CHAPTER V.--A VALUABLE FIND IN THE TEMPLE OF ATLAS

"It's what I call a tall order, Burton," exclaimed Tom Ellison, who,

with the Doctor, had been listening to the police officer's plan to raid

the Cave of Hydas.

"I am glad you turned up before eight o'clock, Burton, for it would be

difficult to enter the cave and find our way about without your

guidance. It seems a likely place to get one's head cracked in the

dark," remarked the Doctor.

"It would not be easy for you to get in, but had I been caught last

night you would have found a clue to my whereabouts in the letter I gave

you. However, we are all here yet, and I expect we shall get the better

of Appoyas and his gang if our plans work out properly, and if they

don't, then, well--look out for yourselves," said Burton, and he

shrugged his shoulders.

"What led you to suspect Appoyas, who you say is supposed to be one the

wealthiest and most respected men on the Salt Range, Burton?" asked the

Doctor.

"Well, I saw him with that long brass-studded stick, and his general

description answers to the tall man who fought the other two in the

museum. Then I followed the goat-boy who got the message from the goat,

and the boy handed the message to a man, and this man took it to

Appoyas, and finally my suspicions were confirmed when I heard Appoyas

addressed by name in the cave last night," explained Burton.

"It must have been pleasant listening to your own death-sentence!"

remarked the Doctor.

"I am glad I heard it," said Burton, "for never was it more true than in

my case that to be fore-warned is to be fore-armed. Two traps have been

already laid this morning to get me away from the Salt Range, and--I

believe here is another," he said, as a coolie came at the trot with a

telegram in his hand.

"Come at once. Most serious. Mirkwort," read out Burton, as soon as the

coolie had retired. "This pretends to be a message ordering my speedy

return to headquarters, and I shall make a pretence of going, but I

shall soon be back in this neighbourhood in disguise," he added.

"How do you know it is an attempt to get you away?" asked the Doctor.

"Because I requested Mirkwort to use a cypher in all his communications

for some days, and this is not in cypher," replied Burton. "But to

persist in staying here would only cause Appoyas to suspect that I am

about to take some decisive steps. I have twenty men around here now,

and as soon as it is dark to-night some of them will watch the house of

Appoyas in the village on the top of the cliffs, for I feel convinced

there is an entrance to the cave from his house.

"At the foot of the cliffs and immediately under the village there is

another entrance through a house built against the rocks, and other men

will watch there. I shall be near the camp at nightfall, together with

some specially picked men who will have arrived by that time, and we

shall enter the cave by what I will call the porcupine entrance, and,

once inside--well, we have to rescue Mark and capture as many of the

gang as we can. We must take all precautionary measures, for I do not

know how many rascals we shall have to contend with, and that cave is

like a rabbit-warren. Expect me as a Fakir at dusk. I will send for you

when the time comes," and as Burton clattered away on his horse the camp

understood that he had been called to headquarters on important

business.

It was about nine o'clock and very dark when Burton, with a number of

his men, though not in uniform, were sitting under the bushes a couple

of hundred yards or so from the cave entrance.

"Ali Khan, go and meet the party from the camp and see that they make as

little noise as possible," said Burton to one of his men; and then to

another he said, "Sergeant, come with me; we must find out whether there

is a guard placed at the entrance; if there is, we must secure him."

The two crept stealthily along, and, when some twenty yards from the

cave, a man sprang up within a few feet of them and dashed off towards

the cave, but he had not taken many steps when he tripped, and before he

could recover himself Burton pounced upon him, and in a few moments the

man was gagged and bound.

By the time the Doctor and Tom with the rest of the men had arrived,

Burton had explored the cave as far as the rope-ladder without any

further encounter.

Two men were left at the entrance of the cave with the prisoner, another

was stationed at the foot of the ladder and two more at the top, and a

man was left at each of the side passages opening from the main gallery.

"Now, Doctor," said Burton, when he had led the party some distance into

the cave beyond the ladder, "will you remain here with the men whilst

Tom goes with me to try and discover where Appoyas and his gang are, and

how many we have to deal with? They have some special work on at ten

o'clock in what they call the Temple of Atlas, and I don't know where it

is. If you hear me whistle, then light your lamps and come on as quickly

as possible. Now quietly, Tom," and they went ahead.

"She--e--e! See, there's a light. Some of them are in the cave-chamber

where I heard them last night," whispered Burton to Tom.

Hearing voices, they silently crept nearer until they could hear what

was said.

"I sent no message to the Doctor Sahib to-day, lest Koj Burton should

remain to inquire into it. Brothers, Koj Burton is far away, and at the

bottom of the river Hydaspes (Jhelum), I hope, if our men did their

duty. Now, brothers, follow me to the Temple of Atlas and we will take

the fifty years' offerings to the inner Temple of Hydas. By giving

liberal offerings to the gods they bless us and we get much wealth.

Come, it is the time."

The speaker was Appoyas, and under cover of the noise made in the

chamber as his men lighted torches and prepared to follow him, Burton

and Tom slipped some distance back along the passage, for they knew not

which direction the men would take.

"Seven," whispered Burton as Appoyas and his men came into the passage

and fortunately went the opposite way to where the Englishmen were

watching.

Cautiously they followed; suddenly the men disappeared down a flight of

steps, and when Burton and Tom peered below they were amazed at what

they saw.

They were gazing into a large cave-temple, and at the far end was an

enormous statute of a figure evidently representing Atlas with a large

globe on his shoulders.

Burton and Tom were intently watching the men in the temple, when they

were startled by hearing some on rapidly approaching along the passage.

The man carried no light, and as the two Englishmen crouched close to

the side of the cave to allow him to pass he knocked against Tom's arm.

"Strangers in the cave!" shouted the man, and he turned and fled.

For a moment the men in the temple were too amazed to move; then,

simultaneously, they stamped out their torches.

"We have them trapped below if they have no other exit but the steps.

That man's gone for help," said Burton, and blew his whistle. "We will

have a look at them," he added, and turned on his lamp.

In an instant something flashed in the light and the lamp was knocked

out of his hand and fell with a clatter down the steps, for Appoyas had

crept up with his long brass-studded stick.

Next moment Tom felt himself hooked by the ankle, and before he could

free himself his legs were jerked from under him and he fell on his

back; then he felt a bare foot placed on his chest as some one trod on

him and dashed down the passage.

No one else was able to pass, for Burton stood on the top of the steps,

swinging his iron rod to and fro, and at the same time holding his

whistle in his mouth and blowing until some of his men arrived with

lights.

"Tom, you stop here with some of the men, and don't let any of these

rascals escape. Listen! The Doctor is having a tussle; there is a fight

going on all over the place, and I must discover where Mark is lest they

should try to injure him." Taking a couple of men, he hurried away in

the direction of the shouts which were ringing through the galleries.

"Hi! This way, Bur--r--r----" some one tried to shout in English.

"That's Mark's voice, and they are strangling him," said Burton. "Quick

with your lamp, Sergeant, this way," he added.

Burton found Mark in the grasp of two men, who dashed the lad to the

ground and then fled in the darkness, after showing fight for a few

seconds, Burton pursuing them hotly, received a terrific blow on the

head after being tripped by Appoyas, who was waiting in a side passage,

and Burton lay partly stunned for some time.

Appoyas fought like a fiend, doing great damage with his stick, but at

last he fled along a side passage.

In half an hour the fight was over, and Burton found they had eight

prisoners; among whom was Atlasul, but Appoyas and some of the others

had escaped.

Burton and Tom were exploring one of the narrow galleries when they

suddenly came face to face with Appoyas, who, after throwing a knife at

Burton, dashed down the passage followed by the two Englishmen.

They had gone about a hundred yards when Appoyas stopped, and his

pursuers could see that he was standing on the very edge of a black

chasm. For a moment he stood and faced them, his eyes flashing fiercely

in the light of the lamp.

"You cannot escape us now, Appoyas," said Burton, covering him with a

revolver.

"I will have a bitter revenge on you, Koj Burton. Here is the end of the

passage, below is the Cave of Doom, but you have not got me yet," and,

to the astonishment of Burton and Tom, Appoyas shouted a fierce cry of

"Revenge!" and sprang into the fearsome black abyss.

"He must be dashed to pieces. I can't see the bottom," said Tom, holding

his lamp over the gulf.

"I am doubtful. We will get a rope and make a search," said Burton.

Some time later a lamp was lowered, and far below, about six feet from

the bottom, could be seen a strong net stretched the full width of the

chasm.

"He dropped into that, and escaped by a secret exit," said Burton.

They proceeded to thoroughly explore the cave, and were astonished at

the extent and number of side passages.

"I say, Burton, this globe on the shoulders of old Atlas is hollow and

has a big slit in it like a letter-box, and has a lock on it," exclaimed

Mark as they were examining the Temple of Atlas.

When the globe was opened it proved to be nearly full of gold and silver

ornaments, precious stones, and coins.

"Ah, these are the offerings to the gods, a portion of the things stolen

by these thieves during the last fifty years. A system of theft and

sacrifice which has been handed down from father to son for many

generations," exclaimed Burton.

The prisoners proved to be connected with burglaries which had taken

place all over the Punjab and far beyond. The villains had been in the

habit of placing a few of the things stolen in some innocent person's

house, and had employed a variety of tricks to avoid suspicion resting

on themselves.

The valuables recovered in the Temple of Atlas were restored to their

rightful owners where they could be traced, and the balance was

ultimately considered as treasure-trove, the Government claiming four

annas in the rupee, thus leaving three-fourths of the value to be

divided amongst those who had discovered it.

Many hours did the Englishmen spend in trying to discover the inner

Temple of Hydas, but its secret baffled all their efforts, neither were

they able to find any parts of the broken slab which might have aided

them in their search. They were equally unsuccessful in getting any

trace of Appoyas, who had so suddenly disappeared while his cry of

revenge was ringing through the Cave of Hydas.

XI

AN ADVENTURE IN THE HEART OF MALAY-LAND

To the world-wanderer the confines of our little planet seem very

limited indeed, and to him there are few regions within its boundaries

which remain long unknown. Yet to the vast majority of people Old Mother

Earth abounds in many a _terra incognita_.

Away in the East, where the Indian Ocean merges into the China Sea,

where the sunny waters of the Malacca Straits are being ceaselessly

furrowed by giant steamers and merchantmen, lies a land, which though

spoken of glibly by every schoolboy, is to-day one of the least explored

countries of the globe. The Malay Peninsula is a familiar enough name,

and so it ought to be, for it skirts the ocean highway to the Flowery

Kingdom and to some of our most valuable island possessions; still, it

is a strange fact that this narrow neck of land is, geographically

speaking, one of the world's darkest areas.

Its seaboard is generally flat and overgrown with mangroves to a depth

of several miles, but the interior is an extremely mountainous region,

containing elevations of over eight thousand feet. An irregular

backbone connects all these great heights, and it itself is of no mean

dimensions, being throughout well over three thousand feet above

sea-level. Between the mountain-peaks, as may be imagined, there is

little room for fertile plateaus, and the most settled districts in

consequence are those farthest away from the towering ranges; of these

Selangor is, perhaps, the most noteworthy. Here vast forests and jungle

scrub extend everywhere, though the trees are being rapidly cut down by

the numerous Chinese tin-miners in the settlement; and here also is the

capital of the Federated Malay States, whose petty rulers within recent

years have united their forces under a British Protectorate.

Perak, towards the north-west, and Pahang, stretching over to the sea on

the eastern side, are the two most mountainous divisions in the

Confederacy, and to the traveller they are also the most interesting

because of the immunity of their interior fastnesses from the visits of

white men. Numerous rivers reach the coast on both sides of the central

watershed, many of those rising in the highlands of Pahang and Kelantan

being absolutely untraced and unnamed. The entire country near the

coast, on the east as on the west, may be said to be given over to rank

jungles, in which the lordly tiger, the one-horned rhinoceros, the wild

pig, and tapir have their homes, and monkeys of almost every species are

abundant in the wooded slopes.

One-half of the world's tin is produced in the Malay States; it is

mined chiefly in Selangor and Malacca, and forms the mainstay of the

country's prosperity, though, curiously enough, little or no

stanniferous deposits have been found on the eastern side of the

dividing range. But though very few people know it, the most valuable of

all metals has been discovered on the upper waters of the Pahang River

and tributaries. The Chinese swarm in their thousands on the western

slopes, and outnumber the Malays by more than three to one. They are

surely the bane of the wanderer's existence.

The Malays are not the aboriginal race of the Peninsula, though they

have lived on the coast for centuries, and are descended from the

bloodthirsty pirates who terrorised the Straits of Malacca. The real

owners of the country are the Sakis, a wild race who in appearance vie

with their brethren in Central Australia, and are very little different

from the chimpanzees which infest the forests. They hold no intercourse

with the coast-dwellers, and are rarely seen unless by the adventurous

traveller, for their retreat is among the mountains, and as far away

from John Chinaman's presence as it is possible to get.

The Sakis are a rude and miserably backward people. Like the Papuans of

New Guinea, they build their huts in the branches of trees; but for this

they have good reason--the prowling animals of the forest would

otherwise soon obliterate the slowly dying tribe. Their only weapons are

the _sumpitan_, or blow-pipe, and a club, which is not unlike the

"waddie" of the Australian aboriginal; but with these they can do quite

enough damage to deter all but the reckless from visiting their chosen

haunts.

The charm of far-off countries has ever had a great power over all

Britons; the true traveller's instinct is in their blood, and the noble

array of red markings on our maps amply testify to the brilliance of

their achievements. Knowing this, I speak with care of a country that I

have traversed in my wanderings, so that if others who read these words

may feel impelled to take up the pilgrim staff, they may at least rely

upon my humble observations.

A few years back, after journeying through Achin in Sumatra--another

little-known "corner" jealously guarded by the Dutch--I, with my five

companions, found it necessary to betake ourselves to British Dominions,

having given offence to the Holland Government by our peregrinations

through the hostile Achinese territory. So we embarked on a Malay trader

bound for Klang, the port of Selangor, and commenced an expedition which

I can recall now as being one of the most interesting of all my travels.

The details of our progress across the Peninsula could not be given

here, but I will relate one of our first experiences with the

tree-dwellers of Kelantan, when we were camped on the head-waters of the

Lebah River in that province, where, I believe, no white man had ever

been before.

We had systematically prospected the various mountain-streams in the

west for gold without result; but here we had discovered unmistakable

traces of the precious metal; and our hearts being gladdened

accordingly, we prepared to explore still farther into the mountains in

search of the mother-lode.

"It's rather a curious thing," said Phil at this time, "that we have met

none of the Sakis so far. I should like to see a specimen of the tribe

before we leave their confounded country."

"They're like oorsel's," grunted Mac, "they canna abide the smell o'

Cheeniemen; but A'm thinkin' we're near their special habitation noo."

There was considerable truth in Mac's observation. All along the Perak

River, which we had followed for nearly a hundred miles before branching

off across an inviting pass in the dividing ranges, we had met the

almond-eyed Celestials in great bands clearing the forest growths and

prospecting for tin in the most unlikely places. Perak, I should

mention, is the Malay word for silver, it having been supposed that vast

lodes of that metal abounded in the river valley; but, as a matter of

fact, there has been very little silver located anywhere near its

vicinity.

We had managed to shake off the yellow-skinned Mongols immediately we

diverged into the mountains, and since that time we had been crossing

luxurious upland forests, and struggling through long stretches of

jungle country in turn. It was quite possible that the Sakis had seen

us, though we had not seen them, for our time had been more occupied in

evading reptiles and wild animals than in scanning the tree-tops for

their imp-like denizens.

"I vote," said the Captain, who was the dead-shot of our party, "that we

leave the Sakis alone. We're in their country now, you know, and there's

such a thing as tempting Providence."

Phil smiled; he was young and enthusiastic, and he was also an ardent

ethnographist. "We'll take things as we find them, Captain," said he,

"but we usually manage to run across some odd specimens of humanity in

our travels. Now, what did you think of the Achinese?"

"A thocht them wonderfu' bloodthirsty folk," grumbled Stewart, tenderly

patting a slowly healing scar on his cheek. "They vera near feenished

me, an' if Mac hadna come along in time A wad hae been cut into

sausages----"

I interrupted his ruminations, and saved the company a harrowing

description of what had happened in Sumatra. "We've heard that so often

now, Stewart," I said, "that we think you might give us a rest."

Mac cackled harshly in agreement, but Skelton, the stalwart Devonian,

who was doctor of our outfit, said rather grimly, "If you get a similar

smash in this country, Stewart, my boy, I'm afraid you won't live to

tell of it, for we don't seem to be getting into a healthier atmosphere,

though we are a good few thousand feet above sea-level."

Stewart subsided gloomily, feeling his pulse the while.

"A believe ye're richt," he replied lugubriously, "what wi' malaria an'

muskitties, an' Cheeniemen----"

He broke down, and sought sympathy from his compatriot, who was

leisurely chewing quinine tabloids with an air of relish.

"Dinna be nervish, ma man," cheerfully spoke that worthy, "an' aye keep

in mind that A'll mak' ye a bonnie moniment when A gang hame; a rale

bonnie moniment, wi' a maist splendiferous inscreeption. Hoo would this

look, for instance?" Here he struck an attitude, and recited solemnly:

"Errected tae the memory o' puir auld Stewart----"

At this stage Stewart smote his Job's comforter with a force and fervour

that showed him to be possessed of considerable muscular powers; then

there was peace.

Our hammocks were swung near the river, on the edge of a dense forest in

which areca and apia palms raised their stately heads among ebony and

camphor trees, and a plentiful sprinkling of wiry bamboo growths. The

foliage was so thick in places as to be almost impenetrable, and amid

the clinging underscrub the guttapercha plant and numerous others with

names unknown to us struggled for existence.

The river was here a fairly broad and oily stream, with rather a

dangerous current; below us it surged and roared over a series of jagged

limestone rocks, but higher up its course led across a plateau which

extended farther than we could guess, for the mountains faded back into

the far distance and reared their gaunt peaks above a bewildering sea of

luxurious tropical vegetation. It was these mountains we were anxious to

reach now, but how to do it promised to be a question not easily

answered.

After some consideration we decided to follow the river-channel as far

as possible, and cut off the curves by blazing a way through the thicket

with our axes. And so, on the morning following our discovery of gold,

we packed a fortnight's stores in our kits and trudged off, first taking

the precaution to sling our remaining provisions in an odd hammock from

the limb of a tall palm, where we hoped to find them on our return.

Travelling is not an easy matter in these latitudes, and we had

succeeded so far only with great difficulty and much perseverance. Where

the rivers were navigable we had usually progressed by means of hastily

constructed rafts, but the stream now flowed too swiftly to allow of

that form of transport, and we had therefore to work our passage in the

strictest sense of the word.

For three days we forged ahead, now clambering along the banks of the

swirling torrent, and again crashing through the darkened forest, using

our axes energetically. More than once, in the stiller waters between

the curves, huge crocodiles were seen disporting themselves cumbrously,

and when we approached they fixed their baleful eyes on us, and came

steadily on until the Captain stopped their leader by a well-directed

bullet. The crocodiles of this region seemed extremely ferocious, and

no sooner had one of their number been rendered _hors de combat_ than

the horrible carcass was carried off in triumph by a school of the late

saurian's neighbours.

"They appear tae have vera healthy appetites," murmured Stewart

thoughtfully, as he gazed at the ravenous monsters, after an exhibition

of this sort. "A wunner," he continued, addressing Skelton, "if they

bastes are affected by the climate?"

"You've got me there, Stewart," replied Skelton, with a laugh; "but they

don't seem to need quinine to aid their digestion, anyhow."

Birds of the most beautiful plumage fluttered among the branches, and I

had the good fortune to bring down a gorgeous bird of paradise with my

rifle. Mac, like the ancient mariner, insisted on carrying this bird

round his neck rather than leave it for the tigers and bisons, though he

repented of his resolution before he had gone far. Of the wild animals

encountered on this march I could write much. Fortunately the lordly

tiger seldom met us in an aggressive mood, but we had several

experiences with "Old Stripes," nevertheless--at long range; and we were

constantly stumbling over squeaking pigs and venomous reptiles of many

kinds. Little brown animals of the bear family were especially

ubiquitous, so that our time was kept rather fully employed on our long

trail towards the supposed land of El Dorado.

As we neared the shadowy mountains, the river-channel narrowed

gradually until it formed a deep gorge, in which the swirling waters

dashed like the flood of some gigantic mill-race; and we were forced to

keep the shelter of the forest rather than risk stumbling into the

apparently bottomless abysses.

"I'm afraid we cannot go much farther, boys," I said, when we were

struggling through the thicket, steering by compass, and with the river

thundering noisily away to our left.

"The gold in the mountains won't help us much if we have to transport

our goods over this sort of country," spoke Phil; and there was much

truth in his words.

"I have been noticing," remarked Skelton, "that instead of reaching a

finer climate we seem to be coming into a very poisonous atmosphere,

judging by the odour of the vegetation."

It was certainly strange that the air should continue so dank and

depressing at our high altitude, and several times a most extraordinary

stench, as of decaying carcasses, would assail our nostrils and cause us

to grow faint and sickly. Soon we began to notice that these poisonous

vapours were most pungent in the vicinity of certain enormous

cactus-like growths which we encountered here and there; but these huge

plants looked so picturesque and beautiful that we found it hard to

believe that they could taint the air so frightfully.

"It's rather odd," said Skelton doubtfully, "that where these giant

spiky lilies grow there is always an open space clear around, as if

nothing could live in their presence."

"Ah, mon!" howled Mac at that moment, sniffing the ether in disgust.

"Could onybody believe---- A'll gang an' investeegate this meenit. Come

on, Stewart."

They rushed off at once, and we followed hastily, for the evil

exhalations were overpowering, and we meant to trace the cause. Sure

enough one of the cacti, with wide-spreading leaves which trailed on the

ground for several yards, proved to be the seat of the virulent fumes.

None of us had ever met such a plant before. A vast bulb was suspended

on a thick stem, which rose from the heart of the leathery leaves, and

this we prepared to examine intently, though we were all but overcome by

the foul gases given off.

"It's a big an' a bonnie flooer," muttered Stewart, extending his hand,

and thrusting it into the massive blossom. Then he emitted a yell that

would have done credit to a full-grown grizzly bear. "It's living!" he

bellowed, "an' it's biting me. Cut its heid aff! Quick! Ough!"

"A carnivorous plant!" cried Skelton, decapitating the stem with one

stroke of his axe; and Stewart hurriedly drew back his hand with the

clinging flower attached. It was indeed a carnivorous plant, and when we

had rescued our companion from its clutches, we held our nostrils and

examined the depths of the odoriferous flower.

"No wonder it smells," said Phil, as the carcasses of birds and insects

innumerable were tumbled out.

"What a grand thing it would be for Cheeniemen!" commented Mac.

"Let's go on, boys, for mercy's sake," implored the Captain. "I'd rather

meet a tiger any day than one of these vile vegetable traps."

Stewart's wrist had been squeezed so tightly that it was some time

before he could move it freely. "It would hae nippit ma hand clean off

if you hadna beheided it sae quick," said the sufferer gratefully to

Skelton as we resumed our march; and I think he was not far wrong.

Our progress now became slower and slower, and our first intention of

reaching the mountain-range beyond the forest was in a similar degree

growing less definite. I could not see how we were to gain our

objective, judging by the myriad obstructions in our track, and on the

fourth day after leaving camp we had almost decided to retrace our

steps.

"I have given up hope of seeing the natives of this peculiar country,"

said Phil, as we tied up our hammocks after breakfast, "and if we go

much farther we will cross down the Malacca slope, where there is

nothing but Chinamen."

"If we do not reach a break in the forest before the day is finished," I

said, when we had again got on the move, "we'll turn and get down the

river to our old camp."

"What on earth is that?" suddenly cried the Captain, seizing his rifle

and gazing into the gently swaying branches overhead. We looked, and

saw an ungainly creature huddled among the spreading fronds, glaring at

us with eyes that were half-human, half-catlike in expression.

"A chimpanzee, most likely," I said. "Don't shoot, Captain; it is but a

sample of what man looked like once."

"I think it is an orang-outang," remarked Phil, "and he would make short

work of us if he came down."

Mac gazed dubiously at the animal. "A'll slauchter him," said he,

raising his deadly blunderbuss; but the huge ape seemed to understand

the action, and with half a dozen bounds he had vanished, swinging from

tree to tree like a living pendulum.

Again we went on, but we had not proceeded fifty yards when a harsh

howling all around caused us to halt and examine our firearms nervously.

Then a shower of needle-like darts whizzed close to our ears, and a

renewed commotion among the branches arrested our attention. Looking up,

we saw fully a score of wild shaggy heads thrust out from the clustering

foliage; but before we had time to collect ourselves, another fusilade

of feather-like missiles descended upon us, penetrating our thin

clothing, and pricking us most painfully.

"Monkeys!" roared Mac.

"No. Sakis!" corrected Phil, as we hurriedly sought safety in retreat.

"If these arrows are poisoned, we're dead 'uns, sure," groaned the

Captain, squirming on the ground, and endeavouring to sight his rifle on

the impish creatures.

"They're not poisoned; they are merely pointed reeds blown through

bamboo tubes," said Skelton, after a hasty examination. "They won't hurt

much; but if they get near us with their clubs----"

Another hail of the pigmy arrows rustled through the branches to rear of

us. "Give them the small shot of your gun, Mac, just to scare them," I

cried.

"Sma' shot indeed!" retorted that fiery individual, and the boom of his

artillery filled my ears as he spoke.

An unearthly yell of terror and surprise broke from the aborigines at

the sound of the heavy discharge, followed by a series of piercing

shrieks as a few stray pellets touched them.

"Make for the river, boys!" I shouted. "Get clear of the trees!"

The air was now filled with the tiny darts, and my thick pith helmet

intercepted so many of them that, as Mac said afterwards, it looked like

a miniature reed-plantation. Far on our left the deep rumble of the

river was heard, and towards it we rushed blindly, closely followed by a

yelling horde who sprang like squirrels from tree to tree.

"Where is the Captain?" roared Stewart suddenly, as we ran; and then I

noticed that there were but four of us together. Without a word we

turned and dashed back into the midst of the Sakis' camp; and there we

saw the Captain lying on his face, with his gun resting loosely at his

shoulder. A perfect inferno raged around as we reached his side, and my

companions, roused to a pitch of frenzy, fired volley after volley among

the yelping band.

"Get back, ye wretches," roared Mac; "A'll carry him masel'."

Skelton calmly picked several darts from the Captain's neck, then felt

his pulse. "He has only fainted," he said. "These darts have gone pretty

deep."

The Captain was a heavy man, but Mac gathered him in his strong arms

like a child. "Tak' ma gun, Stewart," he directed, "and see that ye dae

guid work wi' it if driven to it." Then we made a second break for the

open by the river. The whole forest seemed to be alive with Sakis now;

they yelled at us from every other tree, and shot their irritating

arrows from every sheltered clump of brushwood. Luckily the range of

their odd weapons was not extensive, and by skilful manoeuvring we

managed to save ourselves greatly, otherwise we should have been

perforated from head to foot.

When we neared the river and could see the welcome light of day shining

through the trees, our pursuers, probably deterred by our guns, grew

less enthusiastic in the chase; and when the edge of the forest was

reached they had apparently drawn off altogether.

"To think that we should hae to run like that, frae--frae monkeys!"

snorted Stewart indignantly as we halted. "It's fair disgracefu'."

The Captain slowly opened his eyes, and looked at me reproachfully.

"That chimpanzee that we didn't shoot," said he feebly, "is one of the

same family, for the brute must have given the alarm----"

"There he is noo!" cried Mac. "Gie me ma gun, Stewart, an' A'll

obleeterate him, nae matter wha's grandfaither he is."

I caught a glimpse of the huge ape swinging backwards into the thicket,

then Mac's vengeful weapon spoke, and the Sakis' strange scout came

tumbling to the ground. A yell of rage issued from the forest, and

instantly a number of our late pursuers appeared and dragged the

orang-outang back whence they came.

"I haven't had much opportunity of studying the beggars," said Phil,

"but I'm not growling. They are the most apish people I could ever have

imagined."

"Instead of gold," commented Skelton grimly, "we've all got a fair-sized

dose of malaria----"

"And various other trifles," added Mac, as he extracted the darts from

the more fleshy portions of his anatomy.

"We'll leave the gold alone this time, boys," I climaxed; "but we'll

have another try when we can get a stronger party together. Meanwhile,

we had better make tracks for the coast, and recuperate our energies."

XII

A WEEK-END ADVENTURE

For several years it has been my habit to spend my week-ends during the

summer and autumn months in a small yacht called the _Thelma_, of about

five tons, as a welcome change from the confined life of the City.

Many and many a happy, lazy time have I spent in her, sometimes by

myself, at others with a companion, at various delightful spots round

our eastern and southern coasts, occasionally taking short cruises along

the seaboard, but more often lounging about harbours and estuaries, or

even exploring inland waters.

On these occasions many little incidents and adventures have occurred,

which, though full of interest to any one fond of yachting, yet are

hardly worthy of print, and it was not until about a year and a half ago

that the following events took place, and seemed to me of sufficient

interest to record.

The _Thelma_ was at the time at an anchorage in one of my favourite

spots, a somewhat lonely East-coast estuary, within easy reach of the

open sea, and, more important still in a way, fairly close to a

main-line railway-station, so that I could get to her from town without

wasting much of my precious time on the way. I had run down late on a

Friday night early in September, rejoicing, as only a hard-worked City

man can rejoice, in the thought of a good forty-eight hours of freedom

and fresh air. I was alone, as my exit from town was rather unexpected,

and I had no time to find a friend to keep me company; but that did not

worry me, as I felt fully able to enjoy myself in solitary peace.

I found everything prepared for my arrival, having wired to the

longshoreman and his wife, in whose charge I had left the yacht, and I

should much like to describe in full detail all my enjoyment, but must

pass over the little events of my first day--the Saturday--as they have

nothing to do with my "adventure," though to me the day was brimful of

thorough happiness.

It was one of those splendid bright days which are happily so frequent

on the East coast in September--so calm, indeed, that sailing was out of

the question, and I spent my time in the small boat or dinghy out in the

open sea a mile or more, fishing in an indolent way for whiting, etc.,

and basking in the sun.

I saw no one all day, and there was little shipping about. A private

wherry anchored opposite the village above the _Thelma_ was the only

craft in the river, and a few trawlers and coasting steamers far out

were the only vessels to be seen at sea.

Nothing could have less suggested the likelihood of anything in the

shape of "adventure," and I caught my whiting and dabs in blissful peace

of mind.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, however, I was roused from my

fishing by feeling the air suddenly begin to get chill, and on looking

out to sea saw that a breeze was springing up from the eastward, and

bringing with it a bank of thick white sea-fog, which had already

blotted out the horizon, and was coming in rapidly.

This meant rowing home as quickly as possible, as I did not want to be

caught in the "thick" before reaching my temporary home, as it might

mean an hour or two's search for such a small yacht in a half-mile wide

estuary.

So, hastily laying aside my fishing-tackle and hauling up the little

anchor, I put my back into the task of "racing the fog," feeling

intensely thankful that the tide was on the flood, and, therefore, an

immense help to me.

Even as it was, I was in a glowing heat by the time I reached the

_Thelma_, and only just in time at that, as the first chilly wreaths of

mist were closing round me by the time I got on board. When all was

"snug," and I was ready to go below into my little cabin for tea, a last

glance round showed me that already the low hills on each side of the

river were blotted out, and I could hardly distinguish the wherry

anchored away up above me, or the houses of the village off which she

lay.

Oh, how cosy and bright the little cabin looked when I settled down for

a nondescript meal, half-tea, half-dinner, about an hour later!

The lamp, hung from the deck above, gave a mellow light, the kettle sang

on the stove, and the fresh-caught whiting were simply delicious (I

pride myself on my cooking on these occasions), whilst London, work, and

my fellow-beings seemed far away in some other sphere.

This feeling of isolation was considerably increased later on, when,

after a hearty meal and a dip into a story, I put my head out of the

hatch to take a customary "last look round" before turning in.

I suppose it was about 10 p.m.; there was no moon, and I never remember

a denser fog. At first, after the lighted cabin, I could distinguish

absolutely nothing, except where the beam of light from the cabin lamp

struggled past me through the open hatch into a white thickness which I

can only liken to vaporous cotton-wool.

Even when my eyes got a little accustomed to the change from light to

darkness, I could only just make out the mizzen-mast astern and the

lower part of the main-mast forward; beyond these was nothing but

impenetrable thickness.

Not a sound reached me, except the mournful muffled hooting of a

steamer's syren at intervals; no doubt some wretched collier, nosing her

way at half-speed through the fog, in momentary terror of collision.

I don't think I ever felt so cut off from humanity in my life as in that

tiny yacht, surrounded as I was by impenetrable density above and

around, and the deep rushing tide below in a lonely water-way.

No doubt this eerie feeling of loneliness had a great deal to do with my

sensations later on, which, on looking back in after-days, have often

struck me as being more acute and nervous than they had any right to be.

Be that as it may, I was not nervous when I closed the hatch and "turned

in," for I recollect congratulating myself that I was in a safe

anchorage, out of the way of traffic, and not on board the steamer which

I had heard so mournfully making known her whereabouts in the open sea.

I think my "nerves" had their first real unsettling about half an hour

afterwards, just as I was sinking off into a peaceful, profound slumber,

for it seemed to me that I had been roused by a sound like a scream of

pain or fear, coming muffled and distant through the fog; but from what

direction, whether up or down the river, or from the shore, I could not

tell.

I raised myself on my elbow and listened intently, but heard nothing

more, and reflecting that, even if what I had heard was more than fancy,

I was helpless, shut in on every hand by impenetrable fog, to render

aid; I could do no more than utter a fervent hope, amounting to a

prayer, that no poor soul had strayed into the water on such a night. It

is easy, too, when roused out of a doze, to imagine one has only

_fancied_ a thing, and I had soon persuaded myself that what I had

heard was no more than the shriek of a syren or cry of a disturbed

sea-gull, and sank once more into a doze, which this time merged into

that solid sleep which comes to those who have had a long day in

sea-air.

Somewhere in that vague period we are apt to call "the middle of the

night," and which may mean any time between our falling asleep and

daybreak, I dreamt that I was in bed in my London lodgings, that a chum

of mine had come in to arouse me, and to do so had gently kicked the

bedpost, sending a jarring sensation up my spine.

At first I was merely angry, and only stirred in my sleep; but he did it

again, and I awoke, intending to administer a scathing rebuke to the

disturber of my peace.

But I awoke on board the _Thelma_, and realised, with a feeling akin to

alarm, that the sensation of "jarring" had been real, and the knocking

which caused it came from something or _some one outside the boat_.

At first I could hardly believe my senses, and raised myself on my

elbow, my whole being strained as it were into the one faculty for

listening.

Again, this time close to my head, against the starboard bulkhead, came

the sound, like two gentle "thuds" on the planking, causing a distinct

tremor to thrill through the yacht.

I cannot imagine any more "eerie" sensation than to go to sleep as I had

done, with a profound sense of isolation and loneliness, cut off from

humanity by a waste of fog and darkness and far-stretching water, and to

be awakened in the dead of night by the startling knowledge that outside

there, in that very loneliness, only divided from my little cabin by a

thin planking--was _something_--and that something not shouting as any

human being would shout at such a time--but _knocking_--as if wishing to

be let in to warmth and comfort, out of the chill and darkness.

Can I be blamed if my suddenly aroused and somewhat bemused senses

played tricks with me, and my startled imagination began to conjure up

the gruesome stories I had heard of weird visitants, and ghostly beings,

heard but seldom seen, on the East Anglian meres and broads? Then again

came the remembrance of the shriek or cry I had fancied I heard earlier

in the night, and with a shudder I thought: "How ghastly if it should be

the drowned body of him whose cry I had heard, knocking thus in grisly

fashion to be taken in before the tide carried it away to sea!"

So far had my excited imagination carried me, when again the yacht shook

with the thud of something striking her, and a great revulsion of relief

came over me as I recognised the dull sound of wood striking wood, this

time farther aft, and I laughed aloud at my cowardice.

No doubt a log of driftwood, bumping its way along the side of the

yacht, as logs will, as the ebbing tide carried it seawards.

However, by this time I had lighted the lamp; so, to satisfy my still

perturbed though much ashamed mind, I thrust my feet into sea-boots and

my body into a pea-jacket over my clothes, and went on deck, lamp in

hand, to see what my unwelcome visitor really was.

Through the mist, dimly illumined by the lamp, I made out the shadowy

outline of a boat, drifting slowly towards the stern of the yacht, and

occasionally bumping gently against her side.

Another moment or two and the derelict would have vanished into the

night. But the long boathook lay at my feet along the bulwark, and,

almost instinctively, I caught it up with one hand, whilst setting the

lamp down with the other, ran to the stern and made a wild grab in the

dark towards where I thought she would be.

The hook caught, and I hauled my prize alongside; stooping down, I felt

for the painter, which I naturally expected to find trailing in the

water, thinking the boat had broken loose from somewhere through

carelessness in making her fast.

To my surprise it was coiled up _inside_ the bows. Puzzling over this, I

made the end fast to a cleat on the yacht, then took the lamp and turned

the light over the side, so that it shone fairly into the boat.

Then, for the second time that night, my pulses beat fast, and my scalp

tingled with something approaching fear, and I wished I had a friend on

board with me.

It seemed as if my foolish idea of a dead body asking for compassion

was coming true. For there was a huddled-up form lying on the bottom of

the boat, its head inclined half on and half off the stern thwart, its

whole attitude suggestive of the helplessness of death.

I stood as if paralysed for a few seconds, filled with a craven longing

to get back to the cosy cabin, shut the hatch, and wait till daylight

before approaching any nearer that still form, dreading what horrors an

examination might reveal. But more humane and reasonable thoughts soon

came; perhaps this poor drifting bit of humanity was not dead, but had

been sent my way in the dead of night to revive and shelter.

Feeling that I must act at once, or I might not act at all--or at least

till daybreak--I put a great restraint upon my feelings of repugnance,

caught up the lamp, stepped into the boat, and raised the drooping head

on to my arm.

As I did so, the hood-like covering which had concealed the face fell

back, and in a moment all my shrinking and horror vanished once for

all--swallowed up in pity, compassion, and amazement--for on my arm

rested the sweet face of a young and very pretty girl, marred only by

its pallor and a bad bruise on the right temple.

Even in the lamplight I could see she was a lady born and bred; her face

alone told me that, and the rich material of fur-lined cloak and hood

merely confirmed it.

Here was no horrible midnight visitor, then; but certainly what seemed

to me a great mystery--far more so than the dead body of labourer or

wherry-man floating down with the tide would have furnished.

A lady, insensible apparently from a blow on the forehead, floating

alone in an open boat at midnight, on a lonely tidal water, far from any

resort of the class to which she seemed to belong, and saved from long

hours of exposure--perhaps death--by the marvellous chance (if it could

be called so) of colliding with my yacht on the way to the open sea.

It was too great a puzzle to attempt to solve on the spur of the moment,

and I had first to apply myself to the evident duty of getting my fair

and mysterious visitor into my cabin, there to try to undo the effects

of whatever untoward accidents had befallen her.

It was no easy matter, single-handed and in darkness, except for the

hazy beam of light from the lamp on deck, to get her from the swinging,

lurching boat to the yacht. But, luckily for me, my burden was light and

slender, and I did it without mishap, I hardly know how, and then soon

had her in the little cabin, laid carefully upon my blankets and rugs,

with a pillow under her head.

I soon knew she was alive, for there was a distinct, though slight, rise

and fall of her bosom as she breathed, but my difficulty was to know

what remedies to apply. I have a little experience in resuscitating the

half-drowned, but in this case insensibility seemed to have been caused

by the blow on her forehead, if it was not from shock or fear.

So all I could do was to force a few drops of brandy between the white

teeth, and bathe the forehead patiently, and hope that nature would soon

reassert itself with these aids.

After what seemed a long while to me, but which I suppose was not more

than a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, one of the little white

hands moved, a deep sigh came from the lips, and I thought she was

"coming to."

But it was merely a change from one state of insensibility to another;

for, though a colour came back into the cheeks and the breathing grew

stronger and more regular, the warmth of the cabin had its effect, and

she sank into a natural and peaceful sleep.

My greatest anxiety being now relieved, and my fair young visitor

restored to animation and resting peacefully enough, my mind naturally

turned to the consideration of the strange position I was so

unexpectedly placed in; but in my state of absolute ignorance as to the

identity of my charge, where she came from, what had happened, and of

the whole chain of circumstances which led up to her strange visit, I

came to the conclusion that I could only wait for her to awake and

enlighten me before taking any steps whatever. It might mean losing

valuable time to try to find out anything by going off in the fog and

darkness; whilst, meanwhile, the poor girl might awake and find herself

deserted, instead of finding me ready and waiting to take her

instructions for her safe restoration to her friends.

So there was nothing for me to do but wait, and having made up the fire

in the stove and put the kettle on in readiness for a cup of tea, I made

myself as comfortable as I could in a corner and longed for daylight.

As I watched the face of the sleeping girl, now rather flushed from the

warmth of the cabin and the unaccustomed drops of spirit I had given

her, I thought I had never before seen a fairer and sweeter countenance,

and even then began to bless the chance which had allowed me to become

her protector.

Once she stirred, and a look of dread, almost terror, came into her

face, and I heard her utter in an agonised voice the single word

"Harold."

It may sound ridiculous, but, coming so soon after my feelings of tender

"protectiveness," I felt quite a pang of jealousy against the unknown

owner of the name, and wondered in what relation she stood to him and

why her thought of him should bring such evident pain. However, she did

not awake as yet, and I had to possess my soul in patience for this and

all the other enlightenment I longed for.

I must have slept at last, for the next thing I remember was seeing a

faint daylight struggling through the skylight and realising that the

fire was nearly out, in spite of my resolve to keep a watch over it. In

making it up I clumsily dropped a lump of coal, and the girl stirred,

opened her eyes, and sat up at once, evidently refreshed by her sleep

and in full possession of all her faculties, and, of course, utterly

bewildered at her surroundings and at finding a perfect stranger in

charge of her.

It made my heart ache to see, as memory came back and she recalled the

(to me unknown) events of the night, a cloud of dread and anxiety come

over her, and her eyes fill with tears at the recollection; and if I had

felt drawn to her before, I was doubly so now, when I saw her bravely

brace herself to talk of them, and even smile up at me as she said--

"Will you tell me where I am, and how I got here? It seems to me I have

a lot to thank you for!"

I told her as briefly as I could the happenings of the night as far as I

knew them, and then said--

"Now I am burning to hear your adventures, and longing to help you to

get back to your friends; but I beg of you not to tell me more than you

feel inclined, nor to put any strain on yourself at present, but just

tell me sufficient for me to know how to act for you."

She assured me she felt quite well, except for a headache (which

certainly was only to be expected with such a bruise on her poor white

forehead), and would like to tell me everything, as it would be a relief

to her mind to do so, and with the most charming little blush she

added--

"I feel so sure you will know just what is best to be done, and I

should like to confide my fears to you."

So, whilst I busied myself in getting a sort of hasty breakfast ready,

partly because we both needed it, but more for the sake of making it

easier for her to speak of things which might be painful for her to

mention with my eyes upon her, she told me all, and it was quite amazing

how simply everything was explained.

Her name--which she mentioned no doubt because I had carefully told her

mine--was Lilian Burfield, and she and her brother Harold (I felt

foolishly relieved to hear it was her _brother's_ name she had called on

in her sleep) lived with their father at a large house some three miles

from the village up the river. A day or two before these events, some

friends of theirs, a Mr. and Mrs. Small, had brought their wherry up the

river to visit them, whilst on a cruise. On the Friday they had spent

the afternoon on board, and she and her brother had been induced to stay

to dinner, and play a game or two afterwards; but her father had been

obliged to leave earlier on account of some engagement.

About 10.30 they left (although the Smalls pressed them to stop on board

all night when they saw how thick the fog had become), feeling confident

that they could not well miss the landing-stage, as it was not more than

a hundred yards from the yacht.

However, it seemed that they _had_ done so, as the boat took the ground

on a mud-bank, and stuck fast.

Her brother was unable to push off, and asked her to help, so she stood

up and, with the other oar, moved to assist him. The shifting of her

weight must have loosened the boat, as at that very moment her brother

gave a shove and they shot off the mud with a lurch, sending her with

great violence into the bottom of the boat and stunning her.

As she fell (and here I heard a break in the low, sweet voice which was

telling me the tale) she remembered seeing her brother disappear

overboard, upset by the sudden movement of the boat beneath him, and

believed she gave a cry at the sight; but knew no more till she awakened

in the cabin of the _Thelma_.

The simple narrative ceased, and I wondered that when trying to puzzle

out where she could have come from, I had never thought to connect the

wherry I had seen in the morning with my visitor's sudden appearance.

How marvellous it seemed, though, that the boat with its helpless

freight should have been carried by the ebbing tide straight into my

care, and how deeply thankful I was that it had been so ordered, saving

the poor girl from a terrible, lonely drift out to sea, from many hours'

exposure, perhaps from being run down by a passing vessel, certainly

from grave danger in many ways!

Now I could see my way at last as to my next move, and hastened to

assure my anxious visitor that I had little fear for her brother's

safety, as I knew there were no mudbanks in that part of the river

except those along the edge of the shore, and therefore he would almost

certainly have been able to scramble out.

There were still one or two things I did not quite understand, however,

so, whilst we ate a fairly hearty meal off the remainder of my whiting,

I plied her with a question or two, and by-and-by we got very friendly

and cheerful, and I quite disliked the idea of going out into the misty

morning to make arrangements for giving up my fair and charming visitor.

As for Miss Burfield (as I now must call her), her spirits rose with my

hopeful words, and as the food had its effect on her physically.

But in my mind was a sinister fear, which I carefully kept from her.

I had heard no shouts, no sound of any search, either in the night nor

since daybreak, which seemed strange; and it had occurred to me that

_if_ the young fellow had been drowned this would be explained, for

those on the wherry might know nothing, thinking their visitors had

reached the shore, while those ashore might think they had stopped

overnight on board on account of the fog, and so no search would be

made, no alarm taken.

I asked whose was the boat they were in and which I had secured,

wondering if it would be missed.

"It belonged to a man in the village," she said. "We borrowed it because

the man who works the wherry for the Smalls was away for the night, and

we thought we would save Mr. Small the trouble of rowing us ashore so

late at night in his own boat."

"Was the owner waiting up for you to bring the boat back?" I asked.

"No, we promised to tie it up safely, so that he need not worry about

it," she answered.

So, there again, they would not be missed till the man failed to find

his boat, which might not be for hours yet. It seemed to me that I might

have the terrible duty of breaking the bad news of the loss of the young

man, instead of, as I had thought, the good tidings of the finding of

the lost girl.

But that remained to be proved, and I could only hope for the best.

In any case my duty was now plain, and with a few cheering words to my

companion, telling her that I was going to the village to report her

safety, and to send a messenger to her home that they might come and

fetch her, and would be back as soon as possible with (I hoped) the good

news of her brother's safety, I set off, early as it was, and rowed

myself ashore in the dinghy. I was glad to see that the fog was thinning

even then, and by the time I had landed and run along the towing-path to

the village, the sun was just visible through the haze, giving every

hope of a lovely day.

With mingled feelings of dread and hope I approached the scattered

houses of the little hamlet, half fearing to see groups of men by the

river-side searching for some gruesome object, and, again, when all

seemed still and peaceful, fearing that the absence of movement might

mean the very thing I dreaded--namely, that the catastrophe had

happened, and no one any the wiser.

There lay the wherry, without sight or sound of any living person on

board; no one was moving in the little straggling street; not a dog

barked.

I went straight to the old inn, which stood about a hundred yards from

the landing-stage, opposite the wherry's anchorage, and knocked loudly

at the door. No one answered, so I tried the latch, the door opened to

my hand, and I walked into the brick-floored bar, and at first thought

it was empty.

Then I heard a slight movement and the sound of a yawn, and, looking

towards the large settle by the side of the hearth, saw my old

acquaintance, the innkeeper, evidently aroused by my knocking from a

sound sleep, rubbing his eyes and stiffly getting to his feet.

Much astonished he looked when he saw who his visitor was, as he did not

know I had come down to the yacht, and certainly was not accustomed to

such early rising on my part.

His first words gave me a cold feeling of apprehension, for on

recognising me he said--

"Oh, sir, I am glad you are here; perhaps you will be able to help us in

this dreadful business."

"What dreadful business?" I said, sharply enough, for I feared his

answer, and dared not ask a more direct question, for the thought of

the sweet girl I had left behind in the _Thelma_, and the news it

seemed I was to take back to her, was almost too much for me.

"Dear, dear, haven't you heard, sir?" went on the old man, thoroughly

awake now in his eagerness to impart the news. "There's that poor, dear

Miss Burfield, the sweetest young lady as ever I knew, gone floating

down the river last night in the fog all alone, and goodness knows what

has become of her, poor dear, by now--and her young brother, too, wet

through as he was, gone off with the gentleman from yonder wherry in a

boat to look for her, hours ago--and a poor chance of finding her, _I_

say, till the fog blows off, even if they don't lose themselves as well

as her. And the poor old squire, too, he be in a dreadful way, and

sendin' messengers to all the coastguards for miles, he is, to look out

for the lady----"

Here the old man paused for want of breath, and I--completely relieved

by his rambling statement from my fear about the girl's brother,

hastened to relieve him with my astonishing news that Miss Burfield was

safe and sound in my yacht, and had been so for some hours.

Eager as I was to get back to the _Thelma_ with my good news, I could

not get away till I had told the good old fellow how it had happened

that I had rescued her, and he in return told me how young Burfield had

rushed, muddy and dripping, into the inn as they were all going to bed,

and demanded help in the search for his sister. No boat was to be had at

the moment, and so they had shouted till Mr. Small came ashore in his

own boat, and had at once rowed away with young Burfield down the river,

in the thick darkness, with the faint hope of finding the missing girl

before she drifted into the open sea.

"I told 'em it warn't much good," ended the old man, "and that they'd

best wait till daylight, but they would go. As for me, I reckon I've

done the best thing, for I druv' over at once to the coastguards down

yonder, and told 'em to keep a look out at the mouth o' the river. I

ain't been back long, and was just takin' a nap when you found me, as I

hadn't the 'art to go to bed."

Having arranged with him to send the good news to all concerned,

especially to the Hall, where old Mr. Burfield must doubtless be in a

terrible state of anxiety, I hurried back along the towing-path,

rejoicing in the thought that I should now be able to relieve my fair

visitor's mind of her anxiety.

I found her on deck, looking anxious, indeed, but so pretty and fresh in

spite of her trying night's experiences, that my impressions of the

night were greatly intensified, and I began to bless the unusual

circumstances that had brought us together and made us friends, as it

were, from the first moment of our acquaintance; and I registered a

mental vow that the bond thus created between us should never be broken,

if it lay in my power to prevent it.

And when I had told her the good news, and we had at last an opportunity

of friendly converse unclouded by forebodings and anxious thoughts, I

for one thoroughly enjoyed the companionship, and allowed myself to hope

that it was not altogether disagreeable to my charming visitor.

It did not seem long, therefore, to me before the arrival of Mr.

Burfield, who overwhelmed me with far more thanks and gratitude than I

deserved, and insisted on my spending the rest of that week-end at the

Hall--an invitation backed up in irresistible fashion by his daughter.

To complete the general satisfaction, whilst we were talking we heard

the sound of oars, and saw a boat approaching, containing two of the

most weary and dispirited-looking men I ever saw.

They proved to be Mr. Small and Mr. Harold Burfield, returning dead-beat

and miserable after a fruitless and wretched search for the missing

boat, to get food and to make arrangements for a further expedition. How

can I describe their intense relief and astonishment when--summoned by a

mighty shout--they pulled to shore, and saw the girl they imagined

drifting helplessly miles out at sea standing on shore, safe and sound,

and in infinitely better case than themselves, and heard that she had

never been farther than where she now was from the scene of the accident

the night before?

Later on I asked Harold Burfield why he had not shouted as he rowed down

the river after his sister in the darkness, when I might have heard and

answered.

He said that at first he thought it no use, as he knew his sister's

boat must have had a long start of them; and later, when they had rowed

some way, and considered they must have caught up with it, they had done

so at intervals all night long, on the chance of her hearing.

So I suppose that, either they were past the _Thelma_ before they began

to call, or else in the fog had got so far over on the other side of the

channel that their voices had not reached me, as I was shut up in my

cabin.

So all the little mysteries were cleared up, and everything had "come

right in the end," as such things should.

I have spent many a happy week-end since then at the Hall and on board

the _Thelma_, and to my dying day I shall bless the fog of that

September night, for Lilian has promised shortly to fix the day of our

wedding, and we have both decided that part of the honeymoon at least is

to be spent on board the _Thelma_; and I really believe that we shall

both be rather disappointed if we do not get a bit of foggy weather to

remind us how we first made each other's acquaintance, and made friends

over "whiting and tea" in the little cabin at six o'clock in the

morning.

XIII

THE DEFLECTED COMPASS

The paddle-steamer _Queen of the Isles_ was alongside the quay at St.

Mary's, and had already given one shrill intimation that she was

prepared to leave the harbour. Sydney and I were ready, with our

portmanteaux strapped and our caps on, but the Honourable John had not

yet appeared. We were impatient. Very important was it that we should

catch the mail out of Penzance that same evening, for the following

morning we were all due in London. Any delay in our return would be

taken from the holidays of the next batch, and we should never hear the

last of it if we were late, to say nothing of the unfairness of reducing

the well-earned rest of the next batch by our dilatoriness and lack of

consideration. We had taken the precaution to settle the hotel accounts,

because we knew the habits of the Honourable John, and we stood in the

hall with the thunder gathering upon our brows, and threatening to peal

forth in tones more loud than complimentary.

"If he isn't down in two minutes, Syd, I'm off," said I, pulling out my

watch, and nervously noting the jerky springs of the spidery second-hand

that seemed to be in a much greater hurry than usual.

"John!" bawled Syd up the stairway. "Do you hear? You'll miss the

steamer."

"What's the fellow doing?" I asked, with irritation, as I observed that

half a minute had passed.

"Waxing the ends of his ridiculous moustache," answered Syd; then,

turning again to the foot of the stairs, "John! We're going. Hurry up!"

A door opened on the landing, and a voice drawled, "I say, you chaps,

have you paid the bill?"

"Certainly," said I. "Come along. We've barely time to catch the

steamer. Didn't you hear the whistle?"

"I heard something a little while ago, a sort of an ear-piercing shriek

that startled me, and caused me to nick my chin with the razor. I shall

have to put a bit of flesh-coloured plaster over it. Was that the

whistle?" asked the Honourable John in the most tantalising, nonchalant

way, as if he had all the day before him.

We looked up the stairway, and there he was on the landing, in his

shirt-sleeves, slowly adjusting the ends of a salmon-coloured tie.

"The two minutes are up," said I, replacing my watch, and stooping for

my portmanteau. At that moment the whistle sounded again, and I hurried

away, followed by Syd, both of us muttering that the dawdler deserved to

be left, but none the less hoping in our hearts that he would be in

time.

The hotel was near the harbour, and we were soon aboard. On the bridge,

between the paddle-boxes, the captain stood with the string attached to

the syren in his hand; beside him, glancing at the compass-card,

grasping the spokes of the wheel, and silently awaiting instructions,

was one of the men; the mate was for'ard with his whistle; and two

little knots of islanders were gathered about the moorings on the quay,

ready to cast off the hawsers as soon as the paddles moved and the

captain gave the word.

Loungers and holiday-makers were stirred into mild excitement by our

expected departure. Exchanges of farewells, amid occasional shouts and a

continuous ripple of laughter, were passing between those on board and

those ashore. The usually quiet life of St. Mary's was bubbling up in

its periodical agitation. By the outgoing and incoming of the steamer

the islanders touched the great world without, and thrilled at the touch

and felt its importance.

It was a pleasant scene, or it would have been but for the inexcusable

delay of the Honourable John. We began to fear that he would be left.

The captain pulled the string again, and the syren sounded, with a

peculiar urgency, as it seemed to me, ending in a despairing wail; then,

stepping to the indicator, he signalled to the engineer, and the paddles

began to revolve. The forward hawser was thrown off and fell with a

splash into the sea; astern we were yet alongside the quay.

The Honourable John appeared, resplendent in all the glory of a silk

hat and frock coat, with a flower in his buttonhole, his hands gloved in

lemon-coloured kids, and his feet shiny with patent leather; the people

parted to let him pass, and stared at him as if he were a marquis at the

very least, but the porter flung his portmanteau over the bulwarks like

that of any other common tourist; John himself, with more agility than I

gave him credit for, sprang aboard only just in time, as the men shouted

"All clear aft, sir."

Once more we heard the click of the bells in the engine-room, and away

we went through the clear waters, with the white foam mingling in our

wake and the other islands gliding rapidly into view.

"You donkey!" said I, surveying the delinquent from head to foot, and

noticing particularly the round spot of plaster on his chin. "Why didn't

you come earlier?"

"Call him a parrakeet," said Syd. "That will better describe him."

"He's both," I replied--"slow as the one and gay as the other. But we've

got him, and we'll see that he does not defraud young Clifton of a

single minute of the holiday he's waiting for--ay, and well deserves."

"You're always in such a desperate hurry," observed the Honourable John,

ignoring the epithets with which we assailed him. He was never offended,

and never perturbed. When the vials of our wrath were poured upon him,

as they had been pretty freely during the holiday, they ran off him

like the proverbial water from the duck's back. We simply could not have

endured his foppishness and dandyism, combined with a temper always

serene, if we had not known that at heart he was a very good fellow. "I

was in time," said he.

"You were," returned Syd significantly--"nearly in time to be late."

"But I wasn't late," drawled John, "so what's the good of making a fuss

about it. One of the pleasures of life is to take things easily; as my

friend the Irishman once remarked, 'If ye cannot be happy, be aisy; and

if ye cannot be aisy, be as aisy as ye can.' But, I say, I don't call

this a specially bright morning; do you? Look there! We're running into

a bank of fog."

So we were. A dense white barrier, clean and straight as a wall, rose

from the sea to the sky, and in another minute we had plunged into it.

We did not anticipate so sudden a change. Fog was far from our thoughts,

for the morning had been bright and sunny all around the islands, and

the air was very still. For two or three days scarcely a breath of wind

had wandered across the brilliant summer atmosphere. Now, with the fog,

came a softly moving breeze out of the north-east. The fog drifted

before it in one immense mass; there was no ripple upon the sea.

Upon the passengers the effect was very curious; where, a few moments

before, there had been ready repartee, interspersed with laughter, now

there was low-toned commonplace conversation, or a dead silence. We were

wrapped in a cloud; moisture began to form in tiny drops upon the

stanchions and the deck, upon the beards and moustaches of the male part

of the voyagers, upon the woolly texture of the garments of all, even

upon the smoothly brushed silk of the Honourable John's top hat; save

for the swish of the paddles and the running of the engines, with a

whispered exclamation here and there, we could hear nothing; and we

could scarcely see the length of the ship.

It was the first bit of objectionable weather we had experienced during

the holiday. We had spent a fortnight in the "Delectable Duchy." From

Looe to Sennen we had not missed a single place worth seeing, and we had

finished up with a week in the Scilly Isles. Making St. Mary's our

centre, we had rowed and waded to St. Martin's and St. Agnes', to Tresco

and Bryer and Samson and Annet, to Great Ganilly and Great Arthur, to

Gweal and Illiswilgis, and a host of other places in that shattered and

scattered heap of granite which forms the outstanding sentinel of our

far western coast. The weather had been perfect. But now, having cleared

the road and rounded St. Mary's, we were met by this thick mist, swaying

down upon us like a vast curtain, and quickly enveloping us in its

vapoury folds.

"You'll want a new topper, John, when we reach Penzance," said Syd, as

he noted how the moisture was ruffling the silk and dimming its gloss.

He laughed as he said it, but, in the silence, his laugh seemed to be an

intrusion.

"You're mistaken, Syd," he replied; and, as he took off his hat and

surveyed it, he continued, "In all weathers, there's no head gear so

durable, and therefore so economical, as a good silk chimney-pot; and

certainly there's nothing in the way of a _chapeau_ so comfortable and

becoming."

"Tastes differ," said I.

"They do," answered John, "and I speak about my own. I've tried others.

Oh, yes, I have," said he, as we looked at him incredulously, "and I

speak from experience. I tell you, they're cheap, if you will only give

enough for them. Why, I know an old fellow who has worn the very same

tile, in all weathers, for fifteen years; it has been in the height of

fashion twice in that time, and it will soon come in again; and it is a

very decent thing yet when it has been newly pressed and ironed."

"I prefer my deerstalker," said Syd.

"And I my golfer," said I.

"Which shows very plainly that your sartorial education has been

neglected," returned John, "and I pity you. You are not living up to

your privileges, and, worse still, you are unaware of the privileges you

might live up to. But, I say, this is a sneezer!" and he looked about

him into the fog, which was becoming denser every minute. "They're

lessening the pace. I suppose it wouldn't do to drive along through this

thick stuff. We might reach an unexpected terminus. What say you? Shall

we go on the bridge?"

"The captain may not allow us," said I.

"Pooh! I know the cap. He's a forty-second cousin of mine. Come along.

I'll introduce you now that we are out of the narrows and in the open

sea."

"It seems to me as if the sea were shut," whispered Syd, as we followed

the Honourable John to the bridge.

"Closed, at any rate," said I, "and with very moist curtains, through

which we must push our way unpleasantly enough into the harbour."

We reached the upper deck, which was dotted with bulgy figures in cloaks

and capes, damp, and silent, and melancholy. The bridge formed the

forward part of the upper deck, where it terminated amidships; the

helmsman, with his hands upon the spokes, shifted his eyes alternately

between the binnacle and the bows, and gave the wheel a turn now this

way and now that, while the captain paced cross-wise between the

paddle-boxes, and searched the mirk above and ahead to see whether there

was any likelihood that the weather would clear.

Abaft the funnel the deck was free to those of the passengers who held

saloon tickets, but afore the funnel--that is, on the bridge itself--no

one was allowed without the captain's special permission. This space was

railed off, with a hinged lift in the mahogany on either side, both of

which were now down and barred. We were not quite sure whether the

captain were really the Honourable John's relative, or whether our

comrade's proposal to join the captain was only one of those erratic

notions which visited his aristocratic brain, and were often carried

through with a confidence so complete as to be rarely unsuccessful. He

was unmercifully snubbed sometimes, and he richly deserved it; but the

curious thing about him was that the snubs were wasted. Where others

would have retired crestfallen, the Honourable John held his head high

and heeded not.

We were prepared to find that the forty-second cousinship was a fiction,

and that the captain would quietly ignore him; but we were in the

background, and it mattered very little to us; the deck would be as

welcome as the bridge.

"Well, cousin cap.," said John familiarly, placing his hand upon the wet

mahogany rail, "and how are you?"

"Hallo!" exclaimed the captain, facing round. "Where have you tumbled

from?"

"Hughtown, St. Mary's, was the last bit of mother earth I touched before

I sprang aboard the _Queen of Paddlers_. May we venture within your

private domain?"

"Why, certainly, John," and he lifted the rail and beckoned us forward.

"Two chums of mine," said John, naming us, and then he named the captain

as his respected cousin forty-two times removed. The captain smiled at

him, shook his head, and observed that the relationship was a little

closer than that, but a puzzle, nevertheless, to work out exactly.

"I must have missed you when you came aboard," said he, "and yet in your

usual get-up I don't see how I could very well. You look as if you had

just stepped out of a band-box, except for the dampness, of course."

"Oh, you were busy when I joined you," said John, evidently pleased with

the captain's remarks about his appearance. "I had to jump for it. But

you haven't answered my question. How are you?"

"Tol'able, thank'e. And your folks--how are they? I need not ask how

_you_ are," and, while John answered him, he placed camp-stools for us,

and said to Syd and me, "Sit down, gentlemen; and excuse me if I address

myself mainly to this eccentric cousin of mine, and, I am sure, your

very good friend. I do not see him often, and he never will let me know

when he is coming my way"--a statement which Syd and I could easily

believe. For, with all John's faults, and he had many of them, he was

one of the least obtrusive of men where hospitality came in, and one of

the most reticent about himself and his own affairs; and we, who worked

with him, knew him almost exclusively as a good fellow in the

department, and a capital companion for a holiday.

The captain placed John's camp-stool on the starboard side of the

binnacle. Their conversation was broken into snatches by the captain's

movements. As he paced the bridge, backwards and forwards, he halted

each time just for a moment when he came to where John had propped his

back against the binnacle and tilted his stool at an angle that

threatened collapse. Syd and I sat quite apart, and left them alone to

their semi-private conversation. We noticed, however, that the captain

appeared to be uneasy about the vessel's course and progress; he glanced

more than once at the compass-card, and several times, in his

perambulations, he lingered over the paddle-boxes, and intently watched

the water as it slipped by. So that his conversation with the Honourable

John became more fragmentary, and was more frequently interrupted the

nearer we approached the land.

After some time the captain came to a sudden stand over the port

paddle-box, and curved his left hand round his ear. For a minute or more

he stood like a statue, perfectly motionless, and with his whole being

absorbed in an effort to catch a faint and expected sound across the

water. Satisfied with the effort, he stepped briskly to the indicator,

and signalled to the engineer to increase the speed of the steamer.

"What is it, cap.?" asked John.

"The bell on the Runnel Stone," he replied. "Cannot you hear it?"

The captain's statuesque figure, intently listening, had been observed

by the passengers, and there was a dead silence aboard, broken only by

the thumping of the engines and the splash of the paddle-blades as they

pounded the still waters. Presently the dreary clang of the bell,

struck by the clapper as the sea rocked it, came to us in uncertain and

fitful tones. It was a melancholy sound, but its effect was cheering,

because it gave the people some idea of our whereabouts, and was an

indication that we had crossed the intervening space between the islands

and the mainland. We were making fair progress despite the fog, and

should soon be ashore again.

A babble of talk began and ran the round of the passengers, breaking out

among a group of younger people into a ripple of laughter. For a quarter

of an hour this went on, then, to the amazement of all on board, the

captain, after glancing anxiously at the compass-card, sternly called

out "Silence!" Meanwhile the sound of the bell had become clearer, but

was now growing less distinct; and, as the captain's order was instantly

obeyed, we became aware of another sound--the breaking of the waves upon

the shore.

For a moment the captain listened, straining his eyes at the same time

to pierce the dense mist ahead; the man on the look-out, perched in the

bows, who had been leaning forward with his hand shading his eyes,

turned about with a startled gesture, throwing his arms aloft, and

shouted to the captain that we were close in shore, and heading for it

directly; the captain sprang to the indicator, and signalled for the

reversal of the engines; but it was too late. With a thud that threw us

all forward the steamer grounded.

Instantly all was confusion. Some lost their heads, and began to rush

about wildly. A few screamed. Nearly every one became visibly paler. Syd

and I started from our seats, and gazed bewilderedly at an expanse of

yellow sand softly revealed beneath the mist, and stretching ahead and

on either hand into the white moisture by which we were encompassed.

John walked over to us apparently unmoved.

"Well, this is a go," said he.

Before we could reply, the captain bawled out his orders that all the

passengers must retire to the after-part of the ship, and help, so far

as their collected weight might do so, to raise the bows now sunk in the

soft sand. He assured them that there was not the slightest danger; the

vessel was uninjured; we were ashore on a yielding and shelving beach;

and that, if they would remain perfectly quiet, and obey orders, he had

some hope that he might get the vessel afloat again.

There was a general move aft, and although signs of distress, and even

of terror, were not wanting on some faces, the people gathered quietly

enough into one solid mass. We three stood on the outer edge of the

company. Syd and I were considerably excited, but John was as calm as a

man could be. With tremendous uproar the reversed paddles began to churn

the shallow water, but not an inch did we move.

The captain stepped to the binnacle, and read the compass-card. A swift

change passed over his face; in mingled surprise and anger he pointed

within the binnacle, and began to question the man at the wheel; but he

was more surprised than the captain--so utterly amazed, in fact, that he

could not be angry, and only protested that he had kept the vessel true

to the course which had been given him, and could not explain why the

card had veered three to four points farther westward since the vessel

had touched the ground. It was no use contending about the matter then.

The paddles began to throw up the sand as well as the water, and the

captain saw that the vessel would have to remain where she was until the

next tide.

"We are fast, sure 'nough," sang out the captain. "You had better gather

your traps together, and prepare to leave the vessel. There will be

conveyances in the villages to take you to Penzance."

The company dispersed and scattered about the boat, merrily collecting

their belongings now that they knew the worst, and that the worst was

not very bad after all. We rejoined the captain.

"What's the name of this new port of discharge?" asked John.

"Not port, but Porth," answered the captain grimly, for it was no

laughing matter to him. "Porth Curnow. And you may thank your stars that

we have run clear in upon the sand, and not a few furlongs south or

north, for then we should have been laid up either under Tol-Pedn or

beneath the Logan Rock."

"I can follow your location admirably, cap.," said John. "We are eight

or nine miles from Penzance--is not that so? Yes!" as the captain

nodded gloomily; "and Porth Curnow is the place where the submarine

telegraph chaps live. But, I say, why did you bring us here? We booked

for Penzance."

"Goodness knows--I don't. Something's gone wrong with the compass. We

were on the right course, and the compass was true until we grounded;

then it swerved most unaccountably nearly four points to the westward,

and there it remains."

"That's a curious freak, cap. You'll be interviewed by all the

scientific folk in the kingdom, and I shouldn't wonder if you are not

summoned to appear, and give evidence, before a select committee of the

Royal Society. Four points out! Why, man, you're immortalised. I call it

a most lucky deflection."

"Do you? I don't," growled the captain. "Others are welcome to the

immortality. I prefer to do without, and steer by a compass that's true.

And it _has_ been true up to now."

"That's where it comes in," exclaimed John. "That's what makes it

remarkable. If the compass _hadn't_ been true, you would have gained

nothing by this little adventure; but, as you say, it _has_ been true,

therefore---- Oh! dear, it takes a lot to satisfy some people. And you

cannot account for it? Do you think the telegraph station has had

anything to do with it--electricity, you know? Electricity is a queer

thing, and plays pranks sometimes. No! Well, perhaps the hills are

magnetic."

"Come, John, you're losing your head; and I have these people to see

to," remarked the captain somewhat tartly.

"I believe I am," said John. "It's a habit I have, but I generally find

it again. Well, cap., if you require any assistance in the unloading of

the cargo, say the word, and here I am, your cousin to command"; and the

captain was obliged to smile, notwithstanding the disaster--an effect

which John had been trying for all the while.

"Your suggestion about the telegraph station has put a practical idea

into my brain, and I am thankful for that, John. I'll sound the syren,

and bring the fellows down. They'll be willing to help in a mess like

this, anyhow; and, if there are not enough conveyances to run the people

down to Penzance, they can wire for a few to fetch them"; and, pulling

the cord, he sent the shriek of the syren through the mist in resounding

and ear-splitting tones.

By this time, the passengers had all pressed forward into the bows, with

the easily transferable part of their luggage about them. The water had

receded, and left the bows clear; but it was too long a drop into the

wet sand for any one to venture down without assistance. The ladies

especially were looking wistfully over the bulwarks. We three went

forward also, but we left our portmanteaux to take care of themselves.

Soon two young fellows dashed down the sands, halloing in answer to the

syren, and stood with wondering eyes beneath the bows.

"Who are you?" shouted one of them.

"Scilly people," piped a shrill female voice from our midst.

"That we are--very," said John drily; at which, notwithstanding our

plight, there was a general laugh.

The two were speedily increased to half a dozen, and these were joined

by quite a group of farm-servants and villagers, attracted by the

unwonted sound of a syren floating across their fields. Some of the

latter, scenting substantial gain, ran off to harness their horses to

such conveyances as they could command in readiness for the drive to

Penzance, while the rest remained, having also a view to the needful, to

act as porters and guides.

One of the men, by the captain's orders, came forward with a

rope-ladder, fastened one end securely within the bulwarks, and threw

the other over the side. It hung about four feet from the ground.

Immediately the passengers swarmed about the head of the ladder, and,

although there was no real danger, pushed and jostled each other in the

attempt to secure an early descent. A few thoughtless young fellows were

claiming the first chance when the Honourable John interfered.

"Here," said he, "ladies first, and one at a time," and he shouldered

the too eager males aside. He took off his hat, turned to the crowd

below, and, picking out a telegraph clerk, said, "Catch my tile, will

you? And, mind, don't sit on it! It may collapse. Thank you!" as the man

caught it cleverly, and smiled at the instructions. Then he slipped out

of his frock-coat, and flung it aside; undid his cuff-links, and rolled

up his sleeves; bowed to the nearest woman of the party, who happened to

be a stout Scillonian in a peasant's dress, and said, "Ready! Allow me,

madam." As he helped her to the top of the bulwarks, and down the rungs,

he sang out, "Below there! Steady this lady down, and help her to the

ground."

Syd and I handed up the other ladies, and the Honourable John, balanced

upon the bulwarks, gallantly helped them down the ladder as far as his

arms would reach, where they were taken in charge by the telegraph

clerks, and landed upon the wet sand. The captain watched the

proceedings from the bridge with an amused expression. Before long all

the ladies were disposed of, and we left the men to scramble down as

best they could. John picked up his coat, and I held it by the collar

while he slipped his arms through the arm-holes and drew it on.

When he flung the coat aside I noticed a peculiarity of the collar as it

fell and lay upon the ground. While the waist and all the lower part was

limp, the collar preserved an unnatural stiffness--a stiffness that

extended to the breast; this part stood up as if within it there were

some invisible form. Several times as I turned to assist the lady whose

turn came next I noticed this peculiarity; and when I held the collar to

help the Honourable John into this fashionable frock-coat, there was a

hardness about it which made me wonder whether his tailor had stitched

into it several strips of buckram, or cleverly inserted beneath the

collar, and down the breast, a piece of flexible whalebone. Whatever it

was that gave this part of his coat its rigidity, I dismissed it from my

mind with the thought that the Honourable John was a greater fop than

either Syd or I supposed.

Bareheaded he went to bid his cousin good-bye. We also shook the

captain's hand, and expressed our regret, with John, at the misfortune

which had befallen him because of the deflection of the compass. We were

the last to leave by the rope-ladder, handing down our portmanteaux

before we descended ourselves; and the captain waved his hand to us from

the bows before we vanished into the mist. The heavy luggage would have

to wait until the steamer floated off with the next tide, and made her

way round to Penzance; but negotiations had begun before we left for the

conveyance of the mails in time to catch the up train, by which we also

intended travelling to London.

John recovered his hat, and we pushed through the yielding shell beach,

preceded by our improvised porters, to the broken ramparts of Treryn

Dinas; these we climbed, and made our way across the fields to the

village of Treryn; and here we hired a trap, which ran us into Penzance

in time to discuss a good dinner before we started on our journey by

rail.

We were well on the way to Plymouth, and I was reading a newspaper of

the day before, when a curious paragraph caught my eye.

"Listen to this!" said I to the other two, and I read: "'It has

frequently happened that ships have got out of their course at sea by

some unaccountable means, and a warning just issued by the Admiralty may

perhaps have some bearing on the matter. Their Lordships say that their

attention has been called to the practice of seamen wearing steel

stretchers in their caps, and to the danger which may result from these

stretchers becoming strongly magnetised, and being worn by men close to

the ship's compasses. Instances have been reported of compasses being

considerably deflected in this manner, and their Lordships have now

directed that the use of steel stretchers in caps is to be immediately

discontinued.' I wonder if the deflection of the compass of the _Queen

of the Isles_ can be explained in a similar way. Possibly the helmsman

may have been wearing one of these stretchers."

"Whew!" exclaimed the Honourable John, giving his knee a tremendous

slap. "I have it. I must write to my cousin. It is my fault--my fault,

entirely. But I never thought of it."

"Thought of what?" asked Syd.

"What do you mean?" inquired I.

"This----" and the Honourable John for once exhibited a rueful face.

"You saw where the cap. placed me; and how I tilted my stool and leaned

against the binnacle. Well, look here!" and he folded back the lappets

of his coat, and showed us a narrow band of flat spring steel that

passed under his collar and down either side to keep it from creasing

and to help it to fit closely to his body. "That patent thing has done

the mischief, without a doubt. Oh, what a fool I am! I might have sent

the whole ship-load of us to Davy Jones. I'll forswear this fashionable

toggery henceforth when I'm away on holiday, and follow the innocent

example of sensible chaps like you."

We made no comment, but we both observed that our companion was

singularly quiet all the way from Plymouth to London.

XIV

IN PERIL IN AFRICA

The attempt to open up new countries, the natives of which object to the

process, naturally leads to adventures, often of a very dangerous kind.

Nevertheless, explorers and traders take their lives in their hands,

considering the possible results well worth the risk.

So does the missionary. In place of worldly fame and wealth, his efforts

are likely to bring him suffering and death; but, while facing these, he

may spread the faith which is dearer to him than life; he may bring the

news of the love of God, with its uplifting power, to those who, sunk in

ignorance and degradation, tremble before idols; and he, too, feels that

personal dangers are not worth weighing in comparison with the glorious

cause in which they are dared. As Bishop Hannington said just before

going out as a missionary--

"If I lose my life in Africa, no one must think it has been wasted. The

lives that have been already given for the cause are not lost. They are

_filling up the trench so that others may the more easily pass over to

take the fort in the name of the Lord_!"

That is the spirit in which he went out and in turn laid down his

life--helping to fill the trench to such good purpose that his own son,

in after years, baptised the son of his murderer! Hannington's life in

Africa was a constant succession of dangers faced, difficulties

overcome, and hardships endured, all of which his intense faith, and his

gift of humour, enabled him to go through cheerfully.

He was a keen sportsman, ever eager to add to his collection of rare

creatures, and his letters home give vivid account of some of his

adventures. On one or two occasions he had narrow escapes from death--

"This part of the country abounds with game. On one occasion a herd of

antelopes crossed the path as tamely as if they had been sheep, and

tracks of giraffe and larger game were frequently seen. Guinea-fowl were

so plentiful that one of the white men at Mpwapwa told us that he did

not trouble to fire at them unless he could ensure killing two or three

at a shot.

"I had two narrow escapes in one of my walks with a gun in search of

game. I came to a belt of jungle so dense that the only way to get

through it was to creep on all fours along the tracks made by hyenas and

smaller game; and as I was crawling along I saw close in front of me a

deadly puff-adder; in another second I should have been on it.

"The same day, on my return, I espied in one of these same tracks a

peculiar arrangement of grass, which I at once recognised to be over a

pitfall; but though I had seen it I had already gone too far, and fell

with a tremendous crash, my double-barrel gun full-cocked in my hand. I

had the presence of mind to let myself go and look out only for my gun,

which fortunately did not explode. On arriving at the bottom I called

out to my terrified boy, 'Mikuke Hapana,' 'There are no spears,' a most

merciful providence; for they often stake these pitfalls in order to

ensure the death of animals that fall into them. The pitfall could not

have been less than ten feet deep, for when I proceeded to extricate

myself I found that I could not reach the top with my uplifted hands.

"Undaunted by my adventures, and urged on by the monotony of nothing but

tough goat on the sideboard, I started before the break of next morning

in pursuit of game, and was soon to be seen crawling on hands and knees

after antelope, I am afraid unmindful of puff-adders and pitfalls.

"By and by the path followed the bed of a narrow stream, which was

completely ploughed with the tracks of buffalo and giraffe, as fresh as

fresh could be. Our impression was, and probably it was right, that the

former were lurking in the dense thicket close by. The breathless

excitement that such a position keeps you in does much to help along the

weary miles of the march, and to ward off attacks of fever. All

experienced hands out here recommend that men should, while not losing

sight of their one grand object, keep themselves amused.

"Your cousin Gordon and I, with our boys, had led the van all the

morning. He, having lately had fever, complained of being tired, and

begged me to continue in pursuit of game alone, merely taking my one

faithful boy with me to carry my gun; but I refused to leave him, for

never had I complained of an ache or pain but what he was at my side to

help and comfort me. We sat down and rested, and the other brethren,

with a party of a dozen or fourteen, marched on ahead. They had not gone

many hundred yards before I heard the whiz of a bullet. 'They have found

game,' said I. Bang went a second shot. 'It's a herd.' Then another.

'Yes, it must be a herd.' Then a fourth, and it dawned on me that they

were attacked by robbers--the far-famed Ruga-Ruga.

"'Stay where' you are,' I cried, and dashed off, closely followed by my

boys. The bangs had now reached seven, and we had not the slightest

doubt it was an attack of robbers, and so it proved to be. My anxiety

was relieved by seeing our men all intact, standing together at bay with

a foe that was nowhere to be beheld. I soon learnt that as they were

quietly proceeding a party of the savage Wahumba tribe had swooped down

upon them; but seeing white men with rifles had fled with the utmost

precipitation, without even discharging a poisoned arrow. To make their

flight more rapid the white men had fired their rifles in the air; and

one in grabbing his gun from his boy had managed to discharge it in

such a manner as to blow off the sight of his neighbour's rifle. Finding

that danger was at an end for the time being, I begged them to remain as

they were, ready to receive an attack, while I returned with my boys to

Gordon, and got the stragglers together, after which we all proceeded in

a body. I have always thought that it was I who had the greatest escape

of all; for had I gone on, as Gordon proposed, with only one, or at the

outside two boys, I should most probably have been attacked."

A little later the Bishop had an even narrower escape from a

justly-enraged lion and lioness--

"Presently, while hunting for insects in short mimosa tangle up to the

knee, I disturbed a strange-looking animal, about the size of a sheep,

brownish colour, long tail, short legs, feline in aspect and movement,

but quite strange to me. I took my gun and shot it dead--yes, quite

dead. Away tore my boy as fast as his legs would carry him, terrified

beyond measure at what I had done! What, indeed? you may well ask. I had

killed the cub of a lioness! Terror was written on every line and

feature of the lad, and dank beads of perspiration stood on his face. I

saw it as he passed me in his flight, and his fear for the moment

communicated itself to me. I turned to flee, and had gone a few paces,

when I heard a savage growl, and a tremendous lioness--I say advisedly a

tremendous one--bounded straight at me.

"In spite of the loaded gun in my hand, it seemed to me that I was

lost. The boy knew more about lions than I did, and his fear knew no

bounds. I began to realise that I was in a dangerous situation, for a

lioness robbed of her whelp is not the most gentle creature to deal

with. I retreated hastily. No; I will out with it, children, in plain

language--I ran five or six steps; every step she gained upon me, and

the growls grew fiercer and louder. Do I say _she_ gained?--_they_

gained, for the lion was close behind her, and both were making straight

for me. They will pause at the dead cub? No; they take no notice of it;

they come at me. What is to be done?

"It now struck me that retreat was altogether wrong. Like a cat with a

mouse, it induced them to follow. Escape in this manner was impossible.

I halted, and just at that moment came a parting yell from my boy,

'Hakuna! Kimbia!'

"I thought he had seen and heard the lion and lioness, and that,

speaking as he does bad Kiswahili, he had said, 'Kakuna Kimbia!' which

might be roughly, though wrongly, translated, 'Don't run away!' instead

of which he meant to say--in fact, did say--'No! Run away!'

"I have no hesitation in saying that a stop wrongly read but rightly

made saved my life. I had in the second or two that had elapsed

determined to face it out; and now, strengthened as I thought by his

advice, I made a full stop and turned sharply on them. This new policy

on my part caused them to check instantly. They now stood lashing their

tails and growling, and displaying unfeigned wrath, but a few paces from

me.

"I then had time to inspect them. They were a right royal pair of the

pale sandy variety, a species which is noted for its fierceness, the

knowledge of which by no means made my situation more pleasant. There we

stood; both parties evidently feeling that there was no direct solution

to the matter in hand. I cannot tell you exactly what passed through

their minds, but they evidently thought that it was unsafe to advance

upon this strange and new being, the like of which they had never seen

before. I cannot tell you either how long a time we stood face to face.

Minutes seemed hours, and perhaps the minutes were only seconds; but

this I know, my boy was out of hearing when the drama was concluded.

"And this is how it ended: After an interval I decided not to fire at

them, but to try instead what a little noise would do. So I suddenly

threw up my arms in the air, and set up a yell, and danced and shouted

like a madman. Do you know, the lions were so astonished to see your

sober old uncle acting in such a strange way that they both bounded into

the bushes as if they had been shot, and I saw them no more!

"As the coast was now clear I thought I might as well secure my prize, a

real little beauty. So I seized it by its hind legs and dragged it as

quickly as I could along the ground, the bushes quite keeping it out of

sight. When I had gone what I had deemed a sufficient distance I took it

up and swung it over my back, and beat a hasty retreat, keeping a sharp

eye open in case the parents should lay claim to the body, for I should

not have been dishonest enough not to let them have it had they really

come to ask for it!

"I soon found the cub was heavier than I bargained for, being about the

size of a South Down sheep, so I shouted for my boy. It was a long time,

however, before I could make him hear. I began to be afraid I must

abandon my spoil. At length I saw him in the far distance. Fortunately

for me he did not know his way back to the camp, otherwise his intention

was to return to the camp, and ask the men to come and look for my

remains.

"The arrival of the cub caused a tremendous sensation among the natives;

dozens of men came to see it, nor would they believe until they had seen

the skin that I had dared to kill a 'child of the lioness,' it being

more dangerous than killing a lion itself. I do not think that I was

wise in shooting; but the fact was it was done, and I was in the scrape

before I knew where I was, and having got into trouble, of course the

question then was how best to get out of it."

"In some of the places I passed through they had never seen a white man

before. They would gather round me in dozens, and gaze upon me in the

utmost astonishment. One would suggest that I was not beautiful--in

plainer language, that I was amazingly ugly. Fancy a set of hideous

savages regarding a white man, regarding your uncle, as a strange

outlandish creature frightful to behold. You little boys that run after

a black man in the park and laugh at him, think what you may come to

when you grow old! The tables may be turned on you if you take to

travelling, just as they were with me.

"As with other travellers, my boots hardly ever failed to attract

attention.

"'Are those your feet, white man?'

"'No, gentlemen, they are not. They are my sandals.'

"'But do they grow to your feet?'

"'No, gentlemen, they do not, I will show you.'

"So forthwith I would proceed to unlace a boot. A roar of astonishment

followed when they beheld my blue sock, as they generally surmised that

my feet were blue and toeless. Greater astonishment still followed the

withdrawal of the sock, and the revelation of a white five-toed foot. I

frequently found that they considered that only the visible parts of me

were white, namely, my face and hands, and that the rest of me was as

black as they were. An almost endless source of amusement was the

immense amount of clothing, according to their calculation, that I

possessed. That I should have waistcoat and shirt and jersey underneath

a coat, seemed almost incredible, and the more so when I told them that

it was chiefly on account of the sun I wore so much.

"My watch, too, was an unfailing attraction: 'There's a man in it,' 'It

is Lubari; it is witch-craft,' they would cry.' He talks; he says, Teek,

teek, teek,' My nose they would compare to a spear; it struck them as so

sharp and thin compared to the African production, and ofttimes one

bolder than the rest would give my hair and my beard a sharp pull,

imagining them to be wigs worn for ornament. Many of them had a potent

horror for this white ghost, and a snap of the fingers or a stamp of the

foot was enough to send them flying helter-skelter from my tent, which

they generally crowded round in ranks five deep. For once in a way this

was amusing enough; but when it came to be repeated every day and all

day, one had really a little too much of a good thing."

Of the discomforts of an African march the Bishop made light, his sense

of humour often enabling him to enjoy a good laugh at occurrences which

would have irritated some men almost beyond endurance. Of some of the

hardships, however, his letters and diary give glimpses--

"Our first experience in this region was not a pleasant one. We had sent

our men on before while we dallied with our friends at Mpwapwa. When we

reached the summit of the pass we could see various villages with their

fires in the plains below, but nowhere was the camp to be discerned. It

was a weary time before we could alight on it, and when we did, what a

scene presented itself to our gaze!

"The wind was so high that the camp fires were extinguished, and the men

had betaken themselves to a deep trench cut through the sandy plain by

a mountain torrent, but now perfectly dry; hence our difficulty in

making out where the camp was. Two of the tents were in a prostrate

condition, while the others were fast getting adrift. Volumes of dust

were swamping beds, blankets, boxes, buckets, and in fact everything;

and a more miserable scene could scarcely be beheld by a party of

benighted pilgrims. It was no use staring at it. I seized a hammer and

tent pegs, forgot I was tired, and before very long had things fairly to

rights; but I slept that night in a dust-heap.

"Nor did the morning mend matters, and to encourage us the Mpwapwa

brethren prophesied this state of things all through Ugogo. It is bad

enough in a hot climate to have dust in your hair and down your neck,

and filling your boxes; but when it comes to food, and every mouthful

you take grates your teeth, I leave you to imagine the pleasure of

tent-life in a sandy plain.

"A day or two after this we arrived at a camp where the water was

excessively bad. We had to draw it for everybody from one deep hole, and

probably rats, mice, lizards, and other small animals had fallen in and

been drowned, and allowed to remain and putrefy. The water smelt most

dreadfully, no filtering or boiling seemed to have any effect upon it,

and soup, coffee, and all food were flavoured by it.

"That afternoon I went for a stroll with my boy and two guns to

endeavour to supply the table with a little better meat than tough goat.

I soon struck on the dry bed of a masika (wet season) torrent.

Following this up a little way I saw a fine troop of monkeys, and

wanting the skin of one of them for my collection I sent a bullet flying

amongst them, without, however, producing any effect beyond a tremendous

scamper. My boy then said to me, 'If you want to kill monkey, master,

you should try buck-shot'; so returning him my rifle I took my

fowling-piece.