"Perhaps it was fortunate I did so, for _Adventures in Many Lands

the river bed took a sharp turn, and coming round the corner I lighted

on three fine tawny lions. They were quite close to me, and had I had my

rifle my first impulse might have been too strong for me to resist

speeding the parting guest with a bullet. As it was, I came to a sudden

halt, and they ran away. In vain my boy begged me to retreat. I seized

the rifle and ran after them as fast as my legs would carry me; but they

were soon hid in the dense jungle that lines the river banks; and

although I could hear one growling and breathing hard about ten yards

from me, I could not get a shot."

Like Moses of old, Bishop Hannington did not enter the land he had come

so far to reach. The people of Uganda were alarmed and angry at his

approaching their country from the north-east, which they called the

back door to their land. Worn out with fever he was seized, dragged

backwards over stony ground, and kept a prisoner for some days. On

October 29, 1885, he was conducted to an open space outside the village

and placed among his followers, having been falsely told on the previous

day that King Mwanga had sent word that the party was to be allowed to

proceed.

But he was soon undeceived. With a wild shout the savage warriors fell

upon the Bishop's enfeebled followers, and their flashing spears

speedily covered the ground with dead and dying. As the natives told off

to murder him closed round, Hannington drew himself up and bade them

tell the king that he was about to die for the people of Uganda, and

that he had purchased the road to their country with his life. Then as

they still hesitated he pointed to his own gun, which one of them fired

and Hannington fell dead.

His last words to his friends--scribbled by the light of some

camp-fire--were--

"If this is the last chapter of my earthly history, then the next will

be the first page of the heavenly--no blots and smudges, no incoherence,

but sweet converse in the presence of the Lamb!"

KEEPING THE TRYST

Maharaj was a very big elephant and Alec was a half-grown boy--an

insignificant human pigmy--in spite of which disparity they were great

pals, for Alec admired that mountain of strength as only an imaginative

boy can, and elephants can appreciate admiration.

When Alec came across Maharaj he had taken up his quarters temporarily

in the mango tope opposite the bungalow. He was pouring dust upon his

head and blowing it over his back, both because he enjoyed a dust bath

and because it helped to keep off the flies. With the quick perception

of a boy, Alec noticed he had used up all the dust within reach, so he

got him a few hatfuls from the roadside, for which he was very grateful,

and immediately sent a sand blast over his back that annihilated quite a

colony of mosquitoes. Then he admitted Alec to his friendship, and they

became pals.

Hard by the mahout was cooking his dinner under a tamarind-tree.

"Did the Sahib ask if he was clever? Wait, and the Sahib shall see. Here

are his six chapaties of flour that I am baking. Out of one only I

shall keep back a handful of meal. How should he detect so small a

quantity missing? But we shall see."

The elephant driver put on the cakes to bake--pancake-shaped things,

eighteen inches across and an inch thick. They took their time to cook,

for the fireplace was small, being only three bricks standing on the

ground. When they were ready he placed the cakes before Maharaj, who

eyed them suspiciously.

"He has been listening," explained the driver. "Those big ears of his

can hear talk a mile away. Go on, my son, eat. What is there wrong with

the food?"

Maharaj slowly took up a chapatie in his trunk, carefully weighed it and

put it on one side, took up another and did the same. The fourth

chapatie was the light one; this he found out at once and indignantly

threw it at the feet of the mahout, grumbling and gurgling and swinging

his head from side to side and stamping his forefoot in anger.

"What! son of a pig! is not the flour I eat good enough for thee also?

Well, starve then, for there is no better in the bazaar."

They walked away; the small restless eyes followed anxiously; yet the

elephant made no attempt to eat, but swung angrily from side to side in

his pickets. Presently they returned, but he had not touched a chapatie.

"It is no use, Sahib," said the mahout, "to try and cheat one so wise as

he, and yet folks say that we mahouts keep our families on the

elephants' food, which words are base lies, for is he not more precious

to me than many children?"

Then the mahout drew out an extra chapatie he had hidden in his clothes.

"Oh! Maharajah, King of Kings, who can deceive thee, my pearl of wisdom,

my mountain of might?" and the mahout caressed the huge trunk as it

wound itself lovingly around him and gently extracted the chapatie from

his hands. Having swallowed this, the elephant picked up the scattered

cakes and, piling them up before him, gave himself up to enjoying his

midday meal.

After that Maharaj and Alec grew great friends. Alec used to bring him

bazaar sweets, of which he was very fond, and sugar-cane. He was a great

wonder to the elephant, who could never understand why his pockets were

full of all sorts of uneatable things. He loved to go through them,

slowly considering each in his elephantine way. The bright metal handle

of Alec's pocket-knife pleased Maharaj, and it was always the first

thing he abstracted from the pocket and the last he returned, but the

bits of string and the ball of wax he worried over. The key of the

pigeon-house, a peg-top, marbles, etc., I believe made him long to have

pockets of his own, for he used to hide them away in the recesses of his

mouth for a time, then, finding they were not very comfortable, he used

to put them all back into Alec's pockets. The day the boy came with

sweets Maharaj was delighted, for he smelt them a long way off, and

never made a mistake as to which pocket they were in.

It was wonderful to see how gently he could play with the little brown

baby of the mahout. He loved to have it lying between his great

fore-feet, and would tickle it with the tip of his trunk for the

pleasure of hearing it laugh, then pour dust upon it till it was buried,

always being careful not to cover the face. But like a great big selfish

child he always kept his sweets to himself, and would pretend not to see

the little outstretched hand, and little voice crying for them, till he

had finished the last tit-bit.

Tippoo--the cook's son, Alec's fag and constant companion, who was

mostly a pair of huge pyjamas, was also admitted to the friendship of

Maharaj. But there was one man that the elephant disliked, and that was

the mahout's nephew, one Piroo, who was a young elephant-driver seeking

a situation--a man not likely to be successful, for he was morose and

lazy, and drank heavily whenever the opportunity came his way, and was

very cruel to the beast he rode.

Sometimes the mahout would take Alec down to the river-side, he driving,

while Alec lay luxuriously on the pad. There Maharaj had his bath, and

the boy used to help the mahout to rub him over with a lump of jhama,

which is something like pumice-stone, only much harder and rougher, and

the old skin rolled off under the friction in astonishing quantities,

till the look of dried tree-bark was gone, and the dusty grey had become

a shining black. After the bath there was usually a struggle with

Maharaj, who, directly he was clean, wanted to plaster himself all over

with wet mud to keep cool and defy mosquitoes. This he was not allowed

to do, so he tore a branch from a neem-tree instead, and fanned himself

all the way home.

Now there was to be a marriage among some of the mahout's friends who

lived in a village a day's journey from the station, across the river,

and he promised that Alec, Tippoo, and his nephew were to accompany him.

When the day came the mahout had a slight touch of fever and couldn't

go, but he told his nephew to drive the boys there instead. Maharaj

didn't like Piroo at all, and made a fuss at having to go without the

mahout, for which he got a hot scolding. Then there were tears and pet

names and much coaxing before Maharaj consented to go.

"Thou art indeed nothing but a great child that will go nowhere unless I

lead thee by the hand, with no more heart in thy big carcase than my

babe, who without doubt shall grow big and thrash thee soundly. Now

hearken, my son, thou art going with Piroo to the village of Charhunse,

one day's journey; thou art to stay there one day, when there will be

great feasting, and they will give thee surap wine in thy food; and on

the day following thou must return (for we start the next morning for

the Cawnpore elephant lines); bring the boys back safely--very

safely--or there will be very many angry words from me, and no food.

Now, adieu, my son, salaam Sahib, Khoda bunah rhukha" (God preserve

you). And the mahout passed into his hut with a shiver that told of the

coming ague.

It was a grand day and the road was full of people of all sorts and

conditions; and the boys, proud to be so high above the heads of the

passing groups, greeted them with all the badinage of the bazaar they

could remember, which the natives answered with good-natured chaff. The

road was one long avenue, and in the branches overhead the monkeys

sported and chased each other from tree to tree; birds sang, for it was

nesting-time; and the day was as happy as it was long.

At nightfall they reached the village, and the head man made them very

comfortable. The next day the wedding feast was spread, and quite two

hundred people sat down to it. After the feast there was racing,

wrestling, and dancing to amuse the guests.

They enjoyed themselves very much. The wedding feast was to last several

days, and instead of returning the following day as they had promised

the mahout, Piroo determined to stay a day longer, in spite of all that

Alec had to say against it.

Piroo was in his element, and sang and danced with great success, for

the arrack was in his veins, and at such times he could be the antipodes

of his morose self. His dancing was much applauded. But there was

Bhuggoo, the sweeper, from the city, who had a reputation for dancing,

and was in great request at weddings in consequence, and he danced

against Piroo, and so elegant and ingenious were his contortions that he

was voted the better. Then he changed his dance to one in which he

caricatured Piroo so cleverly in every turn and gesture that the people

yelled and laughed.

This so incensed Piroo that he struck the man; but the sweeper, who was

generally accustomed to winding up his performance by a grand broom

fight with some brother of the same craft, was quite ready for an affair

that could only increase his popularity. Catching up his jharroo, or

broom, he began to shower blows upon the unfortunate Piroo, yet never

ceasing to dance round him so grotesquely that the fight was too much of

a farce for any one to think of interfering. Yet the blows went home

pretty hard, and as the broom was a sort of besom made of the springy

ribs of the palm-leaf it stung sharply where it found the naked flesh.

It is a great indignity to be beaten by the broom of a sweeper, and

Piroo, maddened with rage, flew at the throat of his rival. But Bhuggoo,

the sweeper, was very nimble, and as the end of a jharroo in the face

feels like the back of a porcupine, you may guess it is the most

effective way of stopping a rush. So Piroo, baffled and humiliated, left

the sweeper victor of the field and fled amid great shouts of laughter.

But his rage had not died in him, and more arrack made him mad; else

why should he have done the foolish thing that followed?

Finding Maharaj had pulled up one of his picket pins, he took a heavy

piece of firewood and dashed it upon his tender toe-nails, while he

shouted all the abuse that elephants know only accompanies severe

punishment. Now Maharaj, who would take punishment quietly from Buldeo,

the old mahout, would not stand it from any other; besides, he was

already excited with all the shouting and tamasha going on, and he had

had a good bit of arrack in his cakes that evening; so when the log

crashed down on his feet he trumpeted with pain, and, seizing Piroo in

his trunk, lifted him on high, preparatory to dashing him to earth and

stamping his life out.

[Illustration: SEIZING PIROO IN HIS TRUNK, HE LIFTED HIM ON HIGH.]

But fortune was in favour of Piroo for a time, and the big cummerbund he

wore had got loose with dancing, so it came undone, and Piroo slipped

down its length to the ground, while Maharaj was left holding the loose

cloth in his trunk.

Then Piroo fled for his life, and ran into a grass-thatched hut that

stood close by; but the elephant, pulling out his picket pins like a

couple of toothpicks, reached the hut in a stride, and, putting his

trunk through the thatch as if it had been a sheet of paper, felt round

for the man inside and, seizing him, dragged him forth. The people

yelled, and some came running with fire-brands to scare him, but before

any could reach him Maharaj had knocked one of his great fore-feet

against the head of the unfortunate Piroo, and he fell to the ground

lifeless.

The villagers were terror-stricken and ran to hide in their huts.

Tippoo, who was nearest the elephant, ran also, and Alec was about to

run when he saw Maharaj single out Tippoo and chase him. The boy fled,

and his flying feet hardly seemed to touch the earth, but Maharaj with

long swinging strides covered the ground much faster, and in a few

moments there followed a shriek of despair and Tippoo was struggling

helplessly fifteen feet in the air in the grasp of that terrible trunk.

"Save me! Sahib, save me!" he shrieked, while Alec looked on powerless

to help.

Maharaj seemed undecided whether to dash him to pieces or not. Alec

seized the opportunity to imitate the driver's voice and cry, "Bring the

boys home safely--very safely--my son." The elephant's great fan-shaped

ears bent forward to listen, and he lowered Tippoo till he hung swinging

at the end of the huge proboscis. Alec felt he dared not repeat the

words, as the elephant would find out the cheat.

The great beast stood a few minutes thinking, and then, swinging Tippoo

up, placed him on his neck, and came straight for the tree behind which

Alec was hiding.

For a moment a wild desire to escape came to the boy, and the next he

saw how hopeless it would be. The sal-tree he had sheltered behind was

too thick to climb, and the lowest branch was twenty feet from the

ground. To run would be just madness, for Maharaj would have caught him

before he could get to the nearest hut. So, taking confidence from the

fact that he had not hurt Tippoo, Alec came out from behind the tree and

ordered Maharaj to take him up.

He was surprised at the exceeding gentleness with which he did so, but

when Alec was once seated astride of his neck with Tippoo behind him, he

did not know what to do. He thought he would walk the elephant round the

village and then tie him up in his pickets again. So he cried, "Chalo!

Bata!" (Go on, my son), and tried to guide him with his knees; but

Maharaj would not budge an inch, and stood stock still, considering.

Then he seemed to have made up his mind, and started forward suddenly

with a lurch that nearly threw the boys off.

He walked straight to the dead mahout and, carefully gathering him up in

his trunk, wheeled round and set off stationwards. He had remembered his

master's commands, and the journey to Cawnpore he must commence on the

morrow.

It was about eight o'clock in the evening, and Alec had no desire to

start travelling homeward at that hour. Besides, he had no food with

him, and the pad was not on the back of Maharaj. It is almost impossible

to ride an elephant bare back, and though these were only slips of boys

there wasn't room enough for two to sit comfortably on the neck. Alec

drove his knees into the elephant's head behind the ears and tried to

turn him round, shouting, "Dhutt, dhutt, arrea!" (Go back!), but it was

no use; the elephant had made up his mind to go home, and took not the

least notice of the boy's commands.

The head man of the village ran after them, crying--

"Where are you taking him, Sahib?"

"We take him nowhere," Alec answered. "He is master to-night, and

carries us home, I believe."

"But you cannot ride without the pad, Sahib, or the driving-hook, and

there are other things you leave behind."

"We will stick on his neck till we drop," he answered (for an elephant

is worth many thousand rupees to the Government, and must not get lost).

"At least command him to drop the dead body before he mangles it, so

that we may burn it with decent ceremony," was the last request of the

head man.

But Maharaj would not listen to the command, and made certain noises in

his throat by which he meant Alec to understand that he was going to

carry the dead man home whether he liked it or no.

The lights of the village were soon lost in the distance, and Maharaj

strode into the empty darkness, trailing a picket pin behind him and

carrying that horror in his trunk.

Till that day Alec had loved Maharaj for his great strength and

docility, his wisdom, and his endearing ways with children, but when he

saw him in anger extinguish the life of a man as easily as one could

pulp a gooseberry in the fingers, the elephant changed at once in his

eyes, and Alec saw in him nothing but the grim executioner of the

Moguls, and stamping out lives his daily task. The boy felt the touch of

the beast almost loathsome, and longed to escape from his situation on

its neck.

Soon the cramped position began to tell, for they were jammed together,

and Tippoo felt like a mustard-plaster upon Alec's back. Alec tried to

vary the discomfort by lying forward on the head of the elephant, and

Tippoo tried leaning back as far as he could without being in danger of

falling off, but they both felt they could not hold on the eight hours

that the journey would take.

By-and-by they noticed that something was making Maharaj restive; twice

he swung his trunk as if trying to drive away that something, after

which he quickened his pace, then he turned round once in his tracks and

faced his unseen tormentor. Alec wondered greatly what was worrying him,

but he heard and saw nothing in the blackness that reigned. The

elephant's restiveness increased, and again he swung round suddenly and

charged that invisible thing in the dark; again Alec strained both eyes

and ears to no avail. The only sound on the air came from the trailing

picket pin.

"Whatever is worrying Maharaj?" he said anxiously.

"He sees that which our eyes can't see--an evil thing," answered

Tippoo.

"What! do you mean the ghost of Piroo?" Alec asked.

"No, Sahib," said Tippoo. "It is a churail, an evil spirit that eats

dead men, and it wants the body of Piroo."

"Nonsense," Alec replied.

"It is true, Sahib. Many have seen it at work in the graveyards of the

Mussulman, but to-night no one may see it but the elephant."

Alec laughed. Yet, ghoul or not, there was something the huge beast

seemed afraid of and hurried to get away from, or attempted to frighten

back, without success.

It was a most weird and uncanny situation, and the boys longed for it to

end.

But a pleasant change was at hand. The heavens were rapidly lighting,

and soon the moon commenced to rise on the scene. A feeling of relief

grew with the strengthening light, for they were sure the ghostly terror

would disappear with the dark. The moon had partly risen when Tippoo

said, "Look, Sahib, there is the thing."

Alec looked, and in the uncertain light saw a shadowy something keeping

pace with the elephant, but what it was he could not say.

Then on the other side of the road they saw there was another moving

shadow as mysterious as the first. But they were not kept in suspense

much longer, for the light suddenly brightened, and they saw each weird

shadow transform itself into a number of jackals. The smell of blood

had attracted the pack, and they had made an attempt to get the dead

body away from Maharaj. The reaction on their strained nerves was so

great that the boys laughed aloud in pure joy at the sense of relief,

and wondered they had not guessed the cause of the elephant's

restlessness before.

For nearly four hours they had been on that apology for a neck, and

their limbs were painful and stiff from the discomfort of sitting so

close, when, without any warning, Maharaj came to a stop under a big

neem-tree, and they recognised it as the place at which they had taken

their midday meal going down to the village. Maharaj carefully placed

the body of Piroo on the ground and knelt down beside it, and the boys,

only too pleased at the chance, scrambled off as fast as their cramped

legs would permit. It needed some walking up and down to get rid of

their stiffness, so they chased the jackals and pelted them with stones,

which restored their circulation quickly, whilst Maharaj stood sentry

over the dead man.

Tired out and exhausted, the boys were anxious for a little sleep, but

they could not lie under the same tree as that gruesome thing, so they

lay down under a neighbouring sal. Alec was on the way to dreamland when

he felt he was being carried gently in some one's arms. He woke up and

found that Maharaj had lifted him in his trunk and that he was taking

him back to the tree where the dead lay. Here he placed Alec on the

ground alongside the mahout, on the other side of which was Tippoo

snoring peacefully. How he had managed to move the boy without waking

him was a marvel. As soon as Alec was released he tried to get away, but

Maharaj would not allow it, and forced him to lie down again while he

stood guard over all three.

They say boys have no nerves, but even at this distance of time Alec

shudders to recollect his sensations on that night of horror caused by

the poor crushed thing he lay shoulder to shoulder with. He feigned

sleep and tried to roll a foot or two away, but Maharaj had grown

suspicious, and rolled him back, so that he lay flat on his

shoulder-blades between the forelegs of the elephant, watching the

restless swing of the trunk above him. This was better than looking at

what lay beside him, and he wanted no inducement to keep his gaze

averted. A hyena laughed like an exultant fiend. Great flying foxes

slowly flapped across the face of the moon, like Eblis and his

satellites scanning the earth for prey, and the pack of jackals sat

silently waiting for the body of the dead.

Maharaj was very quiet and vigilant, and seemed to understand the

seriousness of his crime. The usual gurgling, grunting, and rocking with

which he amused himself at night were wanting, and though there was a

large field of sugar-cane near by, and he must have been hungry, he

never tried to help himself as he would have done on any other occasion.

In spite of the feeling of repulsion Alec began to feel a little pity

for the remorseful giant, for it was most probable he would be shot for

killing Piroo, whose drunken madness had brought about his own death.

But all things have an end, and even that night passed away like the

passing of a strange delirium. About four o'clock Maharaj became very

restless, thinking it was time to start, and pulled and pushed Tippoo

till he sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking about in a dazed way. The

elephant went down on his knees, and the boys took advantage of the

invitation and were soon in their places. Then Maharaj slowly picked up

his burden and they recommenced their journey home. The jackals were

much disappointed, and followed listlessly for a short distance, then

slunk off down a nullah to avoid the light of day.

A sleepy policeman was the first to notice the dead man in the trunk of

the elephant. With a yell of alarm he sprang from the footpath where he

stood, panting and staring till Maharaj had passed; then some confused

notion that he should make an arrest seemed to occur to him, and he made

a few steps forward, but the magnitude of the task made him halt again,

dazed and bewildered, and thus they left him. The consternation they

caused in the bazaar is beyond words to describe. It is sufficient to

say that the better part of the population followed Maharaj at a safe

distance, looking like some huge procession, wending its way to the hut

of the mahout. Maharaj walked slowly to the door of the hut and laid

the corpse down.

"Hast thou brought them back safely, my son?" cried a fever-stricken

voice from the depths of the hut.

"Goor-r-r," said Maharaj in his throat.

"That is well; but why didst thou not arrive last evening? Didst travel

all night? Piroo, thou wilt find his sugar-cane in the shed; give him a

double measure and drive his pickets in under the mango-tree."

But there was no answer from Piroo, only the frightened whisperings of a

great number of people assembled outside. The old mahout, in alarm,

staggered to the door, and saw the body at the feet of Maharaj and the

crimson stains upon the trunk and feet of the elephant.

"Ahhi! ahhi! ahhi!" cried the old man aloud, "what madness is this? What

hast thou done, my son? Now they will shoot thee without doubt--thy life

for his, and he was not worth his salt. Ahhi! ahhi!"

Then the old man wept, embracing the trunk of the elephant, which was

coiled round his master, while the people looked on, and the boys, worn

and tired by the strain of that awful night, could barely cling to their

seats on the neck of Maharaj.

Then the mahout, weak as he was, helped them off, and set about washing

the dark red stains away.

"Ahhi! ahhi!" he sobbed. "I have lost a nephew. I have lost also my

son, who will surely be shot by the sirkar for this deed. My Maharaj, my

greatest of kings! What shall I do without thee! I will return to my

country and drive no more. Ahhi! ahhi!"

But this happily was not to be, for a strange thing happened. The nephew

recovered. Piroo had only been stunned by the blow, and the blood that

covered his face had come from his nose. He was, after a time, himself

again, but a wiser man, and Maharaj was not shot after all. Yet the boys

do not like to think of that adventure even to-day.

XVI

WHO GOES THERE?

The world is but a huge playground, after all; and just as the sympathy

of those who witness a fight between two boys--one of whom is a big

fellow and a reputed bully, while the other is a plucky youngster but

one-half his opponent's size--invariably goes with the smaller and

weaker combatant, so it is even amongst nations. Thus, early in the past

century, when the tiny States of Spanish America were keenly struggling

with the mother-country in their endeavour to cast off the Spanish yoke,

practically the whole world wished them the success which eventually

crowned their efforts.

It seems ridiculous to call them "tiny" States when the smallest of

those of which we are treating--the Republics of _Central_

America--could find room for all the counties of Wales; while, if we

were able to set down the whole of England upon the largest, we should

find not only that it fitted in comfortably, but that the foreign State

would yet have a goodly slice of land to spare--sufficient, at any rate,

to accommodate three or four cities of the size of London. I call them

tiny, therefore, solely because they are such when compared with other

countries on the American Continent, such as Canada, the United States,

and Brazil.

During the years 1820 and 1821 a very keen spirit of independence was

manifested in those regions, and by 1823 the last link of the rusty

chain which had bound those colonies to Spain was snapped altogether

beyond repair; and then, for a time, Central America became part of the

State of Mexico. One by one, however, the colonies withdrew, and in 1824

the independent Republic of Central America was formed, which, in its

turn, was dissolved; and ever since the States have been continually at

war--either with their neighbours or amongst themselves.

It is these incessant wars and revolutions which have given the country

its present rather bad name, and have convinced those who happened to

sympathise with the inhabitants when they were fighting for their

independence that, after all, they had fared better even under the lame

government of Spain than they have done under their own.

The present-day native of Central America can scarcely be said to be an

improvement on the inhabitant of 1824. He still retains the fire and ire

of the Spaniard in his blood--in fact, he is nothing short of an

unfortunate mixture of the fiery Spaniard and the extremely restless

Indian. Small wonder, then, that "peace" is quite a luxury in those

parts, and that revolutions break out periodically.

In Nicaragua--the country with which my tale is concerned--this is

especially the case. One year passed without a revolution is a rarity;

and I have gone through certainly not less than four such outbreaks.

While the trouble exists it is decidedly inconvenient and uncomfortable

for the foreigner, but the real danger is often sadly exaggerated.

During one of these disturbances, nevertheless, I narrowly escaped

coming into serious conflict with the authorities--and all through a

boyish freak, which at any time would have been boyish, but amounted

almost to madness when played in the very heart of a town under martial

law. When I first set foot on Central American soil, however, my

majority was still many months ahead of me, and I had not yet done with

that period of puerile frivolity through which most youths have to pass.

Thus I will offer no other excuse, but will merely relate what took

place.

A pig--a common or garden pig--was at the bottom of it all. The natives

are very fond of pork indeed, and nearly every household boasts of at

least one porker, which is allowed the entire run of the house and

looked upon almost as "one of the family." The air in the town where I

was staying at the time had suddenly thickened with rumours of war; and

it was a well-known fact that some thousands of men were ready to

shoulder their rifles at a given signal and, with a few well-tried

veterans at their head, to make a mad and murderous rush upon anything

and everything belonging to the Government.

In such cases nothing is too bad for either party, excepting perhaps

interference with foreigners, whom, owing to one or two severe lessons

received of late years, the natives have now learned to respect.

Fusillades in the centre of a town, a sudden charge with the bayonet in

a thronged market-place, the unexpected firing of a mine, and similar

proofs of the "patriotism" of one party or the other, may be expected at

any moment; and although pretending to inclusion in the list of

civilised nations, either party will spurn the idea of notice or warning

previous to the bombardment of a town. Every one is on the alert, and

the tension is trying indeed if it happens to be one's first

"revolution."

Bloodthirsty natives, speaking scarcely above a whisper, may be seen in

small groups at almost every street corner, and in such quarters of the

town where reside known sympathisers with the attacking party much

military movement is noticeable. Every few hundred yards are stationed

pickets of gendarmes or barefooted _soldados_; and after dusk, no matter

who you be or what your errand, you stand every chance of a bullet

should you fail to give prompt satisfaction on being challenged with the

usual _quien vive?_

And so it was on the occasion to which I have alluded. Everybody's

nerves were strung up to a painful pitch, and any unusual noise--any

sound, almost, above a half-smothered cough--would bring fifty or sixty

reckless gendarmes, with fixed bayonets, to the spot in a very brief

interval. It was generally looked upon as certain that an assault upon

the town--in which one half the inhabitants were willing, nay, even

anxious to join--would commence before morning; and an ominous silence

prevailed.

Then it was that my "little joke" or scheme was hatched. I was indulging

in a quiet game of "cannons" on a small French billiard-table in my

hotel, and during the game had been several times annoyed by the

proprietor's favourite pig, which insisted every now and then on

strolling beneath the table, to emerge on the other side quite

unexpectedly and bump heavily against my legs just as I was squaring for

some difficult shot. The brute had done this at least four times, with

the result that my opponent was many points to the good. I had often

licked him at the same game before, so the reader must not imagine that

I am merely excusing my own play--it was the pig's fault, without a

doubt, and I was beginning to lose my temper.

"I'll teach that pig a lesson when the game is over," I remarked to my

opponent; and, in effect, I had soon put away my cue, and, cornering the

porker, fastened a piece of cord to his hind trotter. A large empty

biscuit-tin and a bunch of Chinese crackers did the rest--the tin being

secured to the other end of the line and the crackers nestling snugly

inside the tin.

The natives who stood around watching these preparations evidently

foresaw certain results which my boyish vision failed to reach, for

they whispered and laughed to one another, and at intervals, rubbing

their hands together with glee, would exclaim, "A good joke." "Eh! a

good joke, you see!"

The whole town was startled a few minutes later by the uproar, and the

shouts and laughter of those who witnessed the porker's departure from

the hotel.

Lighting the tiny fuse attached to the crackers, I put them back again

into the tin, and a kick at the latter was sufficient to startle the hog

off at a gallop down the street.

The slight pull on his hind leg caused by the weight of the tin

evidently annoyed him, and, wishing to get away from it, he ran the

faster.

Boom! boom! The biscuit-tin swung from side to side at every pace, and

each time it struck the ground with a noisy report which in itself was

sufficient to arouse the already alarmed town.

Then, the fuse having burned down, the crackers commenced business.

Bang! bang! Burr-rr--bang! Burr-rr--bang-bang-BANG! they went, the

vibrations of the tin adding volume to each detonation; and it would be

difficult indeed to imagine a better imitation of a distant fusillade.

The frightened hog only went the faster.

I was running behind, endeavouring to keep up with the pig, for I did

not wish to lose any of the fun; but he soon out-distanced me, although

I was fortunate enough to be within ear-shot when the crackers gave

their final kick.

Bang! bang! Burr--rr--bang! Bang! BANG!

Then began the fun. The inhabitants crowded to their doors to inquire

in which direction the attack on the town had commenced, and the

military were tearing hither and thither, like so many madmen. Big

generals in their shirt-sleeves galloped through the streets on little

horses, collecting their men; pieces of artillery were rushed out of the

barracks and held in readiness; scouts went out to reconnoitre in every

conceivable direction, and the military band, playing all the national

airs within their ken, paraded the public square, halting every now and

then so that an officer might read to the public the Commandante's

orders to the effect that all the inhabitants must remain indoors under

pain of all sorts of outrageous and impossible penalties.

In view of the latter, however, I deemed it wise to give up my chase and

return to my hotel, there to await developments; and as I retraced my

steps cries of _El enemigo! El enemigo!_ hailed me at almost every pace.

Hundreds of questions as to the whereabouts of the attacking forces were

hurled at me as I went, but I dared not stop to respond, or without a

doubt I should have betrayed myself. At the onset, boylike, I had

considered this a "splendid joke," but now the alarm was so widespread

that I did not know whether to feel startled by the result or flattered

to think I had succeeded in putting an entire town in an uproar.

I thought of the pleasure that would be experienced by the ordinary

"romp" at home were he able to make so vast an impression with his

everyday practical jokes; and it was to me a matter of tremendous wonder

that a harmless biscuit-tin, a common or garden firework, and a

"domestic" pig could possibly combine to cause such intense excitement.

With very great difficulty I managed to pass the various pickets

stationed along the streets, being detained by each one for

cross-examination; and ere I reached my hotel I was overtaken by half a

company of _soldados_ returning to barracks with a prisoner. Then my

conscience began to prick me.

"This has gone rather too far," I thought. "I did not intend to do any

one an injury, but only desired to teach that wretched porker a lesson."

In fact, I felt distinctly uncomfortable as I trudged along, and

somewhat alarmed at this new turn of events; and I resolved that in the

future I would look ahead before attempting even the commonest practical

joke.

When I reached the spot where the next picket was stationed, I was

surprised to find that the men failed to challenge me. I was getting

quite used to the "Who goes there?" which had met me at every street

corner, and the absence of it in this case made me somewhat suspicious.

The explanation was not long in coming. I found them all in fits of

laughter; and, availing myself of the opportunity which their mirth

afforded me, I made inquiries as to the name of the prisoner who had

been marched past me a few minutes ago. My question provoked more

mirth, but I eventually secured the information, which had the effect of

adding my mirth to theirs, for I learned that the prisoner was--_a pig

with a tin tied to his leg_.

This pig, I was informed, was the cause of the whole alarm. There was no

attack--in fact, there was no enemy near enough to the town, as yet, to

indulge in an assault. All was a practical joke--some one had let this

pig loose with a biscuit-tin tied to his leg, and this had started the

alarm. The porker had been run down and lassoed by the military on the

outskirts of the town, so that it was all over now--_excepting that the

authorities were looking for the perpetrator_, or the originator of the

scare.

Realising now the extent of my folly, I, who hitherto had been laughing

up my sleeve at the discomfiture and alarm of others, was in my turn

genuinely alarmed, and all the way back to my hotel I was wondering as

to what would be my best course of action--foreseeing, whichever way I

turned for a solution, visions of heavy fines, probable imprisonment,

and possible banishment from the country altogether.

On reaching the hotel I was hailed by many of those who had witnessed

"the start," and consequently knew my connection with the affair. They

soon posted me as to what had happened during my absence.

Ere the pig and myself had been gone five minutes, a picket of soldiers

made a rush upon the hotel, went inside, and, closing every exit,

informed the occupants that every one must consider himself under arrest

until the real originator of the "scare" was discovered. The officer

remarked that he knew for a fact that the matter began there, and

although the pig had not yet been caught it had been recognised as

"_belonging to the proprietor's family_."

Then, to the surprise of every one concerned, a certain Colonel Moyal, a

native keenly opposed to the Government and a suspected revolutionist,

stepped forward and declared that he had carried the whole thing through

from beginning to end, so was prepared to take the consequences.

Needless to say, my champion was arrested and marched off to the

Cabildo; and I was informed that the plucky fellow had done this to

shield me, merely to keep me out of trouble because he had taken a fancy

to me.

Not for this, however, would I let him remain in his unenviable

position. It did not take me long to resolve that, to be honourable, I

must myself bear the consequences of my own folly; and in a very short

time afterward I was interviewing the Commandante. That official, in

whose favour I had long since made it my business to firmly establish

myself, informed me that it was then too late at night to take any

evidence, or, in fact, to move at all in the matter; but that he would

attend to me at eight o'clock next morning.

The following day at the appointed hour I waited on him, told him I was

the real culprit, secured the colonel's release, paid a fine of a few

dollars, and by nine o'clock was back again in my hotel; and when I sat

down with the Colonel that night to a special _cena_ to which I had

invited him--intending in some measure to prove to him my gratitude for

his generosity and esteem--I made a rather boyish speech in which I

regretted tremendously the Colonel's having passed an exceedingly

uncomfortable night in prison on my account, and my inability to release

him the night before.

Moyal, to my intense surprise, replied that he had to _thank me_ for the

opportunity I had given him. "Of course," said he, "I should not like to

see you in trouble, and would have done anything in my power to keep you

out of it, but I must admit that my motive was not the generous one that

has been attributed to me. It was a rather selfish motive, you see,

between you and me. I am a moving spirit in this revolution which is

brewing, and I have important business with the Government soldiers

inside the Cabildo. In the ordinary course, since I am known as a

revolutionist, I cannot possibly get into open or secret communication

with them--so of course I had to get arrested, and you gave me that

chance!"

I was about to ask him, boylike, whether he was successful in his

mission, when he added, "The only pity is that you didn't let me stay

there a bit longer--but you were not to know, so I appreciate your

promptness."

However, I had reason to believe afterwards that he had not succeeded

in his object, which, I have no doubt, was to "buy" all the _soldados_

over to his side, for up to this day the political party to which the

Colonel belonged is out of power, though it has repeatedly made efforts

to get in.

XVII

A DROWNING MESSMATE

It is as one of the most popular sea-novelists of all times that Captain

Marryat is best known to his countrymen--oldsters and youngsters alike.

The whole life of this gallant seaman, however, was made up of one long

series of exciting adventures, both on land and sea, many of these

experiences being made use of in after years to supply material for his

sea-romances.

One of Marryat's most characteristic acts of self-devotion was his

springing overboard into the waters of Malta Harbour in order to save

the life of a middy messmate, Cobbett by name, who had accidentally

fallen overboard. What made this action an especially noble one was the

fact that Cobbett was one of the greatest bullies in the midshipmen's

berth, and had specially singled out Marryat for cowardly and brutal

treatment. Again, we must remember that sharks are often seen in Malta

Harbour, and any one rash enough to enter its waters takes his life in

his hands.

Thank God the gunroom of a British man-of-war of the present day is

managed in an entirely different manner from what it was in Marryat's

day. Says that gallant officer: "There was no species of tyranny,

injustice, and persecution to which youngsters were not compelled to

submit from those who were their superiors in bodily strength."

The entire management and organisation of the Royal Navy at that period

was rotten to the core, and it speaks volumes for the devotion, skill,

and bravery of the gallant officers of the fleet that they so

magnificently upheld the glory and honour of the flag in every quarter

of the globe in spite of the shortcomings of the Admiralty Board.

As an instance of this general mismanagement of naval affairs, Marryat,

who had been sent to join the _Imperieuse_ frigate as a young middy,

thus writes in his private log--

"The _Imperieuse_ sailed; the admiral of the port was one who _would_ be

obeyed, but _would not_ listen always to reason or common-sense. The

signal for sailing was enforced by gun after gun; the anchor was hove

up, and, with all her stores on deck, her guns not even mounted, in a

state of confusion unparalleled from her being obliged to hoist in

faster than it was possible she could stow away, she was driven out of

harbour to encounter a heavy gale. A few hours more would have enabled

her to proceed to sea with security, but they were denied; the

consequences were appalling, and might have been fatal.

"In the general confusion, some iron too near the binnacles had

attracted the needle of the compasses; the ship was steered out of her

course. At midnight, in a heavy gale at the close of the month of

November, so dark that you could not distinguish any object, however

close, the _Imperieuse_ dashed upon the rocks between Ushant and the

Main. The cry of terror which ran through the lower deck; the grating of

the keel as she was forced in; the violence of the shocks which

convulsed the frame of the vessel; the hurrying up of the ship's company

without their clothes; and then the enormous waves which again bore her

up and carried her clean over the reef, will never be effaced from my

memory.

"Our escape was miraculous. With the exception of her false keel having

been torn off, the ship had suffered little injury; but she had beat

over a reef, and was riding by her anchors, surrounded by rocks, some of

them as high out of water as her lower-yards, and close to her. How

nearly were the lives of a fine ship's company, and of Lord Cochrane and

his officers, sacrificed in this instance to the despotism of an admiral

who _would_ be obeyed!

"The cruises of the _Imperieuse_ were periods of continual excitement,

from the hour in which she hove up her anchor till she dropped it again

in port; the day that passed without a shot being fired in anger was

with us a blank day; the boats were hardly secured on the booms than

they were cast loose and out again; the yard and stay tackles were for

ever hoisting up and lowering down.

"The expedition with which parties were formed for service; the rapidity

of the frigate's movements, night and day; the hasty sleep, snatched at

all hours; the waking up at the report of the guns, which seemed the

only key-note to the hearts of those on board; the beautiful precision

of our fire, obtained by constant practice; the coolness and courage of

our captain inoculating the whole of the ship's company; the suddenness

of our attacks, the gathering after the combat, the killed lamented, the

wounded almost envied; the powder so burnt into our faces that years

could not remove it; the proved character of every man and officer on

board; the implicit trust and the adoration we felt for our commander;

the ludicrous situations which would occur even in the extremest danger

and create mirth when death was staring you in the face; the hairbreadth

escapes, and the indifference to life shown by all--when memory sweeps

along those years of excitement even now, my pulse beats more quickly

with the reminiscence."

A middy's life was no child's play in those days, was it?

But it is time that I told you the story of how Marryat saved the life

of his messmate Cobbett, in the Mediterranean.

The _Imperieuse_ was lying at anchor in Malta Harbour at the time the

incident happened. It was about the hour of sunset, and the officer on

duty had turned the men of the second dog watch up to hoist the boats to

the davits. The men ran away smartly with the falls, and soon had the

cutters clear of the water and swung high in the air.

At this moment, Cobbett, who was off duty, went into the main-chains

with some lines and bait in order to fish. In endeavouring to get on one

of the ratlines of the lower-rigging his foot unfortunately slipped, and

he fell headlong overboard into the waters of the Grand Harbour. Several

persons witnessed the accident, and the prodigious splash the middy's

body made in striking the water immediately made known to every one else

that a struggle for life had commenced.

Cobbett could not swim a stroke, and was much hampered by his heavy

clothes and boots. At the first plunge he was carried far beneath the

surface, but quickly rose again, puffing and blowing like a grampus, and

making desperate efforts to keep himself afloat.

The officer of the watch promptly called away the lifeboat's crew, and

these men quickly scrambled into one of the quarter-boats, which by this

time had been run up to the davits. Life-buoys too had been thrown

overboard, but not one of them had fallen near enough to the struggling

boy to enable him to grasp it. Young Marryat happened at the time of the

accident to be standing in the waist of the ship conversing with the

captain of the main-top of the watch below. Hearing the splash and the

excited cries of "Man overboard!" which rang out fore-and-aft, he rushed

to the gangway to see if he could be of any assistance in the emergency.

One can imagine his feelings on beholding his arch-enemy, the bully of

the midshipmen's berth, struggling desperately for life under the

frigate's counter. Being an admirable swimmer himself, Marryat saw at a

glance that his messmate was helpless in the water, and indeed was on

the point of sinking. Without a moment's hesitation, and without waiting

to throw off coat or boots, the plucky youngster boldly plunged

overboard, and quickly rising to the surface, struck out for his now

almost unconscious enemy, and fortunately managed to seize him and keep

him afloat, whilst he shouted to those on board to lower the cutter as

quickly as possible. The men were only too eager to go to his

assistance, and the instant the lifeboat was safely in the water, her

crew got their oars out, and, pulling vigorously to the spot, soon

hauled both midshipmen, wet and dripping, inboard.

Cobbett was unconscious, his face being as pale as death, but it was

only a matter now of a few seconds to get him aboard the frigate, where

he soon revived under the care of the surgeons, and was able to return

to duty in the course of a day or two, much humbled in spirit, and very

grateful to the courageous young messmate who had so gallantly saved his

life at the risk of his own.

Writing home to his mother on the subject of this adventure, Marryat

concluded his account by saying: "From that moment I have loved the

fellow as I never loved friend before. All my hate is forgotten. I have

saved his life."

A ludicrous adventure in the water once befell Captain Marryat. In the

gallant officer's private log occurs this entry: "July 10th.--Anchored

in Carrick Roads, Falmouth. Gig upset with captain."

Florence Marryat in her father's memoirs thus relates the incident:

"When this gig was capsized, it contained, besides Captain Marryat, a

middy and an old bumboat woman. The woman could swim like a fish, but

the boy could not, and as Captain Marryat, upon rising to the surface of

the water and preparing to strike out for the ship, found himself most

needlessly clutched and borne up by this lady, he shook her off

impatiently, saying: 'Go to the boy! Go to the boy! He can't swim!'

"'_Go to the boy!_' she echoed above the winds and waves. 'What! hold up

a midshipman when I can save the life of a captain! Not I indeed!' And

no entreaties could prevail on her to relinquish her impending honours.

Who eventually did the 'dirty work' on this occasion is not recorded,

but it is certain that no one was drowned."

As is well known, sailors are devoted to animals, and Marryat was no

exception to the rule. He has left on record a story of a pet baboon,

which was on board the _Tees_ with him--

"I had on board a ship which I commanded a very large Cape baboon, who

was a pet of mine, and also a little boy, who was a son of mine. When

the baboon sat down on his hams he was about as tall as the boy when he

walked. The boy, having a tolerable appetite, received about noon a

considerable slice of bread-and-butter to keep him quiet till

dinner-time. I was on one of the carronades, busy with the sun's lower

limb, bringing it into contact with the horizon, when the boy's lower

limbs brought him into contact with the baboon, who, having, as well as

the boy, a strong predilection for bread-and-butter, and a stronger arm

to take it withal, thought proper to help himself to that to which the

boy had already been helped. In short, he snatched the bread-and-butter,

and made short work of it, for it was in his pouch in a moment.

"Upon this the boy set up a yell, which attracted my notice to this

violation of the articles of war, to which the baboon was equally

amenable as any other person in the ship, for it is expressly stated in

the preamble of every article, 'all who are _in_, or _belonging_ to.'

Whereupon I jumped off the carronade and, by way of assisting his

digestion, I served out to the baboon _monkey's allowance_, which is

more kicks than halfpence! The master reported that the heavens

intimated that it was twelve o'clock, and, with all the humility of a

captain of a man-of-war, I ordered him to 'make it so'; whereupon it was

made, and so passed that day.

"I do not remember how many days it was afterwards that I was on the

carronade as usual, about the same time, and all parties were precisely

in the same situations--the master by my side, the baboon under the

booms, and the boy walking out of the cabin with his bread-and-butter.

As before, he again passed the baboon, who again snatched the

bread-and-butter from the boy, who again set up a squall, which again

attracted my attention. I looked round, and the baboon caught my eye,

which told him plainly that he'd soon catch what was not at all _my

eye_; and he proved that he actually thought so, for he at once put the

bread-and-butter back into the boy's hands!

"It was the only instance of which I ever knew or heard of a monkey

being capable of self-denial where his stomach was concerned, and I

record it accordingly. This poor fellow, when the ship's company were

dying of the cholera, took that disease, went through all its

gradations, and died apparently in great agony."

XVIII

THE PILOT OF PORT CREEK

The sun, low in the west, was sinking behind a heavy cloudbank, which,

to nautical eyes, portended fog at sea.

A mariner, far out in the Channel, in a small boat, was shading his eyes

with his hand and gazing towards the south-western horizon.

The lad--he was not more than eighteen--was calculated to attract

attention. He was of fine physique. His hair shone like burnished gold.

His eyes were deep blue, clear, and bright. A marked firmness was about

his mouth and chin; and when he seized the oars and rowed to counteract

the boat's leeway caused by the tide, the grip of his hands was as that

of a vice.

He was the pilot of Port Creek--no official title, but one given him by

a lawless set of men amongst whom, for many years, his lot had been

cast.

Astern, faint and indistinct, loomed the low-lying coast-line. One could

only judge it to be a wild, inhospitable shore.

The sun disappeared, and the shades of night began to fall. Suddenly the

clouds parted, and a ray of sunshine shot obliquely down towards the

south-west.

The pilot immediately muttered: "That's well!"

The bright ray had struck the dark sails of a lugger, and in her he had

recognised the craft he had come out to pilot to a fateful destination.

Smartly he ran up a small lugsail, and set his boat's head towards the

stranger. She was black hulled, and with a rakish rig that gave her the

appearance of being a fast sailer.

At the critical moment, when it appeared the lugger was about to cut him

down, the pilot suddenly ported helm, and ran his boat under the

lugger's side. Smartly he lowered his sail and fastened on the vessel

with his boathook.

"Heave a rope!" called he. "I'm coming on board."

"And who are you?" asked a swarthy man, who had been watching from the

lugger's bows.

"I bring a message to your captain."

"Catch, then!" and a coil of rope went curling through the air.

The pilot deftly caught it, and hitched the end to the bow of his boat.

"Carry it astern, and make fast!" ordered he, like one accustomed to

command. "She'll tow till I want her."

The boat dropped astern, but the pilot nimbly boarded the lugger.

A powerful man in reefer jacket, sou'-wester, and sea-boots greeted him

with--

"You seem pretty free with strangers, my lad."

The pilot held out a piece of paper. The captain took it and read--

"_It is by our order and for the good of the cause that the bearer is

authorised to act._"

The signature was a rude hieroglyphic. The captain's manner immediately

showed that he recognised it, and respected it.

"Am I to understand that you take command?"

The pilot bowed, and tendered a second paper. The captain read--

"_Should the bearer fail to accomplish that which he has undertaken, it

will be for the captain of the_ 'Swift' _to see that he gives no further

trouble._"

A wicked gleam came into the captain's eyes.

"If you fail in that which you are instructed to do--and which I know

nothing of at present--this is your death-warrant?"

"It is."

"Then see you fail not."

"Rely on it, I shall not fail!"

The words were spoken in such cold, deliberate tones that the captain--a

man who boasted he knew not fear--shivered as though from the touch of

an icy hand.

"What are your orders?" presently asked the captain, eyeing him keenly.

"To pilot the lugger to the head of Port Creek, where friends await her

cargo. The old landings are played out; but who would suspect a lugger

to effect a run in the creek _after dark_?"

"No human hand could steer that course!"

"Yet I am here."

"The thing is impossible!"

"The tide flows at midnight. My orders are to go in with the rising tide

and bring you out on the ebb, that you may make a good offing before

dawn."

"It cannot be done! I'll not have the risk----"

"You have your commands, I my orders," coldly interrupted the pilot.

"Then I'll execute mine to the letter!"

"And I--we shall see."

He bent low over the binnacle, afterwards glancing swiftly shoreward.

"Keep her away a couple of points. We'll come about presently and fetch

the creek on the other tack, just after dark, and with the tide half

made."

Long and intently the captain studied the boy's fearless face. Then he

began to recall an almost forgotten memory.

"Boy," said he suddenly, "you remind me of some one I have known."

The pilot's gaze remained as steady as his own, but there was a slight

expression of cynicism playing about his mouth.

"Ay!" continued the captain, seeming to speak his thoughts aloud. "The

eyes are the same, just as they looked that night when I---- Bah!"

recovering himself. "What a fool I am! This new venture unmans me."

The pilot did not seem to hear, but his eyes seemed to glow with a

green sheen, as the gathering gloom obscured his face. A violent emotion

was possessing him.

"Boy!" again cried the captain, "you interest me. How comes it that one

so young holds so responsible a position in the cause?"

"By past services have I been judged."

"Come, tell me the story."

"As you will."

"You will find me a ready listener."

"Be it so; but not yet. Now set the course north-west. A single light

here at the binnacle, and no other to show from anywhere on board. As

soon as we are in the creek, see that the sails are smartly trimmed to

my order. There'll be little time to spare."

The captain passed the word, and began to moodily pace the deck. He had

never thought to question the genuineness of the two papers. There stood

the pilot, his life forfeited by any failure tending to bring disaster

upon the lugger; and it was a good guarantee.

Anon the captain glanced at the pale, set face of the pilot, on which

the diffused light from the binnacle lantern feebly shone. For the

second time that evening the captain shivered, and without being able to

define the cause. He felt strangely ill at ease. Accustomed to daring

ventures, the present seemed sheer recklessness. Who was this determined

boy? Why did his presence bring back a fateful memory of the past?

The darkness deepened, and was further intensified by the cold, grey

fog. The wind was light, but a steady up-Channel draught. The lugger was

creeping in under mainsail and jib, her other sails being furled.

The pilot took over the helm, and ordered the man he relieved to go

forward. At the same time the captain came and stood by the binnacle.

"What is our position?" shortly asked he.

"We are within the creek," replied the pilot. "Hark! Don't you hear the

grinding of the shingle away over the port bow? As soon as the sound

comes from windward we'll have her on the port tack, and thus we'll

clear Boulder Ledge."

"It sounds fair sailing; but I liken it to going blindly into a trap,"

retorted the captain.

"Haul on the main-sheet! Steady, forward, with the jib!" And the pilot

starboarded his helm.

Again the captain shivered. Who was this, who held death so lightly? His

own gloomy forebodings came upon him with redoubled force. What manner

of pilot was this, to whom night was as day?

"Boy!" he cried shortly, "why are you here?"

"You read my orders."

"Yes; but----"

Again the pilot caused an interruption by shifting helm.

"Who are you?" hoarsely cried the captain.

"Well, sixteen years ago to-night--steady, cap'n!" for the man had

staggered as though from the effect of a mortal blow.

"Avast! Who and what are you?" The captain's voice was deep and

menacing.

"The pilot of Port Creek. I have no other name--at least, it suits me to

forget it."

"What was your father?"

"A mariner."

"His name?"

"Wait!" and the pilot luffed till the sails shook. A peculiar vibration

passed throughout the lugger's timbers, and her way was gently arrested.

"We're aground! You have failed!" cried the captain, and drew a pistol

from his belt.

"Wait!" And again the pilot spoke in cold, disdainful tones. One might

have counted a hundred. It was terrible suspense. The captain's finger

was toying with the trigger of his pistol. The pilot stood immovable,

the disdainful smile deepening upon his lips. "Ease off the main-sheet!"

cried he, as he turned his ear to windward. There came a stronger puff

of wind, a bigger wave rolled up under the lugger's stern, she lifted,

and immediately glided forward--free!

"You lost your reckoning, my lad!" cried the captain.

"A slight error of judgment. The tide has made somewhat less than I

anticipated."

"What is our position?"

"We scraped on the Sandstone Ledge," grimly. "'Twas a close shave--for

me!"

"And did you doubt----"

"No. But put up your pistol and I'll get on with my story--unless you'd

rather not listen."

"No, no! Go on!"

The pilot stood steady at the helm, his eyes fixed on the binnacle, each

movement of the compass-needle a sign for his ready hands to obey. Anon

a concise order to shift a sail fell from his lips, for in spite of his

interrupted conversation with the captain his every action showed a

trained alertness.

Again he took up the thread of his story--

"'Twas my father's death made me--what I am." The pause was ominous. "He

was one of us--a smuggler."

"Ah!"

"A run had been planned----"

"I----"

"My father was young and daring. To him was entrusted the most

venturesome part of the night's work. But I am anticipating. He had a

rival--a man who sought my mother. But she was true to my father."

"I remember----"

"Steady, cap'n! You may have known him--perchance he was once your

friend?"

"No, no!" hoarsely. "He--I----"

A bright light suddenly flashed through the fog, and from right ahead.

"A signal?" cried the captain.

"From a friend," and the pilot ported helm. "'Tis a dangerous spot

hereabouts, so nothing has been left to chance. We're now abreast of

Green Point. Steady, lads, for the next tack!"

Shortly another light flashed right upon the lugger's bows. The pilot

jammed over the helm to starboard. There was a slight shock, and

something grated along the lugger's side.

"All clear now, cap'n; but 'twas a narrow go. We grazed Rudder Rock! The

fool stationed there with the light flashed it a full minute too late!"

"Boy, you must have dealings with----"

"Steady, cap'n! Your nerves are unstrung. Perhaps the conclusion of my

story 'll steady them. Well, the venture that was planned was no less

than to take the goods in under Black Rock, and have them hauled up the

face of the cliff. In the end 'twas safely done--to all but my father.

He had been lowered down to fasten on the bales. Those who were out that

night came back saying he had fallen from the cliff. They recovered his

body the next day, and they found the piece of rope around the mangled

corpse had been cut."

"Ay, by the rocks."

"No, no! A poor fellow who witnessed the act was shot by the hand that

cut the rope; but he lived long enough to tell my mother the truth."

"Or a parcel of lies."

"Dying men don't lie, cap'n! I was born that same night. Years

afterwards, when I was old enough to understand--when my mother was on

her deathbed--she told me the story; and my last word to her was a

promise to hunt down my father's murderer."

"And you have failed!" cried the captain.

"Let go the anchor!" cried the pilot. "See, cap'n, I'll bring her head

up into the wind, and she'll ride with her sails set. Off with the

hatches, my lads!"

A bright light flashed three times from left to right. The pilot took

the lantern and waved responsive signals.

"All's well!" cried he. "Cap'n, you will see to the getting up of the

goods."

Taken off his guard, the captain stepped to the hatchway, gave a few

orders, and seemed to recollect something. But the binnacle light was

out, and the pilot had disappeared! The captain caught at the rope by

which his boat had been towing astern. It came in without resistance; it

had been cut!

"We are betrayed!" cried the captain. "Hark! Friends or foes!" as a

number of boats came quickly alongside.

"Surrender in the King's name!" was the response.

* * * * *

The desperate encounter that ensued is written in the history of those

lawless times. Suffice it that the captain and his crew paid the full

penalty of their many crimes.

The pilot, having fulfilled his vow, was no more seen upon that part of

the coast. To have remained would have been to forfeit his life, for

the betrayed smugglers had many friends.

But the old chronicles from which I have compiled this story go on to

say that he secured a berth in the navy, and years afterwards trod the

quarter-deck of a man-of-war.

_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._

"Perhaps it was fortunate I did so, for about a hundred yards farther on