail, an'
made for the shelter o' the rocks, an' shure we got there niver a taste
too soon, for it came on to blow the next minit, fit to blow the eyelids
off yer face, it did."

"It's a fact," added Rokens.  "Moreover, we tried to git round to the
hut, but as we wos twice nearly blowed away w'en we tried for to double
the point, we 'greed to stay where we wos till the back o' the gale
should be broke.  But, now, let's hear wot's happened."

"The hut's gone," said Gurney, in reply.  "Blowed clean over our heads
to--I dun know where."

"Blowed away?" cried Rokens and Briant, in consternation.

"Not a stick left," replied the captain.

"An' the boat?" inquired Briant.

"It's gone too, I fancy; but we can't be sure."

"Then it's all up, boys," observed Briant; "for nearly every morsel o'
the prog that wos on the top o' the bank is washed away."

This piece of news fell like a thunderbolt on the men, and no one spoke
for some minutes.  At last the captain said--

"Well, lads, we must do the best we can.  Thank God, we are still alive;
so let us see whether we can't make our present quarters more
comfortable."

Setting his men the example, Captain Dunning began to collect the few
boards, and bits of canvas that chanced to have been left on that side
of the rocky ledge when the hut was removed to the other side, and with
these materials a very partial and insufficient shelter was put up.  But
the space thus inclosed was so small that they were all obliged to
huddle together in a mass.  Those farthest from the rock were not
altogether protected from the spray that flew over their heads, while
those nearest to it were crushed and incommoded by their companions.

Thus they passed that eventful night and all the following day, during
which the storm raged with such fury that no one dared venture out to
ascertain how much, if any, of their provisions and stores were left to
them.

During the second night, a perceptible decrease in the violence of the
gale took place, and before morning it ceased altogether.  The sun rose
in unclouded splendour, sending its bright and warm beams up into the
clear blue sky and down upon the ocean, which glittered vividly as it
still swelled and trembled with agitation.  All was serene and calm in
the sky, while below the only sound that broke upon the ear was the deep
and regular dash of the great breakers that fell upon the shores of the
islet, and encircled it with a fringe of purest white.

On issuing from their confined uneasy nest in the cleft of the rock,
part of the shipwrecked crew hastened anxiously to the top of the bank
to see how much of their valuable store of food was left, while others
ran to the spot in Fairyland where the keel of the new boat had been
laid.  The latter party found to their joy that all was safe, everything
having been well secured; but a terrible sight met the eyes of the other
men.  Not a vestige of all their store remained!  The summit of the
sandbank was as smooth as on the day they landed there.  Casks, boxes,
barrels--all were gone; everything had been swept away into the sea!

Almost instinctively the men turned their eyes towards the reef on which
the _Red Eric_ had grounded, each man feeling that in the wrecked vessel
all his hope now remained.  It, too, was gone!  The spot on which it had
lain was now washed by the waves, and a few broken planks and spars on
the beach were all that remained to remind them of their ocean home!

The men looked at each other with deep despondency expressed in their
countenances.  They were haggard and worn from exposure, anxiety, and
want of rest; and as they stood there in their wet, torn garments, they
looked the very picture of despair.

"There's one chance for us yet, lads," exclaimed Tim Rokens, looking
carefully round the spot on which they stood.

"What's that?" exclaimed several of the men eagerly, catching at their
comrade's words as drowning men are said to catch at straws.

"Briant an' me buried some o' the things, by good luck, when we were
sent to make all snug here, an' I'm of opinion they'll be here yet, if
we could only find the place.  Let me see."

Rokens glanced round at the rocks beside which their hut had found
shelter, and at the reef where the ship had been wrecked, in order to
find the "bearin's o' the spot," as he expressed it.  Then walking a few
yards to one side, he struck his foot on the sand and said, "It should
be hereabouts."

The blow of his heel returned a peculiar hollow sound, very unlike that
produced by stamping on the mere sand.

"Shure ye've hit the very spot, ye have," cried Briant, falling on his
knees beside the place; and scraping up the sand with both hands.  "It
sounds uncommon like a bread-cask.  Here it is.  Hurrah! boys, lind a
hand, will ye.  There now, heave away; but trate it tinderly!  Shure
it's the only friend we've got in the wide world."

"You're all wrong, Phil," cried Gurney, who almost at the same moment
began to scrape another hole close by.  "It's not our only one; here's
another friend o' the same family.  Bear a hand, lads!"

"And here's another!" cried Ailie, with a little scream of delight, as
she observed the rim of a small keg just peeping out above the sand.

"Well done, Ailie," cried Glynn, as he ran to the spot and quickly dug
up the keg in question, which, however, proved to be full of nails, to
Ailie's great disappointment, for she expected it to have turned out a
keg of biscuits.

"How many casks did you bury?" inquired the captain.

"It's meself can't tell," replied Briant; "d'ye know, Tim?"

"Three, I think; but we was in sich a hurry that I ain't sartin
exactly."

"Well, then, boys, look here!" continued the captain, drawing a pretty
large circle on the sand, "set to work like a band of moles an' dig up
every inch o' that till you come to the water."

"That's your sort," cried Rokens, plunging elbow-deep into the sand at
once.

"Arrah! then, here's at ye; a fair field an' no favour at any price,"
shouted Briant, baring his arms, straddling his legs, and sending a
shower of sand behind him that almost overwhelmed Gurney, before that
stout little individual could get out of the way.

The spirits of the men were farther rejoiced by the coming up of the
other party, bearing the good news that the keel of the boat was safe,
as well as all her planking and the carpenter's tools, which fortunately
happened to have been secured in a sheltered spot.  From the depths of
despair they were all suddenly raised to renewed and sanguine hope, so
that they wrought with the energy of gold-diggers, and soon their toil
was rewarded by the discovery of that which, in their circumstances,
they would not have exchanged for all the golden nuggets that ever were
or will be dug up from the prolific mines of Australia, California, or
British Columbia, namely, three casks of biscuit, a small keg of wine, a
cask of fresh water, a roll of tobacco, and a barrel of salt junk.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

PREPARATIONS FOR A LONG VOYAGE--BRIANT PROVES THAT GHOSTS CAN DRINK--
JACKO ASTONISHES HIS FRIENDS, AND SADDENS HIS ADOPTED MOTHER.

"Wot _I_ say is one thing; wot _you_ say is another--so it is.  I dun
know w'ich is right, or w'ich is wrong--no more do you.  P'raps you is,
p'raps I is; anywise we can't both on us be right or both on us be
wrong--that's a comfort, if it's nothin' else.  Wot _you_ say is--that
it's morally imposs'ble for a crew sich as us to travel over two
thousand miles of ocean on three casks o' biscuit and a barrel o' salt
junk.  Wot _I_ say is--that we can, an', moreover, that morals has
nothin' to do with it wotsomediver.  Now, wot then?"

Tim Rokens paused and looked at Gurney, to whom his remarks were
addressed, as if he expected an answer.  That rotund little seaman did
not, however, appear to be thoroughly prepared to reply to "wot then,"
for he remained silent, but looked at his comrade as though to say,
"I'll be happy to learn wisdom from your sagacious lips."

"Wot then?" repeated Tim Rokens, assaulting his knee with his clenched
fist in a peculiarly emphatic manner; "I'll tell ye wot then, as you may
be right and I may be right, an' nother on us can be both right or
wrong, I say as how that we don't know nothin' about it."

Gurney looked as if he did not quite approve of so summary a method of
solving such a knotty question, but observing from the expression of
Rokens' countenance that, though he had paused, that philosopher had not
yet concluded, he remained silent.

"An', furthermore," continued Tim, "it's my opinion--seein' that we're
both on us in such a state o' cumblebofubulation, an' don't know
nothin'--we'd better go an' ax the cap'en, who does."

"_You_ may save yourselves the trouble," observed Glynn Proctor, who at
that moment came up and sat down on the rocks beside them, with a piece
of the salt junk that formed an element in the question at issue, in his
hand--

"I've just heard the captain give his opinion on that subject, and he
says that the boat can be got ready in a week or less, and that, with
strict economy, the provisions we have will last us long enough to
enable us to make the Cape, supposing we have good weather and fair
winds.  That's _his_ opinion."

"I told ye so," said Tim Rokens.

"You did nothin' o' the sort," retorted Gurney.

"Well, if ye come fur to be oncommon strick in the use o' your lingo, I
did _not_ 'xactly tell ye so, but I _thought_ so, w'ich is all the
same."

"It ain't all the same," replied Gurney, whose temper seemed to have
been a little soured by the prospects before him, "and you don't need to
go for to be talkin' there like a great Solon as you are."

"Wot's a Solon?" inquired Tim.

"Solon was a man as thought his-self a great feelosopher, but he worn't,
he wor an ass."

"If I'm like Solon," retorted Rokens, "you're like a Solon-goose, w'ich
is an animal as _don't_ think itself an ass, 'cause its too great a one
to know it."

Having thus floored his adversary, the philosophic mariner turned to
Glynn and said--

"In course we can't expect to be on full allowance."

"Of course not, old boy; the captain remarked, just as I left him, that
we'd have to be content with short allowance--very short allowance
indeed."

Gurney sighed deeply.

"How much?" inquired Tim.

"About three ounces of biscuit, one ounce of salt junk, and a quarter of
a pint of water per day."

Gurney groaned aloud.

"You, of all men," said Glynn, "have least reason to complain, Gurney,
for you've got fat enough on your own proper person to last you a week
at least!"

"Ay, a fortnight, or more," added Rokens; "an' even then ye'd scarcely
be redooced to a decent size."

"Ah, but," pleaded Gurney, "you scarecrow creatures don't know how
horrid sore the process o' comin' down is.  An' one gets so cold, too.
It's just like taking off yer clo's."

"Sarves ye right for puttin' on so many," said Rokens, as he rose to
resume work, which he and Gurney had left off three-quarters of an hour
before, in order to enjoy a quiet, philosophical _tete-a-tete_ during
dinner.

"It's a bad business, that of the planking not being sufficient to deck
or even half-deck the boat," observed Glynn, as they went together
towards the place where the new boat was being built.

"It is," replied Rokens; "but it's a good thing that we've got plenty of
canvas to spare.  It won't make an overly strong deck, to be sure; but
it's better than nothin'."

"A heavy sea would burst it in no time," remarked Gurney.

"We must hope to escape heavy seas, then," said Glynn, as they parted,
and went to their several occupations.

The boat that was now building with the most urgent despatch, had a keel
of exactly twenty-three feet long, and her breadth, at the widest part,
was seven feet.  She was being as well and firmly put together as the
materials at their command would admit of, and, as far as the work had
yet proceeded, she bid fair to become an excellent boat, capable of
containing the whole crew, and their small quantity of provisions.  This
last was diminishing so rapidly, that Captain Dunning resolved to put
all hands at once on short allowance.  Notwithstanding this, the men
worked hard and hopefully; for, as each plank and nail was added to
their little bark, they felt as if they were a step nearer home.  The
captain and the doctor, however, and one or two of the older men, could
not banish from their minds the fact that the voyage they were about to
undertake was of the most perilous nature, and one which, in any other
than the hopeless circumstances in which they were placed at that time,
would have been regarded as the most desperate of forlorn hopes.

For fourteen souls to be tossed about on the wide and stormy sea, during
many weeks, it might be months, in a small open boat, crowded together
and cramped, without sufficient covering, and on short allowance of
food, was indeed a dreary prospect, even for the men--how much more so
for the delicate child who shared their trials and sufferings?  Captain
Dunning's heart sank within him when he thought of it; but he knew how
great an influence the conduct and bearing of a commander has, in such
circumstances, on his men; so he strove to show a smiling, cheerful
countenance, though oftentimes he carried a sad and anxious heart in his
bosom.  To the doctor and Tim Rokens alone did he reveal his inmost
thoughts, because he knew that he could trust them, and felt that he
needed their advice and sympathy.

The work progressed so rapidly, that in a few days more the boat
approached completion, and preparations were being made in earnest for
finally quitting the little isle on which they had found a home for so
many days.

It was observed by the captain that as the work of boat-building drew to
a close, Glynn Proctor continued to labour long after the others had
retired to rest, wearied with the toils of the day--toils which they
were not now so well able to bear as heretofore, on account of the
slight want of vigour caused by being compelled to live on half
allowance.

One evening the captain went down to the building yard in Fairyland, and
said to Glynn--

"Hallo, my boy! at it yet?  Why, what are you making?  A dog-kennel,
eh?"

"No; not exactly that," replied Glynn, laughing.  "You'll hardly guess."

"I would say it was a house for Jacko, only it seems much too big."

"It's just possible that Jacko may have a share in it," said Glynn; "but
it's not for him."

"Who, then?  Not for yourself, surely!"

"It's for Ailie," cried Glynn gleefully.  "Don't you think it will be
required?" he added, looking up, as if he half feared the captain would
not permit his contrivance to be used.

"Well, I believe it will, my boy.  I had intended to get some sort of
covering for my dear Ailie put up in the stern-sheets; but I did not
think of absolutely making a box for her."

"Ah, you'll find it will be a capital thing at nights.  I know she could
never stand the exposure, and canvas don't keep out the rain well; so I
thought of rigging up a large box, into which she can creep.  I'll make
air-holes in the roof that will let in air, but not water; and I'll
caulk the seams with oakum, so as to keep it quite dry inside."

"Thank you, my boy, it's very kind of you to take so much thought for my
poor child.  Yet she deserves it, Glynn, and we can't be too careful of
her."

The captain patted the youth on the shoulder, and, leaving him to
continue his work, went to see Gurney, who had been ailing a little
during the last few days.  Brandy, in small quantities, had been
prescribed by the doctor, and, fortunately, two bottles of that spirit
had been swept from the wreck.  Being their whole stock, Captain Dunning
had stowed it carefully away in what he deemed a secret and secure
place; but it turned out that some member of the crew was not so strict
in his principles of temperance as could be desired; for, on going to
the spot to procure the required medicine, it was found that one of the
bottles was gone.

This discovery caused the captain much anxiety and sorrow, for, besides
inflicting on them the loss of a most valuable medicine, it proved that
there was a thief in their little society.

What was to be done?  To pass it over in silence would have shown
weakness, which, especially in the circumstances in which they were at
that time placed, might have led at last to open mutiny.  To discover
the thief was impossible.  The captain's mind was soon made up.  He
summoned every one of the party before him, and, after stating the
discovery he had made, he said--

"Now, lads, I'm not going to charge any of you with having done this
thing, but I cannot let it pass without warning you that if I discover
any of you being guilty of such practices in future, I'll have the man
tied up and give him three dozen with a rope's-end.  You know I have
never resorted, as many captains are in the habit of doing, to corporal
punishment.  I don't like it.  I've sailed in command of ships for many
years, and have never found it needful; but now, more than ever, strict
discipline must be maintained; and I tell you, once for all, that I mean
to maintain it _at any cost_."

This speech was received in silence.  All perceived the justice of it,
yet some felt that, until the thief should be discovered, they
themselves would lie under suspicion.  A few there were, indeed, whose
well-known and long-established characters raised them above suspicion,
but there were others who knew that their character had not yet been
established on so firm a basis, and they felt that until the matter
should be cleared up, their honesty would be, mentally at least, called
in question by their companions.

With the exception of the disposition to mutiny related in a previous
chapter, this was the first cloud that had risen to interrupt the
harmony of the shipwrecked sailors, and as they returned to their work,
sundry suggestions and remarks were made in reference to the possibility
of discovering the delinquent.

"I didn't think it wos poss'ble," said Rokens.  "I thought as how there
wasn't a man in the ship as could ha' done sich a low, mean thing as
that."

"No more did I," said Dick Barnes.

"Wall, boys," observed Nikel Sling emphatically, "I guess as how that I
don't believe it yet."

"Arrah!  D'ye think the bottle o' brandy stole his-self?" inquired
Briant.

"I ain't a-goin' fur to say that; but a ghost might ha' done it, p'raps,
a-purpose to get us into a scrape."

There was a slight laugh at this, and from that moment the other men
suspected that Sling was the culprit.  The mere fact of his being the
first to charge the crime upon any one else--even a ghost--caused them,
in spite of themselves, to come to this conclusion.  They did not,
however, by word or look, show what was passing in their minds, for the
Yankee was a favourite with his comrades, and each felt unwilling that
his suspicion should prove to be correct.

"I don't agree with you," said Tarquin, who feared that suspicion might
attach to himself, seeing that he had been the ringleader in the recent
mutiny; "I don't believe that ghosts drink."

"Och! that's all ye know!" cried Phil Briant.  "Av ye'd only lived a
month or two in Owld Ireland, ye'd have seen raison to change yer mind,
ye would.  Sure I've seed a ghost the worse o' liquor meself."

"Oh!  Phil, wot a stunner!" cried Gurney.

"It's as true as me name's Phil Briant--more's the pity.  Did I niver
tell ye o' the Widdy Morgan, as had a ghost come to see her frequently?"

"No, never--let's hear it."

"Stop that noise with yer hammer, then, Tim Rokens, jist for five
minutes, and I'll tell it ye."

The men ceased work for a few minutes while their comrade spoke as
follows--

"It's not a long story, boys, but it's long enough to prove that ghosts
drink.

"Ye must know that wance upon a time there wos a widdy as lived in a
small town in the county o' Clare, in Owld Ireland, an' oh! but that was
the place for drinkin' and fightin'.  It wos there that I learned to use
me sippers; and it wos there, too, that I learned to give up drinkin',
for I comed for to see what a mighty dale o' harm it did to my poor
countrymen.  The sexton o' the place was the only man as niver wint near
the grog-shop, and no wan iver seed him overtook with drink, but it was
a quare thing that no wan could rightly understand why he used to
_smell_ o' drink very bad sometimes.  There wos a young widdy in that
town, o' the name o' Morgan, as kep' a cow, an' owned a small cabin, an'
a patch o' tater-ground about the size o' the starn sheets of our owld
long-boat.  She wos a great deal run after, wos this widdy--not that the
young lads had an eye to the cow, or the cabin, or the tater-estate, by
no manes--but she wos greatly admired, she wos.  I admired her meself,
and wint to see her pretty fraquent.  Well, wan evenin' I wint to see
her, an' says I, `Mrs Morgan, did ye iver hear the bit song called the
Widdy Machree?'  `Sure I niver did,' says she.  `Would ye like to hear
it, darlint?' says I.  So she says she would, an' I gave it to her right
off; an' when I'd done, says I, `Now, Widdy Morgan, ochone! will ye take
_me_?'  But she shook her head, and looked melancholy.  `Ye ain't
a-goin' to take spasms?' said I, for I got frightened at her looks.
`No,' says she; `but there's a sacret about me; an' I like ye too well,
Phil, to decaive ye; if ye only know'd the sacret, ye wouldn't have me
at any price.'

"`Wouldn't I?' says I; `try me, cushla, and see av I won't.'

"`Phil Briant,' says she, awful solemn like, `I'm haunted.'

"`Haunted!' says I; `'av coorse ye are, bliss yer purty face; don't I
know that ivery boy in the parish is after ye?'

"`It's not that I mane.  It's a ghost as haunts me.  It haunts me cabin,
and me cow, and me tater-estate; an' it drinks.'

"`Now, darlint,' says I, `everybody knows yer aisy frightened about
ghosts.  I don't belave in one meself, an' I don't mind 'em a farden
dip; but av all the ghosts in Ireland haunted ye, I'd niver give ye up.'

"`Will ye come an' see it this night?' says she.

"`Av coorse I will,' says I.  An' that same night I wint to her cabin,
and she let me in, and put a candle on the table, an' hid me behind a
great clock, in a corner jist close by the cupboard, where the
brandy-bottle lived.  Then she lay down on her bed with her clo's on,
and pulled the coverlid over her, and pretinded to go to slape.  In less
nor half-an-hour I hears a fut on the doorstep; then a tap at the door,
which opened, it seemed to me, of its own accord, and in walks the
ghost, sure enough!  It was covered all over from head to fut in a white
sheet, and I seed by the way it walked that it wos the worse of drink.
I wos in a mortal fright, ye may be sure, an' me knees shuk to that
extint ye might have heard them rattle.  The ghost walks straight up to
the cupboard, takes out the brandy-bottle, and fills out a whole tumbler
quite full, and drinks it off; it did, the baste, ivery dhrop.  I seed
it with me two eyes, as sure as I'm a-standin' here.  It came into the
house drunk, an' it wint out drunker nor it came in."

"Is that all?" exclaimed several of Briant's auditors.

"All! av coorse it is.  Wot more would ye have?  Didn't I say that I'd
tell ye a story as would prove to ye that ghosts drink, more especially
Irish ghosts?  To be sure it turned out afterwards that the ghost was
the sexton o' the parish as took advantage o' the poor widdy's fears;
but I can tell ye, boys, that ghost niver came back after the widdy
became Mrs Briant."

"Oh! then ye married the widder, did ye?" said Jim Scroggles.

"I did; an' she's alive and hearty this day av she's not--"

Briant was interrupted by a sudden roar of laughter from the men, who at
that moment caught sight of Jacko, the small monkey, in a condition of
mind and body that, to say the least of it, did him no credit.  We are
sorry to be compelled to state that Jacko was evidently and undoubtedly
tipsy.  Gurney said he was "as drunk as a fiddler."

We cannot take upon ourself to say whether he was or was not as drunk as
that.  We are rather inclined to think that fiddlers, as a class, are
maligned, and that they are no worse than their neighbours in this
respect, perhaps not so bad.  Certainly, if any fiddler really deserves
the imputation, it must be a violoncello player, because he is, properly
speaking, a base-fiddler.

Be this, however, as it may, Jacko was unmistakably drunk--in a maudlin
state of intoxication--drunker, probably, than ever a monkey was before
or since.  He appeared, as he came slowly staggering forward to the
place where the men were at work on the boat, to have just wakened out
of his first drunken sleep, for his eyes were blinking like the orbs of
an owl in the sunshine, and in his walk he placed his right foot where
his left should have gone, and his left foot where his right should have
gone, occasionally making a little run forward to save himself from
tumbling on his nose, and then pulling suddenly up, and throwing up his
arms in order to avoid falling on his back.  Sometimes he halted
altogether,--and swayed to and fro, gazing, meanwhile, pensively at the
ground, as if he were wondering why it had taken to rolling and
earthquaking in that preposterous manner; or were thinking on the
bald-headed mother he had left behind him in the African wilderness.
When the loud laugh of the men saluted his ears, Jacko looked up as
quickly and steadily as he could, and grinned a ghastly smile--or
something like it--as if to say, "What are you laughing at, villains?"

It is commonly observed that, among men, the ruling passion comes out
strongly when they are under the influence of strong drink.  So it is
with monkeys.  Jacko's ruling passion was thieving; but having, at that
time, no particular inducement to steal, he indulged his next ruling
passion--that of affection--by holding out both arms, and staggering
towards Phil Briant to be taken up.

A renewed burst of laughter greeted this movement.  "It knows ye, Phil,"
cried Jim Scroggles.

"Ah! then, so it should, for it's meself as is good to it.  Come to its
uncle, then.  O good luck to yer purty little yaller face.  So it wos
you stole the brandy, wos it?  Musha! but ye might have know'd ye
belonged to a timp'rance ship, so ye might."

Jacko spread his arms on Briant's broad chest--they were too short to go
round his neck--laid his head thereon, and sighed.  Perhaps he felt
penitent on account of his wickedness; but it is more probable that he
felt uneasy in body rather than in mind.

"I say, Briant," cried Gurney.

"That's me," answered the other.

"If you are Jacko's self-appointed uncle, and Miss Ailie is his adopted
mother, wot relation is Miss Ailie to you?"

"You never does nothin' right, Gurney," interposed Nikel Sling; "you
can't even preepound a pruposition.  Here's how you oughter to ha' put
it.  If Phil Briant be Jacko's uncle, and Miss Ailie his adopted
mother--all three bein' related in a sorter way by bein' shipmates, an'
all on us together bein' closely connected in vartue of our bein'
messmates--wot relation is Gurney to a donkey?"

"That's a puzzler," said Gurney, affecting to consider the question
deeply.

"Here's a puzzler wot'll beat it, though," observed Tim Rokens; "suppose
we all go on talkin' stuff till doomsday, w'en'll the boat be finished?"

"That's true," cried Dick Barnes, resuming work with redoubled energy;
"take that young thief to his mother, Phil, and tell her to rope's-end
him.  I'm right glad to find, though, that he _is_ the thief arter all,
and not one o' us."

On examination being made, it was found that the broken and empty
brandy-bottle lay on the floor of the monkey's nest, and it was
conjectured, from the position in which it was discovered, that that
dissipated little creature, having broken off the neck in order to get
at the brandy, had used the body of the bottle as a pillow whereon to
lay its drunken little head.  Luckily for its own sake, it had spilt the
greater part of the liquid, with which everything in its private
residence was saturated and perfumed.

On having ocular demonstration of the depravity of her pet, Ailie at
first wept, then, on beholding its eccentric movements, she laughed in
spite of herself.

After that, she wept again, and spoke to it reproachfully, but failed to
make the slightest impression on its hardened little heart.  Then she
put it to bed, and wrapped it up carefully in its sailcloth blanket.

With this piece of unmerited kindness Jacko seemed touched, for he said,
"Oo-oo--oo-oo--ooee-ee!" once or twice in a peculiarly soft and
penitential tone, after which he dropped into a calm, untroubled
slumber.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE BOAT FINISHED--FAREWELL TO FAIRYLAND--ONCE MORE AT SEA.

At last the boat was finished.  It had two masts and two lug-sails, and
pulled eight oars.  There was just sufficient room in it to enable the
men to move about freely, but it required a little management to enable
them to stow themselves away when they went to sleep, and had they
possessed the proper quantity of provisions for their contemplated
voyage, there is no doubt that they would have found themselves
considerably cramped.  The boat was named the _Maid of the Isle_, in
memory of the sandbank on which she had been built, and although in her
general outline and details she was rather a clumsy craft, she was
serviceable and strongly put together.

Had she been decked, or even half-decked, the voyage which now began
would not have been so desperate an undertaking; but having been only
covered in part with a frail tarpaulin, she was not at all fitted to
face the terrible storms that sometimes sweep the southern seas.  Each
man, as he gazed at her, felt that his chance of ultimate escape was
very small indeed.  Still, the men had now been so long contemplating
the voyage and preparing for it, and they had become so accustomed to
risk their lives upon the sea, that they set out upon this voyage at
last in cheerful spirits, and even jested about the anticipated dangers
and trials which they knew full well awaited them.

It was a lovely morning, that on which the wrecked crew of the whaler
bade adieu to "Fairyland," as the islet had been named by Ailie--a name
that was highly, though laughingly, approved of by the men.  The ocean
and sky presented that mysterious co-mingling of their gorgeous elements
that irresistibly call forth the wonder and admiration of even the most
unromantic and matter-of-fact men.  It was one of Ailie's peculiarly
beloved skies.  You could not, without much consideration, have decided
as to where was the exact line at which the glassy ocean met the clear
sky, and it was almost impossible to tell, when gazing at the horizon,
which were the real clouds and which the reflections.

The bright blue vault above was laden with clouds of the most gorgeous
description, in which all the shades of pearly-grey and yellow were
mingled and contrasted.  They rose up, pile upon pile, in stupendous
majesty, like the very battlements of heaven, while their images, clear
and distinct almost as themselves, rolled down and down into the watery
depths, until the islet--the only well-defined and solid object in the
scene--appeared to float in their midst.  The rising sun shot throughout
the vast immensity of space, and its warm rays were interrupted, and
broken, and caught, and absorbed, and reflected in so many magical ways,
that it was impossible to trace any of the outlines for more than a few
seconds, ere the eye was lost in the confusion of bright lights and deep
shadows that were mingled and mellowed together by the softer lights and
shades of every degree of depth and tint into splendid harmony.

In the midst of this scene Captain Dunning stood, with Ailie by his
side, and surrounded by his men, on the shores of the little island.
Everything was now in readiness to set sail.  The boat was laden, and in
the water, and the men stood ready to leap in and push off.

"My lads," said the captain, earnestly, "we're about to quit this morsel
of sandbank on which it pleased the Almighty to cast our ship, and on
which, thanks be to Him, we have found a pretty safe shelter for so
long.  I feel a sort o' regret almost at leavin' it now.  But the time
has come for us to begin our voyage towards the Cape, and I need
scarcely repeat what you all know well enough--that our undertakin' is
no child's play.  We shall need all our bodily and our mental powers to
carry us through.  Our labour must be constant, and our food is not
sufficient, so that we must go on shorter allowance from this day.  I
gave you half rations while ye were buildin' the boat, because we had to
get her finished and launched as fast as we could, but now we can't
afford to eat so much.  I made a careful inspection of our provisions
last night, and I find that by allowing every man four ounces a day, we
can spin it out.  We may fall in with islands, perhaps, but I know of
none in these seas--there are none put down on the charts--and we may
get hold of a fish now and then, but we must not count on these chances.
Now it must be plain to all of you that our only chance of getting on
well together in circumstances that will try our tempers, no doubt, and
rouse our selfishness, is to resolve firmly before starting--each man
for himself--that we will lay restraint on ourselves and try to help
each other as much as we can."

There was a ready murmur of assent to this proposal; then the captain
continued:--

"Now, lads, one word more.  Our best efforts, let us exert ourselves
ever so much, cannot be crowned with success unless before setting out,
we ask the special favour and blessing of Him who, we are told in the
Bible, holds the waters of the ocean in the hollow of His hand.  If He
helps us, we shall be saved; if He does not help us, we shall perish.
We will therefore offer up a prayer now, in the name of our blessed
Redeemer, that we may be delivered from every danger, and be brought at
last in peace and comfort to our homes."

Captain Dunning then clasped his hands together, and while the men
around him reverently bowed their heads, he offered up a short and
simple, but earnest prayer to God.

From that day forward they continued the habit of offering up prayer
together once a day, and soon afterwards the captain began the practice
of reading a chapter aloud daily out of Ailie's Bible.  The result of
this was that not only were the more violent spirits among them
restrained, under frequent and sore privations and temptations, but all
the party were often much comforted and filled with hope at times when
they were by their sufferings well-nigh driven to despair.

"I'm sorry to leave Fairyland, papa," said Ailie sadly, as the men
shoved the _Maid of the Isle_ into deep water and pulled out to sea.

"So am I, dear," replied the captain sitting down beside his daughter in
the stern-sheets of the boat, and taking the tiller; "I had no idea I
could have come to like such a barren bit of sand so well."

There was a long pause after this remark.  Every eye in the boat was
turned with a sad expression on the bright-yellow sandbank as they rowed
away, and the men dipped their oars lightly into the calm waters, as if
they were loth to leave their late home.

Any spot of earth that has been for some time the theatre of
heart-stirring events, such as rouse men's strong emotions, and on which
happy and hopeful as well as wretched days have been spent, will so
entwine itself with the affections of men that they will cling to it and
love it, more or less powerfully, no matter how barren may be the spot
or how dreary its general aspect.  The sandbank had been the cause, no
doubt, of the wreck of the _Red Eric_, but it had also been the means,
under God, of saving the crew and affording them shelter during many
succeeding weeks--weeks of deep anxiety, but also of healthful, hopeful,
energetic toil, in which, if there were many things to create annoyance
or fear, there had also been not a few things to cause thankfulness,
delight, and amusement.

Unknown to themselves, these rough sailors and the tender child had
become attached to the spot, and it was only now that they were about to
leave it for ever that they became aware of the fact.  The circumscribed
and limited range on which their thoughts and vision had been bent for
the last few weeks, had rendered each individual as familiar with every
inch of the bank as if he had dwelt there for years.

Ailie gazed at the low rocks that overhung the crystal pool in
Fairyland, until the blinding tears filled her eyes, and she felt all
the deep regret that is experienced by the little child when it is
forcibly torn from an old and favourite toy--regret that is not in the
least degree mitigated by the fact that the said toy is but a sorry
affair, a doll, perchance, with a smashed head, eyes thrust out, and
nose flattened on its face or rubbed away altogether--it matters not;
the long and happy hours and days spent in the companionship of that
battered little mass of wood or wax rush on the infant memory like a
dear delightful dream, and it weeps on separation as if its heart would
break.

Each man in the boat's crew experienced more or less of the same
feeling, and commented, according to his nature, either silently or
audibly, on each familiar object as he gazed upon it for the last time.

"There's the spot where we built the hut when we first landed, Ailie,"
said Glynn, who pulled the aft oar; "d'ye see it?--just coming into
view; look!  There it will be shut out again in a moment by the rock
beside the coral-pool."

"I see it!" exclaimed Ailie eagerly, as she brushed away the tears from
her eyes.

"There's the rock, too, where we used to make our fire," said the
captain, pointing it out.  "It doesn't look like itself from this point
of view."

"Ah!" sighed Phil Briant, "an' it wos at the fut o' that, too, where we
used to bile the kittle night an' mornin'.  Sure it's many a swait bit
and pipe I had beside ye."

"Is that a bit o' the wreck?" inquired Tim Rokens, pointing to the low
rocky point with the eagerness of a man who had made an unexpected
discovery.

"No," replied Mr Millons, shading his eyes with his hands, and gazing
at the object in question, "it's himpossible.  I searched every bit o'
the bank for a plank before we came hoff, an' couldn't find a morsel as
big as my 'and.  W'at say you, doctor?"

"I think with you," answered Dr Hopley; "but here's the telescope,
which will soon settle the question."

While the doctor adjusted the glass, Rokens muttered that "He wos sure
it wos a bit o' the wreck," and that "there wos a bit o' rock as nobody
couldn't easy git a t'other side of to look, and that that wos it, and
the bit of wreck was there," and much to the same effect.

"So it is," exclaimed the doctor.

"Lay on your oars, lads, a moment," said the captain, taking the glass
and applying it to his eye.

The men obeyed gladly, for they experienced an unaccountable
disinclination to row away from the island.  Perhaps the feeling was
caused in part by the idea that when they took their last look at it, it
might possibly be their _last_ sight of land.

"It's a small piece of the foretopmast crosstrees," observed the
captain, shutting up the telescope and resuming his seat.

"Shall we go back an' pick it up, sir?" asked Dick Barnes gravely,
giving vent to the desires of his heart, without perceiving at the
moment the absurdity of the question.

"Why, what would you do with it, Dick?" replied the captain, smiling.

"Sure, ye couldn't ait it!" interposed Briant; "but afther all, there's
no sayin'.  Maybe Nikel Sling could make a tasty dish out of it stewed
in oakum and tar."

"It wouldn't be purlite to take such a tit-bit from the mermaids,"
observed Gurney, as the oars were once more dipped reluctantly, in the
water.

The men smiled at the jest, for in the monotony of sea life every
species of pleasantry, however poor, is swallowed with greater or less
avidity; but the smile did not last long.  They were in no jesting
humour at that time, and no one replied to the passing joke.

Soon after this a soft gentle breeze sprang up.  It came direct from
Fairyland, as if the mermaids referred to by Gurney had been touched by
the kindly feelings harboured in the sailors' bosoms towards their
islet, and had wafted towards them a last farewell.  The oars were
shipped immediately and the sails hoisted, and, to the satisfaction of
all on board, the _Maid of the Isle_ gave indications of being a swift
sailer, for, although the puff of wind was scarcely sufficient to ruffle
the glassy surface of the sea, she glided through the water under its
influence a good deal faster than she had done with the oars.

"That's good!" remarked the captain, watching the ripples as they passed
astern; "with fair winds, and not too much of 'em, we shall get on
bravely; so cheer up, my lassie," he added, patting Ailie on the head,
"and let us begin our voyage in good spirits, and with hopeful, trusting
hearts."

"Look at Fairyland," said Ailie, clasping her father's hand, and
pointing towards the horizon.

At the moment she spoke, an opening in the great white clouds let a ray
of light fall on the sandbank, which had now passed almost beyond the
range of vision.  The effect was to illumine its yellow shore and cause
it to shine out for a few seconds like a golden speck on the horizon.
No one had ceased to gaze at it from the time the boat put forth; but
this sudden change caused every one to start up, and fix their eyes on
it with renewed interest and intensity.  "Shall we ever see land again?"
passed, in one form or another, through the minds of all.  The clouds
swept slowly on the golden point melted away, and the shipwrecked
mariners felt that their little boat was now all the world to them in
the midst of that mighty world of waters.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

REDUCED ALLOWANCE OF FOOD--JACKO TEACHES BRIANT A USEFUL LESSON.

The first few days of the voyage of the _Maid of the Isle_ were bright
and favourable.  The wind, though light, was fair, and so steady that
the men were only twice obliged to have recourse to their oars.  The
boat behaved admirably.  Once, during these first days, the wind
freshened into a pretty stiff breeze, and a somewhat boisterous sea
arose, so that she was tested in another of her sailing qualities, and
was found to be an excellent sea-boat.  Very little water was shipped,
and that little was taken in rather through the awkwardness of King
Bumble, who steered, than through the fault of the boat.

Captain Dunning had taken care that there should be a large supply of
tin and wooden scoops, for baling out the water that might be shipped in
rough weather, as he foresaw that on the promptness with which this duty
was performed, might sometimes depend the safety of the boat and crew.

There was one thing that proved a matter of much regret to the crew, and
that was the want of a fowling-piece, or firearm of any kind.  Had they
possessed a gun, however old and bad, with ammunition for it, they would
have been certain, at some period of their voyage, to shoot a few
sea-birds, with which they expected to fall in on approaching the land,
even although many days distant from it.  But having nothing of the
kind, their hope of adding to their slender stock of provisions was very
small indeed.  Fortunately, they had one or two fishing-lines, but in
the deep water, over which for many days they had to sail, fishing was
out of the question.

This matter of the provisions was a source of constant anxiety to
Captain Dunning.  He had calculated the amount of their stores to an
ounce, and ascertained that at a certain rate of distribution they would
barely serve for the voyage, and this without making any allowance for
interruptions or detentions.  He knew the exact distance to be passed
over, namely, 2322 miles in a straight line, and he had ascertained the
sailing and rowing powers of the boat and crew; thus he was enabled to
arrive at a pretty correct idea of the probable duration of the voyage,
supposing that all should go well.  But in the event of strong contrary
winds arising, no fresh supplies of fish or fowl being obtained, or
sickness breaking out among the men, he knew either that they must
starve altogether, or that he must at once, before it was too late,
still farther reduce the scanty allowance of food and drink to each man.

The captain sat at the helm one fine evening, about a week after their
departure from Fairyland, brooding deeply over this subject.  The boat
was running before a light breeze, at the rate of about four or five
knots, and the men, who had been obliged to row a good part of that day,
were sitting or reclining on the thwarts, or leaning over the gunwale,
watching the ripples as they glided by, and enjoying the rest from
labour; for now that they had been for some time on reduced allowance of
food, they felt less able for work than they used to be, and often began
to look forward with intense longing to seasons of repose.  Ailie was
sitting near the entrance of her little sleeping apartment--which the
men denominated a kennel--and master Jacko was seated on the top of it,
scratching his sides and enjoying the sunshine.

"My lads," said the captain, breaking a silence which had lasted a
considerable time, "I'm afraid I shall have to reduce our allowance
still farther."

This remark was received by Gurney and Phil Briant with a suppressed
groan--by the other men in silence.

"You see," continued the captain, "it won't do to count upon chances,
which may or may not turn out to be poor.  We can, by fixing our
allowance per man at a lower rate, make quite certain of our food
lasting us until we reach the Cape, even if we should experience a
little detention; but if we go on at the present rate, we are equally
certain that it will fail us just at the last."

"We're sartain to fall in with birds before we near the land," murmured
Gurney, with a rueful expression of countenance.

"We are certain of nothing," replied the captain; "but even suppose we
were, how are we to get hold of them?"

"That's true," observed Briant, who solaced himself with his pipe in the
absence of a sufficiency of food.  "Sea-birds, no more nor land-birds,
ain't given to pluckin' and roastin' themselves, and flyin' down
people's throats ready cooked."

"Besides," resumed the captain, "the plan I propose, although it will
entail a little more present self-denial, will, humanly speaking, ensure
our getting through the voyage with life in us even at the worst, and if
we _are_ so lucky as to catch fish or procure birds in any way, why we
shall fare sumptuously."

Here Tim Rokens, to whom the men instinctively looked, upon all matters
of perplexity, removed his pipe from his lips, and said--

"Wot Cap'en Dunnin' says is true.  If we take his plan, why, we'll
starve in a reg'lar way, little by little, and p'raps spin out till we
git to the Cape; w'ereas, if we take the other plan, we'll keep a little
fatter on the first part of the voyage, mayhap, but we'll arrive at the
end of it as dead as mutton, every man on us."

This view of the question seemed so just to the men, and so full of
incontrovertible wisdom, that it was received with something like a
murmur of applause.

"You're a true philosopher, Rokens.  Now Doctor Hopley, I must beg you
to give us your opinion, as a medical man, on this knotty subject," said
the captain, smiling.  "Do you think that we can continue to exist if
our daily allowance is reduced one-fourth?"

The doctor replied, "Let me see," and putting his finger on his
forehead, frowned portentously, affecting to give the subject the most
intense consideration.  He happened to look at Jacko when he frowned,
and that pugnacious individual, happening at the same instant to look at
the doctor, and supposing that the frown was a distinct challenge to
fight, first raised his eyebrows to the top of his head in amazement,
then pulled them down over his flashing orbs in deep indignation, and
displayed all his teeth, as well as an extent of gums that was really
frightful to behold!

"Oh!  Jacko, bad thing," said Ailie, in a reproachful tone, pulling the
monkey towards her.

Taking no notice of these warlike indications, the doctor, after a few
minutes' thought, looked up and said--

"I have no doubt whatever that we can stand it.  Most of us are in
pretty good condition still, and have some fat to spare.  Fat persons
can endure reduced allowance of food much better and longer than those
who are lean.  There's Gurney, now, for instance, he could afford to
have his share even still further curtailed."

This remark was received with a grin of delighted approval by the men
and with a groan by Gurney, who rubbed his stomach gently, as if that
region were assailed with pains at the bare thought of such injustice.

"Troth, if that's true what ye say, doctor, I hope ye'll see it to be
yer duty to give wot ye cut off Gurney's share to me," remarked Briant,
"for its nothing but a bag o' bones that I am this minute."

"Oh! oh! wot a wopper," cried Jim Scroggles, whose lean and lanky person
seemed ill adapted to exist upon light fare.

"Well," observed the captain, "the doctor and I shall make a careful
calculation and let you know the result by supper-time, when the new
system shall be commenced.  What think you, Ailie, my pet, will you be
able to stand it?"

"Oh yes, papa, I don't care how much you reduce my allowance."

"What! don't you feel hungry?"

"No, not a bit."

"Not ready for supper?"

"Not anxious for it, at any rate."

"Och!  I wish I wos you," murmured Briant, with a deep sigh.  "I think I
could ait the foresail, av it wos only well biled with the laste
possible taste o' pig's fat."

By supper-time the captain announced the future daily allowance, and
served it out.

Each man received a piece of salt junk--that is, salt beef--weighing
exactly one ounce; also two ounces of broken biscuit; a small piece of
tobacco, and a quarter of a pint of water.  Although the supply of the
latter was small, there was every probability of a fresh supply being
obtained when it chanced to rain, so that little anxiety was felt at
first in regard to it; but the other portions of each man's allowance
were weighed with scrupulous exactness, in a pair of scales which were
constructed by Tim Rokens out of a piece of wood--a leaden musket-ball
doing service as a weight.

Ailie received an equal portion with the others, but Jacko was doomed to
drag out his existence on a very minute quantity of biscuit and water.
He utterly refused to eat salt junk, and would not have been permitted
to use tobacco even had he been so inclined, which he was not.

Although they were thus reduced to a small allowance of food--a smaller
quantity than was sufficient to sustain life for any lengthened period--
no one in the slightest degree grudged Jacko his small portion.  All the
men entertained a friendly feeling to the little monkey, partly because
it was Ailie's pet, and partly because it afforded them great amusement
at times by its odd antics.

As for Jacko himself, he seemed to thrive on short allowance, and never
exhibited any unseemly haste or anxiety at meal-times.  It was observed,
however, that he kept an uncommonly sharp eye on all that passed around
him, as if he felt that his circumstances were at that time peculiar and
worthy of being noted.  In particular he knew to a nicety what happened
to each atom of food, from the time of its distribution among the men to
the moment of its disappearance within their hungry jaws, and if any
poor fellow chanced to lay his morsel down and neglect it for the tenth
part of an instant, it vanished like a shot, and immediately thereafter
Jacko was observed to present an unusually serene and innocent aspect,
and to become suddenly afflicted, with a swelling in the pouch under his
cheek.

One day the men received a lesson in carefulness which they did not soon
forget.

Breakfast had been served out, and Phil Briant was about to finish his
last mouthful of biscuit--he had not had many mouthfuls to try his
masticating powers, poor fellow--when he paused suddenly, and gazing at
the cherished morsel addressed it thus--

"Shure, it's a purty bit, ye are!  Av there wos only wan or two more o'
yer family here, it's meself as 'ud like to be made beknown to them.
I'll not ait ye yit.  I'll look at ye for a little."

In pursuance of this luxurious plan, Briant laid the morsel of biscuit
on the thwart of the boat before him, and, taking out his pipe, began to
fill it leisurely, keeping his eye all the time on the last bite.  Just
then Mr Markham, who pulled the bow oar, called out--

"I say, Briant, hand me my tobacco-pouch, it's beside you on the th'ort,
close under the gun'le."

"Is it?" said Briant, stretching out his hand to the place indicated,
but keeping his eye fixed all the time on the piece of biscuit.  "Ah,
here it is; ketch it."

For one instant Briant looked at the second mate in order to throw the
pouch with precision.  That instant was sufficient for the exercise of
Jacko's dishonest propensities.  The pouch was yet in its passage
through the air when a tremendous roar from Tim Rokens apprised the
unhappy Irishman of his misfortune.  He did not require to be told to
"look out!" although more than one voice gave him that piece of advice.
An intuitive perception of irreparable loss flashed across his soul,
and, with the speed of light, his eye was again on the thwart before
him--but not on the morsel of biscuit.  At that same instant Jacko sat
down beside Ailie with his usual serene aspect and swelled cheek!

"Och, ye bottle imp!" yelled the bereaved one, "don't I know ye?" and
seizing a tin pannikin, in his wrath, he threw it at the small monkey's
head with a force that would, had it been well directed, have smashed
that small head effectually.

Jacko made a quick and graceful nod, and the pannikin, just missing
Ailie, went over the side into the sea, where it sank and was lost for
ever, to the regret of all, for they could ill afford to lose it.

"Ye've got it, ye have, but ye shan't ait it," growled Briant through
his teeth, as he sprang over the seat towards the monkey.

Jacko bounded like a piece of indiarubber on to Gurney's head; next
moment he was clinging to the edge of the mainsail, and the next he was
comfortably seated on the top of the mast, where he proceeded calmly and
leisurely to "ait" the biscuit in the face of its exasperated and
rightful owner.

"Oh,--Briant!" exclaimed Ailie, who was half frightened, half amused at
the sudden convulsion caused by her favourite's bad conduct, "don't be
vexed; see, here is a little bit of my biscuit; I don't want it--really
I don't."

Briant, who stood aghast and overwhelmed by his loss and by the
consummate impudence of the small monkey, felt rebuked by this offer.
Bursting into a loud laugh, he said, as he resumed his seat and the
filling of his pipe--

"Sure I'd rather ait me own hat, Miss Ailie, an' it's be no means a good
wan--without sarce, too, not even a blot o' mustard--than take the
morsel out o' yer purty mouth.  I wos more nor half jokin', dear, an' I
ax yer parding for puttin' ye in sich a fright."

"Expensive jokin'," growled Tarquin, "if ye throw a pannikin overboard
every time you take to it."

"Kape your tongue quiet," said Briant, reddening, for he felt somewhat
humbled at having given way to his anger so easily, and was nettled at
the remark, coming as it did, in a sneering spirit, from a man for whom
he had no particular liking.

"Never mind, Briant," interposed the captain quickly, with a
good-humoured laugh; "I feel for you, lad.  Had it been myself I fear I
should have been even more exasperated.  I would not sell a crumb of my
portion just now for a guinea."

"Neither would I," added the doctor, "for a thousand guineas."

"I'll tell ye wot it is, lads," remarked Tim Rokens; "I wish I only had
a crumb to sell."

"Now, Rokens, don't be greedy," cried Gurney.

"Greedy!" echoed Tim.

"Ay, greedy; has any o' you lads got a dickshunairy to lend him?  Come,
Jim Scroggles, you can tell him what it means--you've been to school, I
believe, hain't you?"

Rokens shook his head gravely.

"No, lad, I'm not greedy, but I'm ready for wittles.  I won't go fur to
deny that.  Now, let me ax ye a question.  Wot--supposin' ye had the
chance--would ye give, at this good min'it, for a biled leg o' mutton?"

"With or without capers-sauce?" inquired Gurney.

"W'ichever _you_ please."

"Och! we wouldn't need capers-sarse," interposed Briant; "av we only had
the mutton, I'd cut enough o' capers meself to do for the sarce, I
would."

"It matters little what you'd give," cried Glynn, "for we can't get it
at any price just now.  Don't you think, captain, that we might have our
breakfast to-night?  It would save time in the morning, you know."

There was a general laugh at this proposal, yet there was a strong
feeling in the minds of some that if it were consistent with their rules
to have breakfast served out then and there, they would gladly have
consented to go without it next morning.

Thus, with laugh and jest, and good-natured repartee, did these men bear
the pangs of hunger for many days.  They were often silent during long
intervals, and sometimes they became talkative and sprightly, but it was
observed that, whether they conversed earnestly or jestingly, their
converse ran, for the most part, on eating and drinking, and in their
uneasy slumbers, during the intervals between the hours of work and
watching, they almost invariably dreamed of food.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

PROGRESS OF THE LONG VOYAGE--STORY-TELLING AND JOURNALISING.

Many weeks passed away, but the _Maid of the Isle_ still held on her
course over the boundless ocean.

Day after day came and went, the sun rose in the east morning after
morning, ran its appointed course, and sank, night after night, on the
western horizon, but little else occurred to vary the monotony of that
long, long voyage.  When the sun rose, its bright rays leapt from the
bosom of the ocean; when it set, the same bosom of the great deep
received its descending beams.  No land, no sail appeared to the anxious
gazers in that little boat, which seemed to move across, yet never to
reach the boundaries of that mighty circle of water and sky, in the
midst of which they lay enchained, as if by some wicked enchanter's
spell.

Breezes blew steadily at times and urged them swiftly on towards the
circumference, but it fled as fast as they approached.  Then it fell
calm, and the weary men resumed their oars, and with heavy hearts and
weakened arms tugged at the boat which seemed to have turned into a mass
of lead.  At such times a dead silence was maintained, for the work,
which once would have been to them but child's play, had now become
severe and heavy labour.  Still they did not murmur.  Even the
cross-grained Tarquin became subdued in spirit by the influence of the
calm endurance and good-humour of his comrades.  But the calms seldom
lasted long.  The winds, which happily continued favourable, again
ruffled the surface of the sea, and sometimes blew so briskly as to
oblige them to take in a reef or two in their sails.  The oars were
gladly drawn in, and the spirits of the men rose as the little boat bent
over to the blast, lost her leaden qualities, and danced upon the
broad-backed billows, like a cork.  There was no rain during all this
time; little or no stormy weather; and, but for their constant exposure
to the hot sun by day and the cold chills by night, the time might have
been said to pass even pleasantly, despite the want of a sufficiency of
food.  Thus day after day and night after night flew by, and week after
week came and went, and still the _Maid of the Isle_ held on her course
over the boundless ocean.

During all that time the one and a quarter ounces of salt junk and
biscuit and the eighth of a pint of water were weighed and measured out
to each man, three times a day, with scrupulous care and exactness, lest
a drop or a crumb of the food that was more precious than diamonds
should be lost.  The men had all become accustomed to short allowance
now, and experienced no greater inconvenience than a feeling of
lassitude, which feeling increased daily, but by such imperceptible
degrees that they were scarcely conscious of it, and were only
occasionally made aware of the great reduction of their strength when
they attempted to lift any article which, in the days of their full
vigour, they could have tossed into the air, but which they could
scarcely move now.  When, however, the fair breeze enabled them to glide
along under sail, and they lay enjoying complete rest, they experienced
no unwonted sensations of weakness; their spirits rose, as the spirits
of sailors always will rise when the waves are rippling at the bow and a
white track forming in the wake; and they spent the time--when not
asleep--in cheerful conversation and in the spinning of long yarns.
They did not sing, however, as might have been expected--they were too
weak for that--they called the feeling "lazy," some said they "couldn't
be bothered" to sing.  No one seemed willing to admit that his strength
was in reality abated.

In story-telling the captain, the doctor, and Glynn shone conspicuous.
And when all was going smoothly and well, the anecdotes, histories, and
romances related by these three were listened to with such intense
interest and delight by the whole crew, that one would have thought they
were enjoying a pleasure trip, and had no cause whatever for anxiety.
Gurney, too, and Briant, and Nikel Sling came out frequently in the
story-telling line, and were the means of causing many and many an hour
to pass quickly and pleasantly by, which would otherwise have hung
heavily on the hands of all.

Ailie Dunning was an engrossed and delighted listener at all times.  She
drank in every species of story with an avidity that was quite amusing.
It seemed also to have been infectious, for even Jacko used to sit hour
after hour looking steadily at each successive speaker, with a
countenance so full of bright intelligence, and grave surpassing wisdom,
as to lead one to the belief that he not only understood all that was
said, but turned it over in his mind, and drew from it ideas and
conclusions far more bright and philosophical than could have been drawn
therefrom by any human being, however wise or ingenious.

He grinned, too, did Jacko, with an intensity and frequency that induced
the sailors at first to call him a clever dog, in the belief that his
perception of the ludicrous was very strong indeed; but as his grins
were observed to occur quite as frequently at the pathetic and the grave
as at the comical parts of the stories, they changed their minds, and
said he was a "codger"--in which remark they were undoubtedly safe,
seeing that it committed them to nothing very specific.

Captain Dunning's stories were, more properly speaking, histories, and
were very much relished, for he possessed a natural power of relating
what he knew in an interesting manner and with a peculiarly pleasant
tone of voice.  Every one who has considered the subject at all must
have observed what a powerful influence there lies in the mere manner
and tone of a speaker.  The captain's voice was so rich, so mellow, and
capable of such varied modulation, that the men listened with pleasure
to the words which rolled from his lips, as one would listen to a sweet
song.  He became so deeply interested, too, in the subject about which
he happened to be speaking, that his auditors could not help becoming
interested also.  He had no powers of eloquence, neither was he gifted
with an unusually bright fancy.  But he was fluent in speech, and his
words, though not chosen, were usually appropriate.  The captain had no
powers of invention whatever.  He used to say, when asked to tell a
story, that he "might as well try to play the fiddle with a handspike."
But this was no misfortune, for he had read much, and his memory was
good, and supplied him with an endless flow of small-talk on almost
every subject that usually falls under the observation of sea-captains,
and on many subjects besides, about which most sea-captains, or
land-captains, or any other captains whatsoever, are almost totally
ignorant.

Captain Dunning could tell of adventures in the whale-fishery, gone
through either by himself or by friends, that would have made your two
eyes stare out of their two sockets until they looked like saucers (to
use a common but not very correct simile).  He could tell the exact
latitude and longitude of almost every important and prominent part of
the globe, and give the distance, pretty nearly, of any one place (on a
large scale) from any other place.  He could give the heights of all the
chief mountains in the world to within a few feet, and could calculate,
by merely looking at its current and depth, how many cubic feet of water
any river delivered to the sea per minute.  Length, breadth, and
thickness, height, depth, and density, were subjects in which he
revelled, and with which he played as a juggler does with golden balls;
and so great were his powers of numerical calculation, that the sailors
often declared they believed he could work out any calculation backwards
without the use of logarithms!  He was constantly instituting
comparisons that were by no means what the proverb terms "odious," but
which were often very astonishing, and in all his stories so many
curious and peculiar facts were introduced, that, as we have already
said, they were very much relished indeed.

Not less relished, however, were Glynn Proctor's astounding and purely
imaginative tales.  After the men's minds had been chained intently on
one of the captain's semi-philosophical anecdotes, they turned with
infinite zest to one of Glynn's outrageous flights.  Glynn had not read
much in his short life, and his memory was nothing to boast of, but his
imagination was quite gigantic.  He could invent almost anything; and
the curious part of it was, that he could do it out of nothing, if need
be.  He never took time to consider what he should say.  When called on
for a story he began at once, and it flowed from him like a flood of
sparkling water from a fountain in fairy realms.  Up in the clouds; high
in the blue ether; down in the coral caves; deep in the ocean waves; out
on the mountain heaths; far in the rocky glens, or away in the wild
woods green--it was all one to Glynn; he leaped away in an instant, with
a long train of adventurers at his heels--male and female, little and
big, old and young, pretty and plain, grave and gay.  And didn't they go
through adventures that would have made the hair of mortals not only
stand on end, but fly out by the roots altogether?  Didn't he make them
talk, as mortals never talked before; and sing as mortals never dreamed
of?  And, oh! didn't he just make them stew, and roast, and boil joints
of savoury meat, and bake pies, and tarts, and puddings, such as Soyer
in his wildest culinary dreams never imagined, and such as caused the
mouths of the crew of the _Maid of the Isle_ to water, until they were
constrained, poor fellows, to tell him to "clap a stopper upon that,"
and hold his tongue, for they "couldn't stand it!"

Phil Briant and Gurney dealt in the purely comic line.  They remarked--
generally in an undertone--that they left poetry and prose to Glynn and
the captain; and it was as well they did, for their talents certainly
did not lie in either of these directions.  They came out strong after
meals, when the weather was fine, and formed a species of light and
agreeable interlude to the more weighty efforts of the captain and the
brilliant sallies of Glynn.

Gurney dealt in _experiences_ chiefly, and usually endeavoured by
asseveration and iteration to impress his hearers with the truth of
facts said to have been experienced by himself, which, if true, would
certainly have consigned him to a premature grave long ago.  Briant, on
the other hand, dealt largely in ghost stories, which he did not vouch
for the truth of, but permitted his hearers to judge of for themselves--
a permission which they would doubtless have taken for themselves at any
rate.

But tales and stories occupied, after all, only a small portion of the
men's time during that long voyage.  Often, very often, they were too
much exhausted to talk or even to listen, and when not obliged to labour
at the oars they tried to sleep; but "Nature's sweet restorer" did not
always come at the first invitation, as was his wont in other days, and
too frequently they were obliged to resume work unrefreshed.  Their
hands became hard and horny in the palms at last, like a man's heel, and
their backs and arms ached from constant work.

Ailie kept in good health, but she, too, began to grow weak from want of
proper nourishment.  She slept better than the men, for the comfortable
sleeping-box that Glynn had constructed for her sheltered her from the
heat, wet, and cold, to which the former were constantly exposed.  She
amused herself, when not listening to stories or asleep, by playing with
her favourite, and she spent a good deal of time in reading her Bible--
sometimes to herself, at other times, in a low tone, to her father as he
sat at the helm.  And many a time did she see a meaning in passages
which, in happier times, had passed meaningless before her eyes, and
often did she find sweet comfort in words that she had read with
comparative indifference in former days.

It is in the time of trial, trouble, and sorrow that the Bible proves to
be a friend indeed.  Happy the Christian who, when dark clouds overwhelm
his soul, has a memory well stored with the comforting passages of the
Word of God.

But Ailie had another occupation which filled up much of her leisure,
and proved to be a source of deep and engrossing interest at the time.
This was the keeping of a journal of the voyage.  On the last trip made
to the wreck of the _Red Eric_, just before the great storm that
completed the destruction of that ship, the captain had brought away in
his pocket a couple of note-books.  One of these he kept to himself to
jot down the chief incidents of the intended voyage; the other he gave
to Ailie, along with a blacklead pencil.  Being fond of trying to write,
she amused herself for hours together in jotting down her thoughts about
the various incidents of the voyage, great and small; and being a very
good drawer for her age, she executed many fanciful and elaborate
sketches, among which were innumerable portraits of Jacko and several
caricatures of the men.  This journal, as it advanced, became a source
of much interest and amusement to every one in the boat; and when, in an
hour of the utmost peril, it, along with many other things, was lost,
the men, after the danger was past, felt the loss severely.

Thus they spent their time--now pleasantly, now sadly--sometimes
becoming cheerful and hopeful, at other times sinking almost into a
state of despair as their little stock of food and water dwindled down,
while the _Maid of the Isle_ still held on her apparently endless course
over the great wide sea.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE CALM AND THE STORM--A SERIOUS LOSS AND GREAT GAIN--BIRD-CATCHING
EXTRAORDINARY--SAVED AT LAST.

One day a deep death-like calm settled down upon the ocean.  For some
days before, the winds had been light and uncertain, and the air had
been excessively warm.  The captain cast uneasy glances around him from
time to time, and looked with a sadder countenance than usual on the
haggard faces of the men as they laboured slowly and silently at the
oars.

"I don't know what this will turn to, doctor," he said, in a low tone;
"I don't like the look of it."

The doctor, who was perusing Ailie's journal at the moment, looked up
and shook his head.

"It seems to me, captain, that whatever happens, matters cannot be made
much worse."

"You are wrong, doctor," replied the captain quietly; "we have still
much to be thankful for."

"Did you not tell me a few minutes ago that the water was almost done?"

The doctor said this in a whisper, for the men had not yet been made
aware of the fact.

"Yes, I did; but it is not _quite_ done; that is matter for
thankfulness."

"Oh, according to that principle," observed the doctor, somewhat
testily, "you may say we have cause to be thankful for _everything_, bad
as well as good."

"So we have! so we have!  If everything good were taken from us, and
nothing left us but our lives, we would have reason to be thankful for
that--thankful that we were still above ground, still in the land of
hope, with salvation to our immortal souls through Jesus Christ freely
offered for our acceptance."

The doctor made no reply.  He thought the captain a little weak in the
matter of religion.  If religion is false, his opinion of the captain no
doubt, was right, but if true, surely the weakness lay all the other
way.

That morning the captain's voice in prayer was more earnest, if
possible, than usual, and he put up a special petition for _water_,
which was observed by the men with feelings of great anxiety, and
responded to with a deep amen.  After morning worship the scales were
brought, and the captain proceeded to weigh out the scanty meal, while
the men watched his every motion with an almost wolfish glare, that told
eloquently of the prolonged sufferings they had endured.  Even poor
Ailie's gentle face now wore a sharp, anxious expression when food was
being served out, and she accepted her small portion with a nervous
haste that was deeply painful and touching to witness.  She little knew,
poor child, that that portion of bread and meat and water, small though
it was, was larger than that issued to the men, being increased by a
small quantity deducted from the captain's own allowance and an equal
amount from that of Glynn.  The latter had noticed the captain's habit
of regularly calling off the child's attention during the distribution
of each meal, for the purpose of thus increasing her portion at the
expense of his own, and in a whispering conversation held soon after he
insisted that a little of his allowance should also be transferred to
her.  At first the captain firmly refused, but Glynn said that if he did
not accede to his wish he would hand over the whole of his portion in
future to the monkey, let the result be what it might!  As Glynn never
threatened without a full and firm resolve to carry out his threats, the
captain was compelled to give in.

When the water came to be served out that morning the captain paused,
and looking round at the anxious eyes that were riveted upon him, said--

"My lads, it has pleased the Almighty to lay His hand still heavier on
us.  May He who has said that He will not suffer men to be tempted above
what they are able to bear, give us strength to stand it.  Our water is
almost done.  We must be content with a quarter of our usual allowance."

This information was received in deep silence--perhaps it was the
silence of despair, for the quantity hitherto served out had been barely
sufficient to moisten their parched throats, and they _knew_ that they
could not exist long on the reduced allowance.

Jacko came with the rest as usual for his share, and held out his little
hand for the tin cup in which his few drops of water were wont to be
handed to him.  The captain hesitated and looked at the men; then he
poured out a few drops of the precious liquid.  For the first time a
murmur of disapproval was heard.

"It's only a brute beast; the monkey must die before _us_," said a voice
which was so hollow and changed that it could scarcely be recognised as
that of Tarquin, the steward.

No one else said a word.  The captain did not even look up to see who
had spoken.  He felt the justice as well as the harshness of the remark,
and poured the water back into the jar.

Jacko seems puzzled at first, and held out his hand again; then he
looked round on the men with that expression of unutterable woe which is
peculiar to some species of the monkey tribe.  He seemed to feel that
something serious was about to happen to him.  Looking up in the sad
face of his young mistress, he uttered a very gentle and plaintive
"oo-oo-ee!"

Ailie burst into a passionate flood of tears, and in the impulse of the
moment handed her own cup, which she had not tasted, to Jacko, who
drained it in a twinkling--before the captain could snatch it from his
hands.

Having emptied it, Jacko went forward as he had been taught to do, and
handed back the cup with quite a pleased expression of countenance--for
he was easily satisfied, poor thing!

"You should not have done that, my darling," said the captain, as he
gave Ailie another portion.

"Dear papa, I couldn't help it," sobbed the child; "indeed I couldn't--
and you need not give me any.  I can do without it to-day."

"Can you?  But you shan't," exclaimed Glynn, with a degree of energy
that would have made every one laugh in happier times.

"No, no, my own pet," replied the captain.  "You shan't want it.  Here,
you _must_ drink it, come."

From that day Jacko received his allowance regularly as long as a drop
of water was left, and no one again murmured against it.  When it was
finished he had to suffer with the rest.

The calm which had set in proved to be of longer duration than usual,
and the sufferings of the crew of the little boat became extreme.  On
the third day after its commencement the last drop of water was served
out.  It amounted to a couple of teaspoonfuls per man each meal, of
which there were three a day.  During the continuance of the calm, the
sun shone in an almost cloudless sky and beat down upon the heads of the
men until it drove them nearly mad.  They all looked like living
skeletons, and their eyes glared from their sunken sockets with a dry
fiery lustre that was absolutely terrible to behold.  Had each one in
that boat possessed millions of gold he would have given all, gladly,
for one drop of fresh water; but, alas! nothing could purchase water
there.  Ailie thought upon the man who, in the Bible, is described as
looking up to heaven from the depths of hell and crying for one drop of
water to cool his tongue, and she fancied that she could now realise his
agony.  The captain looked up into the hot sky, but no blessed cloud
appeared there to raise the shadow of a hope.  He looked down at the
sea, and it seemed to mock him with its clear blue depths, which looked
so sweet and pleasant.  He realised the full significance of that
couplet in Coleridge's _Ancient Mariner_--

  "Water, water, everywhere,
  But not a drop to drink."

and, drawing Ailie to his breast, he laid his cheek upon hers and
groaned aloud.

"We shall soon be taken away, dear papa!" she said--and she tried to
weep, but the tears that came unbidden and so easily at other times to
her bright blue eyes refused to flow now.

The men had one by one ceased to ply their useless oars, and the captain
did not take notice of it, for he felt that unless God sent relief in
some almost miraculous way, their continuing to row would be of no
avail.  It would only increase their agony without advancing them more
than a few miles on the long, long voyage that he knew still lay before
them.

"O God, grant us a breeze!" cried Mr Millons, in a deep, tremulous tone
breaking a silence that had continued for some hours.

"Messmates," said Tim Rokens, who for some time had leaned with both
elbows on his oar and his face buried in his hands, "wot d'ye say to a
bath?  I do believe it 'ud do us good."

"P'haps it would," replied King Bumble; but he did not move, and the
other men made no reply, while Rokens again sank forward.

Gurney and Tarquin had tried to relieve their thirst the day before by
drinking sea-water, but their inflamed and swollen throats and lips now
showed that the relief sought had not been obtained.

"It's time for supper," said the captain, raising his head suddenly, and
laying Ailie down, for she had fallen into a lethargic slumber; "fetch
me the bread and meat can."

Dick Barnes obeyed reluctantly, and the usual small allowance of salt
junk was weighed out, but there were no eager glances now.  Most of the
crew refused to touch food--one or two tried to eat a morsel of biscuit
without success.

"I'll try a swim," cried Glynn, suddenly starting up with the intention
of leaping overboard.  But his strength was more exhausted than he had
fancied, for he only fell against the side of the boat.  It was as well
that he failed.  Had he succeeded in getting into the water he could not
have clambered in again, and it is doubtful whether his comrades had
sufficient strength left to have dragged him in.

"Try it this way, lad," said Tim Rokens, taking up a bucket, and dipping
it over the side.  "P'raps it'll do as well."

He raised the bucket with some difficulty and poured its contents over
Glynn's head.

"Thank God!" said Glynn, with a deep, long-drawn sigh.  "Do it again,
Tim, do it again.  That's it,--again, again!  No, stop; forgive my
selfishness; here, give me the bucket, I'll do it to you now."

Tim Rokens was quickly drenched from head to foot, and felt great and
instantaneous relief.  In a few minutes every one in the boat, Jacko
included, was subjected to this species of cold bath, and their spirits
rose at once.  Some of them even began to eat their food, and Briant
actually attempted to perpetrate a joke, which Gurney seconded promptly,
but they failed to make one, even a bad one, between them.

Although the cold bathing seemed good for them at first, it soon proved
to be hurtful.  Sitting and lying constantly night and day in saturated
clothes had the effect of rendering their skins painfully sensitive, and
a feverish feeling was often alternated with cold shivering fits, so
they were fain to give it up.  Still they had found some slight relief,
and they bore their sufferings with calm resignation--a state of mind
which was fostered, if not induced, by the blessed words of comfort and
hope which the captain read to them from the Bible as frequently as his
strength would permit, and to which they listened with intense,
all-absorbing interest.

It is ever thus with men.  When death approaches, in almost all
instances, we are ready--ay, anxious--to listen with the deepest
interest to God's message of salvation through His Son, and to welcome
and long for the influences of the Holy Spirit.  Oh! how happy should we
be in life and in death, did we only give heartfelt interest to our
souls' affairs _before_ the days of sorrow and death arrive.

On the fifth morning after the water had been exhausted the sun arose in
the midst of dark clouds.  The men could scarcely believe their eyes.
They shouted and, in their weakness, laughed for joy.

The blessing was not long delayed.  Thick vapours veiled the red sun
soon after it emerged from the sea, then a few drops of rain fell.
Blessed drops!  How the men caught at them!  How they spread out oiled
cloths and tarpaulins and garments to gather them!  How they grudged to
see them falling around the boat into the sea, and being lost to them
for ever.  But the blessing was soon sent liberally.  The heavens above
grew black, and the rain came down in thick heavy showers.  The
tarpaulins were quickly filled, and the men lay with their lips to the
sweet pools, drinking-in new life, and dipping their heads and hands in
the cool liquid when they could drink no more.  Their thirst was slaked
at last, and they were happy.  All their past sufferings were forgotten
in that great hour of relief, and they looked, and laughed, and spoke to
each other like men who were saved from death.  As they stripped off
their garments and washed the encrusted salt from their shrunken limbs,
all of them doubtless felt, and some of them audibly expressed,
gratitude to the "Giver of every good and perfect gift."

So glad were they, and so absorbed in their occupation, that they
thought not of and cared not for the fact that a great storm was about
to break upon them.  It came upon them almost before they were aware,
and before the sails could be taken in the boat was almost upset.

"Stand-by to lower the sails!" shouted the captain, who was the first to
see their danger.

The old familiar command issued with something of the old familiar voice
and energy caused every one to leap to his post, if not with the agility
of former times, at least with all the good will.

"Let go!"

The halyards were loosed, and the sails came tumbling down; at the same
moment the squall burst on them.  The _Maid of the Isle_ bent over so
quickly that every one expected she would upset; the blue water curled
in over the edge of the gunwale, and the foam burst from her bows at the
rude shock.  Then she hissed through the water as she answered the helm,
righted quickly, and went tearing away before the wind at a speed that
she had not known for many days.  It was a narrow escape.  The boat was
nearly filled with water, and, worst of all, the provision can, along
with Ailie's sleeping-box, were washed overboard and lost.

It was of no use attempting to recover them.  All the energies of the
crew were required to bale out the water and keep the boat afloat, and
during the whole storm some of them were constantly employed in baling.
For three days it blew a perfect hurricane, and during all that time the
men had nothing whatever to eat; but they did not suffer so much as
might be supposed.  The gnawing pangs of hunger do not usually last
beyond a few days when men are starving.  After that they merely feel
ever-increasing weakness.  During the fall of the rain they had taken
care to fill their jars, so that they had now a good supply of water.

After the first burst of the squall had passed, the tarpaulins were
spread over the boat, and under one of these, near the stern, Ailie was
placed, and was comparatively sheltered and comfortable.  Besides
forming a shelter for the men while they slept, these tarpaulins threw
off the waves that frequently broke over the boat, and more than once
bid fair to sink her altogether.  These arose in enormous billows, and
the gale was so violent that only the smallest corner of the foresail
could be raised--even that was almost sufficient to tear away the mast.

At length the gale blew itself out, and gradually decreased to a
moderate breeze, before which the sails were shaken out, and on the
fourth morning after it broke they found themselves sweeping quickly
over the waves on their homeward way, but without a morsel of food, and
thoroughly exhausted in body and in mind.

On that morning, however, they passed a piece of floating seaweed, a
sure indication of their approach to land.  Captain Dunning pointed it
out to Ailie and the crew with a cheering remark that they would
probably soon get to the end of their voyage; but he did not feel much
hope; for, without food, they could not exist above a few days more at
the furthest--perhaps not so long.  That same evening, several small
sea-birds came towards the boat, and flew inquiringly round it, as if
they wondered what it could be doing there, so far away from the haunts
of men.  These birds were evidently unaccustomed to man, for they
exhibited little fear.  They came so near to the boat that one of them
was at length caught.  It was the <DW64> who succeeded in knocking it on
the head with a boat-hook as it flew past.

Great was the praise bestowed on King Bumble for this meritorious deed,
and loud were the praises bestowed on the bird itself, which was
carefully divided into equal portions (and a small portion for Jacko),
and eaten raw.  Not a morsel of it was lost--claws, beak, blood, bones,
and feathers--all were eaten up.  In order to prevent dispute or
jealousy, the captain made Ailie turn her back on the bird when thus
divided, and pointing to the different portions, he said--

"Who shall have this?"  Whoever was named by Ailie had to be content
with what thus fell to his share.

"Ah, but ye wos always an onlucky dog!" exclaimed Briant, to whom fell
the head and claws.

"Ye've no reason to grumble," replied Gurney; "ye've got all the brains
to yerself, and no one needs them more."

The catching of this bird was the saving of the crew, and it afforded
them a good deal of mirth in the dividing of it.  The heart and a small
part of the breast fell to Ailie--which every one remarked was
singularly appropriate; part of a leg and the tail fell to King Bumble;
and the lungs and stomach became the property of Jim Scroggles,
whereupon Briant remarked that he would "think as much almost o' _that_
stomach as he had iver done of his own!"  But there was much of sadness
mingled with their mirth, for they felt that the repast was a peculiarly
light one, and they had scarcely strength left to laugh or jest.

Next morning they knocked down another bird, and in the evening they got
two more.  The day after that they captured an albatross, which
furnished them at last with an ample supply of fresh food.

It was Mr Markham, the second mate, who first saw the great bird
looming in the distance, as it sailed over the sea towards them.

"Let's try to fish for him," said the doctor.  "I've heard of sea-birds
being caught in that way before now."

"Fish for it!" exclaimed Ailie in surprise.

"Ay, with hook and line, Ailie."

"I've seen it done often," said the captain.  "Hand me the line, Bumble,
and a bit o' that bird we got yesterday.  Now for it."

By the time the hook was baited, the albatross had approached near to
the boat, and hovered around it with that curiosity which seems to be a
characteristic feature of all sea-birds.  It was an enormous creature;
but Ailie, when she saw it in the air, could not have believed it
possible that it was so large as it was afterwards found to be on being
measured.

"Here, Glynn, catch hold of the line," said the captain, as he threw the
hook overboard, and allowed it to trail astern; "you are the strongest
man amongst us now, I think; starvation don't seem to tell so much on
your young flesh and bones as on ours!"

"No; it seems to agree with his constitution," remarked Gurney.

"It's me that wouldn't give much for his flesh," observed Briant; "but
his skin and bones would fetch a good price in the leather and rag
market."

While his messmates were thus freely remarking on his personal
appearance--which, to say truth, was dreadfully haggard--Glynn was
holding the end of the line, and watching the motions of the albatross
with intense interest.

"He won't take it," observed the captain.

"Me tink him will," said Bumble.

"No go," remarked Nikel Sling sadly.

"That was near," said the first mate eagerly, as the bird made a bold
swoop down towards the bait, which was skipping over the surface of the
water.

"No, he's off," cried Mr Markham in despair.

"Cotched! or I'm a Dutchman!" shouted.  Gurney.

"No!" cried Jim Scroggles.

"Yes!" screamed Ailie.

"Hurrah!" shouted Tim Rokens and Tarquin in a breath.

Dick Barnes, and the doctor, and the captain, and, in short, everybody,
echoed the last sentiment, and repeated it again and again with delight
as they saw the gigantic bird once again swoop down upon the bait and
seize it.

Glynn gave a jerk, the hook caught in its tongue, and the albatross
began to tug, and swoop, and whirl madly in its effort to escape.

Now, to talk of any ordinary bird swooping, and fluttering, and tugging,
does not sound very tremendous; but, reader, had you witnessed the
manner in which that enormous albatross conducted itself, you wouldn't
have stared with amazement--oh, no!  You wouldn't have gone home with
your mouth as wide open as your eyes, and have given a gasping account
of what you had seen--by no means!  You wouldn't have talked of
feathered steam-engines, or of fabled rocs, or of winged elephants in
the air--certainly not!

Glynn's arms jerked as if he were holding on to the sheet of a shifting
mainsail of a seventy-four.

"Bear a hand," he cried, "else I'll be torn to bits."

Several hands grasped the line in a moment.

"My! wot a wopper," exclaimed Tim Rokens.

"Och! don't he pull?  Wot a fortin he'd make av he'd only set his-self
up as a tug-boat in the Thames!"

"If only we had him at the oar for a week," added Gurney.

"Hoich! doctor, have ye strength to set disjointed limbs?"

"Have a care, lads," cried the captain, in some anxiety; "give him more
play, the line won't stand it.  Time enough to jest after we've got
him."

The bird was now swooping, and waving, and beating its great wings so
close to the boat that they began to entertain some apprehension lest
any of the crew should be disabled by a stroke from them before the bird
could be secured.  Glynn, therefore, left the management of the line to
others, and, taking up an oar, tried to strike it.  But he failed in
several attempts.

"Wait till we haul him nearer, boy," said the captain.  "Now, then!"

Glynn struck again, and succeeded in hitting it a slight blow.  At the
same instant the albatross swept over the boat, and almost knocked the
doctor overboard.  As it brushed past, King Bumble, who was gifted with
the agility of a monkey, leaped up, caught it round the neck, and the
next moment the two were rolling together in the bottom of the boat.

The creature was soon strangled, and a mighty cheer greeted this
momentous victory.

We are not aware that albatross flesh is generally considered very
desirable food, but we are certain that starving men are particularly
glad to get it, and that the supply now obtained by the wrecked mariners
was the means of preserving their lives until they reached the land,
which they did ten days afterwards, having thus accomplished a voyage of
above two thousand miles over the ocean in an open boat in the course of
eight weeks, and on an amount of food that was barely sufficient for one
or two weeks' ordinary consumption.

Great commiseration was expressed for them by the people at the Cape,
who vied with each other in providing for their wants, and in showing
them kindness.

Ailie and her father were carried off bodily by a stout old merchant,
with a broad kind face, and a hearty, boisterous manner, and lodged in
his elegant villa during their stay in that quarter of the world, which
was protracted some time in order that they might recruit the wasted
strength of the party ere they commenced their voyage home in a vessel
belonging to the same stout, broad-faced, and vociferous merchant.

Meanwhile, several other ships departed for America, and by one of these
Captain Dunning wrote to his sisters Martha and Jane.  The captain never
wrote to Martha or to Jane separately--he always wrote to them
conjointly as "Martha Jane Dunning."

The captain was a peculiar letter-writer.  Those who may feel curious to
know more about this matter are referred for further information to the
next chapter.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

HOME, SWEET HOME--THE CAPTAIN TAKES HIS SISTERS BY SURPRISE--A
MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.

It is a fact which we cannot deny, however much we may feel disposed to
marvel at it, that laughter and weeping, at one and the same time, are
compatible.  The most resolute sceptic on this point would have been
convinced of the truth of it had he been introduced into the Misses
Martha and Jane Dunning's parlour on the beautiful summer morning in
which the remarkable events we are about to relate occurred.

On the morning in question, a letter-carrier walked up to the cottage
with the yellow-painted face, and with the green door, so like a nose in
the middle; and the window on each side thereof, so like its eyes; and
the green Venetian blinds, that served so admirably for eyelids,
attached thereto--all of which stood, and beamed, and luxuriated, and
vegetated, and grew old in the centre of the town on the eastern
seaboard of America, whose name (for strictly private reasons) we have
firmly declined, and do still positively refuse to communicate.

Having walked up to the cottage, the letter-carrier hit it a severe
smash on its green nose, as good Captain Dunning had done many, many
months before.  The result now, as then, was the opening thereof by a
servant-girl--the servant-girl of old.  The letter-carrier was a
taciturn man; he said nothing, but handed in the letter, and went his
way.  The servant-girl was a morose damsel; she said nothing, but took
the letter, shut the door, and laid it (the letter, not the door) on the
breakfast-table, and went her way--which way was the way of all flesh,
fish, and fowl--namely, the kitchen, where breakfast was being prepared.

Soon after the arrival of the letter Miss Jane Dunning--having put on an
immaculately clean white collar and a spotlessly beautiful white cap
with pink ribbons, which looked, if possible, taller than usual--
descended to the breakfast-parlour.  Her eye instantly fell on the
letter, and she exclaimed--"Oh!" at the full pitch of her voice.
Indeed, did not respect for the good lady forbid, we would say that she
_yelled_ "Oh!"

Instantly, as if by magic, a faint "oh!" came down-stairs like an echo,
from the region of Miss Martha Dunning's bedroom, and was followed up by
a "What is it?" so loud that the most unimaginative person could not
have failed to perceive that the elder sister had opened her door and
put her head over the banisters.

"What is it?" repeated Miss Martha.

"A letter!" answered Miss Jane.

"Who from?"  (in eager surprise, from above.)

"Brother George!"  (in eager delight, from below.)

Miss Jane had not come to this knowledge because of having read the
letter, for it still lay on the table unopened, but because she could
not read it at all!  One of Captain Dunning's peculiarities was that he
wrote an execrably bad and illegible hand.  His English was good, his
spelling pretty fair, considering the absurd nature of the orthography
of his native tongue, and his sense was excellent, but the whole was
usually shrouded in hieroglyphical mystery.  Miss Jane could only read
the opening "My dearest Sisters," and the concluding "George Dunning,"
nothing more.  But Miss Martha could, by the exercise of some rare
power, spell out her brother's hand, though not without much difficulty.

"I'm coming," shouted Miss Martha.

"Be quick!" screamed Miss Jane.

In a few seconds Miss Martha entered the room with her cap and collar,
though faultlessly clean and stiff, put on very much awry.

"Give it me!  Where is it?"

Miss Jane pointed to the letter, still remaining transfixed to the spot
where her eye had first met it, as if it were some dangerous animal
which would bite if she touched it.

Miss Martha snatched it up, tore it open, and flopped down on the sofa.
Miss Jane snatched up an imaginary letter, tore it open (in
imagination), and flopping down beside her sister, looked over her
shoulder, apparently to make believe to herself that she read it along
with her.  Thus they read and commented on the captain's letter in
concert.

"`Table Bay'--dear me! what a funny bay that must be--`My dearest
Sisters'--the darling fellow, he always begins that way, don't he, Jane
dear?"

"Bless him! he does, Martha dear."

"`We've been all'--I can't make this word out, can you, dear?"

"No, love."

"`We've been all-worked!'  No, it can't be that.  Stay, `We've been all
_wrecked_!'"

Here Martha laid down the letter with a look of horror, and Jane, with a
face of ashy paleness, exclaimed, "Then they're lost!"

"But no," cried Martha, "George could not have written to us from
Tablecloth Bay had he been lost."

"Neither he could!" exclaimed Jane, eagerly.

Under the influence of the revulsion of feeling this caused, Martha
burst into tears and Jane into laughter.  Immediately after, Jane wept
and Martha laughed; then they both laughed and cried together, after
which they felt for their pocket-handkerchiefs, and discovered that in
their haste they had forgotten them; so they had to call the
servant-girl and send her up-stairs for them; and when the handkerchiefs
were brought, they had to be unfolded before the sisters could dry their
eyes.

When they had done so, and were somewhat composed, they went on with the
reading of the letter.

"`We've been all wrecked'--Dreadful--`and the poor _Red Angel_'"--"Oh!
it can't be that, Martha dear!"

"Indeed, it looks very like it, Jane darling.  Oh!  I see; it's
_Eric_--`and the poor _Red Eric_ has been patched,' or--`pitched on a
rock and smashed to sticks and stivers'--Dear me! what can that be?  I
know what `sticks' are, but I can't imagine what `stivers' mean.  Can
you, Jane?"

"Haven't the remotest idea; perhaps Johnson, or Walker, or Webster may--
yes, Webster is sure to."

"Oh! never mind just now, dear Jane, we can look it up
afterwards--`stivers--sticks and stivers'--something very dreadful, I
fear.  `But we're all safe and well now'--I'm _so_ thankful!--`and we've
been stumped'--No `starved nearly to death, too.  My poor Ailie was
thinner than ever I saw her before'--This is horrible, dear Jane."

"Dreadful, darling Martha."

"`But she's milk and butter'--It can't be that--`milk and'--oh!--`much
better now.'"

At this point Martha laid down the letter, and the two sisters wept for
a few seconds in silence.

"Darling Ailie!" said Martha, drying her eyes, "how thin she must have
been!"

"Ah! yes, and no one to take in her frocks."

"`We'll be home in less than no time,'" continued Martha, reading, "`so
you may get ready for us.  Glynn will have tremendous long yarns to spin
to you when we come back, and so will Ailie.  She has seen a Lotofun
since we left you'--Bless me! what _can_ that be, Jane?"

"Very likely some terrible sea monster, Martha; how thankful we ought to
be that it did not eat her!--`seen a Lotofun'--strange!--`a Lot--o''--
Oh!--`_lot o' fun_!'--that's it! how stupid of me!--`and my dear pet has
been such an ass'--Eh! for shame, brother."

"Don't you think, dear, Martha, that there's some more of that word on
the next line?"

"So there is, I'm _so_ stupid--`istance'--It's not rightly divided
though--`as-sistance and a comfort to me.'  I knew it couldn't be ass."

"So did I.  Ailie an ass! precious child!"

"`Now, good-bye t'ye, my dear lassies,'

"`Ever your affectionate brother,'

"(Dear Fellow!)

"`GEORGE DUNNING.'"

Now it chanced that the ship which conveyed the above letter across the
Atlantic was a slow sailer and was much delayed by contrary winds.  And
it also chanced--for odd coincidences do happen occasionally in human
affairs--that the vessel in which Captain Dunning with Ailie and his
crew embarked some weeks later was a fast-sailing ship, and was blown
across the sea with strong favouring gales.  Hence it fell out that the
first vessel entered port on Sunday night, and the second cast anchor in
the same port on Monday morning.

The green-painted door, therefore, of the yellow-faced cottage, had
scarcely recovered from the assault of the letter-carrier, when it was
again struck violently by the impatient Captain Dunning.

Miss Martha, who had just concluded and refolded the letter, screamed
"Oh!" and leaped up.

Miss Jane did the same, with this difference, that she leaped up before
screaming "Oh!" instead of after doing so.  Then both ladies, hearing
voices outside, rushed towards the door of the parlour with the
intention of flying to their rooms and there carefully arranging their
tall white caps and clean white collars, and keeping the early visitor,
whoever he or she might be, waiting fully a quarter of an hour or twenty
minutes, before they should descend, stiffly, starchly, and
ceremoniously, to receive him--or her.

These intentions were frustrated by the servant-girl, who opened the
green-painted door and let in the captain, who rushed into the parlour
and rudely kissed his speechless sisters.

"Can it be?" gasped Martha.

Jane had meant to gasp "Impossible!" but seeing Ailie at that moment
bound into Martha's arms, she changed her intention, uttered a loud
scream instead, and fell down flat upon the floor under the impression
that she had fainted.  Finding, however, that this was not the case, she
got up again quickly--ignorant of the fact that the tall cap had come
off altogether in the fall--and stood before her sister weeping, and
laughing, and wringing her hands, and waiting for her turn.

But it did not seem likely to come soon, for Martha continued to hug
Ailie, whom she had raised entirely from the ground, with passionate
fervour.  Seeing this, and feeling that to wait was impossible, Jane
darted forward, threw her arms round Ailie--including Martha, as an
unavoidable consequence--and pressed the child's back to her throbbing
bosom.

Between the two poor Ailie was nearly suffocated.  Indeed, she was
compelled to scream, not because she wished to, but because Martha and
Jane squeezed a scream out of her.  The scream acted on the former as a
reproof.  She resigned Ailie to Jane, flung herself recklessly on the
sofa, and kicked.

Meanwhile, Captain Dunning stood looking on, rubbing his hands,--
slapping his thighs, and blowing his nose.  The servant-girl also stood
looking on doing nothing--her face was a perfect blaze of amazement.

"Girl," said the captain, turning suddenly towards her, "is breakfast
ready?"

"Yes," gasped the girl.

"Then fetch it."

The girl did not move.

"D'ye hear?" cried the captain.

"Ye-es."

"Then look alive."

The captain followed this up with a roar and such an indescribably
ferocious demonstration that the girl fled in terror to the culinary
regions, where she found the cat breakfasting on a pat of butter.  The
girl yelled, and flung first a saucepan, and after that the lid of a
teapot, at the thief.  She failed, of course, in this effort to commit
murder, and the cat vanished.

Breakfast was brought, but, excepting in the captain's case, breakfast
was not eaten.  What between questioning, and crying, and hysterical
laughing, and replying, and gasping, explaining, misunderstanding,
exclaiming, and choking, the other members of the party that breakfasted
that morning in the yellow cottage with the much-abused green door, did
little else than upset tea-cups and cream-pots, and sputter eggs about,
and otherwise make a mess of the once immaculate tablecloth.

"Oh, Aunt Martha!" exclaimed Ailie, in the midst of a short pause in the
storm, "I'm _so_ very, very, _very_ glad to be home!"

The child said this with intense fervour.  No one but he who has been
long, long away from the home of his childhood, and had come back after
having despaired of ever seeing it again, can imagine with what deep
fervour she said it, and then burst into tears.

Aunt Jane at that moment was venturing to swallow her first mouthful of
tea, so she gulped and choked, and Aunt Martha spent the next five
minutes in violently beating the poor creature's back, as if she deemed
choking a serious offence which merited severe punishment.  As for the
captain, that unfeeling monster went on grinning from ear to ear, and
eating a heavy breakfast, as if nothing had happened.  But a close
observer might have noticed a curious process going on at the starboard
side of his weather-beaten nose.

In one of his many desperate encounters with whales, Captain Dunning had
had the end of a harpoon thrust accidentally into the prominent member
of his face just above the bridge.  A permanent little hole was the
result, and on the morning of which we write, a drop of water got into
that hole continually, and when it rolled out--which it did about once
every two minutes--and fell into the captain's tea-cup, it was speedily
replaced by another drop, which trickled into the depths of that small
cavern on the starboard side of the captain's nose.  We don't pretend to
account for that curious phenomenon.  We merely record the fact.

While the breakfast party were yet in this April mood, a knock was heard
at the outer door.

"Visitors!" said Martha, with a look that would have led a stranger to
suppose that she held visitors in much the same estimation as
tax-gatherers.

"How awkward!" exclaimed Aunt Jane.

"Send 'em away, girl," cried the captain.  "We're all engaged.  Can't
see any one to-day."

In a moment the servant-girl returned.

"He says he _must_ see you."

"See who?" cried the captain.

"See _you_, sir."

"Must he; then he shan't.  Tell him that."

"Please, sir, he says he won't go away."

"Won't he?"

As he said this the captain set his teeth, clenched his fists, and
darted out of the room.

"Oh!  George!  Stop him! do stop him.  He's _so_ violent!  He'll do
something dreadful!" said Aunt Martha.

"Will no one call out murder?" groaned Aunt Jane, with a shudder.

As no one, however, ventured to check Captain Dunning, he reached the
door, and confronted a rough, big, burly sailor, who stood outside with
a free-and-easy expression of countenance, and his hands in his trousers
pockets.

"Why don't you go away when you're told, eh?" shouted the captain.

"'Cause I won't," answered the man coolly.

The captain stepped close up, but the sailor stood his ground and
grinned.

"Now, my lad, if you don't up anchor and make sail right away, I'll
knock in your daylights."

"No, you won't do nothin' o' the kind, old gen'lem'n; but you'll
double-reef your temper, and listen to wot I've got to say; for it's
very partikler, an' won't keep long without spilin'."

"What have you got to say, then?" said the captain, becoming interested,
but still feeling nettled at the interruption.

"Can't tell you here."

"Why not?"

"Never mind; but put on your sky-scraper, and come down with me to the
grog-shop wot I frequents, and I'll tell ye."

"I'll do nothing of the sort; be off," cried the captain, preparing to
slam the door.

"Oh! it's all the same to me, in coorse, but I rather think if ye know'd
that it's 'bout the _Termagant_, and that 'ere whale wot--but it don't
matter.  Good-mornin'."

"Stay," cried the captain, as the last words fell on his ears.

"Have you really anything to say to me about that ship?"

"In coorse I has."

"Won't you come in and say it here?"

"Not by no means.  You must come down to the grog-shop with _me_."

"Well, I'll go."

So saying the captain ran back to the parlour; said, in hurried tones,
that he had to go out on matters of importance, but would be back to
dine at five, and putting on his hat, left the cottage in company with
the strange sailor.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

CAPTAIN DUNNING ASTONISHES THE STRANGER--SURPRISING NEWS, AND DESPERATE
RESOLVES.

Still keeping his hands in his pockets and the free-and-easy expression
on his countenance, the sailor swaggered through the streets of the town
with Captain Dunning at his side, until he arrived at a very dirty
little street, near the harbour, the chief characteristics of which were
noise, compound smells, and little shops with sea-stores hung out in
front.  At the farther end of this street the sailor paused before a
small public-house.

"Here we are," said he; "this is the place w'ere I puts up w'en I'm
ashore--w'ich ain't often--that's a fact.  After you, sir."

The captain hesitated.

"You ain't afraid, air you?" asked the sailor, in an incredulous tone.

"No, I'm not, my man; but I have an objection to enter a public-house,
unless I cannot help it.  Have you had a glass this morning?"

The sailor looked puzzled, as if he did not see very clearly what the
question had to do with the captain's difficulty.

"Well, for the matter o' that, I've had three glasses this mornin'."

"Then I suppose you have no objection to try a glass of my favourite
tipple, have you?"

The man smiled, and wiping his mouth with the cuff of his jacket, as if
he expected the captain was, then and there, about to hand him a glass
of the tipple referred to, said--

"No objection wotsomediver."

"Then follow me; I'll take you to the place where _I_ put up sometimes
when I'm ashore.  It's not far off."

Five minutes sufficed to transport them from the dirty little street
near the harbour to the back-parlour of the identical coffee-house in
which the captain was first introduced to the reader.  Here, having
whispered something to the waiter, he proceeded to question his
companion on the mysterious business for which he had brought him there.

"Couldn't we have the tipple first?" suggested the sailor.

"It will be here directly.  Have you breakfasted?"

"'Xceptin' the three glasses I told ye of--no."

Well, now, what have you to tell me about the _Termagant_?  You have
already said that you are one of her crew, and that you were in the boat
that day when we had a row about the whale.  What more can you tell me?

The sailor sat down on a chair, stretched out his legs quite straight,
and very wide apart, and thrust his hands, if possible, deeper into his
pockets than they even were thrust before--so deep, in fact, as to
suggest the idea that there were no pockets there at all--merely holes.
Then he looked at Captain Dunning with a peculiarly sly expression of
countenance and winked.

"Well, that's not much.  Anything more?" inquired the captain.

"Ho, yes; lots more.  The _Termagant's_ in this yere port--at--this--
yere--moment."

The latter part of this was said in a hoarse emphatic whisper, and the
man raising up both legs to a horizontal position, let them fall so that
his heels came with a crash upon the wooden floor.

"Is she?" cried the captain, with lively interest; "and her captain?"

"He's--yere--too!"

Captain Dunning took one or two hasty strides across the floor, as if he
were pacing his own quarterdeck--then stopped suddenly and said--

"Can you get hold of any more of that boat's crew?"

"I can do nothin' more wotiver, nor say nothin' more wotsomediver, till
I've tasted that 'ere tipple of yourn."

The captain rang the bell, and the waiter entered with ham and eggs,
buttered toast, and hot coffee for two.

The sailor opened his eyes to their utmost possible width, and made an
effort to thrust his hands still deeper into his unfathomable trousers
pockets; then he sat bolt upright, and gathering his legs as close under
his chair as possible, clasped his knees with his hands, hugged himself,
and grinned from ear to ear.  After sitting a second or two in that
position, he jumped up, and going forward to the table, took up the
plate of ham and eggs, as if to make sure that it was a reality, and
smelt it.

"Is _this_ your favourite tipple?" he said, on being quite satisfied of
the reality of what he saw.

"Coffee is my favourite drink," replied the captain, laughing.  "I never
take anything stronger."

"Ho! you're a to-teetler?"

"I am.  Now, my man, as you have not yet had breakfast, and as you
interrupted me in the middle of mine, suppose we sit down and discuss
the matter of the whale over this."

"Well, this is the rummiest way of offerin' to give a fellow a glass as
I ever did come across since I was a tadpole, as sure as my name's Dick
Jones," remarked the sailor, sitting down opposite the captain, and
turning up the cuffs of his coat.

Having filled his mouth to its utmost possible extent, the astonished
seaman proceeded, at one and the same time, to masticate and to relate
all that he knew in regard to the _Termagant_.

He said that not only was that vessel in port at that time, but that the
same men were still aboard; that the captain--Dixon by name--was still
in command, and that the whale which had been seized from the crew of
the _Red Eric_ had been sold along with the rest of the cargo.  He
related; moreover, how that he and his comrades had been very
ill-treated by Captain Dixon during the voyage, and that he (Captain D)
was, in the opinion of himself and his shipmates, the greatest
blackguard afloat, and had made them so miserable by his brutality and
tyranny, that they all hoped they might never meet with his like again--
not to mention the hopes and wishes of a very unfeeling nature which
they one and all expressed in regard to that captain's future career.
Besides all this, he stated that he (Dick Jones) had recognised Captain
Dunning when he landed that morning, and had followed him to the cottage
with the yellow face and the green door; after which he had taken a turn
of half-an-hour or so up and down the street to think what he ought to
do, and had at last resolved to tell all that he knew, and offer to
stand witness against his captain, which he was then and there prepared
to do, at that time or at any future period, wherever he (Captain
Dunning) liked, and whenever he pleased, and that there was an end of
the whole matter, and that was a fact.

Having unburdened his mind, and eaten all the ham, and eggs, and toast,
and drunk all the coffee, and asked for more and got it, Dick Jones
proceeded to make himself supremely happy by filling his pipe and
lighting it.

"I'll take him to law," said Captain Dunning firmly, smiting the table
with his fist.

"I know'd a feller," said Jones, "wot always said, w'en he heard a
feller say that, `You'll come for to wish that ye hadn't;' but I think
ye're right, cap'en; for it's a clear case, clear as daylight; an' we'll
all swear to a'most anything as'll go fur to prove it."

"But are you sure your messmates are as willing as you are to witness
against the captain?"

"Sure?  In coorse I is--sartin sure.  Didn't he lamp two on 'em with a
rope's-end once till they wos fit to bust, and all for nothin' but
skylarkin'?  They'll all go in the same boat with me, 'cept perhaps the
cook, who is named Baldwin.  He's a cross-grained critter, an'll stan'
by the cap'en through thick an thin, an' so will the carpenter--Box they
call him--he's dead agin us; but that's all."

"Then I'll do it at once," cried Captain Dunning, rising and putting on
his hat firmly, as a man does when he has made a great resolve, which he
more than half suspects will get him into a world of difficulties and
trouble.

"I s'pose I may set here till ye come back?" inquired Dick Jones, who
now wore a dim mysterious aspect, in consequence of the cloud of smoke
in which he had enveloped himself.

"You may sit there till they turn you out; but come and take breakfast
with me at the same hour to-morrow, will ye?"

"Won't I?"

"Then good-day."

So saying, the captain left the coffee-house, and hurried to his
sisters' cottage, where he rightly conjectured he should find Glynn
Proctor.  Without telling his sisters the result of the interview with
the "rude seaman," he took Glynn's arm and sallied forth in search of
Tim Rokens and Mr Millons, both of whom they discovered enjoying their
pipes, after a hearty breakfast, in a small, unpretending, but excellent
and comfortable "sailors' home," in the dirty little street before
referred to.

The greater part of the crew of the late _Red Eric_ (now "sticks and
stivers") were found in the same place, engaged in much the same
occupation, and to these, in solemn conclave assembled, Captain Dunning
announced his intention of opening a law-suit against the captain of the
_Termagant_ for the unlawful appropriation of the whale harpooned by
Glynn.  The men highly approved of what they called a "shore-going
scrimmage," and advised the captain to go and have the captain and crew
of the _Termagant_ "put in limbo right off."

Thus advised and encouraged, Captain Dunning went to a lawyer, who,
after hearing the case, stated it as his opinion that it was a good one,
and forthwith set about taking the needful preliminary steps to
commencing the action.

Thereafter Captain Dunning walked rapidly home, wiping his hot brow as
he went, and entering the parlour of the cottage--the yellow-faced
cottage--flung himself on the sofa with a reckless air, and said, "I've
done it!"

"Horror!" cried Aunt Martha.

"Misery!" gasped Aunt Jane, who happened to be fondling Ailie at the
time of her brother's entrance.

"Is he dead?"

"_Quite_ dead?" added Martha.

"Is _who_ dead?" inquired the captain, in surprise.

"The man--the rude sailor!"

"Dead!  No."

"You said just now that you had done it."

"So I have.  I've done the deed.  I've gone to law."

Had the captain said that he had gone to "sticks and stivers," his
sisters could not have been more startled and horrified.  They dreaded
the law, and hated it with a great and intense hatred, and not without
reason; for their father had been ruined in a law-suit, and his father
had broken the law, in some political manner they could never clearly
understand, and had been condemned by the law to perpetual banishment.

"Will it do you much harm, dear, papa?" inquired Ailie, in great
concern.

"Harm?  Of course not.  I hope it'll do me, and you too, a great deal of
good."

"I'm _so_ glad to hear that; for I've heard people say that when you
once go into it you never get out of it again."

"So have I," said Aunt Martha, with a deep sigh.

"And so have I," added Aunt Jane, with a deeper sigh, "and I believe
it's true."

"It's false!" cried the captain, laughing, "and you are all silly geese;
the law is--"

"A bright and glorious institution!  A desirable investment for the
talents of able men!  A machine for justice usually--injustice
occasionally--and, like all other good things, often misused, abused,
and spoken against!" said Glynn Proctor, at that moment entering the
room, and throwing his hat on one chair, and himself on another.  "I've
had enough of the sea, captain, and have come to resign my situation,
and beg for dinner."

"You shall have it immediately, dear Glynn," said Martha, whose heart
warmed at the sight of one who had been so kind to her little niece.

"Nay, I'm in no hurry," said Glynn, quickly; "I did but jest, dear
madam, as Shakespeare has it.  Perhaps it was Milton who said it; one
can't be sure; but whenever a truly grand remark escapes you, you're
safe to clap it down to Shakespeare."

At this point the servant-girl announced dinner.  At the same instant a
heavy foot was heard in the passage, and Tim Rokens announced himself,
saying that he had just seen the captain's lawyer, and had been sent to
say that he wished to see Captain Dunning in the course of the evening.

"Then let him go on wishing till I'm ready to go to him.  Meanwhile do
you come and dine with us, Rokens, my lad."

Rokens looked awkward, and shuffled a little with his feet, and shook
his head.

"Why, what's the matter, man?"

Rokens looked as if he wished to speak, but hesitated.

"If ye please, cap'en, I'd raither not, axin' the ladies' parding.  I'd
like a word with you in the passage."

"By all means," replied the captain, going out of the room with the
sailor.  "Now, what's wrong?"

"My flippers, cap'en," said Rokens, thrusting out his hard, thick,
enormous hands, which were stained all over with sundry streaks of tar,
and were very red as well as extremely clumsy to look at--"I've bin an'
washed 'em with hot water and rubbed 'em with grease till I a'most took
the skin off, but they won't come clean, and I'm not fit to sit down
with ladies."

To this speech the captain replied by seizing Tim Rokens by the collar
and dragging him fairly into the parlour.

"Here's a man," cried the captain enthusiastically, presenting him to
Martha, "who's sailed with me for nigh thirty years, and is the best
harpooner I ever had, and has stuck to me through thick and thin, in
fair weather and foul, in heat and cold, and was kinder to Ailie during
the last voyage than all the other men put together, exceptin' Glynn,
and who tells me his hands are covered with tar, and that he can't wash
'em clean nohow, and isn't fit to dine with ladies; so you will oblige
me, Martha, by ordering him to leave the house."

"I will, brother, with pleasure.  I order you, Mr Rokens, to leave this
house _at your peril_!  And I invite you to partake of our dinner, which
is now on the table in the next room."

Saying this, Aunt Martha grasped one of the great tar-stained "flippers"
in both of her own delicate hands, and shook it with a degree of vigour
that Tim Rokens afterwards said he could not have believed possible had
he not felt it.

Seeing this, Aunt Jane turned aside and blew her nose violently.  Tim
Rokens attempted to make a bow, failed, and grinned.  The captain
cried--"Now, then, heave ahead!"  Glynn, in the exuberance of his
spirits, uttered a miniature cheer.  Ailie gave vent to a laugh, that
sounded as sweet as a good song; and the whole party adjourned to the
dining-room, where the servant-girl was found in the sulks because
dinner was getting rapidly cold, and the cat was found:--

  "Prowling round the festal board
  On thievish deeds intent."

[See Milton's _Paradise Regained_, latest edition.]



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE LAW-SUIT--THE BATTLE, AND THE VICTORY.

The great case of Dunning _versus_ Dixon came on at last.

On that day Captain Dunning was in a fever; Glynn Proctor was in a
fever; Tim Rokens was in a fever; the Misses Dunning were in two
separate fevers--everybody, in fact, on the Dunning side of the case was
in a fever of nervous anxiety and mental confusion.  As witnesses in the
case, they had been precognosced to such an extent by the lawyers that
their intellects were almost overturned.  On being told that he was to
be precognosced.  Tim Rokens said stoutly, "He'd like to see the man as
'ud do it"; under the impression that that was the legal term for being
kicked, or otherwise maltreated; and on being informed that the word
signified merely an examination as to the extent of his knowledge of the
facts of the case, he said quietly, "Fire away!"  Before they had done
firing away, the gallant harpooner was so confused that he began to
regard the whole case as already hopeless.

The other men were much in the same condition; but in a private meeting
held among themselves the day before the trial, Rokens made the
following speech, which comforted them not a little.

"Messmates and shipmates," said Tim, "I'll tell ye wot it is.  I'm no
lawyer--that's a fact--but I'm a man; an' wot's a man?--it ain't a
bundle o' flesh an' bones on two legs, with a turnip a-top o't, is it?"

"Be no manes," murmured Briant, with an approving nod.

"Cer'nly not," remarked Dick Barnes.  "I second that motion."

"Good," continued Rokens.  "Then, bein' a man, I've got brains enough to
see that, if we don't want to contredick one another, we must stick to
the truth."

"You don't suppose I'd go fur to tell lies, do you?" said Tarquin
quickly.

"In coorse not.  But what I mean to say is, that we must stick to what
we _knows_ to be the truth, and not be goin' for to guess at it, or
_think_ that we knows it, and then swear to it as if we wos certain
sure."

"Hear! hear!" from the assembled company.

"In fact," observed Glynn, "let what we say be absolutely true, and say
just as little as we can.  That's how to manage a good case."

"An', be all manes," added Briant, "don't let any of ye try for to
improve matters be volunteerin' yer opinion.  Volunteerin' opinions is
stuff.  Volunteerin' is altogether a bad look-out.  I know'd a feller, I
did--a strappin' young feller he was, too, more betoken--as volunteered
himself to death, he did.  To be sure, his wos a case o' volunteerin'
into the Louth Militia, and he wos shot, he wos, in a pop'lar riot, as
the noosepapers said--a scrimmage, I calls it--so don't let any o' us be
goin' for to volunteer opinions w'en nobody axes 'em--no, nor wants
'em."

Briant looked so pointedly at Gurney while delivering this advice that
that obese individual felt constrained to look indignant, and inquire
whether "them 'ere imperent remarks wos meant for him."  To which Briant
replied that "they wos meant for him, as well as for ivery man then
present."  Whereupon Gurney started up and shook his fist across the
table at Briant, and Briant made a face at Gurney, at which the
assembled company of mariners laughed, and immediately thereafter the
meeting was broken up.

Next day the trial came on, and as the case was expected to be more than
usually interesting, the house was filled to overflowing long before the
hour.

The trial lasted all that day, and all the next, and a great part of the
third, but we do not purpose going into it in detail.  The way in which
Mr Rasp (Captain Dunning's counsel) and Mr Tooth (Captain Dixon's
counsel) badgered, browbeat, and utterly bamboozled the witnesses on
both sides, and totally puzzled the jury, can only be understood by
those who have frequented courts of law, but could not be fully or
adequately described in less than six hundred pages.

In the course of the trial the resolutions come to by the crew of the
_Red Eric_, that they would tell _nothing_ but the truth, and carefully
refrain from touching on what they were not quite sure of, proved to be
of the greatest advantage to the pursuer's case.  We feel constrained
here to turn aside for one moment to advise the general adoption of that
course of conduct in all the serious affairs of life.

The evidence of Tim Rokens was clear and to the point.  The whale had
been first struck by Glynn with a harpoon, to which a drogue was
attached; it had been followed up by the crew of the _Red Eric_ and also
by the crew of the _Termagant_.  The boats of the latter over-took the
fish first, fixed a harpoon in it, and lanced it mortally.  The drogue
and harpoon of the _Red Eric_ were still attached to the whale when this
was done, so that, according to the laws of the fishery, the crew of the
_Termagant_ had no right to touch the whale--it was a "fast" fish.  If
the drogue had become detached the fish would have been free, and both
crews would have been entitled to chase and capture it if they were
able.  Angry words and threats had passed between the crews of the
opposing boats, but the whale put a stop to that by smashing the boat of
the _Red Eric_ with its tail, whereupon the boat of the _Termagant_ made
off with the fish (which died almost immediately after), and left the
crew of the boat belonging to the _Red Eric_ struggling in the water.

Such was the substance of the evidence of the harpooner, and neither
cross-examination nor re-cross-examination by Mr Tooth, the counsel for
the defendant, could induce Tim Rokens to modify, alter, omit, or
contradict one iota of what he had said.

It must not be supposed, however, that all of the men gave their
evidence so clearly or so well.  The captain did, though he was somewhat
nervous, and the doctor did, and Glynn did.  But that of Nikel Sling was
unsatisfactory, in consequence of his being unable to repress his
natural tendency to exaggeration.  Tarquin also did harm; for, in his
spite against the crew of the _Termagant_, he made statements which were
not true, and his credit as a witness was therefore totally destroyed.

Last of all came Jim Scroggles, who, after being solemnly sworn, deposed
that he was between thirty-five and thirty-six years of age, on hearing
which Gurney said "Oh!" with peculiar emphasis, and the people laughed,
and the judge cried "Silence," and the examination went on.  After some
time Mr Tooth rose to cross-question Jim Scroggles, who happened to be
a nervous man in public, and was gradually getting confused and angry.

"Now, my man, please to be particular in your replies," said Mr Tooth,
pushing up his spectacles on his forehead, thrusting his hands into his
trousers pockets, and staring very hard at Jim.  "You said that you
pulled the second oar from the bow on the day in which the whale was
killed."

"Yes."

"Are you quite sure of that?  Was it not the _third_ oar, now?"

"Yes or no," interrupted Mr Tooth.

"It's so long since--"

"Yes or no," repeated Mr Tooth.

"Yes," roared Scroggles, forgetting at the moment, in his confusion and
indignation at not being allowed to speak, in what manner the question
had been put.

"Yes," echoed Mr Tooth, addressing the judge, but looking at the jury.
"You will observe, gentlemen.  Would your lordship be so good as to note
that?  This witness, on that very particular occasion, when every point
in the circumstances must naturally have been impressed deeply on the
memories of all present, appears to have been so confused as not to know
which oar of the boat he pulled.  So, my man" (turning to the witness),
"it appears evident that either you are now mis-stating the facts of the
case or were then incapable of judging of them."

Jim Scroggles felt inclined to leap out of the witness-box, and knocked
the teeth of Mr Tooth down his throat!  But he repressed the
inclination, and that gentleman went on to say--

"When the boat of the _Red Eric_ came up to the whale was the drogue
still attached to it?"

"In coorse it was.  Didn't ye hear me say that three or--"

"Be so good as to answer my questions simply, and do not make
unnecessary remarks, sir.  Was the drogue attached when the boat came
up?  Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause I seed it."

"You are quite sure that you saw it?"

"In coorse!--leastwise, Tim Rokens seed it, and all the men in the boat
seed it, and said so to me afterwards--w'ich is the same thing, though I
can't 'xactly say I seed it myself, 'cause I was looking hard at the men
in the enemy's boat, and considerin' which on 'em I should give a dab in
the nose to first w'en we come along side of 'em."

"Oh, then you did _not_ see the drogue attached to the whale?" said Mr
Tooth, with a glance at the jury; "and you were so taken up with the
anticipated fight, I suppose, that you scarcely gave your attention to
the whale at all!  Were the other men in your boat in a similarly
unobservant condition?"

"Eh?" exclaimed Scroggles.

"Were the other men as eager for the fight as you were?"

"I s'pose they wos; you'd better ax 'em.  _I_ dun know."

"No, I don't suppose you do, considering the state of mind you appear to
have been in at the time.  Do you know which part of the whale struck
your boat?  Was it the head?"

"No; it was the tail."

"Are you quite sure of that?"

"Ho, yes, quite sartin, for I've got a knot on my head this day where
the tip of its flukes came down on me."

"You're quite sure of that?  Might it not have been the part of the fish
near the tail, now, that struck you, or the fin just under the tail?"

"No; I'm quite sartin sure it warn't _that_."

"How are you so sure it wasn't that?"

"Because whales hain't got no fins just under their tails!" replied
Scroggles, with a broad grin.

There was another loud laugh at this, and Mr Tooth looked a little put
out, and the judge cried "Silence" again, and threatened to clear the
court.

After a few more questions Jim Scroggles was permitted to retire, which
he did oppressed with a feeling that his evidence had done the case
little good, if not some harm, yet rather elated than otherwise at the
success of his last hit.

That evening Captain Dunning supped with Ailie and his sisters in low
spirits.  Glynn and the doctor and Tim Rokens and the two mates, Millons
and Markham, supped with him, also in low spirits; and King Bumble acted
the part of waiter, for that sable monarch had expressed an earnest
desire to become Captain Dunning's servant, and the captain had agreed
to "take him on," at least for a time.  King Bumble was also in low
spirits; and, as a natural consequence, so were Aunts Martha and Jane
and little Ailie.  It seemed utterly incomprehensible to the males of
the party, how so good a case as this should come to wear such an
unpromising aspect.

"The fact is," said the captain, at the conclusion of a prolonged
discussion, "I don't believe we'll gain it."

"Neither do I," said the doctor, helping himself to a large quantity of
salad, as if that were the only comfort now left to him, and he meant to
make the most of it before giving way to total despair.

"I knew it," observed Aunt Martha firmly.  "I always said the law was a
wicked institution."

"It's a great shame!" said Aunt Jane indignantly; "but what could we
expect?  It treats every one ill."

"Won't it treat Captain Dixon well, if he wins, aunt?" inquired Ailie.

"Dear child, what can you possibly know about law?" said Aunt Martha.

"Would you like a little more tart?" asked Aunt Jane.

"Bravo!  Ailie," cried Glynn, "that's a fair question.  I back it up."

"How much do you claim for damages, George?" inquired Aunt Martha,
changing the subject.

("Question!" whispered Glynn.)

"Two thousand pounds," answered the captain.

"What!" exclaimed the aunts, in a simultaneous burst of amazement.  "All
for _one_ fish?"

"Ay, it was a big one, you see, and Dick Jones, one of the men of the
_Termagant_, told me it was sold for that.  It's a profitable fishing,
when one doesn't lose one's ship.  What do you say to go with me and
Ailie on our next trip, sisters?  You might use up all your silk and
worsted thread and crooked pins."

"What nonsense you talk, George; but I suppose you really do use pretty
large hooks and lines when you fish for whales?"

Aunt Martha addressed the latter part of her remark to Tim Rokens, who
seemed immensely tickled by the captain's pleasantry.

"Hooks and lines, ma'am!" cried Rokens, regarding his hostess with a
look of puzzled surprise.

"To be sure we do," interrupted Glynn; "we use anchors baited with live
crocodiles--sometimes elephants, when we can't get crocodiles.  But
hippopotamuses do best."

"Oh!  Glynn!" cried Ailie, laughing, "how can you?"

"It all depends on the drogue," remarked the doctor.  "I'm surprised to
find how few of the men can state with absolute certainty that they saw
the drogue attached to the whale when the boat came up to it.  It all
hinges upon that."

"Yes," observed Mr Millons, "the 'ole case 'inges on that, because that
proves it was a fast fish."

"Dear me, Mr Millons," said Aunt Martha, smiling, "I have heard of fast
young men, but I never heard of a fast fish before."

"Didn't you, ma'am?" exclaimed the first mate, looking up in surprise,
for that matter-of-fact seamen seldom recognised a joke at first sight.

Aunt Martha, who very rarely ventured on the perpetration of a joke,
blushed, and turning somewhat hastily to Mr Markham, asked if he would
"take another cup of tea."  Seeing that there was no tea on the table,
she substituted "another slice of ham," and laughed.  Thereupon the
whole company laughed, and from that moment their spirits began to rise.
They began to discuss the more favourable points of the evidence led
that day, and when they retired at a late hour to rest, their hopes had
again become sanguine.

Next morning the examination of the witnesses for the defendant came on.
There were more of them than Dick Jones had expected; for the crew of
the _Termagant_ happened to be partly made up of very bad men, who were
easily bribed by their captain to give evidence in his favour.  But it
soon became evident that they had not previously determined, as Captain
Dunning's men had done, to stick to the simple truth.  They not only
contradicted each other but each contradicted himself more than once;
and it amazed them all, more than they could tell, to find how easily
Mr Rasp turned their thoughts outside in, and caused them to prove
conclusively that they were telling falsehoods.

After the case had been summed up by the judge, the jury retired to
consult, but they only remained five minutes away, and then came back
with a verdict in favour of the pursuers.

"Who's the `pursooers?'" inquired Gurney, when this was announced to him
by Nikel Sling.  "Ain't we all pursooers?  Wasn't we all pursooing the
whale together?"

"Oh, you grampus!" cried Nikel, laughing.  "Don't ye know that _we_ is
the purshooers, 'cause why?  We're purshooin' the cap'en and crew of the
_Termagant_ at law, and means to purshoo 'em too, I guess, till they
stumps up for that air whale.  And they is the defendants, 'cause
they're s'posed to defend themselves to the last gasp; but it ain't o'
no manner o' use."

Nikel Sling was right.  Captain Dixon _was_ pursued until he paid back
the value of his ill-gotten whale, and was forcibly reminded by this
episode in his career, that "honesty is the best policy" after all.
Thus Captain Dunning found himself suddenly put in possession of a sum
of two thousand pounds.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE CONCLUSION.

The trouble, and worry, and annoyance that the sum of 2000 pounds gave
to Captain Dunning is past all belief.  That worthy man, knowing that
Glynn Proctor had scarcely a penny in the world, not even his "kit" (as
sailors name their sea-chests), which had been lost in the wreck of the
_Red Eric_, and that the boy was about to be cast upon the world again
an almost friendless wanderer--knowing all this, we say, Captain Dunning
insisted that as Glynn had been the first to strike the whale, and as no
one else had had anything to do with its capture, he (Glynn) was justly
entitled to the money.

Glynn firmly declined to admit the justice of this view of the case; he
had been paid his wages; that was all he had any right to claim; so he
positively refused to take the money.  But the captain was more than his
match.  He insisted so powerfully, and argued so logically, that Glynn
at last consented, on condition that 500 pounds of it should be
distributed among his shipmates.  This compromise was agreed to, and
thus Glynn came into possession of what appeared in his eyes a fortune
of 1500 pounds.

"Now, what am I to do with it? that is the question."

Glynn propounded this knotty question one evening, about three weeks
after the trial, to his friends of the yellow cottage with the
green-painted door.

"Put it in the bank," suggested Aunt Martha.

"Yes, and live on the interest," added Aunt Jane.

"Or invest in the whale-fishery," said Captain Dunning, emitting a
voluminous cloud of tobacco-smoke, as if to suggest the idea that the
investment would probably end in something similar to that.  (The
captain was a peculiarly favoured individual; he was privileged to smoke
in the Misses Dunning's parlour.)

"Oh!  I'll tell you what to do, Glynn," cried Ailie, clapping her hands;
"it would be _so_ nice.  Buy a cottage with it--a nice, pretty,
white-painted cottage, beside a wood, with a little river in front of
it, and a small lake with a boat on it not far off, and a far, far view
from the windows of fields, and villages, and churches, and cattle, and
sheep, and--"

"Hurrah!  Ailie, go it, my lass!" interrupted Glynn; "and horses, and
ponies, and carts, and cats, and blackbirds, and cocks and hens, and
ploughmen, and milkmaids, and beggars, all in the foreground; and
coaches, and railroads, and steamboats, and palaces, and canals, in the
middle distance; with a glorious background of the mighty sea glittering
for ever under the blazing beams of a perpetually setting sun, mingled
with the pale rays of an eternally rising moon, and laden with small
craft, and whale-ships, and seaweed, and fish, and bumboats, and
men-of-war!"

"Oh, how nice!" cried Ailie, screaming with delight.

"Go ahead, lad, never give in!" said the captain; whose pipe during this
glowing description had been keeping up what seemed like a miniature
sea-fight.  "You've forgot the main point."

"What's that?" inquired Glynn.

"Why, a palace for Jacko close beside it, with a portrait of Jacko over
the drawing-room fireplace, and a marble bust of Jacko in the four
corners of every room."

"So I did; I forgot that," replied Glynn.

"Dear Jacko!" said Ailie, laughing heartily, and holding out her hand.

The monkey, which had become domesticated in the house, leaped nimbly
upon her knee, and looked up in her face.

"Oh!  Ailie dear, do put it down!" cried Aunt Jane, shuddering.

"How can you?" said Aunt Martha; "dirty beast!"  Of course Aunt Martha
applied the latter part of her remark to the monkey, not to the child.

"I'll never be able to bear it," remarked Aunt Jane.

"And it will never come to agree with the cat," observed Aunt Martha.

Ailie patted her favourite on the cheek and told it to go away, adding,
that it was a dear pet--whereupon that small monkey retired modestly to
a corner near the sideboard.  It chanced to be the corner nearest to the
sugar-basin, which had been left out by accident; but Jacko didn't know
that, of course--at least, if he did, he did not say so.  It is
probable, however, that he found it out in course of time; for an hour
or two afterwards the distinct marks of ten very minute fingers were
visible therein, a discovery which Aunt Martha made with a scream, and
Aunt Jane announced with a shriek--which caused Jacko to retire
precipitately.

"But really," said Glynn, "jesting apart, I must take to something on
shore, for although I like the sea very well, I find that I like the
land better."

"Well, since you wish to be in earnest about it," said Captain Dunning,
"I'll tell you what has been passing in my mind of late.  I'm getting to
be an oldish young man now, you see, and am rather tired of the sea
myself, so I also think of giving it up.  I have now laid by about five
thousand pounds, and with this I think of purchasing a farm.  I learnt
something of farming before I took to the sea, so that I am not quite so
green on such matters as you might suppose, though I confess I'm rather
rusty and behind the age; but that won't much matter in a fine country
like this, and I can get a good steward to take command and steer the
ship until I have brushed up a bit in shore-goin' navigation.  There is
a farm which is just the very thing for me not more than twenty miles
from this town, with a cottage on it and a view _somewhat_ like the one
you and Ailie described a few minutes ago, though not _quite_ so grand.
But there's one great and insuperable objection to my taking it."

"What is that?" inquired Aunt Martha, who, with her sister, expressed in
their looks unbounded surprise at the words of their brother, whom they
regarded as so thoroughly and indissolubly connected with the sea that
they would probably have been less surprised had he announced it to be
his intention to become a fish and thenceforward dwell in a coral cave.

"I have not enough of money wherewith to buy and stock it."

"_What_ a pity!" said Ailie, whose hopes had been rising with
extraordinary rapidity, and were thus quenched at once.

Glynn leaped up and smote his thigh with his right hand, and exclaimed
in a triumphant manner--"That's the very ticket!"

"What's the very ticket?" inquired the captain.

"I'll lend you _my_ money," said Glynn.

"Ay, boy, that's just the point I was comin' to.  A thousand pounds will
do.  Now, if you lend me that sum, I'm willin' to take you into
partnership, and we'll buy the place and farm it together.  I think
we'll pull well in the same boat, for I think you like me well enough,
and I'm sure I like you, and I know Ailie don't object to either of us;
and after I'm gone, Glynn, you can work the farm for Ailie and give her
her share.  What say you?"

"Done," exclaimed Glynn, springing up and seizing the captain's hand.
"I'll be your son and you'll be my father, and Ailie will be my sister--
and _won't_ we be jolly, just!"

Ailie laughed, and so did the two aunts, but the captain made no reply.
He merely smoked with a violence that was quite appalling, and nodding
his head, winked at Glynn, as if to say--"That's it, exactly!"

The compact thus half-jestingly entered into was afterwards thoroughly
ratified and carried into effect.  The cottage was named the Red Eric,
and the property was named the Whale Brae, after an ancestral estate
which, it was supposed, had, at some remote period, belonged to the
Dunning family in Scotland.  The title was not inappropriate, for it
occupied the side of a rising ground, which, as a feature in the
landscape, looked very like a whale, "only," as Glynn said, "not quite
so big," which was an outrageous falsehood, for it was a great deal
bigger!  A small wooden palace was built for Jacko, and many a portrait
was taken of him by Glynn, in charcoal, on many an outhouse wall, to the
immense delight of Ailie.  As to having busts of him placed in the
corners of every room, Glynn remarked that that was quite unnecessary,
for Jacko _almost_ "bu'st" himself in every possible way, at every
conceivable time, in every imaginable place, whenever he could
conveniently collect enough of food to do so--which was not often, for
Jacko, though small, was of an elastic as well as an amiable
disposition.

Tim Rokens stuck to his old commander to the last.  He said he had
sailed with him the better part of his life, in the same ships, had
weathered the same storms, and chased the same fish, and now that the
captain had made up his mind to lay up in port, he meant to cast anchor
beside him.  So the bold harpooner became a species of overseer and
jack-of-all-trades on the property.  Phil Briant set up as a carpenter
in the village close by, took to himself a wife (his first wife having
died), and became Tim Rokens' boon companion and bosom friend.  As for
the rest of the crew of the _Red Eric_, they went their several ways,
got into separate ships, and were never again re-assembled together; but
nearly all of them came at separate times, in the course of years, to
visit their old captain and shipmates in the Red Eric at Whale Brae.

In course of time Ailie grew up into such a sweet, pretty, modest,
loveable woman, that the very sight of her did one's heart good.  Love
was the ruling power in Ailie's heart--love to her God and Saviour and
to all His creatures.  She was not perfect.  Who is?  She had faults,
plenty of them.  Who has not?  But her loving nature covered up
everything with a golden veil so beautiful, that no one saw her faults,
or, if they did, would not believe them to be faults at all.

Glynn, also, grew up and became a _man_.  Observe, reader, we don't mean
to say that he became a thing with long legs, and broad shoulders, and
whiskers.  Glynn became a real man; an out-and-out man; a being who
realised the fact that he had been made and born into the world for the
purpose of doing that world good, and leaving it better than he found
it.  He did not think that to strut, and smoke cigars, and talk loud or
big, and commence most of his sentences with "Aw! 'pon my soul!" was the
summit of true greatness.  Neither did he, flying in disgust to the
opposite extreme, speak like a misanthrope, and look like a bear, or
dress like a savage.  He came to know the truth of the proverb, that
"there is a time for all things," and following up the idea suggested by
those words, he came to perceive that there is a place for all things--
that place being the human heart, when in a true and healthy condition
in all its parts, out of which, in their proper time, some of those "all
things" ought to be ever ready to flow.  Hence Glynn could weep with the
sorrowful and laugh with the gay.  He could wear a red or a blue flannel
shirt, and pull an oar (ay, the best oar) at a rowing match, or he could
read the Bible and pray with a bedridden old woman.  Had Glynn Proctor
been a naval commander, he might have sunk, destroyed, or captured
fleets.  Had he been a soldier, he might have stormed and taken cities;
being neither, he was a greater man than either, for he could "_rule his
own spirit_."  If you are tempted, dear reader, to think that an easy
matter, just try it.  Make the effort.  The first time you chance to be
in a towering rage (which I trust, however, may never be), try to keep
your tongue silent, and, most difficult of all, try at that moment to
pray, and see whether your opinion as to your power over your own spirit
be not changed.

Such were Glynn and Ailie.  "So they married, of course," you remark.
Well, reader, and why not?  Nothing could be more natural.  Glynn felt,
and said, too, that nothing was nearer his heart.  And Ailie admitted--
after being told by Glynn that she must be his wife, for he wanted to
have her, and was determined to have her whether she would or not--that
her heart was in similar proximity to the idea of marriage.  Captain
Dunning did not object--it would have been odd if he had objected to the
fulfilment of his chief earthly desire.  Tim Rokens did not groan when
he heard of the proposal--by no means; on the contrary, he roared, and
laughed, and shouted with delight, and went straight off to tell Phil
Briant, who roared a duet with him, and they both agreed that it "wos
the most gloriously nat'ral thing they ever did know since they wos
launched upon the sea of time!"

So Glynn Proctor and Ailie Dunning were married, and lived long, and
happily, and usefully at Whale Brae.  Captain Dunning lived with them
until he was so old that Ailie's eldest daughter (also named Ailie) had
to lead him from his bedroom each morning to breakfast, and light his
pipe for him when he had finished.  And Ailie the second performed her
duties well, and made the old man happy--happier than he could find
words to express--for Ailie the second was like her mother in all
things, and greater praise than that could not possibly be awarded to
her.

The affairs of the cottage with the yellow face and the green door were
kept in good order for many years by one of Ailie the second's little
sisters--Martha by name; and there was much traffic and intercourse
between that ancient building and the Red Eric, as long as the two aunts
lived, which was a very long time indeed.  Its green door was, during
that time, almost battered off its hinges by successive juvenile members
of the Proctor family.  And truly deep and heartfelt was the mourning at
Whale Brae when the amiable sisters were taken away at last.

As for Tim Rokens, that ancient mariner became the idol of the young
Proctors, as they successively came to be old enough to know his worth.
The number of ships and boats he made for the boys among them was
absolutely fabulous.  Equal, perhaps, to about a twentieth part of the
number of pipes of tobacco he smoked during his residence there, and
about double the number of stories told them by Phil Briant during the
same period.

King Bumble lived with the family until his woolly head became as white
as his face was black; and Jacko--poor little Jacko--lived so long, that
he became big, but he did not become less amiable, or less addicted to
thieving.  He turned grey at last and became as blind as a bat, and
finally crawled about the house, enfeebled by old age, and wrapped in a
flannel dressing-gown.

Sorrows and joys are the lot of all; they chase each other across the
sky of human life like cloud and sunshine on an April day.  Captain
Dunning and his descendants were not exempt from the pains, and toils,
and griefs of life, but they met them in the right spirit, and diffused
so sweet an influence around their dwelling that the neighbours used to
say--and say truly--of the family at the Red Eric, that they were always
good-humoured and happy--as happy as the day was long.

THE END.






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Red Eric, by R.M. Ballantyne

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