Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
THE HOT SWAMP, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.
A ROMANCE OF OLD ALBION.
OPENS WITH LEAVE-TAKING.
Nearly two thousand seven hundred years ago--or somewhere about eight
hundred years BuCu--there dwelt a Phoenician sea-captain in one of the
eastern sea-ports of Greece--known at that period, or soon after, as
Hellas.
This captain was solid, square, bronzed, bluff, and resolute, as all
sea-captains are--or ought to be--whether ancient or modern. He owned,
as well as commanded, one of those curious vessels with one mast and a
mighty square-sail, fifty oars or so, double-banked, a dragon's tail in
the stern and a horse's head at the prow, in which the Phoenicians of
old and other mariners were wont to drive an extensive and lucrative
trade in the Mediterranean; sometimes pushing their adventurous keels
beyond the Pillars of Hercules, visiting the distant Cassiterides or Tin
Isles, and Albion, and even penetrating northward into the Baltic, in
search of tin, amber, gold, and what not.
One morning this captain, whose name was Arkal, sauntered up from the
harbour to his hut, which stood on a conspicuous eminence overlooking
the bay. His hands were not thrust into his pockets, because he had no
pockets to put them into--the simple tunic of the period being destitute
of such appendages. Indeed, the coarse linen tunic referred to
constituted the chief part of his costume, the only other portions being
a pair of rude shoes on his feet, a red fez or tarbouche on his bushy
brown locks, and yards of something wound round his lower limbs to
protect them from thorns on shore, as well as from the rasping of
cordage and cargo at sea.
At the door of his hut stood his pretty little Greek wife, with a solid,
square, bluff, and resolute, but not yet bronzed, baby in her arms.
"Well, Penelope, I'm off," said the captain. At least he used words to
that effect, as he enveloped wife and baby in a huge embrace.
Of course he spoke in a dialect of ancient Greek, of which we render a
free translation.
The leave-taking was of the briefest, for just then a loud halloo from
his mate, or second in command, apprised the captain that all was ready
to set sail. But neither Penelope nor her husband were anxious souls or
addicted to the melting mood. The square baby was rather more given to
such conditions. In emulation of the mate it set up a sudden howl which
sent its father away laughing to the harbour.
"No sign of the young men," remarked the mate, as his superior came
within hail.
"It is ever the way with these half-fledged boys who think themselves
men while their faces are yet hairless," growled the captain, casting a
glance at his unfailing chronometer, the rising sun. "They have no more
regard for the movements of that ball of fire than if it was set in the
sky merely to shine and keep them warm, and had no reference whatever to
time. If this youth from Albion does not appear soon, I shall set sail
without him, prince though he be, and leave him to try his hand at
swimming to the Cassiterides. His comrade and friend, Dromas, assured
me they would not keep us waiting; but he is no better than the rest of
them--a shouting, singing, smooth-faced, six-foot set they are, who
think they inherit the combined wisdom of all their grandfathers but
none of their weaknesses; reckless fear-nothings, fit only for war and
the Olympic games!"
"Nevertheless, we could not do well without them," returned the mate,
glancing significantly at the ship's crew, a large proportion of which
was composed of these same stalwart fear-nothings of whom his leader
spoke so contemptuously; "at least they would make a fine show at these
games, and our ventures at sea would not prosper so well if we had not
such to help us."
"True, true, and I would not speak slightingly of them, but they do try
one's patience; here is the wind failing, and we all ready to hoist
sail," returned the captain with another growl, a glance at the sky, and
a frown at his vessel, everything about which betokened readiness for
instant departure. The crew--partly composed of slaves--were seated at
the oars; the fighting men and seamen were all on board arranging their
shields round the vessel's sides, and the great sail was cast loose
ready to hoist as soon as the mouth of the harbour should be cleared.
Just then a band of young men issued from the town, and the captain's
good humour was restored as they hurried towards him. They seemed to be
much excited, and talked in loud tones as they advanced, their manners
and costumes indicating that they belonged to the upper ranks of
society.
One of the band, a fair youth, towered, like Saul, head and shoulders
above his fellows. Another, of dark complexion, handsome features, and
elegant, active frame, hurried forward to salute the captain.
"I fear we have kept you waiting," he said with a pleasant expression
that disarmed reproof.
"I will not deny that, Dromas," answered the captain, "but you have not
detained me long. Nevertheless, I was on the point of sailing without
your friend, for the winds and waves respect no one."
"But you are neither a wind nor a wave," remarked the youth.
"True, but I am the humble friend of both," retorted the captain, "and
am bound to accommodate myself to them. I suppose this is the prince
you spoke of," he added, turning to the towering youth already referred
to, with the air of a man who had as little--or as much--regard for a
prince as a peasant.
"Yes, Captain Arkal, this is Prince Bladud. Let me present him to you."
As the prince and the seaman joined hands the latter looked up from an
altitude of five feet six and squared his broad shoulders with the air
of a man ready to defy all creation, and anxious rather than otherwise
to do so. The prince, on the other hand, looked down from an eminence
of six feet seven, and bent his head with a modest grace and a genial
smile that indicated a desire to be on good terms, if possible, with the
world at large.
Although almost equal as to physical strength, the inequality of the two
men in height rendered their experience in those rude warlike times very
dissimilar, for, whereas the sailor was often compelled to give proof of
his strength to tall unbelievers, the prince very seldom had occasion to
do so. Hence, partly, their difference in manner, the one being
somewhat pugnacious and the other conciliatory, while both were in
reality good-natured, peace-loving men.
No two men, however, could have been more unlike in outward aspect. The
prince was, if we may say so, built on the Gothic model--fair,
blue-eyed, bulky of limb, huge, muscular, massive, with a soft beard and
moustache--for he had not yet seen twenty-four summers--and hair that
fell like rippling gold on his shoulders. Captain Arkal, on the
contrary, was dark, with a thick reddish beard, luxuriant brown hair,
piercing black eyes, and limbs that were hardened as well as darkened by
thirty years of constant exposure to elemental and other warfare.
"I hope that I may be of some use to you," said the prince, "though I
profess not to know more of seamanship than I acquired during my voyage
hither, and as that voyage occurred six years ago, it may be that I have
lost the little I had learned. But if pirates should assail us, perhaps
I may do you some service."
"Little fear I have of that," returned the captain with an approving
nod. "Now, bid your comrades farewell and get on board, for the wind is
failing fast, and it behoves us to get well forward on our voyage before
night."
It was evident that the leave-taking which ensued was not merely formal,
for the youths from whom Bladud was parting had been his companions in
study for six years, as well as his competitors in all the manly games
of the period, and as he excelled them all in most things--especially in
athletics--some looked up to the young prince from Albion as a sort of
demi-god, while others to whom he had been helpful in many ways regarded
him with the warmest affection.
"Come here aside with me; I must have a few last words with you alone,"
said Bladud, taking young Dromas by the arm and leading him aside.
The prince's other friends made no objection to this evidence of
preference, for Dromas had shared the same apartment with him while in
Athens, and engaged in similar studies with Bladud for several years;
had travelled with him in the East, and sailed over the sea in his
company, even as far as Egypt, besides having been second to him in most
of the games practised by the young men. Indeed, at the high jump he
equalled, and at the short race had even excelled him.
"Dromas," said the prince impressively--"Come, now, my old friend and
comrade," interrupted the Greek youth lightly, "don't put on such a long
face. I foresee that you are about to give me a lecture, and I don't
want the tone of remonstrance to be the last that I shall hear. I know
that I'm a wild, good-for-nothing fellow, and can guess all you would
say to me. Let us rather talk of your speedy return to Hellas, for, to
tell you the truth, I feel as if the loss of you would leave me like a
poor man who has been crippled in the wars. I shall be a mere shadow
till you return."
There was a slight tremor in the voice, which showed that much of the
gaiety of the young man was forced.
"Nay, I have no mind to give you a lecture," returned Bladud, "I only
ask you to grant me two requests."
"Granted, before mentioned, for you have ever been a reasonable
creature, Bladud, and I trust you to retain your character on the
present occasion."
"Well, then, my first request is that you will often remember the many
talks that you and I have had about the gods, and the future life, and
the perplexing conditions in which we now live."
"Remember them," exclaimed Dromas with animation, "my difficulty would
be to forget them! The questions which you have propounded and
attempted to answer--for I do not admit that you have been quite
successful in the attempt--have started up and rung in my ears at all
kinds of unseasonable times. They haunt me often in my dreams--though,
to say truth, I dream but little, save when good fellowship has led me
to run supper into breakfast--they worry me during my studies, which,
you know, are frequent though not prolonged; they come between me and
the worthy rhapsodist when he is in the middle of the most interesting--
or least wearisome--passage of the poem, and they even intrude on me at
the games. The very last race I ran was lost, only by a few inches,
because our recent talk on the future of cats caused a touch of internal
laughter which checked my pace at the most critical moment. You may
rest assured that I cannot avoid granting your first request. What is
your second?"
"That you promise to visit me in my home in Albion. You know that it
will be impossible for me ever again to re-visit these shores, where I
have been so happy. My father, if he forgives my running away from him,
will expect me to help him in the management of his affairs. But you
have nothing particular to detain you here--"
"You forget--the old woman," interrupted Dromas gravely.
"What old woman?" asked Bladud in surprise.
"My mother!" returned his friend.
The prince looked a little confused and hastened to apologise. Dromas'
mother was one of those unfortunate people who existed in the olden time
as well as in modern days, though perhaps not so numerously. She was a
confirmed invalid, who rarely quitted her house, and was seldom seen by
any one save her most intimate friends, so that she was apt to be
forgotten--out of sight out of mind, then as now.
"Forgive me, Dromas--," began Bladud, but his friend interrupted him.
"I cannot forgive when I have nothing to forgive! Say no more about
that. But, now I come to consider of it, I grant your second request
conditionally. If my mother agrees to accompany me to Albion, you may
expect to see me some day or other--perhaps a year or two hence. You
see, since my father and brother were slain in the last fight with our
neighbours, I am the only one left to comfort her, so I cannot forsake
her."
"Then this will be our final parting," returned Bladud, sadly, "for your
mother will never consent to leave home."
"I don't know that," returned Dromas with a laugh. "The dear old soul
is intensely adventurous, like myself, and I do believe would venture on
a voyage to the Cassiterides, if the fancy were strong upon her. You
have no idea how powerfully I can work upon her feelings. I won't say
that I can make much impression on her intellect. Indeed, I have reason
to know that she does not believe in intellect except as an unavoidable
doorway leading into the feelings. The fact is, I tried her the other
day with the future of cats, and do you know, instead of treating that
subject with the gravity it merits, she laughed in my face and called me
names--not exactly bad names, such as the gods might object to--but
names that were not creditable to the intelligence of her first-born.
Now," continued Dromas with increasing gravity, "when I paint to her the
beauty of your native land; the splendour of your father's court; the
kindliness of your mother, and the exceeding beauty of your sister--fair
like yourself, blue-eyed, tall--you said she was tall, I think?"
"Yes--rather tall."
"Of course not _quite_ so tall as yourself, say six feet or so, with a
slight, feminine beard--no? you shake your head; well, smooth-faced and
rosy, immense breadth of shoulders--ah! I have often pictured to myself
that sister of yours--"
"Hilloa!" shouted Captain Arkal in a nautical tone that might almost
have been styled modern British in its character.
It was an opportune interruption, for Dromas had been running on with
his jesting remarks for the sole purpose of crushing down the feelings
that almost unmanned him.
With few but fervently uttered words the final farewells were at last
spoken. The oars were dipped; the vessel shot from the land, swept out
upon the blue waves of the Aegean, the sail was hoisted, and thus began
the long voyage to the almost unknown islands of the far North-West.
CHAPTER TWO.
TEMPORARY DELAY THROUGH ELEMENTS AND PIRATES.
But it is not our purpose to inflict the entire log of that voyage on
our reader, adventurous though the voyage was. Matter of much greater
importance claims our regard. Still it would be unjust to our voyagers
to pass it over in absolute silence.
At the very commencement of it, there occurred one of those incidents to
which all voyagers are more or less subject. A gale arose the very
evening of the day on which they left port, which all but swamped the
little vessel, and the violence of the wind was so great that their huge
sail was split from top to bottom. In spite of the darkness and the
confusion that ensued, Captain Arkal, by his prompt action and skilful
management, saved the vessel from immediate destruction. Fortunately
the gale did not last long, and, during the calm that followed, the rent
was repaired and the sail re-set.
Then occurred another incident that threatened to cut short the voyage
even more disastrously than by swamping.
The sea over which they steered swarmed with pirates at the time we
write of, as it continued to swarm during many centuries after.
Merchantmen, fully aware of the fact, were in those days also men of
war. They went forth on their voyages fully armed with sword, javelin,
and shield, as well as with the simple artillery of the period--bows and
arrows, slings and stones.
On the afternoon of the day that followed the gale, the vessel--which
her captain and owner had named the _Penelope_ in honour of his wife--
was running before a light breeze, along the coast of one of the islands
with which that sea is studded.
Bladud and some of the crew were listening at the time to an account
given by a small seaman named Maikar, of a recent adventure on the sea,
when a galley about as large as their own was seen to shoot suddenly
from the mouth of a cavern in the cliffs in which it had lain concealed.
It was double-banked and full of armed men, and was rowed in such a way
as to cut in advance of the _Penelope_. The vigour with which the oars
were plied, and the rapidity with which the sail was run up, left no
doubt as to the nature of the craft or the intentions of those who
manned it.
"The rascals!" growled Arkal with a dark frown, "I more than half
expected to find them here."
"Pirates, I suppose?" said Bladud.
"Ay--and not much chance of escaping them. Give another haul on the
sail-rope, mate, and pull, men, pull, if you would save your liberty--
for these brutes have no mercy."
The sail was tightened up a few inches, and the vessel was put more
directly before the wind. The way in which the slaves bent to the oars
showed that the poor fellows fully understood the situation.
For a few minutes Captain Arkal watched the result in stern silence.
Then, with an unwonted look and tone of bitterness, he said in a low
voice--
"No--I thought as much. She sails faster than we do. Now, friend
Bladud, you shall presently have a chance of proving whether your royal
blood is better than that of other men."
To this remark the prince made no other reply than by a good-natured
smile as he took up the bronze helmet which lay beside his sword on the
thwart and placed it on his head.
Captain Arkal regarded him with a sort of grim satisfaction as he
followed up the action by buckling on his sword.
The sword in question was noteworthy. It was a single-handed weapon of
iron, made in Egypt, to suit the size and strength of its owner, and was
large enough to have served as a two-handed sword for most men.
"You can throw a javelin, no doubt?" asked the captain, as he watched
the young man's leisurely preparations for the expected combat.
"Yes, I have practised throwing the spear a good deal--both in peace and
war."
"Good. I have got one here that will suit you. It belonged to my
grandfather, who was a stout man, and made powerful play with it during
a neighbouring tribe's raid--when I was a baby--to the discomfort, I
have been told, and surprise of his foes. I always keep it by me for
luck, and have myself used it on occasion, though I prefer a lighter one
for ordinary use. Here it is--a pretty weapon," he continued, drawing a
javelin of gigantic proportions from under the gunwale and handing it to
Bladud. "But we must proceed with caution in this matter. Take off
your helmet at present, and try to look frightened if you can."
"I fear me that will be difficult, captain."
"Not in the least. Look here, nothing is easier when you get used to
it."
As he spoke Arkal caused his stern visage to relax into a look of such
amiable sheepishness that Bladud could not repress a sudden laugh which
recalled and intensified the captain's fierce expression instantly.
"Learn to subdue yourself, young man," he muttered sternly. "If these
pirates hear laughter, do you think they can be made to believe we are
afraid of them?"
"Forgive me, captain; if you had seen your own face, you would have
joined in the laugh. I will be more careful. But how do you mean to
proceed, and what do you wish me to do?"
Captain Arkal, who was restored to good-humour by this compliment to his
power of expression, as well as by the modesty with which the prince
received his rebuke, explained his intentions--in low, earnest tones,
however, for they were by that time drawing near to the piratical craft.
Having got well ahead of the _Penelope_, it had backed its sail and lay
still, awaiting her coming up.
"Creep to the bow, Bladud, with your helmet off, and show as little of
your bulk as may be. Show only your head above the bulwarks, and look
as miserable as I did just now--more so if you can. Take your sword,
javelin, and shield with you. I need say no more to a man of war. Use
them when you see your opportunity."
Bladud received his orders in silence, and obeyed them with that
unquestioning and unhesitating promptitude which is one of the surest
evidences of fitness to command. Meanwhile the mate, who was accustomed
to his captain's habits, and needed no instructions, had caused the
sailors to lay their shields and swords out of sight at their feet, so
that they might approach the pirates in the character of simple traders
who were completely cowed by the appearance of the foe. To increase
this aspect of fear, the sail was lowered as they drew near, and the
oars were used to complete the distance that yet intervened between the
two vessels.
This humble and submissive approach did not, however, throw the pirates
quite off their guard. They stood to their arms and prepared to spring
on board their victim when close enough. As the pirate vessel lay
motionless on the water she presented her broadside to the trader. The
captain took care to steer so that this relative position should be
maintained. The pirate chief, a huge man in rude armour, with a
breast-plate of thick bull-hide and a shield of the same on his left
arm, gave orders to pull the oars on one side of his vessel so that the
two might be brought alongside.
They were about fifty yards apart at the moment. Before the order could
be carried into effect, however, Arkal uttered a low hiss. Instantly
the double banks of oars bent almost to the breaking point, and the
_Penelope_ leaped forward like a sentient creature. Each man seized
sword and shield and sprang up, and Bladud, forgetting both helmet and
shield in the hurry of the moment, poised the mighty javelin which had
so astonished its owner's enemies in days gone by, and in another moment
hurled it shrieking through the air. It flew straight as a thunderbolt
at the pirate chief; pierced through shield and breastplate, and came
out at his back, sending him headlong into the arms of his horrified
crew.
The whole incident was so sudden that the pirates had scarcely time to
recover from their surprise when the bow of the _Penelope_ crashed into
the side of their vessel and stove it in, for the trader, like some of
the war-vessels of the period, was provided with a ram for this very
purpose.
As the _Penelope_ recoiled from the shock, a yell of rage burst from the
pirates, and a volley of javelins and stones followed, but, owing to the
confusion resulting from the shock, these were ill-directed, and such of
them as found their mark were caught on the shields. Before another
discharge could be made, the pirate vessel heeled over and sank, leaving
her crew of miscreants struggling in the sea. Some of them--being,
strange to say, unable to swim--were drowned. Others were killed in the
water, while a few, taking their swords in their teeth, swam to the
trader and made desperate attempts to climb on board. Of course they
failed, and in a few minutes nothing remained of the pirate vessel to
tell of the tragedy that had been enacted, except an oar or two and a
few spars left floating on the sea.
"Would that all the sea-robbers in these parts could be as easily and
thoroughly disposed of," remarked the captain, as he gave orders to
re-hoist the sail. "Ho! Bladud, my worthy prince, come aft here. What
detains you?"
But Bladud did not answer to the call. A stone from the enemy had
fallen on his defenceless head and knocked him down insensible.
Four of the men now raised him up. As they did so, one of the men--the
small seaman, Maikar--was found underneath him in a state of
semi-consciousness. While they carried Bladud aft, the little sailor
began to gasp and sneeze.
"Not killed, I see," remarked the mate, looking into his face with some
anxiety.
"No, not quite," sighed Maikar, drawing a long breath, and raising
himself on one elbow, with a slightly dazed look, "but I never was so
nearly burst in all my life. If an ox had fallen on me he could not
have squeezed me flatter. Do, two of you, squeeze me the other way, to
open me out a little; there's no room in me left to breathe--scarcely
room to think."
"Oh! your battles are not yet over, I see," said the mate, going off to
the stern of the vessel, where he found Bladud just recovering
consciousness and smiling at the remarks of the captain, who busied
himself in stanching the wound, just over his frontal bone, from which
blood was flowing freely.
"H'm! this comes of sheer recklessness. I told you to take off your
helmet, but I did not tell you to keep it off. Man, you launched that
javelin well!--better than I could have done it myself. Indeed, I doubt
if my old grandfather could have done it with such telling effect--
straight through and through. I saw full a hand-breadth come out at the
villain's back. What say you, mate? Little Maikar wounded?"
"No, not wounded, but nearly burst, as he says himself; and no wonder,
for Bladud fell upon him."
"Didn't I tell you, mate," said the captain, looking up with a grin,
"that nothing will kill little Maikar? Go to, man, you pretend to be a
judge of men; yet you grumbled at me for engaging him as one of our
crew. Do you feel better now, prince?"
"Ay, greatly better, thank you," replied Bladud, putting his hand gently
on the bandages with which the captain had skilfully bound his head.
"That is well. I think, now, that food will do you service. What say
you?"
"Nay, with your leave, I prefer sleep," said the prince, stretching
himself out on the deck. "A little rest will suffice, for my head is
noted for its thickness, and my brain for its solidity--at least so my
good father was wont to say; and I've always had great respect for his
opinion."
"Ah, save when it ran counter to your own," suggested Arkal; "and
especially that time when you ran away from home and came out here in
the long ship of my trading friend."
"I have regretted that many a time since then, and I am now returning
home to offer submission."
"D'you think that he'll forgive you?"
"I am sure he will, for he is a kind man; and I know he loves me, though
he has never said so."
"I should like to know that father of yours. I like your description of
him--so stern of face, yet so kind of heart, and with such an
unchangeable will when he sees what is right. But what _is_ right, and
what is wrong?"
"Ay--what is--who can tell? Some people believe that the gods make
their will known to man through the Delphic Oracle."
"Boh!" exclaimed the captain with a look of supreme contempt.
The turn of thought silenced both speakers for a time; and when Captain
Arkal turned to resume the conversation, he found that his friend was
sound asleep.
CHAPTER THREE.
ON THE VOYAGE.
Weather has always been, and, we suppose, always will be, capricious.
Its uncertainty of character--in the Levant, as in the Atlantic, in days
of old as now, was always the same--smiling to-day; frowning to-morrow;
playful as a lamb one day; raging like a lion the next.
After the rough handling experienced by the _Penelope_ at the beginning
of her voyage, rude Boreas kindly retired, and spicy breezes from Africa
rippled the sea with just sufficient force to intensify its heavenly
blue, and fill out the great square-sail so that there was no occasion
to ply the oars. One dark, starlight but moonless night, a time of
quiet talk prevailed from stem to stern of the vessel as the grizzled
mariners spun long yarns of their prowess and experiences on the deep,
for the benefit of awe-stricken and youthful shipmates whose careers
were only commencing.
"You've heard, no doubt, of the great sea-serpent?" observed little
Maikar, who had speedily recovered from the flattening to which Bladud
had subjected him, and was busy enlivening a knot of young fellows in
the bow of the ship.
"Of course we have!" cried one; "father used to tell me about it when I
was but a small boy. He never saw it himself, though he had been to the
Tin Isles and Albion more than once; but he said he had met with men who
had spoken with shipmates who had heard of it from men who had seen it
only a few days before, and who described it exactly."
"Ah!" remarked another, "but I have met a man who had seen it himself on
his first voyage, when he was quite a youth; and he said it had a bull's
head and horns, with a dreadful long body all over scales, and something
like an ass's tail at the end."
"Pooh!--nonsense!" exclaimed little Maikar, twirling his thumbs, for
smoking had not been introduced into the world at that period--and
thumb-twirling would seem to have served the ancient world for leisurely
pastime quite as well, if not better--at least we are led to infer so
from the fact that Herodotus makes no mention of anything like a vague,
mysterious sensation of unsatisfied desire to fill the mouth with smoke
in those early ages, which he would certainly have done had the taste
for smoke been a natural craving, and thumb-twirling an unsatisfactory
occupation. This absolute silence of the "Father of History," we think,
almost proves our point. "Nonsense!" repeated little Maikar. "The
youth of the man who told you about the serpent accounts for his wild
description, for youth is prone to strange imaginings and--"
"It seems to me," interrupted a grave man, who twirled his thumbs in
that slow, deliberate way in which a contemplative man smokes--"it seems
to me that there's no more truth about the great sea-serpent than there
is about the golden fleece. I don't believe in either of them."
"Don't you? Well, all I can say is," returned the little man, gazing
fixedly in the grave comrade's face, "that I saw the great sea-serpent
with my own eyes!"
"No! did you?" exclaimed the group, drawing their heads closer together
with looks of expectancy.
"Ay, that did I, mates; but you mustn't expect wild descriptions about
monsters with bulls' horns and asses' tails from me. I like truth, and
the truth is, that the brute was so far away at the time we saw it, that
not a man of us could tell exactly what it was like, and when we tried
the description, we were all so different, that we gave it up; but we
were all agreed on this point, that it certainly _was_ the serpent."
The listeners seemed rather disappointed at this meagre account and
sudden conclusion of what had bidden fair to become a stirring tale of
the sea; but Maikar re-aroused their expectations by stating his firm
belief that it was all nonsense about there being only one sea-serpent.
"Why, how could there be only one?" he demanded, ceasing to twirl, in
order that he might clench his fist and smite his knee with emphasis.
"Haven't you got a grandfather?" he asked, turning suddenly to the grave
man.
"Certainly, I've got two of them if you come to that," he answered,
taken rather aback by the brusque and apparently irrelevant nature of
the question.
"Just so--two of them," repeated the little man, "and don't you think it
likely that the sea serpent must have had two grandfathers also?"
"Undoubtedly--and two grandmothers as well. Perhaps he's got them yet,"
replied the grave man with a contemplative look over the side, where the
rippling sea gleamed with phosphoric brilliancy.
"Exactly so," continued Maikar in an eager tone, "and of course these
also must have had two grandfathers besides a mother each, and it is
more than likely that the great sea-serpent himself is the father of a
large family."
"Which implies a wife," suggested one of the seamen.
"Not necessarily," objected an elderly seaman, who had once been to the
lands lying far to the north of Albion, and had acquired something of
that tendency to object to everything at all times which is said to
characterise the people of the far North. "Not necessarily," he
repeated, "for the serpent may be a bachelor with no family at all."
There was a short laugh at this, and an illogical man of the group made
some irrelevant observation which led the conversation into a totally
different channel, and relegated the great sea-serpent, for the time
being, to oblivion!
While the men were thus engaged philosophising in the bow, Bladud and
the captain were chatting in subdued voices in the stern.
"It is impossible," said the latter, in reply to a remark made by the
former, "it is impossible for me to visit your father's court this year,
though it would please me much to do so, but my cargo is intended for
the south-western Cassiterides. To get round to the river on the banks
of which your home stands would oblige me to run far towards the cold
regions, into waters which I have not yet visited--though I know them
pretty well by hearsay. On another voyage I may accomplish it, but not
on this one."
"I am sorry for that, Arkal, because things that are put off to another
time are often put off altogether. But the men of the Tin Isles often
visit my father's town in their boats with copper and tin, and there are
tracks through the forest which horses can traverse. Could you not
visit us overland? It would not be a journey of many weeks, and your
trusty mate might look after the ship in your absence. Besides, the
diggers may not have enough of the metal ready to fill your ship, so you
may be idle a long time. What say you?"
Captain Arkal frowned, as was his wont when considering a knotty
question, and shook his head.
"I doubt if I should be wise to venture so much," he said; "moreover, we
are not yet at the end of our voyage. It is of little use troubling
one's-self about the end of anything while we are only at the
beginning."
"Nevertheless," rejoined Bladud, "to consider the possible end while yet
at the beginning, seems not unreasonable, though, undoubtedly, we may
never reach the end. Many a fair ship sets sail and never returns."
"Ay, that is true, as I know to my cost," returned the captain, "for
this is not my first venture. A long time ago I loaded a ship about the
size of this one, and sent her under command of one of my best friends
to the Euxine sea for gold. I now think that that old story about Jason
and his ship _Argo_ sailing in search of the golden fleece was running
too strong in my youthful brain. Besides that, of course I had heard
the report that there is much gold in that direction, and my hopes were
strong, for you know all the world runs after gold. Anyhow, my ship
sailed and I never saw her or my friend again. Since then I have
contented myself with copper and tin."
A slight increase in the wind at that moment caused the captain to
dismiss his golden and other memories, and look inquiringly to windward.
"A squall, methinks?" said Bladud.
"No, only a puff," replied his friend, ordering the steersman to alter
the course a little.
The squall or puff was only strong enough to cause the _Penelope_ to
make a graceful bow to the controlling element and cleave the sparkling
water with her prow so swiftly that she left a gleaming wake as of
lambent fire astern. It was short-lived, however, and was followed by a
calm which obliged little Maikar and his comrades to cease their
story-telling and ply their fifty oars. Thus the pace was kept going,
though not quite so swiftly as if they were running before a stiff
breeze.
"The gods are propitious," said the captain; "we are going to have a
prosperous voyage."
"How many gods are propitious?" asked Bladud.
"That is a question much too deep for me to answer."
"But not too deep to think of--is it?"
"Of what use would be my thinking?" returned the captain, lightly. "I
leave such matters to the learned."
"Now, mate," he added, turning to his subordinate, "I'm going to rest a
while. See that you keep an open eye for squalls and pirates. Both are
apt to come down on you when you least expect them."
But neither squalls nor pirates were destined to interfere with the
_Penelope_ during the greater part of that voyage. Day after day the
skies were clear, the sea comparatively smooth, and the winds
favourable. Sometimes they put ashore, when the weather became stormy
and circumstances were favourable. On such occasions they lighted
camp-fires under the trees, the ruddy light of which glowed with a grand
effect on the picturesque sailors as they sat, stood, or reclined around
them.
At other times they were obliged to keep more in the open sea, and
occasionally met with traders like themselves returning home, with whom,
of course, they were glad to fraternise for a time and exchange views.
Once only did they meet with anything like a piratical vessel, but as
that happened to be late in the evening, they managed, by plying the
oars vigorously, and under the shade of night, to escape a second
encounter with those robbers of the sea.
Thus, in course of time, the length of the great inland sea was
traversed, the southern coast of what is now known as France was
reached, and the captain's prophecy with regard to a prosperous voyage
was thus far fulfilled.
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE STORM AND WRECK.
It was near daybreak on the morning of a night of unclouded splendour
when the mate of the _Penelope_ aroused his chief with the information
that appearances to windward betokened a change of some sort in the
weather.
"If there is a change at all it must be for the worse," said Arkal,
raising himself on one elbow, rubbing his eyes, yawning, and then
casting a glance over the side where the rippling foam told that the
wind was increasing. Raising his eyes to the windward horizon, he threw
aside the sheepskin blanket that covered him and rose up quickly.
"There is indeed a change coming. Rouse the men and reduce the sail,
mate. Bestir you! The squalls are sudden here."
The orders were obeyed with promptitude. In a few minutes the sail was
reduced to its smallest size, and all loose articles about the vessel
were made fast.
"You expect a gale, captain?" asked Bladud, who was aroused by the noise
of the preparations.
"Ay--or something like one. When a cloud like that rises up on the
horizon there is usually something more than a puff coming. You had
better keep well under the lee of the bulwarks when it strikes us."
Bladud's nautical experience had already taught him what to expect and
how to act in the circumstance that threatened. Standing close to the
side of the ship, he laid hold of a stanchion and looked out to
windward, as most of the crew were by that time doing. Captain Arkal
himself took the helm.
The increasing daylight showed them that the bank of cloud was spreading
quickly over the sky towards the zenith, while a soft hissing sound told
of the approaching wind. Soon the blackness on the sea intensified, and
white gleams as of flashing light showed where the waves were torn into
foam by the rushing wind.
With a warning to "hold on fast!" the captain turned the vessel's head
so as to meet the blast. So fierce was it that it cut off the crests of
the wavelets, blowing the sea almost flat for a time, and producing what
is known as a white squall. The sail was kept fluttering until the fury
of the onset was over, then the wind was allowed to fill it; the
_Penelope_ bent down until the sea began to bubble over the lee
bulwarks, and in a few moments more she was springing over the fast
rising waves like a nautical racehorse.
Every moment the gale increased, obliging the mariners to show but a
corner of the sail. Even this had at last to be taken in, and, during
the whole of that dismal day and of the black night which followed, the
_Penelope_ drove helplessly before the wind under a bare pole.
Fortunately the gale was favourable, so that they were enabled to lay
their course, but it required all the skill and seamanship of Captain
Arkal to prevent their being pooped and swamped by the waves that rolled
hissing after them as if hungering mightily to swallow them up.
To have the right man in the right place at such times of imminent
danger is all-important, not only to the safety of the craft, but to the
peace of mind of those whose lives are in jeopardy. All on board the
little vessel during that hurricane felt much comforted by the knowledge
that their captain was in the right place. Although a "square man," he
had by no means been fitted into a round hole! Knowing this, Prince
Bladud felt no anxiety as to the management of the craft, and gave
himself up to contemplate the grandeur of the storm, for the howling
blast, creaking spars, and bursts of rattling thunder, rendered
conversation out of the question.
During a slight lull, however, Bladud asked the question whether the
captain knew on what part of the coast they were running.
"Not exactly," he replied, "we have been running so long in darkness
that I can only guess. If it holds on much longer like this I shall
have to put her head to wind and wait for more light. It may be that we
have been driven too far to the left, and there are islands hereabouts
that we must keep well clear of. I would that we had put into some bay
for shelter before this befell us. Ho! mate."
"Ay, captain."
"See that you put our sharpest pair of eyes in the bow, and let a second
pair watch the first, lest the owner of them should go to sleep."
"Little Maikar is there, sir," shouted the mate, "and I am watching him
myself."
"We shall do well with Maikar in the bow, for he sees like a weasel, and
is trustworthy," muttered the captain as he glanced uneasily over the
stern, where the hungry waves were still hissing tumultuously after
them, as if rendered furious by the delayed meal.
At daybreak on the second day the gale moderated a little, and they were
enabled once more to show a corner of their sail, and to encourage the
hope that the worst was over. But a fresh outburst, of greater fury
than before, soon dashed these hopes, and obliged the captain to throw
overboard all the spare spars and some of the heaviest part of the
cargo. Still the gale increased, and the impatient waves began to lip
over the poop occasionally as if unable to refrain from tasting!
"More cargo must go," muttered the captain, with a gloomy frown. Being
resolute, he gave orders to that effect.
Presently the order was given to take soundings. When this was done it
was found that they were in twenty fathoms water. On taking another
cast, the depth reported was fifteen fathoms.
There were no charts covered with soundings to guide the mariner in
those days, but it did not require much experience to convince a seaman
that land was probably too near, with such a sudden change from twenty
to fifteen fathoms. Arkal was, however, not unprepared for it, and
quickly gave orders to stand by to let go the anchors. At that moment
the voice of little Maikar was heard shouting, in stentorian tones,
"Land ahead!"
The captain replied with a sharp "let go!" and four anchors were
promptly dropped from the stern. At the same moment he placed the helm
fair amidships, and made it fast with rudder-bands. As the stern of the
_Penelope_ was formed like the bow, a sharp cut-water was by this means
instantly presented to the sea, thus avoiding the necessity and danger
incurred by modern ships, in similar circumstances, of anchoring by the
head and swinging round.
The hungry waves hissed tumultuously on, but were cleft and passed under
the ship disappointed, for there was still enough of water beneath to
permit of her tossing to and fro and rising to them like a duck, as she
strained and tugged at the anchors.
Just as these operations had been performed, the mists of darkness
seemed to lift a little and revealed a wild rocky line of coast, against
which the waves were breaking madly.
"Now all hope is over; pray to your gods, men," said the mate, whose
courage was not quite equal to his position.
"There are no gods!" growled the captain bitterly, for he saw that he
was now a ruined man, even though he should escape with life.
"There is _one_ God," said Bladud quietly, "and He does all things
well."
As he spoke, the captain, whose eyes had not ceased to look searchingly
along the coast, observed something like a bay a short way to the left
of the place where they lay.
"It looks like a sandy bay," he said.
"It _is_ a sandy bay," exclaimed the anxious mate; "let us up anchors
and run into it."
"Have an easy mind and keep your advice till asked for," returned the
captain with a look of scorn. "If we are destined to escape, we _shall_
escape without making haste. If we are doomed to die, nothing can save
us, and it is more manly to die in a leisurely way than in a hurry.
When we can see clearly we shall know better how to act."
Although this manner of submitting to the inevitable did not quite suit
the mate, he felt constrained to repress his impatience, while the
coolness of the captain had a quieting effect on some of the men who
were inclined to give way to panic. The sight of Bladud--as he sat
there leaning on the hilt of his sword with an expression of what
appeared to be serene contentment--had also a quieting effect on the
men.
When the increasing light showed that the sandy bay was a spot that
might possibly be reached in safety, orders were given to cut the
cables, loose the rudder-bands and hoist the sail. For a few minutes
the vessel ran swiftly towards the bay, but before reaching the shore
she struck with violence. The fore part of the _Penelope_ stuck fast
immovably, and then, at last, the ravenous waves attained their
longed-for meal. They burst over the stern, swept the decks, tore up
the fastenings, revelled among the tackling and began tumultuously to
break up the ship.
"Launch the skiff," shouted the captain, hastening to lend a hand in the
operation.
The men were not slow to obey, and when it touched the water they
swarmed into it, so that, being overloaded, it upset and left its
occupants struggling in the water. A number of the men who could swim,
immediately jumped overboard and tried to right the skiff, but they
failed, and, in the effort to do so, broke the rope that held it. Some
clung to it. Others turned and swam for the shore.
A good many of the men, however, still remained in the wreck, which was
fast breaking up. To these the captain turned.
"Now, men," he said, "those of you who can swim would do well to take to
the water at once, for it is clear that we shall not have a plank left
to stand on soon. Come, mate, show them an example."
The man, though not very courageous, as his pale face betrayed, happened
to be a good swimmer, and at once leaped into the sea. He was followed
by all who could swim. Those who could not, were encouraged to make the
attempt with planks and oars to aid them. As for Bladud, he busied
himself like the captain in giving heart to the non-swimmers and showing
them how best to use their floats.
The last of the men to leave was little Maikar.
He stood at the bow with his arms crossed on his chest and a look of
melancholy interest on his countenance.
"What! not gone yet?" exclaimed the captain, turning to him.
"I cannot swim," said the man.
"But neither can these," returned the captain, pointing to the men who
had left last.
"My father used to say," rejoined Maikar, as if murmuring to himself,
"that I was born to be drowned, and I'm inclined to think he was right."
"Surely you are not afraid," said Arkal.
"Afraid!" exclaimed Maikar, with a sarcastic laugh. "No, captain, but
I'm sorry to part with you, because you've been a good captain to me."
"An' I bear no ill-will to you, Bladud, though you _did_ squeeze most of
the life out of me once. Farewell, both."
As he spoke the little man seized an oar, leaped overboard, and, after
some trouble in steadying himself and pointing the oar in the right
direction, struck out for the shore.
It was a long way off, and often, while this scene was being enacted,
was heard the bubbling cry of men whose powers were failing them. Some
were carried by currents against a point to the westward and,
apparently, dashed against the rocks. Others sank before half the
distance had been traversed.
Bladud and the captain looked at each other when Maikar had left them.
"Can you swim?" asked the captain. "Like a duck," returned the prince,
"and I can help you if required."
"I swim like a fish," returned the captain, "but it is hard to part from
my _Penelope_! She has never failed me till now, and as this venture
contains all my goods, I am a ruined man."
"But your life still remains," said the prince. "Be of good cheer,
captain. A stout man can make his fortune more than once. Come, let us
go."
A loud cry from Maikar at that moment hastened their deliberations.
"Are you going to cumber yourself with your weapons?" asked Arkal, as
they were about to spring from the side, observing that his friend took
up his sword and shield.
"Ay--that am I. It is not a small matter that will part my good sword
and me."
Both men sprang overboard at the same moment, and made for the spot
where little Maikar was still giving vent to bubbling yells and
struggling with his oar.
Bladud was soon alongside of him, and, seizing his hair, raised him out
of the water.
"Got the cramp," he shouted.
"Keep still, then, and do what I tell ye," said the prince, in a tone of
stern command.