THE young and energetic Mackeller completed his purchase of the steamer
_Rajah_ in something less than three hours, instead of taking the two
days which Lord Stranleigh had allowed him. It is very easy to buy
a ship in Southampton if you happen to have the money about you. An
excellent express on the South Western line whisked him up to London
again, and he spent the afternoon in securing what he needed for the
long voyage that was ahead of him, dispatching his purchases, as his
lordship had directed, to the care of the yacht at Plymouth. As his
acquaintance with Lord Stranleigh progressed, his first impression of
the lord of Wychwood became considerably modified. In spite of the
young nobleman’s airy, nonchalant manner in speaking of what the young
engineer regarded as serious subjects, Mackeller began slowly to realize
that there was thought and method behind all this persiflage which he
so much disliked, and he began to doubt his theory that Stranleigh’s
successful encounter with the syndicate had been merely a fluke, as, at
first, he had supposed. The plan his lordship so sketchily outlined, of
regaining his own property on the high seas, struck the practical mind
of Mackeller as probably feasible, but although all the legality would
be on his lordship’s side; although his opponents were engaged in
a gigantic scheme of barefaced robbery, nevertheless, Mackeller had
knocked about at the ends of the earth too much to be ignorant of the
fact that in certain quarters of the globe lawfulness of action was
but a minor point in the game. Indeed, the law-abiding citizen was at
a distinct disadvantage unless he held superior force at his command to
compel rather than to persuade. There is little use in arguing with a
man who holds a loaded revolver, so on one point Lord Stranleigh failed
to convince his subordinate. Mackeller thought it folly to proceed to
West Africa with a small body of men, and no more persuasive ammunition
than champagne and cigarettes. Therefore, in purchasing his own
equipment Mackeller took the precaution of buying a dozen of the latest
repeating rifles, with many thousand cartridges to fit the same, and
this battery he ordered forwarded to the yacht to supplement whatever
sporting guns Lord Stranleigh provided for the gamekeepers and foresters
whom he took with him. Mackeller believed that these would be stanch,
stubborn, capable young men, and although few in number, they might, if
well armed, put the rabble of a hundred and fifty to flight, should a
contest arise.
The dark man who kicked Mackeller downstairs into the hold, and who
afterwards interviewed him alone by lantern light, had impressed
Mackeller as being a capable leader of men, and he would probably drill
his following into some sort of shape during the long voyage to the
south. That the captain, officers, and crew, or any of the hundred
and fifty knew the piratical nature of the expedition, Mackeller very
strongly doubted, but the prompt manner in which the leader, with his
energetic foot, broke the law, and very nearly broke Mackeller’s neck,
convinced the engineer that the dark man was well aware of the criminal
nature of his proceeding, and undoubtedly, when once the force was
landed, he would be very much on the alert, expecting that as soon as
the flight of the steamer became known, instant arrangements would
be made for pursuit. He would doubtless send out scouts, and endeavor
roughly to understand the lay of the land on which he found himself.
It was morally certain, thought Mackeller, that one or other of those
scouts would ultimately come upon the yacht, no matter how securely
they hid her, and so soon as her presence came to the knowledge of the
strenuous leader of the filibusters, an attack on the yacht was certain,
and her capture or destruction most probable, unless they could escape
quickly to the open sea. So, as Mackeller knew there were no gun shops
along the Paramakaboo River, he took precaution to make provision
beforehand without saying anything to his peace-loving master. A man
whose daily walk is Piccadilly is scarcely in a position to predict what
may happen on the Paramakaboo.
At 9.50 that night Mackeller was in occupation of his most comfortable
little room in the sleeping car of the Penzance express, and an
excellent night’s rest followed his busy day. Seven o’clock next morning
found him at breakfast in Redruth, and so resolutely did he go about his
business that in two days he formed complete the organization which was
to operate the old copper mine. Then he took train for Plymouth, and
was rowed out in the evening to the white yacht at anchor in the
harbor, resting beautiful as a swan on the placid waters. Mackeller was
astonished to find her so great a boat. She was almost as large as the
_Rajah_, but of much more dainty shape, her fine lines giving promise of
great speed. Thin cables, extending from slanting mast to slanting mast,
he recognized as the outside paraphernalia for wireless telegraphy, and
although he saw from this that Lord Stranleigh treated himself to the
latest scientific inventions, he was quite unprepared for the quiet
luxury that everywhere met his eye once he was aboard of the yacht.
He found Lord Stranleigh aft, seated in a cane chair, his feet resting
on another. He had been reading the latest evening paper brought aboard,
and he laid this on his knee as he looked lazily up at his mining
engineer.
“Finished with copper, Mackeller?” he asked. “Yes, my lord.”
“I did not expect you before to-morrow night. I imagine, you gave your
disconcerting energy full play down in Cornwall.”
“I have been reasonably busy, my lord.”
“Would you mind pressing that electrical button? It is just out of my
reach.”
Mackeller did so, and a cabin boy immediately put in an appearance.
“Go forward, and ask Captain Wilkie if he will be good enough to allow
me a word with him.” Captain Wilkie proved to be a grizzled old sea-dog
of unmistakably Scotch extraction. He rolled aft, and saluted his owner.
“Everything ready, captain?”
“Everything ready, sir.”
“Very well; up anchor and away.”
The captain went forward and mounted the bridge.
“Draw up your chair, Peter, and let me have your verbal report, and as
you drop into the chair, drop also that appellation ‘my lord.’ If you
want to be extra respectful at any time, say ‘sir’ as the captain does,
and I’ll do the same by you, if you require it.”
Mackeller gave him a full account of his occupation during the last
three days, but whether Stranleigh was asleep or not throughout the
recital, he could not be sure. At any rate he did not interrupt, but
lay back in his chair with closed eyes. Then, without opening them, he
remarked:
“You have done very well, Mackeller, and as a reward I will give you the
choice of a spot in the Bay of Biscay or the Atlantic Ocean where you
may wish your case of rifles and ammunition heaved overboard.”
“Oh, have you been examining my dunnage, sir?” asked Mackeller.
“Dear me, no,” replied Stranleigh languidly. “Your fool of a gunsmith
did not understand your instructions, and not knowing where to find you,
and supposing you were acting for me, he telegraphed asking which of two
rifles named should be sent. Learning that twelve had been ordered, I
thought of telegraphing in the old phrase, ‘Six of one and half a dozen
of the other,’ but I finally took on a score altogether, ten of each
kind with ammunition to match.”
“Why purchase more guns than I did, if you’re going to drop them in the
Bay of Biscay.”
“Oh, they’ll make the bigger plump when they go down.”
“What harm will they do aboard, sir? If we don’t need them, we won’t
use them. If we do need them, then you’ll be sorry they’re in the Bay of
Biscay.”
“So you’re going to choose the Bay of Biscay, are you? I thought perhaps
you might toss them over farther along than that. I hope you understand,
Mackeller, I am on a mission of peace, and if, for any reason, the
yacht should be searched, your rifles and ammunition would be rather a
giveaway, wouldn’t they?”
“I don’t see that. You’ve got more than a score of men aboard here, and
the repeaters can be used for sporting purposes.”
“All right, Mackeller, don’t be alarmed. The boxes are stowed safely
away in the forrard hold, and we’ll not drop them overboard anywhere.
After all, you know the locality for which we are bound better than I
do, and so your rifles and ammunition may prove friends in need. I see
the boy hovering about in the offing, and I am sure he wishes to conduct
you to your cabin. By the time you’ve washed the railway dust from your
sylphlike form, the dinner gong will be filling the air with a welcome
melody. I’ve got my own favorite chef with me, and I understand we
shall not need to live on porridge and tinned milk. And, by the way,
Mackeller, did you happen to pack such wearing apparel as dinner togs in
your dunnage, as you call it?”
“Dinner togs?” echoed Mackeller, aghast. “Why, hang it all, I’m a mining
engineer. I haven’t even a starched shirt with me, let alone a dress
suit. I didn’t know I was coming to an evening party?”
“No, you paid attention to the trivialities of life, such as rifles and
ammunition, and quite neglected the more important affair of costume.”
“I’ll eat forward with the men,” said Mackeller gruffly.
“Oh, there’s no need for that. As you tried to bolt through the door
from my breakfast room the other day, when Ponderby was on guard, I saw
him measure your proportions critically with his eye, in case it should
be necessary for him to use that force which I deplore, so I told
Ponderby to make a guess at what would fit you, and to go to the extent
of three evening suits of varying sizes made to order. You will find
them all laid out in your room, and the able Ponderby will give you
critical advice regarding which fits you best.”
“Well, sir, if you expect me to look pretty every night----”
“Oh, no,” interrupted his lordship, “I never expect the impossible,
but, you see, Captain Wilkie is rather a stickler on etiquette. He will
occupy one end of the table, brave in a uniform of gold lace made by the
premier naval tailor of London, so we must play up to him, my boy,
and do the best we can. Then there will be our chief engineer, also in
uniform, and the wireless telegraphy operator, who is rather a la-de-da
young man, and lastly there’s the doctor, an Oxford graduate, and so
we must do honor to the university. You and I are in the minority, and
we’ll just need to make the best of it.”
Mackeller departed dejectedly to his room, which he found so spacious
and so luxuriously fitted up that he stood on its threshold for a few
moments, dumfounded, regarding it with dismay. He emerged when the gong
rang, and entered the long broad saloon which extended from side to
side of the ship. Lord Stranleigh occupied the head of the table, and he
introduced Mackeller to Dr. Holden, and to Mr. Spencer, electrician and
telegrapher. Neither the captain nor the engineer put in an appearance
during dinner, the one waiting to see his ship in more open waters,
and the other standing by to watch the behavior of the machinery at the
beginning of a long run.
“You have a fine boat here, Stranleigh,” said the doctor.
“It isn’t half bad,” admitted his lordship. “Still, there’s always a
fly in the ointment. I call her _The Woman in White_, after the title
of Wilkie Collins’s famous novel. You know the book, Mac-keller, I
suppose?”
“I never heard of it. I don’t read novels.”
“Oh, well, we must convert you before the voyage is ended. You’ll find
plenty of fiction on board this boat. There’s a copy of “The Woman in
White” in every room, large and small, each copy in a style of binding
that suits the decoration of the room, so I beg of you, Mackeller,
to begin reading the story in your own apartment, and if, getting
interested in it, you wish to continue in the saloon, or on deck, I hope
you will take the saloon or deck copy, so that the color of the binding
will not clash with your surroundings. I ought really to have the copies
chained in their places, as was the case with the ancient books in our
churches, for it is a terribly distressing sight to see a man reading a
mauve book in a white-and-gold saloon, or a scarlet copy up on deck.”
“Yes, I should think that would be appalling,” sneered Mackeller.
“Now, don’t be sarcastic, Peter, and thus lacerate my tenderest artistic
tastes. You may come to know, some day, when you are starving in a
wilderness on the West Coast, that these are really the serious things
of life.”
“I dare say,” replied Peter gruffly.
“Then the fly in the ointment,” said the doctor, “is the fact that your
passengers persist in taking away the volumes from the rooms where they
belong?”
“Oh, no; a man who calls his yacht _Woman in White_, should have a
captain named Wilkie Collins. I searched England and Scotland for one
of that name, and couldn’t find him, so I was compelled to compromise, a
thing I always dislike doing. My captain’s name is Wilkie, and my chief
engineer’s name is Collins, and thus I divide the burden of congruity
upon the shoulders of two different men, whereas one would have sufficed
if his parents had only exhibited some common sense at his christening.
I’d pay any salary in reason for a captain named Wilkie Collins.”
“I think I’ll write a book myself, some day,” said the doctor, “and call
it ‘The Grievous Worries of a Millionaire.’ Would you object if I took
you as my model for my Croesus?”
“On the contrary, I should be flattered, and as you progress with the
work I may be able to supply you with incidents to weave into your
narrative.”
Mackeller sat silent while this frivolous conversation went on, and this
silence he maintained during the greater part of the voyage. Mackeller’s
mind was troubled. He was a serious young man, whose opinions were
strongly grounded on common sense, and there were many elements in the
situation that gave him just cause for anxiety. When it came down to
finalities, he possessed a strong belief in the efficiency of force.
So far as his knowledge went, the Lord was always on the side of the
biggest battalion. He represented the American confidence in the big
stick, the British faith in keeping your powder dry, the German reliance
on the mailed fist.
And now here he was treading the deck of a confection in naval
construction; a dainty flower of marine architecture, which slipped
through the water as gracefully as if she were a living white swan. Her
well-molded, snowy sides were of the finest quality of pressed steel,
almost paper thin, and he was convinced that even a single shot from
a small cannon would send her shivering to the bottom, shattering her
metal covering as a pane of glass is shattered by a well-thrown
stone, and for this delusion he was scarcely to be blamed, because his
education had been concentrated on mining engineering, and the mechanism
of air-tight and water-tight compartments did not form part of his
curriculum. He knew that on the open sea _The Woman in White_ could not
be overtaken by any craft afloat except one or other of the most recent
torpedo-boat destroyers, which were not likely to be encountered along
the west coast of Africa, but he knew the locality to which _The Woman
in White_ was bound, and he pictured her from twelve to twenty-four
miles away from the coast, where, if discovered, she would need to make
her way down a narrow river, flanked on each side, after she left the
shelter of the hills, by a flat country. In this position it would be
impossible, owing to windings of the stream, to take advantage of her
full speed, and being under the misapprehension that a single well-aimed
shot would disable, if not sink, her, he pictured the beautiful yacht
and her crew helplessly trapped somewhere between the hills and the
lagoon, at the mercy of well-armed, desperate men, in a region where
no law, save that of might, ran: men who would not feel the slightest
scruple in removing from the earth, all trace of the vessel and those
aboard of her.
If Mackeller had been told that the little craft might have been riddled
like a sieve, and still keep afloat, and that so long as a stray shot
did not destroy her motive power, she could, within a few minutes, get
out of range of any land force, so long as there was a sufficient
depth of water in the river, he would not have believed it. He strongly
suspected that the _Rajah_ was well provided not only with cannon and
ammunition, but also with floating mines to seal up the river, rendering
exit impossible. Into this fatal _impasse_ Lord Stranleigh, with a
levity that saddened Mackeller, was running his unprotected cruiser,
armed only with luxury. Officers and crew would be of little use in a
fight, and the extra men, whatever might be the shooting qualities of
the gamekeepers and foresters whom Stranleigh had requisitioned from
his estates, were quite undisciplined, and although most of them were
doubtless expert enough with a shotgun, their efficiency with magazined
arms of precision such as he had sent on board, was more than doubtful.
Once or twice during the early portion of the voyage, Mackeller had
endeavored to imbue Lord Stranleigh with some of his own apprehension,
but the young nobleman was usually in company with the doctor, or with
the telegrapher, or one or other of the officers, and he invariably
turned aside Mackeller’s attempts with a joke, refusing to discuss
anything seriously. By the time they had arrived at that portion of
the waters where they should have passed the _Rajah_, according to
Mackeller’s calculation, they were sailing through an empty sea. Day
after day Mackeller, from the front of the vessel, swept the bald
horizon with the most powerful of binoculars, but he saw nothing of the
tramp steamer. The voyage had been monotonous with its good weather.
Nothing had happened, either in the way of a breakdown of machinery, or
the encountering of even a moderate storm.
Lord Stranleigh recognized his anxious search with an amused smile, but
said nothing. At last Mackeller gave up scrutiny of sea and sky. It was
no longer possible that the _Rajah_ could have covered the distance _The
Woman in White_ had already traversed. Still, his earnest meditations
had at last evolved a plan, and the adoption of that plan he must now
urge upon his chief, so seeing that Stranleigh, for once, was alone,
he strode aft to the spot where the head of the expedition lolled in a
reclining cane chair, with his slippered feet extended on the adjustable
rest. Like the woman for whom his ship was named, he was clad entirely
in white, for the weather was warm, although the yacht slipped so
speedily through the oily water that a comforting breeze greeted every
one on deck. The young man placed the book he had been reading face
downward on the little table at his elbow, and looked up at the on-comer
with an expression of amusement on his face.
“Well, Mackeller,” he cried, “have you found her?”
“Found whom, sir?”
“Why, the _Rajah_, of course.”
“How did you know I was looking for her?”
“You’ve been looking for something these few days past, so I took the
liberty of surmising it was the _Rajah_.”
“You are quite right.’”
“I always am, Mackeller. Haven’t you discovered that yet? Always be
right and then you’ll be happy, although you’ll also be extremely
disliked by everybody else. Still, I never aimed at popularity,
not wishing to write a book, or stand for Parliament, so a lack of
popularity does not matter.”
“I never pretend to be always right, sir.”
“Well, that’s a good thing. I dislike pretense myself; nevertheless, it
is so easy to be right that I sometimes wonder you don’t practice the
art. All that is necessary is knowledge and brains.”
“I do not lack knowledge in my own line of business, and no one ever
hinted before that I was lacking in brain power.”
“I do not hint that at all, Mackeller. I bear willing testimony to your
brain power, but I sometimes think you don’t exercise it enough. For
instance, you think things out in somber silence, when sometimes a
question might throw a good deal of light on your problem. Take my own
actions, for instance. Do you suppose I wish the whereabouts of my yacht
reported in the marine columns of the English newspapers day by day,
thus running the risk that certain people will begin to wonder what I am
doing so far south?”
“Of course not.”
“Very well. Why have we met none of the South African liners, or
overtaken any of the tramps threshing their way to Cape Town?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Oh, yes, you do, if you’ll only think. The reason is this: that having
ample time at my command, the course of my yacht was deflected from
south to southwest when we reached north latitude 40. We spun along
merrily in that direction till daylight did appear, and then resumed our
progress south. We passed outside of the islands, and out of the track
of any steamer that might report us. Now turn your brain power upon that
amiable gentleman who kicked you downstairs. He must at least strongly
suspect that he’s engaged on an illegal expedition. Would he deflect, do
you think, and waste valuable time on the face of the ocean?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Of course you don’t. He’d make for your what-do-you-call-it river on
a bee-line. The course we have taken puts us two hundred miles, more or
less, from his path, and as they tell me you cannot see more than thirty
miles on the water, you may now conjecture how fruitless has been your
scanning of the ocean. I had no desire to see the _Rajah_, but in any
case I did not wish the _Rajah_ to see me. We will steam as we are
going until we are directly opposite your gold mine; then round at
right angles and straight eastward is our course. You should do as I do,
Mackeller, and read that incomparable sea writer, W. Clark Russell, then
you’d begin to understand what you are about. He’d put you up to all
the tricks of the trade. It’s one of his books I’m perusing now,
which accounts for my trickiness at sea. Have you ever read any of his
novels?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Very well, then, begin with the ‘Wreck of the Grosvenor.’ We’ve got
all his works on board, and pretty soon you’ll know what to do with a
mutiny, how to conduct yourself when marooned, the proper etiquette to
adopt if tackled by a cyclone, what to say when you and a nice girl are
left alone on a wreck. Of course I admit that W. W. Jacobs is excellent,
and that he puts forth most admirable text-books on navigation, but he
is only good below-bridge, as you might put it; for rivers and other
inland waters, and perhaps a bit of the coast. When you take to deep-sea
navigation you must study Clark Russell, my boy. Take the advice of a
tarry old salt like myself, and study Clark Russell. Do not be deluded
by my white apparel; I am tar to the finger ends, and full of salt junk,
because I’m three quarter way through his latest book.”
“I suppose it would be useless for me to say, sir, that I believe you
are running into a trap?”
“Oh, quite. Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof. You refer, of
course, to our being bottled up in that unpronounceable river, and
ordinarily I should give some attention to the matter, but I cannot now,
as I am in the middle of the most exciting chapter in this most
exciting book. Once we are inside the trap, Mackeller, we’ll study its
construction, and find a way out. There seems to me little practical
use in studying an imaginary trap which may not be there when we arrive.
That leads to disappointment. Let us first get into the trap if we can;
then if there’s no way out, we will console ourselves by the knowledge
that there are plenty of provisions and books to read on board. If the
worst comes to the worst, we will get our wireless telegraphy at
work until we pick up a liner similarly equipped, and thus get into
communication with Clark Russell, relate our position, and ask him what
to do. I’ll bet you a fiver he’ll send a solution of the problem.”
Mackeller compressed his lips, and turned on his heel without a word.
“Oh, very well,” laughed Stranleigh, “have it your own way. Try Jacobs
if you like, but I bank on Russell,” and with that parting remark his
lordship resumed his reading.
Mackeller grimly resolved to make no further attempt to instill
common sense into an empty head, neither did he take to the reading of
freshwater or salt-water authors. He devoted what time remained to
him in poring over certain scientific works he had discovered in the
library.
One night he woke up suddenly. The boat was strangely still. Light as
had been the unceasing purr of the turbines, its cessation had instantly
aroused him. He made his way to the deck. The steamer swayed gently in
the heave of the sea. From the east came the low murmur of breakers on
the shore, sounding like a distant waterfall. The dim outline of dark
hills against a less dark sky could be distinguished, and that was all.
Mackeller paced the deck until daylight, when the steamer got under
weigh again, and cautiously approached the shore. One of the ship’s
boats was swung into the water, and under Mackeller’s guidance sounded
with a lead the depths of the channel, the yacht crawling after them,
until at last it entered the river. By nine o’clock it was moored
alongside the gold fields. A few minutes later Lord Stranleigh appeared
on deck, well-groomed, clear-eyed, and fresh as a youth whose night’s
rest has been undisturbed. He expressed no surprise on seeing the
position of his steamer, but merely remarked to his captain:
“That was rather a good shot, old man, considering the size of the
target and the distance. When did you sight the coast?”
“At four bells, sir.”
“Did you need to cruise up and down to find the spot?”
“No, sir.”
“Look at that, now, and yet Maekeller thinks we’re going to be trapped.”
After breakfast Lord Stranleigh gave orders that the steamer should
proceed upstream to the head of navigation, wherever that was, so they
cast off, and began to explore. They discovered that the stream
they were navigating was merely a branch, and not the main river, as
Mackeller had supposed. About a mile above the mines the land began to
rise, and both banks were clothed with splendid forests. Arriving at the
head of the delta they found that the river itself proceeded due north,
while a branch similar to that which passed the gold fields struck
off through the forest to the southwest. The southwest branch was the
smallest of the three streams, so they did not trouble with it, but went
down the main river until they reached a defile with hills to the west
of them facing the continuous range to the east.
“This will be our camping spot, I imagine,” said Stranleigh. “We will
return to it, but first I wish to investigate the channel at the mouth
of the river.”
They discovered, to Mackeller’s surprise, that the stream flowed so far
to the north that when at last it turned west the steamer could reach
the ocean without any possibility of being seen from the gold region.
Stranleigh laughed when this fact was made plain, and smote Mackeller on
the shoulders.
“Where’s your trap now, my boy?” he cried. “You would have saved
yourself some worry if you had known that the lay of the land was like
this.”
“Nevertheless,” said Mackeller, “if they discover this channel, they may
fill it with floating mines:”
“So they may the mouth of the Thames, but they won’t. An engineer should
stick to probabilities, Peter. Now we will return, and seek our secluded
glen, mooring against the eastern bank, so that if we are discovered
by our opponents, as the song says, they will have one more river to
cross.”
They reached the ravine in the evening, and Lord Stranleigh complained
of a hard day’s work virtuously accomplished, with the prospective
dinner well earned, although his exertions had consisted mainly of
sitting in an armchair at the prow, with his feet on the rail.
Next morning he crossed the river with Mackeller and a party of
foresters, some of whom carried axes, one a huge telescope with its
stand, and another a small tent. At the top the foresters cleared away
intervening underbrush so that a view might be had of the distant gold
fields. The telescope stand was placed upon the rock, and the tent
erected over it. Stranleigh, adjusting the focus, gazed at the gold
fields, then rubbed his hands with satisfaction.
“Why,” he said, “we can see their inmost thoughts with this.”
When they descended, Stranleigh sent another party to the top, one laden
with wireless telegraphy apparatus, which the operator was requested to
get into working order.
“If successful it will save us a telephone wire,” said his lordship.
The rest were laden with provisions.
“Mackeller,” he said, “I appoint you to the outlook, and your companion
will be our second telegraph operator. One never knows what may happen
in this locality, so if our steamer is compelled to cut and run, you
people up on top, with everything so well concealed, can lie low, yet
keep in touch with us so long as we are within the four-mile radius, or
whatever is the limit of the wireless. I noticed a little spring about
halfway up in the forest, and that will supply you with drink nearer
than the river, and I counsel you it is better for you than champagne,
although I have sent up a ease of that. And now, to show you how
economical I am, and thus make an appeal to your Scottish heart, I am
going to send my woodmen into the forest alongside, and while here we
will burn nothing but hard wood, and save coal. Indeed, I have consulted
with my chief engineer, and with his consent I am going to fill our
bunkers with the most combustible timber I can find. I take no further
interest in your mountain top until the _Rajah_ is sighted, but while
the woodmen, with their axes and saws, are filling the bunkers, I shall
attend to the larder with fishing tackle and gun, and here’s where my
gamekeepers will earn their wages.”
Game proved to be plentiful, and many wondrous fishes were captured.
“Oh!” cried Stranleigh, one night after an exceptionally good fish and
game dinner. “Piccadilly is a fool of a place to this. If the postal
arrangements were only a little better, we would be all right. I must
send a letter to the _Times_ about the negligence of our Government, and
score the postmaster-general, as all right-minded correspondents do. I
have almost forgotten what a postman looks like, but I expect when we
get our wireless at work we’ll be able to give Signor Marconi some hints
when we return.”
The _Rajah_ was three days late, according to Mackeller’s calculations,
but one morning Mac-keller recognized her slowly stemming the current
of the Paramakaboo River, and at once the information was telegraphed to
Stranleigh, who did not receive the message, as he was out shooting. The
young man had taken his lunch with him, so the operator on the steamer
informed those up aloft, and no one knew when he would be back.
Mackeller, his eye glued to the telescope, watched the landing of the
army that the Rajah carried, and saw the two steam cranes, one fore
and one aft, begin at once to swing ashore the cargo from the hold. He
momentarily expected the arrival of his chief, but the dinner hour
came, bringing no visitor to the hilltop. Mackeller and the operator
descended, and there, to his amazement, on the after-deck he saw
Stranleigh seated, calmly reading a novel, and awaiting the sound of the
gong.
“Didn’t you get our message?” demanded Mackeller.
“Oh, yes, a couple of hours ago. The _Rajah_ has come in, you say?
That’s very interesting. You’ll be glad to know, Mackeller, that I have
had a most successful day’s shooting.”
“Yes, that, as you remark, is very interesting,” replied Mackeller
dryly. “I thought, if you got my message in time, you would have come up
to the outlook.”
“I am sorry to have disappointed you, Peter, but when I place an
excellent man on the spot I never interfere with him. I should be quite
superfluous on the hilltop, and it’s so much more comfortable down
here.”
“You might have been surprised to know how many men they landed from the
_Rajah_. Enough, I estimate, to clean us up in short order if they find
us.”
“Well, let us hope they won’t find us, Peter.”
“They’ve got a number of tents erected already, and they began blasting
operations at one o’clock.”
“They are not losing any time, are they?”
“No, they are not. I see they have arranged electric searchlights on
the two masts, apparently to cover the field of operations, so I suppose
they will be working day and night shifts.”
“I do love an energetic body of men,” said his lordship with admiration.
“If there was a funicular to the top of your hill, I’d take up an
armchair merely for the pleasure of sitting and watching them. Ah,
there’s the dinner gong, thank goodness. Peter, I shot some birds to-day
that I think you’ll enjoy.”
“Thank you, but all I wish is a sandwich. I’m going back to the outlook.
We haven’t broken into the boxes of provisions yet. I must learn if
these people are actually going to work all night.”
“Take my advice, Peter, and don’t. Enjoy a good rest in your comfortable
bed. Those who sleep well live long.”
“I am going back,” said Peter.
“Ah, I see what you’re trying to do. You’ll force me to give you both
a day and a night salary, or perhaps you are yearning to imitate the
energy of those johnnies on the gold rock. Now do be persuaded, for my
sake, to consume a good dinner when it is all ready for you. Place the
sandwiches in your pocket, if you like, to munch during the watches
of the night, if you will persist in climbing that distressingly steep
hill.”
Mackeller shook his head.
“I implore you to be persuaded, Peter, because if you will not succumb
to gentle measures, I shall command you, and then if you refuse, I’ll
put you in irons. I’m not going to tramp all day over Africa on your
behalf, and then have my bag ignored when I return. One concession I
will make: don’t trouble to-night about your evening clothes. Be not
abashed by the splendor of your table companions, but devote your
attention to the dinner, which I hope you will pronounce good, and I
will order the steward to make you up a parcel of delicious sandwiches.”
So Mackeller, being a hired minion, was forced to comply. At the head
of the table that evening, Lord Stranleigh held forth eloquently on the
wickedness of work.
“I don’t agree with my friend, President Roosevelt,” he said, “regarding
the strenuous life. The President quite overlooks the fact that work
was placed upon this earth as a curse, and now many unthinking people
pretend to look upon it as a blessing. Roosevelt reminds me something of
Mackeller here, except that he is more genial, and possesses a greater
sense of humor. Mackeller, actuated by the promptings of duty, and
assisted by porridge-fed muscle, is actually going to climb that steeple
of a hill tonight, while we will be playing bridge. This will give him
a feeling of superiority over us which to-morrow he will be unable to
conceal. I always sympathize with those people who eliminated Aristides
called the Just.”
Mackeller remained silent through all this badinage, but nevertheless
enjoyed his dinner, although the moment coffee was served and the card
table set out, he rowed himself across the river, tied up his boat
securely, and ascended through the darkness of the forest to see the
electric lights blazing over the gold mine when he reached the top.
In spite of his apparent indifference, Lord Stranleigh appeared on the
summit shortly after breakfast. He found Mackeller stretched on the
rock, sound asleep, and did not disturb him, but turned his attention
instead to the telescope, through which he saw enough of industry going
on to satisfy the most indolent. He turned the telescope this way and
that, and at last fixed it at a point covering the river lower down than
the mine. There he gazed quietly for a long time, until interrupted by
Mackeller sitting up, and giving utterance to an exclamation when he saw
his chief seated on the stump that did duty for a chair.
“Good morning, Peter. Watchman, what of the night?”
“They worked all night, sir, both at the blasting of the ore, and the
unloading of the ship.”
“Then that means we shall soon need to be getting under weigh again. If
they load the _Rajah_ as quickly as they have unloaded her, she will be
out in the ocean before we know where we are.”
“That’s why I came up last night, sir. I thought you didn’t quite
appreciate how speedily our visit here is drawing to a close.”
“And yet,” drawled Stranleigh, “what they are doing now seems to point
to a lengthened stay on the part of the _Rajah._”
“What are they doing now?” demanded Mackeller.
“About half a mile below the gold fields they are planting floating
mines in the river. They have just finished one row that goes clear
across the stream, and are engaged upon the second series a quarter of
a mile, as I estimate the distance, nearer the ocean. They have two
ordinary ship’s boats at work, and one steam launch. The river is sealed
up, and there is a practical declaration of war, my boy, with Mackeller
sound asleep.”