BOOK II--PATAGONIA AND THE LAND OF FIRE.

A STRANGE INTRODUCTION--SAINT HELENA AND FUN ON SHORE--CAPE TOWN.

The amount of good advice vouchsafed to us before sailing, by dear aunt,

was only equalled by the sum total of our own good resolves. There was

nothing in the world we were not going to do and be that was worth doing

or being. And every night of our lives for weeks before sailing, we

made some new good intention, and duly entered it in the log of our

memories.

Alas! I fear that going to sea for the first time is very like entering

upon a new year: there is the same firm determination to do good and to

be good, and one invariably sticks to his intentions boldly--for a week

or a fortnight.

Our life now, I remember, was to be all _couleur de rose_. There would

not be a single hitch in it; it would spin over the wheels of time as

softly as a well-coiled rope glides through a greased block. We were

going to work like New Hollanders, and get up to the working of the ship

in a month at the farthest, be able to reef, steer, and box the compass

in another month; we would always be on deck three minutes before the

watch was called; we would show the men a good example--we certainly had

a good opinion of our little selves; we would be always cheerful and

merry and willing; and last, but not least, we would keep such a log as

would be worth handing over to the British Museum when done with.

However, there is no harm in trying to be perfect; on the contrary, it

shows a boy is ambitious, and an ambitious boy is certain to do well and

advance. He may not obtain to the height of his ambition, but if he

aims high he'll hit high, nevertheless, although he may neither send his

arrow through the moon nor set the Thames on fire.

The _Salamander_ was a sailing ship, but a crack little craft at that,

well-handled, and well-manned. A barque she was as to rig, but almost

clipper built, without extra narrowness of beam. She was a strong,

sturdy-timbered, safe ship, and could do a bit of handsome sailing on a

wind.

But being a sailing ship, she had to be towed by such a puffing little

dirty noisy tug, all the way down the river. This is a sort of a

beginning to a voyage that I never could endure. When I go to sea, I

like best to get into blue water right away, just as I dearly love to

take a header from the rocks into deep water when bathing--right splash

down among the jelly fishes.

But we hoisted sail at last with a deal of "yee-hoing" and sing-songing,

then the tug and we parted company with a ringing cheer, which Jill and

I took an eminent part in. Indeed, when the order was given to hoist

the jib, both of us attempted to take an eminent part in that also, and

were thunderstruck at being advised to go aft if we didn't want our toes

tramped. Why, the scramble in setting sail, the hurrying here and

scurrying there, the noise and shouting, would have left a Rugby

football match far in the rear.

When sail was got up at last, and the water had entirely lost its

pea-soup colour, the _Salamander_ went bobbing and curtseying over the

wee wavelets, swaying about like a pretty Spanish girl dancing a

fandango, and with a motion altogether so pleasant, that I said to Jill

I did not think there was any life in the world so pleasant as a life on

the ocean wave.

Just as I was saying this I received a dig from a thumb in the ribs,

accompanied by that clicking sound a Jehu makes with his mouth when he

wants his horse to "gee up." I think it is spelt thus: "tsck!" If not,

I do not know how to spell it.

"Tsck! youngsters, how d'y'e like it? Eh! Tsck! Sorry to leave the

shorie-worry. Eh? Tsck."

He was a youth of about fifteen, in blue pilot jacket with brass

buttons, and a cap on the after-part of his head. He had a short neck

and handsome face, but square chin, which he stuck very much up in the

air when he spoke. I did not like him, then.

I drew myself up to my full height--four feet six, I think--and asked

him if he was aware he was taking an unwarrantable amount of familiarity

with my ribs.

I was using my very best English on him--auntie's English.

"What's your name, chummy?"

"Captain Coates may be able to inform you."

"Ha! ha! going to ride the high horse. Eh?"

"What's your name, little un? Tsck!" This to Jill.

Jill bridled up now.

"When I'm as big as you, I'll thrash you," said my brother.

"But you'll never be, 'cause I'll keep growing. See?"

I looked at him disdainfully up and down.

"You don't give promise at present," I said, "of ever attaining heroic

dimensions."

"Eh?" he said, putting a finger behind his left ear, as deaf people do.

"I didn't catch on. What ship did you say?"

"Because," I added, "you're squat, and you're not wholesome, nor

handsome."

This was hardly handsome of me.

He shook his head now as if in great grief.

"Oh! you ungrateful little griffin," he gasped out. "Here is poor

innocent me come to chummy with you, and there is you a-rebuffing of me

like everything. I declare it's enough to make the binnacle pipe its

eye."

Then he brightened up all at once.

"I say," he said, "was that old duchess your aunt? Uncommon fine old

girl. Give you any yellow boys, eh?"

I turned on my heel and walked away, arm-in-arm with Jill.

At the same moment Mrs Coates and her black maid came up, and I was

surprised to observe the immediate change in this young officer's

demeanour. He lifted his hat to the lady, and advanced almost shyly,

certainly deferentially.

"Now, boys," said Mrs Coates, smiling, "let me make you acquainted with

your brother officer, Mr Jeffries. Mr Jeffries--Master Reginald--

and-all-the-rest-of-it Jones; Master Rupert, etc, Jones--twin brothers,

as you may see."

Mr Jeffries cordially shook hands with us.

"I really was trying to scrape acquaintance with them when you came on

deck, Mrs Coates."

"How did you proceed?" asked the lady.

"Well, I--I fear I dug them in the ribs rather, Mrs Coates, but I now

most humbly apologise."

"And I have to apologise," I returned, "for calling you squat and ugly."

I lifted my hat.

"And I," said Jill, lifting his hat, "have to apologise for saying I

would thrash you--I won't."

"No," said Mr Jeffries, "I dare say you won't yet awhile. Well, let's

all be pleasant. We're all in the same boat. But boys, I'm plain

Peter. Don't Mr me."

"And I'm Jack."

"And I'm Jill."

"Oh," laughed Mrs Coates, "then I must call my Jack--John."

I could not help thinking this was a very strange introduction, but the

ice was broken, and that was everything.

We had music after dinner, in our pretty little saloon, Mrs Coates and

Peter playing duets together, he with the clarionet--on which charming

instrument every boy should take lessons before going to sea--and she at

the piano.

We youngsters went on deck before turning in. The stars were all out,

and all sail was crowded; but though well into the Channel, we made but

little way, the sea all round being as calm as an English lake.

We sat down together near the companion.

"You don't think me a very nasty fellow now, do you?" said Peter.

"No, I begin to like you rather."

"Am I very ugly?"

"No, not ugly, but you looked conceited."

"Well, so I perhaps am. Now, I'm lots older than you, and we've known

each other all the evening, so forgive me for trying plainly to put you

up to ropes. You're green, and you must get rid of your lime-juice.

Now, _never_ lose your temper."

"Oh! Jill," I cried, laughing, "Peter is right, and we've broken our

good resolve."

"Always take chaff in the spirit it is meant."

"So we had intended," I sighed, "hadn't we, Jill?"

"Assuredly."

"Well, that's all to-night. We're friends?"

"We are."

"Then, good-night. I have got to keep the first morning watch."

"Good-night, Peter."

"Jill," I said, "we've made fools of ourselves already. Let us go down

below, and turn in."

So we did, and cosy little cribs we had, and a little cabin all to

ourselves--this is most exceptional, mind, but we were very young.

Just after we got up from our knees,--

"Give us the log-books," I said, "Jill."

"I say, Jack," said Jill, sleepily, "maybe it would be as well to write

every day's doings complete every morning."

"I dare say that would be best," I said, "and I must say I'm feeling

very tired."

Next day it was blowing a bit, and we had something else to occupy our

minds than writing logs. Indeed I never felt so thoroughly bad and

unambitious in my life. I did try to eat some breakfast, but the fish

got it after. Jill was the same, _so_ ill, and the ship would keep

capering about in a way that made me wish I'd been a soldier instead of

a sailor.

"How're you getting on?" Peter often asked kindly. "Oh, you are not

nearly so bad as I was at first, and on the day the mate rope-ended me

off to my watch."

"Isn't it blowing hard?" I ventured to ask.

"Blowing? dear life no, it's a glorious breeze."

The glorious breeze--how I hated such glory--kept at it for many days.

The sea got rougher and the waves higher, and we got worse. I do not

think anything would have induced me to go near a ship again, if a good

angel had only put me down then at the door of Trafalgar Cottage.

But every one was kind to us.

Then one day the mate--he was rather a tartar--put us both in separate

watches, and after this I think our sufferings began in earnest.

Not a word had yet been written in the log, so that was our third good

intention thrown to the winds.

It really seemed to me that the mate was cruel; he did not kick us

about, but he sent us flying, on very short notice too. And we dared

not say a word. Then we had all kinds of little menial offices to

perform, even for the captain's cat and for two beautiful dogs that

belonged to the mate. To be sure, there was a boy or two forward, but

the mate told us--Jill and me--that he wanted to make men of us. He

explained that no officer could ever know when a thing was well done

unless he knew how to do it himself.

Going aloft was at first fearful work. I'll never forget, though, lying

out on a yard making a sham of reefing, and holding on like a fly on a

roof, praying, and expecting every moment to be hurled into the sea. It

came easier at last, and before we reached Saint Helena, where we lay

in, I could do a deal both below and aloft, and had hands and feet as

good as the captain's cat.

Now if ever the lines of any two boys were cast in pleasant places on

going first to sea, they were Jill's and mine, and yet we were not

happy. What would it have been had we been subjected to the thousand

and one little tyrannies of ship life most apprentices have to endure?

I'm not going to describe them, because I am telling a story, not giving

a lecture; nor do I wish to say a word to prevent bold, hardy lads from

adopting the sea as a profession; but let no one go to be a sailor lured

by the romance and glamour thrown over it in too many sea novels.

Peter and we got on shore together at Saint Helena. This was a treat,

because we were now quite friendly, and I had not forgotten the good

advice he gave us the first evening we met.

Leila, Mrs Coates' maid, also had a passage on shore in the same boat,

and Peter, much to the amusement of the men--with whom, by the way, he

was a great favourite--pretended to make love to her all the way. He

told her, to begin with, that her name was sweetly poetic, and pretty.

So far he was right. Then he said her teeth were like pearls. Leila

grinned, simpered, and showed her teeth. And really Peter was not far

wrong. Having adhered to the truth so far, I believe Leila was in a

position to believe anything. So Peter praised her eyes next. He said

they reminded him of koh-i-noors floating in a bucket of tar, and he

referred to the coxswain to say whether he was not right. The coxswain

confessed that diamonds were never so numerous where he had been, as to

float them on tar, but that Leila was pretty enough to make a fellow

pitch a ball of spun-yard at the captain's head if she asked him to.

For this pretty compliment the coxswain received a dig in the ribs from

Leila that well-nigh sent him overboard among the sharks and turtles,

and certainly took his breath away.

"Oh!" cried the coxswain. "If that's your way of showing your

affection, my beauty, a little of it goes a long way."

"What for you tease a poor girl, then?"

"Your hair, my Leila--" began Peter again.

"Cut it short, Mr Jeffries," cried the coxswain, laughing; "why, sir,

you can't praise that!"

"Cut it short!" said Peter; "why it couldn't be shorter. But look at

those crisp wee ringlets, how they curl round one's affections, how they

entwine themselves with every poetic feeling--"

"Way enough--oars," shouted the coxswain.

There was indeed way enough. The good fellow had not been keeping his

weather eye lifting, and now the boat took the beach with such force

that nearly all hands caught crabs, the bewitching Leila among the rest.

Peter made haste to help her up, and assisted her on shore. He even

carried his politeness so far as to offer her his arm along the beach.

"You go 'long now," she replied. "You nothing but one piccaninny. I

not can gib dis heart ob mine to a child so small as you."

Jill and I laughed, and Peter laughed good-naturedly, and fell back.

"Bother it all, boys, she's got the best of me after all."

Here, in James's Town, as in other places, my brother and I attracted

universal attention, among blacks and whites, by our wonderful

resemblance to each other. And they did not hesitate to show it. For

instance, I was some distance behind Jill and Peter, when I met a bluff

old sailor.

"Hullo! matie," he shouted, "blessed if I ain't three sheets in the

wind. I could have sworn I met you a minute ago, and there you are

again. I'll go back and have a sleep. Can't go on board like this."

But when he saw the two of us together, he concluded to go on board,

after treating himself to another glass of beer, and drinking our

healths. So we had to "shout" as Peter called it.

Before we entered the little inn, which was kept by a highly respectable

man of colour, Peter pushed me unceremoniously into a little stable

place, and told me to wait till come for.

I obeyed, feeling sure Peter was up to some lark. About five minutes

after, the door was opened, not by Peter, but by a black man in a white

jacket.

He sprang back in amazement when he saw me.

"You must be de debbil, sah," he said.

"Thank you," I replied, "but _you're_ more of his colour."

The explanation is this: after calling for beer and sherbet, Peter, who

knew the landlord, having been here before, said--

"Now, Mr Brown, you see this young gentleman," alluding to Jill.

"Yes, sah," said Mr Brown, "pertiklerly handsom boy, sah."

"True," said Peter, "but his chief peculiarity is his ubiquitousness."

"Yes, sah, sure 'nuff, sah; come to look again, he is rather

obliquitous."

"He can go through a key-hole."

The man drew back.

"Now, come and I'll show you." And upstairs the three went; and after

making sure the window was properly fastened, Jill was duly locked into

the room, and the landlord put the key in his pocket. In a minute after

they returned. The room was empty to all appearance--Jill, in fact, was

behind a chair in a corner. The landlord peeped under the bed, then

stared in blank amazement.

"Now come on," cried Peter, "we'll find him out of doors. Go and look

in your little stable."

And there, of course, Mr Brown found me. Meanwhile Jill had got

downstairs, and had hidden himself in the parlour, so that Peter had an

opportunity of ringing the changes on this trick in several ways.

Finally we both appeared at once.

"I'm going to pay for the sherbet," said I and Jill both in a breath,

and both extending our hands at once.

"No, sah," said Mr Brown, "I not touch it. P'r'aps sah, the money is

obliquitous too--ha! ha!"

We had a deal of fun that day one way or another, and very much enjoyed

our visit to Napoleon's tomb. I believe I should have waxed quite

romantic about that, or about some of the splendid views we saw on every

side of us, but who could be romantic with Peter alongside making us

laugh every moment?

After returning, we went to climb ladder hill. Every one does so,

therefore we must. The ladder leads up the face of a cliff about four

hundred feet high.

"I think," said Peter, "I see my way to a final joke before going off.

Jill, old man, you hide down here till I shout from the cliff top, then

come slowly up the ladder, rubbing yourself as if you had tumbled."

Then up we went. We were in luck. An old gentleman at the top was

watching our ascent from under his white umbrella. We said "good

afternoon," and passed along some little way, and at a sign from Peter I

got into hiding.

Peter ran back. "Oh!" he cried, "I fear my young friend has fallen over

the cliff."

"Dear me, dear me," said the old gentleman, looking bewilderedly round,

"_so_ he must have. How very, very terrible."

"But it won't hurt him, will it?"

"Hurt him? why he'll be cat's meat by this time."

"Oh, you don't know my friend," said Peter. "He's a perfect little

gutta-percha ball, he is."

Then he shouted, "Jill--Jill, are you hurt?"

And when Jill presently came puffing and blowing up the ladder, and

making pretence to dust his jacket, that old gentleman's face was such a

picture of mingled amazement and terror that I felt sorry for him; so I

suddenly appeared on the scene, and, according to Peter, thus spoiled

the sport.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jill and I had built all sorts of castles in the air anent our arrival

at Cape Town, and the meeting with our darling mother and brave papa.

We were not in the least little bit afraid of a scolding from either.

The _Salamander_ was to lie here for a whole week, so we would be

certain to enjoy ourselves if--ah! there always is an _if_. I do not

believe there ever was a castle in the air yet that had not a big ugly

ogre living in some corner of it. Supposing father were killed, or

something happened to mamma.

But here was the _Cape_ at last, and the bay, and the town, and the

grand old hills above. It was early in the morning when we dropped

anchor, but there was plenty of bustle and stir on the water

nevertheless. The houses looked very white in the sun's glare, which

was so bright on the water that we could scarcely look on it. The hills

were purple, grey, and green with patches of bright crimson here and

there, for it was early summer in this latitude. Indeed, everywhere

around us was ablaze with sunlight and beauty. But all this fell flat

on Jill and me, and we did not feel any near approach to happiness till

the boat was speeding swiftly towards the landing with us. For

somewhere in shore yonder lived, we hoped, all we held truly dear.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

LIFE AT SEA--POOR FATHER'S DEATH--MATTIE AND I.

Where did Major Jones of the --th live?

Was the regiment in town?

These were only two out of a dozen questions we asked about two dozen

people on the street. And greatly to our astonishment, no one could

give us a definite answer. We thought all the world knew our papa.

At last we met a smart sergeant of marines, who told us afterwards he

was just up from Symon's Town on a few days' outing. Our father's

regiment had gone to the front, away up country, but he would go with us

to the barracks. He did so, and got an address--that of the house where

the major used to live; and he walked with us that distance, then bade

us good day.

The door was opened by a little yellow lady wearing a crimson silk

bandana by way of cap. We had hardly spoken ere she guessed we were the

"young massa boys that Ma'am Jones speak so much about."

"And mother, is she with father?"

"She was wid Capitan Jones, but she come home to-day, sick."

"She is here, then?"

"No, to-day she _come_ home."

"Is she very ill?"

"No, bless de lubly lad, no, no ill at all, only sick."

Here was confusion and grief all mingled up together.

However, we waited. It was a beautiful room we were in, all jalousied

and curtained, all thoroughly tropical in appearance, while every

nick-nack around us was mother's--her work-box, writing-desk, books,

everything.

A light carriage stopped ere long, and at a glance we could see it was

mother's. We could not wait any longer, but ran right away down the

garden to meet her.

Then the scene--which must be imagined.

Mamma was looking as well and beautiful as ever. She was on sick-leave;

that was what the little yellow Malay lady wanted to convey.

What a happy, happy week that was. And every hour of it we spent with

mother. The only drawback to our pleasure was that we could not see

poor father. But when we came back--ah! then.

We had such good news at the end of the week, too--that is good news for

Jill and me, not for the owners' profit, however, including Auntie

Serapheema. It was simply that, owing to delay in lading and unlading,

the _Salamander_ would not be ready for sea for another week. This was

a respite we did not fail to take advantage of, and so we spent it in

going everywhere and seeing everything, in company with mother, of

course, and very often Peter.

I felt that I liked Peter now better than ever, because he was so

deferential and polite to mamma. No Frenchman had more urbanity about

him than Peter, when he concluded to show it.

How Jill and I wished that week had been a year. The Cape has always

seemed to me a very delightful dreamy sort of a place. The scenery is

so grand, there is health in every breeze, and the people do not hurry

along in life as they do in the States of America, where one is

surrounded by such a stream of fast-flowing life that he thinks he is

behind the age if he does not sail with it. But at the Cape one can

take time to vegetate and enjoy his existence.

Up anchor and away again. A few tears at parting, and hopes of a speedy

reunion. It had felt funny, as Jill expressed it, to find mamma amidst

such tropical surroundings, but there was a good time coming, and we

might soon see her back in dear old Trafalgar Cottage.

Of course Peter and we had fun at the Cape, and Peter played a good many

more of his monkey tricks; but one particular monkey trick was played on

me by a smart-looking Portuguese fellow, whom I will not forget, but am

never likely to meet, so I make a virtue of necessity by forgiving him.

It was on the forenoon of our sailing. Jill was already on board, and I

myself was about to put off in the very last boat, when the man came up

and politely touched his cap.

"I sent them all off, sir," he said, "and this is the little bill."

I glanced at it. One pound 5 shillings 6 pence for various little

nick-nacks, chiefly preserved fruits and other eatables.

"Ha!" I said to myself, "this is strange." Then aloud: "I never

ordered these things, my man."

"You forget, sir. Only last night, sir, and you gave me sixpence to be

sure to take them off in time. Will you come with me to the store?"

"No, no," I said; "it was my brother, doubtless. Here you are, one

pound six shillings. Keep the sixpence because I suspected you."

I did not see my brother to speak to till dinnertime.

"Fork over, old man," I said, throwing him the bill. "I paid that for

you, and don't you forget your liabilities when next you leave a foreign

port."

Jill glanced at the bit of paper, and his look of blank astonishment

told me at once I had been very neatly victimised. So much for being a

twin.

Peter exploded in a hearty fit of laughter, which went rippling round

the table; and though I looked a little blank--Jill said "blue"--for a

time, I presently joined in the mirth.

"You see, my boy," said Captain Coates, "that it is quite an expensive

thing to keep a double."

"Long may he keep his double," said Mrs Coates.

I grew serious all at once. I glanced just once at poor Jill's innocent

face, while a strange feeling of gloom rushed over my heart.

Keep my double! Why surely, I thought, it could never be otherwise. I

must always have Jill--always, always. I could no more live without

that brother of mine than I could exist without the air I breathe.

Perhaps dear Mrs Coates noticed the air of concern her words had

inadvertently called up, for she made haste to change the subject. I do

not know whether she did so very artistically or not, but very

effectually.

"Have ever you seen oysters growing on trees, Mr Jeffries?" she asked.

How closely the sublime is ever associated with the ridiculous in this

world! Mirth itself or folly is never really very far away from grief.

The one merely turns its back to the other.

Oysters growing on a tree indeed! Yet I could not repress a smile, and

I dare say Mrs Coates noticed she was victorious.

"Oysters growing on trees? Yes, years and years ago." I often noticed

that peculiarity about Peter: he used to speak as if he were indeed a

very old man. And, mind you, one's peculiarities should always be

respected, even if they convey to your mind the idea that the owner is

affected with pride. Because every one has peculiarities, and they are

often faults; but all have faults.

I think in the present instance Peter would have been pleased if Jill or

I had contradicted him, but we did not. Jill merely said:

"Wouldn't I like to have trees like these growing in my garden."

Then Captain Coates explained that Peter referred to the mangrove trees,

with huge bare root-tops, that grew by the seashore in Africa, and

graciously permitted the succulent bivalves to cling to them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have heard it said, reader, that there was not much romance about the

merchant service; that, like the glory of war, it all clung to the Royal

Navy. This is not quite true, and were I but to describe one half the

adventures--none _very_ wild, perhaps--and half the fun we had for the

next four years of our life at sea, giving an account at the same time

of the storms and dangers we encountered, and a pen-and-ink picture

graphically told of the lovely lands and seas we made the acquaintance

of, it would be one of the most readable books ever printed. But I have

that to tell of poor Jill and myself which I believe will be far more

absorbing than the every-day events in the life of a sailor.

Our voyage, then, to Bombay was all that could be desired. Now that

Jill and I really felt ourselves to be seafarers in the strict sense of

the word, we settled down to our life, and began to enjoy it.

This is a feeling that comes sooner or later to all who make going to

sea their profession, and it is born of the fact that your ship becomes

your home; so that on shore you always feel out for the day or the week,

as the case may be, but as soon as your foot is on deck you feel back

and settled down. It is this feeling I doubt not which makes every true

sailor love his ship.

From Bombay we went to China, and thence to Sydney, and it was there the

great grief found us, a grief which made Jill and I feel we had left our

boyhood behind us and grown suddenly old.

We had lost our father!

He had died, as heroes die, fighting at the head of his regiment, sword

and revolver in hand, against fearful odds.

I shall not dwell on this sorrow; it had better be imagined. It was

Mrs Coates who broke the news to us, after taking us below to our

cabin. She let us weep as young orphan brothers would, in each other's

arms, unrestrained for a long time, before she broke gently in with the

remark:

"Dear boys, God is good to you; you still have your mother."

Oh yes, we still had our mother, and when the first wild transports of

our grief were past, our thoughts sorrowfully reverted to her, and her

lonely life in auntie's cottage by the sea.

I think the first comfort we really had was in our manly resolves to do

everything that was right, and to be everything that was brave and good,

for the sake of this widowed mother of ours, and out of respect to the

memory of our hero father.

But as I have said, the grief made us old, and mind you, age goes not

with years; the poor miserable children that beg in the streets of

London, half naked and in rags, whose parents are more unnatural than

the wildest beasts, they, I say, are as old in spirit and heart, and

often in wisdom, as happy young men and women of over twenty-one.

It was strange, too, that, children though we were, we could not help

feeling that henceforward we would be our mother's protectors.

Ah, I have to confess, though, that, so hard was the blow to bear, so

intense was the grief we experienced for father's death, we saw no

silver lining to the cloud for many a day, and, at night, neither Jill

nor I could get our hearts quite round those beautiful words in God's

own prayer, "Thy will be done."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so months and years flew by, and Jill and I grew big and strong, and

at the age of sixteen we brothers took the position of second and third

mates on the _Salamander_. There really was no such rating as third

mate, but the captain and everyone else who had anything to do with the

ship, knew well we would not be parted if possible.

In all these years we had only been twice home, for our ship had what

might be called a roving commission. Captain Coates was part owner of

her and the rest of the owners knew well he would do all for the best,

so that when abroad he invariably took whatever turned uppermost in the

shape of trade. When unlading at one port, he seldom knew where he

would be sailing to next. Sometimes we would take several trips back

and fore between the same two ports. In a word, Captain Coates despised

no trade or trip either by which he saw his way to make an honest penny.

On our last return home, we found that mamma was much more cheerful and

resigned, that Auntie Serapheema had not yet got married. It was not

even rumoured that she had refused many offers. She seemed wholly bound

up in mamma.

Mummy Gray, Sarah, and Robert, were just as we had left them, Robert and

Trots the pony being both stiffening a trifle with age.

Mattie was grown almost out of "kenning," as the Scotch say. She had

slipped up, but she was none the less wonderfully beautiful.

Peter told her in his off-hand way, in Auntie's presence too, that when

she was a few years older he might possibly make love to her, and

probably marry her, but not to build upon this as a promise.

Mattie told him he was an old man, and he had better marry Sarah. She

said Robert wouldn't mind, because Robert had Trots, the pony.

Mattie, and Jill, and I, visited the _Thunderbolt_. Mr Moore was still

in charge, and we talked much of old times and poor Tom Morley, but we

did not play at pirates, though Mrs Moore pulled out the black flag and

displayed it. She was always going to keep it, she said, as a memento

of days gone by.

On board the hulk, Mattie took me aside to show me something, which she

did with sparkling eyes and a heightened colour. It was only the little

letter that I had put on her pillow.

"But," said Mattie, "of course we always pray for you when far away at

sea, only there is one word in this letter that I don't like, quite I

mean."

"And what is that, Mattie?"

"Why do you say, `Poor Jill'?" I do not know how it was, but at that

very moment a kind of shadow passed over my heart: I cannot otherwise

define it--a kind of cold feeling.

"I don't know, Mattie," I replied, looking, I'm sure more serious than I

intended, for my looks were mirrored in Mattie's face. "I don't know,

Mattie; but I often think something will happen to `poor Jill'--"

"There it is again--`poor Jill.'"

"Only," I added, "Heaven, forbid it should be in my lifetime, Mattie."

"Amen," said the child.

It was while I was at home this time--this last time for many years--

that a very curious thing happened. A sailor died at Cardiff, and on

his death-bed called a priest and confessed to him that he alone had

been the murderer of Roderigo, the Spanish sailor and companion of

Adriano, who had suffered so long in prison.

I felt extremely happy about this, and so did auntie. She, of course,

had not known the story of the man at the time when he was instrumental

in saving Jill and me from probably an ugly fate. I had told her

afterwards, however, when I knew Adriano had gone out of the country.

And, with some show of reason perhaps, both auntie and Mummy Gray

connected him and the murdered Roderigo with the mystery that enshrouded

Mattie's life.

"He will come again some day," auntie said, "and we will know all."

"Yes," said Mummy Gray, solemnly, "I hope so."

The Queen granted Adriano a free pardon. Auntie was disloyal enough to

laugh when she read that piece of intelligence in the newspaper.

"Pardon for what?" she said, "after having kept the poor dear sailor in

prison and bondage for so many terrible years. It sounds like adding

hideous insult to awful injury."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

"COME TO ME, JACK, I CANNOT COME TO YOU."

Peter Jeffries, now chief mate of the dear old _Salamander_, could no

more help chaffing Jill and me, than a monkey can help pulling its

mother's tail. And we used to tell him so.

For instance, brother and I nearly always kept watch together, merely

for company's sake. You see we were both put in the same watch because

the _Salamander_ required no third mate. So Peter did not hesitate to

remind us often enough that we were only one man between the two of us.

But the fact was we were kept together on the _Salamander_, at auntie's

wish, in order to become perfect sailors under bold Captain Coates, and

not, as Peter would have it, that we might have our socks seen to by

Mrs Coates, and our pocket-handkerchiefs aired by the black but comely

Leila.

However, by way of paying him out for it, Jill would sometimes keep

Peter's watch for him, and let him have four hours extra in, thus

returning wheat for chaff.

During the next year of our life, Jill and I grew to to be quite men--

seventeen, you know, or nearly--and Jill reminded Peter that he could

thrash him now, for we really were taller.

The resemblance between us was not a whit marred, and to tell you the

truth we took a pride in it, and, just for the fun of the thing, always

dressed exactly alike, even to our scarves.

About this time we were bound from the Cape to Rio, which we made in

fine form, though we kept a good look-out for Russian cruisers, it being

war time. We often met ships that made us fidget for the time being,

but the danger was never extreme at the best.

From Rio we started for San Francisco, meaning at first to go round the

Horn, but Captain Coates changed his mind, and determined to penetrate

through the Straits of Magellan.

We received the first intimation of the captain's intention from Peter,

when he came on deck one lovely morning to join my brother and me in our

walk.

There was about a six-knot breeze blowing aslant our course from the

south-west by west, so though every stitch of canvas was set, there was

not a deal doing.

"The old man says you're to keep a few points closer to the wind," said

Peter.

"All right," I replied, giving the necessary orders.

Peter was in one of his funny moods to-day, I knew, because he asked

Jill if, having nothing else to do, he would mind whistling for some

more wind.

"For a capful, if you like," said Jill, merrily; "may I have your cap to

hold it in?"

"Now, youngster, I own you're smart, but never cheek your superior

officer. Besides, I'm older than either of you, and if you're both good

boys I'm going to marry your sister."

We laughed outright.

"Thank you," said Jill, "that is very good. I remember you told Mattie

herself that last time we were home, and I thought at the time cheek

couldn't well go further."

"If anybody marries Mattie," continued Jill, "it must be Jack."

"Jack! What! Marry his sister?"

I grew suddenly serious.

"My dear Peter," I said, "it is strange that through all these years it

never occurred to me to tell you that Mattie is not our sister, though

we call her so, and love her just the same, but--"

"Just the same as a sister?" said Peter, interrupting me. He had a

smile on his face, but it was a made one--one of those smiles that curl

round the lips, but never reach as far as the eyes; at the same time in

those eyes was a look of such earnestness as I but seldom saw there.

Jill and I were standing side by side looking at Peter, and as the

latter spoke, our hands touched. I knew then, as I do now--though

neither my brother nor I ever spoke of it--that the same thought

thrilled through both of us: "Could Peter be in love with our little

Mattie? To be sure she was barely fifteen, but then--"

"I _ought_ to have told you," I continued, "that there is a sad mystery

about Mattie's birth and parentage."

"Ha!" said Peter, "a story, eh? Well, we will have it to-night in the

first watch."

"Very well."

Peter brightened up again immeasurably.

"Do you know why we altered course?" he asked.

"Usual thing, I suppose."

"No, not the usual thing.

"We're going to try to push through the straits. Fine weather, clear

skies, a spanking bit of a breeze, and good luck will do it, though it

is risky enough in all weathers for sailing ships, 'cause of course

you're in and out, off and on, tacking and running, and all kinds of

capers, and never off a lee-shore, morn, noon, and night, till you're

out into the Pacific Ocean.

"Ever hear of Magellan, Greenie?" he continued, looking at poor Jill.

He often called Jill "Greenie," which he said was a pet name.

Now Jill and I knew all the history of the great navigator of ancient

times. Our Aunt Serapheema took good care of that.

"Magellan? let me see," said Jill. "Oh yes, there used to be a Magellan

who kept a draper's shop in Upper High Street."

"Well," said Peter, "that is true enough, but I hardly think that is the

man. However, I've been through the straits before."

"Do they charge anything for letting you through," said Jill, quietly.

Peter laughed till he had to wriggle about in all directions. "I tell

you what it is, Greenie, you'll be the death of me some day. Well, we

shall touch at the Land of the Giants."

"Are there really giants?"

"I'm not going to spin any yarn from personal experience, child, because

I can't to any extent. But our bo's'n told me it _was_ a land of

giants. There are giant plains--they call them pampas--giant lakes and

rivers, giant hills and forests--awful in their gloom--giant men and

women, giant cocks and hens--"

"Yes, the ostriches."

"And the whole is defended round the coast by giant cliffs, alive with

giant birds; but we'll see for ourselves in a day or two, Greenie, if

you'll only whistle for the wind."

"If it comes."

"Yes, _if_ it comes."

That same night in the first watch, which happened to be Peter's, we

told, or rather _I_ told, him all I knew of Mattie's history.

He was silent for some time afterwards, leaning quietly over the weather

bulwarks, watching the phosphorescence in the sea. That was a glorious

sight indeed, but Peter was not thinking about that at all. "Did it

ever occur to you, Jack," he said at length, "that this Adriano whom you

so befriended--"

"Who so befriended us."

"--Might be one of the sailors saved from the wreck? might be even

Mattie's father?"

"No, no, no," I cried, "not that, Peter. It certainly was unaccountable

that when she first saw Adriano she seemed to recognise him, but

remember that she could have been little over a year old when the

shipwreck occurred. Besides, I wouldn't like to think of Adriano,

friend and all as he must always rest in my memory, being Mattie's

father."

"Liking has nothing to do with it one way or another."

"No, certainly not."

"Assuredly not," from Jill.

"But," I insisted, "the two shipwrecked sailors assured Nancy Gray that

the lady's husband had not been on board."

"Jack," said Peter, "you're a capital sailor, but you would have made

but a poor lawyer. Depend upon it there are wheels within wheels in the

mystery that surrounds poor Mattie."

"It will be all the better if it is never cleared up," I said firmly,

"and I hope it won't be--there!"

"Well, I think otherwise. But one of the two men told the clergyman

something. Do you know what that was?"

"No, and it didn't seem to signify."

"Didn't it? There again I differ, and if you won't think me officious,

I'm going to probe this matter as deeply as I can."

"Do as you please, Peter; I only hope you won't find out--"

"What?"

"Anything disagreeable."

"No fear of that, Jack. I pride myself in being able to read character,

and there is that in Mattie's face and eyes that tells me she is a lady

born."

"That has not been denied, Peter."

"No, but not only of gentle but unsullied birth."

As he spoke there came again, I thought, that same strange dreamy look

in Peter's eyes; but I could not be sure, though the light from the

companion fell full in his face.

He extended his hand, and I grasped it. It was as if we were signing a

compact of some kind, I hardly knew what.

Then Jill and I went below.

Mrs Coates sat near the stove, which was burning brightly, in her

little rocking chair, reading; her black maid sitting not far off

sewing; in front of the fire a big pleasant-faced cat was singing a duet

with the brightly burnished copper kettle, and the great lamp swung in

its gymbals from a beam over head.

I could not help pausing in the doorway for a moment to admire the

homelike cosiness of the scene. By and by down came Captain Coates.

"Jill, my lad," he said, as he seated himself by the little piano, "trot

on deck and relieve Peter a bit."

When Peter came down he went at once for his clarionet, and we had very

sweet music indeed.

This, or something like it, is the way we usually spent our evenings in

fine weather.

In two days time we were, or thought we were, not far off the entrance

to the First Narrows, but the horizon was hazy.

The same afternoon a great red-funnelled steamer hove in sight, and came

ploughing and churning on in our direction. She was English, and

homeward bound. How glad we were! We did not take ten minutes to

finish our letters. They carried all kinds of tender messages and

wishes and hopes, and told how well and happy we were and expected to

remain.

I went in charge of the boat with the letters, and was very kindly

received. As I stood on the deck of the fine steamer, I really could

not help wishing I was going home. It was but for a moment; then I

remembered I had duties that called me elsewhere.

The ships parted with cheers, and the flock of seagulls, Cape pigeons,

and albatrosses that had been following the steamer divided, one half

going on after her, the others electing to share our fortunes, and pick

up our cook's tit-bits from off the water.

We were now in Possession Bay, which surrounds the entrance to the First

Narrows of Magellan Straits; but though the wind was fair, there was a

strange haze lying low all round the horizon, so our good captain

determined to keep "dodging" or tacking about till the weather should

clear.

Captain Coates had told us at dinner that for his part he would sooner

go round the Horn any day, than through the Straits, but he had

important business at Sandy Point--a Chilian town of small dimensions on

the Patagonia shore--and--"duty is duty."

The sun went down blood-red in the haze, and with as little sail as

possible on her we went tacking to and fro. Two great albatrosses were

sailing round and round, sometimes coming so close that we could hear

the rustle of their feathers and note the glitter of their green eyes

and the shape of their powerful beaks. I could not help thinking of the

words of Coleridge in that weird poem, "The Ancient Mariner."

At length did come an albatross,

Thorough the fog it came,

As if it had been a Christian soul

We hailed it in God's name.

And a good south wind sprang up behind,

The albatross did follow,

And every day for food or play

Came to the mariner's "hollo!"

It may have been these lines that I conned over to myself, or the

mournful sough to that was in the wind to-night; but, at all events,

some sort of heaviness seemed to lie about my heart that I could not

account for.

About three hours after sunset, the moon had asserted itself. Very high

in air it shone, right overhead almost, and although but half a moon,

was exceedingly bright and silver-like. But half-moons give the stars a

chance, and to-night, though the haze lay houses high all along the

horizon, the sky above was darkly blue, and so clear that you could mark

the changing radiance of colour of many of the stars that sparkled as

dew-drops do in the sun's rays.

I noted all this with satisfaction, I cannot say with pleasure. There

was that unbanishable feeling of heaviness at my heart, which I have

mentioned. It was getting late, however, so I went below to our cosy

saloon, and was soon chatting cheerfully with our little mother, Mrs

Coates. As I was turning to come down the companion, I had heard Peter

sing out to Jill, "Oh, look at that great grampus!" And both had gone

to see it.

We expected the captain down every minute to play, as was his wont, and

rather wondered he did not come.

Suddenly on deck was heard the sound of footsteps hurrying aft, and at

the same moment that awful shout--who that has ever heard it is likely

to forget it till his dying day--?

"Man overboard!"

Mrs Coates started to her feet, clutching at the arm of the chair to

prevent herself from falling.

With a sudden and terrible fear at my heart I went rushing up the

ladder.

Peter was there--alone.

"Where is Jill?" I gasped.

"It is he," was all he could answer.

I knew where he had fallen, from the direction in which all eyes were

turned. A life-buoy had already been thrown, and the usual hurried

orders were being issued.

From out of the dark depths of the sea I thought I could hear my

brother's voice, as I had heard it once before, in innocent pleading

tones, when he was a child--

"Come to me, Jack, come to me; I cannot come to you."

Next moment _I_ was in the water, and the ship was some distance off.

She seemed to move _so_ fast away.

Here was the life-buoy. In my anguish I dashed it aside. _I_ could

support my brother. Many a time I had done so in the waves before our

cottage door at home.

I felt glad the ship had gone, with her noise and bustling decks. I

could listen.

"Jill," I shouted, "coo-ee! Jill, I'm here."

Then, to my joy, a faint answering shout came down the wind.

On--on--on I swam. Taking desperate strokes. Shouting one moment,

listening the next.

At last, at last.

He was sinking, but I was not weary.

I remember hearing the clunk-clank of the oars of a coming boat.

Then that was lost to me; there came a terrible roaring in my ears,

sparks flashed across my eyes, and--

When next I became conscious, I was lying in my bunk.

One anxious glance upwards. Oh, joy! it was Jill's hand I held in mine.

So I slept.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE STRAITS OF MAGELLAN--FIRELANDERS--THE STORM--THE SHIP STRIKES.

To rub shoulders with death always leaves a chilly feeling in my heart

for a day or two. It is as though the King of Terrors had just

encircled me for one brief moment in his icy mantle, and let me free

again.

I felt thus next morning, anyhow, but very thankful to Heaven, when I

saw Jill quietly dressing. I did not chide him.

"Are you better, brother?" he said, with his father's smile.

I knew he was penitent, and grateful, and all the rest of it, because he

said "brother." At ordinary times I was simply "Jack."

I was softened.

"I'm all right," I answered. "But, Jill, you _must_ be more careful."

"I'll try, brother."

Then I turned out, and began to dress, singing as usual.

Mrs Coates did come to breakfast, but looked worn and nervous. Peter

was full of banter and nonsense. Captain Coates was keeping watch to

let Peter "feed," as Peter called it. But presently our worthy skipper

would come below, and make a terrible onslaught on the cold ham.

Nothing ever interfered with his appetite much. He was a philosopher,

although a lean one, and always looked upon the bright side of life, and

the bread-and-butter side.

"I sha'n't get over the fright for a month," said poor Mrs Coates.

"Peter tells me he was standing on the bulwark, hardly holding on to

anything."

"I've scolded him well," I said, "and if we meet the mail boat I've a

good mind to send him back to mother and Mattie."

"Wouldn't you feel lop-sided, Jack, without the child?" said Peter.

"And the _Salamander_ would only have half a second mate. No; we'll

stick to Jill, only next time he wants a cold bath, we'll find means to

oblige him without having to call all hands."

"Mrs Coates, I'll have another egg, please," said Jill.

"Well," said Peter, "by all the coolness--"

"Hands make sail!"

This last was a shout on deck, and in five minutes more we were all

"upstairs," as Mrs Coates phrased it.

We were entering the First Narrows, the low, moundy shores of Patagonia

on our right, the gloomy grandeur of the frowning mountains of Tierra

del Fuego on our left, the sea all dark between.

I have said "gloomy grandeur," but gloom can hardly be associated with

glaciers, ice, and snow; and surely, too, the myriads of wheeling birds

were doing all they could to dispel the gloom; still, it lay on the sea,

it hung on the dark cliffs, and hovered on the mists that had not yet

risen from the mountain summits.

Indeed, everything in and around this strange ocean highway has an air

of gloom. You cannot help feeling you are at the end of the world.

There is something weird in the very appearance of the water, weird and

treacherous too; and albeit the forests that clothe the lower sides of

the mountains, some hundred miles farther on, are wildly picturesque,

surmounted as they are by rugged hills, snow-white cliffs, and

glittering glaciers, they look black, inhospitable, threatening.

The weather continued fine, the wind was fair. We kept quietly on all

day, through the Second Narrows, and into Broad Reach, the captain

having timed things well. The wind was now more abeam, but less in

force, so that we should make a pleasant night of it.

Never have I seen a more glorious sunset than we now had. To gaze on

that splendid medley of light and colour, that hung over the western

hills, seemed to give one a foretaste of the beauty of heaven itself.

But with all its dazzling, thrilling loveliness, it did not make us feel

happy. At all events it kept us silent.

Next day, early, we reached Sandy Point. A strange wee town of long,

low wooden huts with shingle roofs, a little church, a great prison, and

a ricketty pier, very foreign-looking, and not at all elevating to the

mind. But the gentleman--a Chilian he was--who came off to transact

business with Captain Coates was the quintessence of politeness, doubly

distilled.

We had to stop two hours here, so Jill and I, with Mrs Coates, went on

shore to see the giants, and buy guanaco skins for our friends at home.

The giants were not in. At least I saw none of them. But there were

shops, and I fear that both Jill and I spent more money on ostrich

feathers than we had any right to do.

Early in the afternoon we once more weighed anchor, and stood away down

the Reach, the breeze keeping steadily up all day, but, unfortunately

for us, going down with the sun. It was my watch from twelve till four;

the moon did not shine out brightly to-night, being obscured with

clouds, a by no means unusual occurrence in this dreary region.

Jill did not keep me company either; he was tired, he said, and had

turned early in. Perhaps it was this fact that was the occasion of my

strange depression of spirits, a depression which I could neither walk

off nor talk off, nor gambol off, albeit I tried hard to do so with our

dogs, the beautiful deerhound and collie. They indeed appeared as

little inclined for play to-night as I had ever seen them.

"They seems to have something on their minds," said Ritchie, a sturdy

old sailor who had sailed the seas off and on for twenty years.

"You're not superstitious, Ritchie?" I asked.

Ritchie took three or four pulls at his pipe before he replied.

"I dunno, young sir, what you'd call superstitious, but I've seen some

queer things in my time, and something was sure to 'appen arterwards.

Once, sir--"

"Stay, Ritchie," I cried. "Don't let's have any of your ghost stories

to-night I couldn't stand them. The truth is, I'm a bit down-hearted."

"Go and have a tot o' rum; I'll j'ine you."

"No, Ritchie, that wouldn't do either you or me good in the long run.

But I dare say I'm feeling a trifle lonely; my brother isn't the thing,

I fear."

"Nonsense, sir, nonsense. Never saw him looking better, nor you either,

sir. I knows what's the matter."

"Well?"

"It's the _musgo_ that's coming."

"The musgo?"

"_Ay_, you're new to the Straits, I must remember. The musgo is a fog,

`a fiend fog' I've heard it called. You always feel low-like afore it

rolls down. To-morrow, sir, you'll hardly see your finger afore you."

"So dark!"

"It's dark and it's white--just as if it rolled off the snow, and so

cold. You'll see."

"You said this moment, Ritchie, I wouldn't see."

This was a most miserable attempt at a joke on my part, and I felt so at

the time.

Ritchie laughed as if it was his duty to laugh.

"Look, look!" I cried. "Look at the fire away in shore yonder, near

the cliff foot."

"I sees him."

"And look, another on the lee bow--if we have a lee bow to-night--

another on the quarter, and is that one far away yonder like a star?"

"That's one. Them's the canoe Indians a signalling to each other."

"The natives of Tierra del Fuego?"

"Yes, drat 'em, and a bad, treacherous lot they be. They're saying

now--`Look out, there is a barque becalmed.'"

"Would they attack a ship?"

Ritchie laughed.

"Give them a chance only," he said, "and there isn't a more murderous,

bloodthirsty lot ever launched a boat.

"I was broken down here once, or a bit farther up. It was in the little

steamer _Cordova_, a Monte Videan. Smashed our seven, we did. Very

little wind, and hardly a bit o' sail to hoist. They weren't long in

spotting the difficulty. Durin' the day, a miserable-looking woman and

boy came in a canoe to sell skins and to beg. They must 'ave spotted

that we had only a few hands. For at the darkest hour of midnight the

ship was attacked."

"Anything occur?"

"Well, it was like this: There wasn't a longer-headed chap ever sailed

than our skipper. A Scot he was, and clever for that. He knew these

Fuegian fiends well, and was prepared.

"We had lights ready to get up at a moment's notice. If we'd had arms

we'd have used those, but with the exception of two or three revolvers

we were defenceless. But we had coals, lumps as big as the binnacle.

And we had boiling water and the hose ready. Mercy on us though, young

sir, I think I hear the blood-curdling yell of those savages now, as

they boarded at our bows. Up went the lights. Up came the hose, and--

they caught a Tartar. It was cruel? Maybe, but it was self-defence."

"And the coals?"

"We sank their canoes with these. A kick would knock a Fuegian canoe in

bits any day, so our task was easy. They sent an arrow to the very

heart of poor Bill Wheeler, and he fell backwards dead, and they

harpooned another of our men; but few of them went back with a whole

skin, I'll warrant."

Before my watch was over there was no more wind than would have sufficed

to move a child's paper boat, but the night was not quite so dark, the

moon escaping now and then to cast a few silvery rays on the water or

light up the rugged tops of the distant sierras, then being speedily

engulfed once more in great inky-dark clouds.

The situation was by no means a desirable one, for currents run here

like mill streams, and we were a measurable distance from the wild,

desolate shore.

Ritchie was right; and when I went on deck next morning before

breakfast, I found that the musgo was thick and white around us, and

though it was easy enough to see one's finger at arm's length, it is no

exaggeration to say it was impossible to see the jib-boom end from the

foremast.

We must have been somewhere off Point Gallant, in an ugly place, so it

is no wonder the captain concluded to anchor if he could get near enough

to find soundings.

The wind was rising now, and though but in puffs which just gave the

_Salamander_ a send now and then, we were forging ahead at perhaps two

knots an hour.

It continued like this all day long, but the wind had increased by

evening, and almost threatened a gale. We could not now be far off the

English Reach, which, as a glance at a map will show you, is narrow, and

therefore dangerous in the extreme. So long, therefore, as we had a

surety of width of water, we determined to lay to with as little sail as

possible on her.

Night seemed to come on a full hour sooner. It was a night I shall

never forget. Anxiety was depicted on every face that there was a

chance of getting a glimpse at. And though the captain tried to speak

cheerfully in his wife's presence, it was evident his thoughts were not

with his words. Every extra puff of the still rising wind must have

felt going through his heart like a knife. I know it did through mine.

Even Peter was serious for once.

On going forward I saw Ritchie standing by the winch.

"What do you think of it now, Ritchie?" I asked.

"Think of it, lad?" he replied. "I think it's likely to be a case with

the old _Salamander_ before four bells in the morning watch."

"You're a pessimist," I said. This was a favourite expression of poor

aunt's.

"It's the _mist_ that'll do it," he said. "Look, see sir, if the wind

gets no higher the musgo will continue. Then we may drift quietly on

shore and strike. If it does blow a real gale, away goes the musgo and

out comes the moon; that would be a poor enough outlook, but we'd see

what we were doing."

Hour after hour went by, and though the storm increased, there was never

a sign of the musgo rolling off. No one thought of turning in to-night.

The captain never even suggested when he came below, as he now and then

did, that even Mrs Coates should go to her cabin.

There was something very awful in this waiting, waiting, waiting. And

for what? Had any one dared ask himself this question, he would hardly

have been brave enough to have answered it.

It must have been about four in the morning. I could not say for

certain, for bells I do not think had even been struck, when suddenly,

without a moment's warning, the wind increased to a shrieking, roaring

squall of more than gale-force, and next minute we had struck and were

engulfed in breakers.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

WE LEAVE THE DOOMED SHIP--PURSUED BY SAVAGES.

I was in the saloon at the time, and everything seemed to fall together,

as it were. It felt as if the ship's bottom were dashed _in_ and

upwards, and when I struck a light--for the lamp had been extinguished,

though it did not leave the gymbals--all was chaos in our once cosy wee

saloon. Piano, chairs, books, ornaments, all mixed up together. I

hastened to help Mrs Coates to her feet, and called to the steward to

gather up the burning coals off the deck, else with the spilt oil we

should be on fire.

No need, for a green sea came tumbling down the companion, and surged

foaming in at the doorway, till we stood ankle deep in water. Another

and another followed. The wind roared with redoubled violence. Then

louder than the wind and the voice of the sea, came the crash of a

falling mast. The squall appeared to have done its worst now, and

though the seas continued to break against and over us, it was more in

sheets of spray than in green water. We had gone on shore stem

foremost, and were firmly wedged between two low bush-clad cliffs.

Now slowly, almost imperceptibly, the wind went down, and the musgo

rolled away, and when morning broke cold and drearily over the sea and

hills, the sky was comparatively clear, our position could be clearly

defined and our danger could be faced.

Three poor fellows had fallen under the wreck, and were either killed at

once or quickly drowned. A few others were wounded or bruised, and all

were shaken.

The boats to the number of three--whalers they were--remained intact.

We were in a kind of wooded cove, with hills rising high at each side

save on the sea-board, and far away above us was a region of ice and

snow, with a cataract tumbling its waters apparently out of the very sky

itself.

When the sun rose at last, dismal as was our plight, I could not help

admiring, nay, even marvelling at, the beauty of the scenery around us.

It was grand beyond compare.

We were in no immediate danger. We appeared to have been lifted in on

the top of an immense wave, and deposited between the cliffs and on a

hard flat bottom, from which we could not slide. There were timbers

from her lower sides floating about us even now that told their own sad

tale.

The ship was doomed, but we who were spared had much, very much, to be

thankful for.

The captain consulted with Ritchie, who was carpenter on board, besides

holding some other rating. He was not only the oldest on board, but by

far the most experienced. It was resolved at once to put ourselves in a

state of preparation, for the savages would assuredly find us out before

long.

Then we went to prayers.

I need hardly say they were solemn and heart-felt.

There was no time to be lost now, however. We must get ready at once to

leave the wreck, and in boats make the best of our way eastward towards

Sandy Point. Whether we could do so in peace and safety remained to be

seen.

We were in the hands of an all-seeing Providence; we could but say "Thy

will be done," and leave the rest to Him.

"We had better bury the dead on shore, Ritchie?" said the captain.

He really was asking a question for information. He seemed to quite

defer to Ritchie.

"I wouldn't do that, sir. These canoe Indians are cannibals, and

they'll have 'em up and eat them as sure as one belayin' pin's like

another. No, sir, it'll be just as quick to tack 'em up and give 'em a

sailor's grave."

"You see to that then, Ritchie. Will you take charge of the boat, Mr

Jack? Thank you."

The broken and buried corpses of the poor fellows were speedily sewn in

hammocks, which were heavily weighted with iron, and taken out to sea as

far as we dared to go; and then, while the solemn burial service was

read by Ritchie, one by one they were dropped overboard, and sank into

the murky water with sullen booming plash. As he closed the book,

Ritchie looked round him on all sides, but there was no sign of savages

to be seen, neither smoke on shore nor canoe at sea. Nor was there any

sound to break the stillness except the plaintive cry of a sea-bird; and

yet who could tell what eyes of Indians the forest might not hide?

On our return we found our comrades all very busy indeed.

Poor Mrs Coates, looking very pale and resigned, sat on the companion.

Woman-like, even in this dire strait she had not forgotten to bring a

basket with her, and Leila clutched another. Both were warmly clad, and

both wore guanaco mantles, the very garments we had purchased at Sandy

Point.

Captain Coates put another question to Ritchie:

"Should we or should we not fire the ship, Mr Ritchie, think you?"

"For the matter o' that," replied Ritchie, "I'd as soon feed snakes in

the woods as put any good thing in the way o' these cannibal fiends, but

I think, sir, leaving the ship for them will be our salvation. You ask

my opinion, sir, and I give it. The wind is changing round already.

It's a way the winds have here, where the Pacific and the Atlantic seem

to me to fight for mastery like. We needn't be in a hurry then to leave

the ship till they come."

"You feel sure they'll come?"

"Ah! never doubt 'em, sir. When they see we're leaving the ship, they

won't chase us till they've cleared the wreck. My advice is, have up

the 'baccy for 'em all ready, and the rum too. Let them look for

everything else."

"You seem obliging to them."

"There's a method in my obligingness, sir. Let's leave the rum in

different jars about, and cut the 'baccy all in bits and scatter it over

the decks. Wolves, sir, fighting over a dead horse'll be nothing to the

scramble they'll have for the 'baccy and rum."

The boats were now lowered and laden with the ship's valuables. Each

boat was well provisioned, and supplied with water and rum, and also

armed.

The men were twenty and two, all told, giving about five to each of two

whalers, and seven to the largest whaler or cutter, as she was sometimes

called. The captain himself took charge of this, his wife and Leila as

passengers; Peter took command of the second boat, and I of the third,

in my boat Ritchie being rifleman. Jill, it is needless to say, came

with me, his elder brother. Ah! that five minutes of difference in our

ages made me the man, you see, and Jill the child, and I would not have

had it otherwise for all the world.

The day wore on. Noon passed, yet never a sign of Indian was seen. So

we did what all right-thinking Englishmen would have done under the

circumstances. We dined.

We made both ladies swallow a ration of rum. Poor Mrs Coates' eyes

watered, and Leila became a little hysterical and finally cried.

The wind went round and round, till at last it was fair.

Everything looked _so_ propitious. But why did not the savages appear?

"I have it, sir," said Ritchie. "They're waiting to attack us at night,

and I now propose we start. They're hidden somewhere, depend upon it."

Ritchie was right, and no sooner had we got fairly into the offing, than

out their canoes swarmed after us.

"Keep well together in a line," cried the captain, "and stand by to give

them a volley."

Ritchie stood up in his boat, and shouted at the foremost boat in broken

Spanish. He tried to tell them that the tobacco was in the ship.

But on they came. Mrs Coates and Leila were made to lie down in the

boat, and only just in time, for a shower of arrows flew over us next

minute.

"Fire!"

Half a dozen rifles rang out in the still air, dusky forms sprang up in

the canoes and fell to rise no more. Again and again our guns spread

death in their ranks, and the nearer they came the hotter they had it.

We had spears in the boats, boarding pikes and axes. Would we have to

use them? For a moment it seemed likely. All sail was set, and almost

every hand was free for a tulzie that, if it came, would indeed be a

terrible one.

One more telling volley. Would they now draw off? Yes, for over the

water from the wreck came a mingled shout and yell. The canoes at once

were stopped. Greed did what our guns had failed to accomplish. Murder

and revenge are sweet to a savage, but tobacco and rum are sweeter

still.

In ten minutes time we and our dusky foes were far apart indeed, the

savages having a grand canoe race back to the wreck, we dancing away

over the waves and heading straight for the east.

"Thank Heaven," said Ritchie, fervidly, "they're gone."

"Do you think we could have beaten them off, Ritchie?" I asked.

"One can never tell how things will go in a hand-to-hand fight. Not as

ever I've been in many, but, bless your innocent soul, lad, I've come

through so much. I came to close quarters once on the African shore

with a crowd o' canoes just like that. I could have sworn we'd have

beaten them off easy. And so we might have done, if our boats had

continued on an even keel. But that wasn't their game. No, they threw

themselves like wild cats on one gunwale, and over we went. They had us

in the water; and by the time a boat shoved off from the _Wasp_ and came

to our assistance, there was hardly a man among us left to tell tales."

"That was fearful!"

"Ye see--haul aft the main sheet a bit--you see, sir, mostly all savages

has their own ways o' fightin', their own tactics as you might say.

Drat 'em all, I say."

"You don't believe in the noble savage?" said Jill.

"Not same's they make 'em nowadays, sir. 'Cause why, we white men have

spiled them. And now we want to kill 'em all off the face o' the earth.

It's just like an ignorant old party having a dog for a pet. He's

everything at first, and the very cat takes liberties with him, till one

day he snaps. It's only natural, but what does the ignorant old party

do?--why puts him in a bag and drowns him. It's the same wi' the

savage: the white man has spoiled him, and now he thinks he'd better get

rid of him entirely. Well, young gentlemen, by your leave I'll have a

smoke. You've got the compass all right, Mr Jill? Thank ye. 'Cause

if the weather changes for the worst, then--"

"Hush, hush. Why you _are_ a pessimist!"

"I don't know that ship. But never mind. You don't smoke?"

"N-no," said Jill, "not yet."

"Let me catch him at it," I said.

"What have ye got under the sail, sir?"

"Why, the dogs," said Jill, laughing. "You didn't think I was going to

leave them, did you? Look here." He lifted the corner of the sail as

he spoke, and there, sure enough, were Ossian the noble Scottish

deerhound, and Bruce the collie.

"Mind," continued Jill, "both o' these would have done a little fighting

if the worst had come to the worst."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The wind held steadily from the west and by north, and blew stiff after

a time, but the boats sailed dry--neither were far distant from the

other--and everything was as comfortable as could be expected under the

sad circumstances.

"If there doesn't come any more north in it than this," said Ritchie,

with a glance skyward, "it'll do. But, you see, we ought to be heading

up Famine Reach now."

"What a name!" said Jill.

"Ay, and there is a sad and terrible story to it too, that some day I

may perhaps tell you."

The afternoon wore slowly away, neither Jill nor I saying much; Ritchie,

with his old-world yarns, doing nearly all the talking, and indeed it

was a treat to listen to him. There was nothing of the nature of what

are called sailor's yarns about Ritchie's talk, but an air of

truthfulness in every sentence. Many a time by the galley fire in the

dear lost _Salamander_, when asked by some of the men to "spin 'em a

yarn," Ritchie would reply--

"If I thinks on anything as has really happened, I'll tell that. Mind

ye, men," he would add, "I'm going on for fifty. That ain't a spring

chicken, and I've knocked about so much and seen such a deal, that if I

tells all the truth an' nobbut the truth, why I'll be seventy afore I'm

finished. By that time I reckon it'll be time to clear up decks to

enter the eternal port."

Now, being senior officer, I really was in charge of the boat, still I

determined to take advice in everything from Ritchie, as in duty bound,

he being my superior by far and away both in age and experience, and I

may add in wisdom.

So, when near sundown, I asked him if the men should eat, he shook his

head and said--"Not yet awhile."

I did not feel easy in my mind at the answer, nor at his presently

relapsing into silence, pulling harder at his pipe than usual without

seeming to enjoy it, and casting so many half-uneasy glances skywards.

I feared that we were not yet out of danger. Jill had gone to sleep in

the bottom of the boat, and somehow this also made me nervous and

uneasy. I drew the sail over him with the exception of his face, and

there he lay snug enough to all appearance, his head pillowed on the

collie's shoulder. I could not help wondering to myself where he was in

his dreams. At home, I could have wagered two to one--two turnips to a

leg of mutton, for instance.

Presently his features became pained, set and rigid, and his hands were

clutched in the sail, while he moaned or half screamed like one in a

nightmare.

Ritchie noticed it too.

"Call his name. Call his name, sir. That's allers the way to bring 'em

out of it."

Well, desperate diseases need desperate remedies, so I did call his

name--in full too.

"_Rupert Domville Ffoljambe-Foley Jillard Jones_" I shouted, so loud

that the other boats must have thought I was hailing them.

Jill sat bolt upright, looking bewildered.

Ossian and Bruce jumped up and barked.

The men all laughed, and no wonder.

"Well," said Ritchie, "blow me teetotally tight if ever in all my born

days I 'eard sich a name as that 'afore. Why 'twould wake old Rip

himself. After that I think the men better have 'alf a biscuit and a

bite o' bacon. It'll do 'em good--after that."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

LOST IN THE SNOWSTORM--WHAT WE SAW IN THE FOREST.

We all felt "heartier," as Ritchie phrased it, after our dainty morsel

of supper. The pork, of course, was new, and, sailor fashion, we dipped

our biscuits in the sea, to give them a relish, before we ate them.

The dogs shared just as if they had been part of the crew. So they were

for that matter.

The wind fell off as the sun sank behind the snowy mountains, fell off

and off, till we were becalmed. Then I gave the orders--

"In sail," and "out oars."

After spanking along under sail for so long a time as we had done, to be

reduced to rowing seems dreary work. However, there is nothing like the

sea for teaching one patience, so we did not murmur.

The sunset was gorgeous enough, in all conscience, and played all sorts

of fantastic tricks of colouring among the snowy cliffs, peaks, and

glaciers, making a picture such as few artists could, if they would,

produce on canvas, or would dare to if they could.

As we had nothing else to do, Jill and I sat silently staring at the

ever changing sky, with as much inward pleasure as ever child gazed upon

the flowers in a kaleidoscope.

Even after the sun had set entirely, the sky was wondrous in its beauty.

It seemed to me as if the artist Nature, whom we all try to copy, were

mixing her colours to commence some great new work, and that the sky was

her palette.

But that palette itself was a picture, oh how grand and solemn! First

we had the sea, darkling now under the shadows of the giant hill, yet

borrowing tints from the clouds. Then the wild wooded cliffs, and

pointed rocks looking almost black against the background of snow and

ice rising up, and up, and up its sharpest lines, softened till it ended

in the rugged serrated horizon.

High up in the heavens, where in the rifts the sky could be seen, it was

of a light cerulean blue, pure, ethereal, the grey clouds in bars and

piles, still the same shaped bars of cloud lower down; but here the

rifts of sky were of an ineffably lovely tint of pale sea green, and the

clouds were purple, while all along the horizon the naked sky was of the

deepest orange, almost approaching to crimson, all aglow with light.

Even as we gazed, a change came over the spirit of the scene; for the

green rifts changed to a milky white, with a hazy blush of crimson

floating over it, borrowed from the splendour beneath and beyond.

Still another change: the rifts away to the north and the south had all

turned to sea green, and right in the east, when we look round, we find

that the higher clouds that erst were grey and dull, are now a burning

bronze and crimson.

Then the clouds kept borrowing each other's colours at second hand. But

at last crimson and yellow changed to lurid bronze and purple, then to

grey and to darker grey, and soon, out from the only green rift left,

shone a pale star.

It is night.

The air is chill and cold. Birds--strange, wild, low-flying creatures

whose names we know not--hurry past us, or over us, to their eeries in

some distant rock, and the silence is unbroken save by the clunk-clank--

clunk-clank--of the oars in the rowlocks.

Jill is leaning against me, and I feel him shiver slightly.

"Jill," I say, "you're not well, old man."

"Oh yes, brother, I'm well enough."

"But you're not downright, jolly well."

"I feel a trifle shivery, that's all, brother. I had an ugly dream; and

besides, I don't think I've quite recovered my sea-bath yet."

"Look 'ee here, sir," said Ritchie. "That young man isn't quite the

thing. Now I'm going to prescribe. He's going to bed down among the

dogs, and what's more, he's going to sleep. He'll have a tot o' rum as

medicine. There are times, gentlemen, when such a thing may do good.

Now's one o' them. And if he doesn't wake up early in the morning his

old self, then my name isn't Ted Ritchie."

I left my brother in Ritchie's hands, and soon he had him snug in bed.

There was more moonlight to-night, but still the moon had a struggle for

it.

I happened to be looking behind me towards the bay where we had left the

good old _Salamander_, and Ritchie was looking too--both thinking the

same thoughts perhaps--when suddenly a huge pear-shaped column of

fire-rays shot up into the sky, then gradually died away. We spoke not,

but listened, till over the water came a dull crashing rumble, the like

of which I had never heard before. The sound died away among the hills

like thunder.

"She's gone," said one of the men, and for a few moments all lay on

their oars.

"_Ay_, right enough," said Ritchie, "and there's more'n a score o' them

sea-fiends gone with her, I'll warrant.

"It's the gunpowder we were taking to Honolulu that's done it," he

continued.

"A pity," I said, "we did not throw that overboard."

"I dunno so much about that. Those Indian savages would have had to die

sometime. It's just as well now, as before they do more mischief."

I laughed.

"That is queer philosophy," I said; "we should never do evil, nor wish

for evil, that good may come. I wonder how they managed it."

"Why, sir, they're as inquisitive as monkeys--they be. They would find

out a barrel and take it for rum. Off would come the lid, one fellow

holding the light. A dozen hands would be plunged in, and they would

taste the black stuff. Well, they wouldn't like it, and one savage

would pitch a handful at the other. That would _begin_ the fun. We've

just heard how it _ended_. Well, gentlemen, I feel a sort of satisfied

now, for blame me if I half liked the idea of leaving our old bones

there for these savages to pick at."

A red gleam now illumined the sky where we had noticed the flash; it was

evident the old _Salamander_ was on fire, and burning fast and

furiously.

"Now, then," I said presently, "I'll take the first watch, Ritchie. You

turn in there. You go to the dogs with Jill."

"Ay, sir; and I'll sleep sound now I've seen the last of my dear old

ship."

As the night wore on I was concerned to notice the moon become obscured.

Although on the water there was not a puff of wind, still, high over

head, the clouds were hurrying over the sky from east to west.

Something was coming, but I did not care to wake Ritchie yet. He needed

all the rest he could get, having been awake so long and working so

hard.

It grew very dark now, and I could not see the other boats, though they

must have been close at hand. We had kept well together on purpose, for

we cared not to show signal lights.

Presently there came a puff of wind. Then almost before words could

describe it, a snow-squall. It was the spring of the year, but indeed

even during summer, in this dreary region, snow-storms are not uncommon.

How soundly Ritchie slept! There was hail rattling on the canvas over

him, and there had been one or two sharp peals of thunder also, but

still he slumbered on. The men could make no headway against the storm;

in fact we must have been losing way considerably, for the poor fellows

were tired, and, even before the squall, had been nodding at their oars.

Still they would not give in, nor give up. By and by came the lull,

but the wind still blew with a good deal of force, and the snow was

blinding.

"In oars," I said, "and get the sail up now; we'll tack a bit."

We did so, reaching well over on both sides, as far as we thought was

safe; the snow continuing thick and fast. Presently another squall

came. And so on and off for many long hours. I would not think of

waking Ritchie, for I felt very fresh and fit for duty, and what could

he do even if up. I allowed the men to sleep, two at a time, for an

hour or so. Thus I managed to keep them fresh also.

The snow left off at last, and the sky cleared a little, but the wind

kept up and blew from the same quarter. Just at grey daylight in the

morning Ritchie threw off his tarpaulin and sat up, looking dazed for a

moment or two.

"My dear young sir, I'm ashamed of myself," he said, looking at his

watch; "but where in the world are we?"

"No where that I know of; it has been blowing and snowing all night

long, and now we're close under some wooded cliffs, and the other boats

are not in sight."

"This is bad," said Ritchie.

I had taken off my jacket, and was wringing the sleeves when Jill

appeared.

"I'm as fresh as a daisy," he said; "but what a time I must have slept!

Are we nearly at Sandy Point?"

We laughed.

"Sandy Point, my dear sir; you won't see Sandy Point for a week if it

keeps on like this."

"Well, we'll have breakfast, I suppose. I could eat a hunter."

"Good sign. We'll all join you."

By and by Ritchie stood up and had a good look round.

"I know where we are. I've been here before in happier times. We'll

run in shore and rest. No good trying to beat up against this breeze.

The other boats sail more closely to the wind, and I hope by this time

they are well on to Froward Reach, and round the corner."

The boat was now put about, and in a few minutes we found ourselves in a

bay, and sheltered cove off the bay.

At another time and under happier auspices we could have afforded to

admire the scenery around us. At first glance, had you been there, you

might have fancied yourself in some lovely glen in the wilds of Scotland

or Wales. That is so long as your glance did not go too high, away up

to the hills of everlasting snow. But all about us, except a few yards

of shore, was wood and forest, among the trees being several such as the

beech--just breaking into bud--with which the English eye is familiar.

Here, too, were ferns and mosses such as we had seen growing in the

woods and sylvan dells at home.

We had landed, as I have said, in a cove off the bay, and this was

really the mouth of a little river, very silent here and very deep, but

a little more inland hurrying along over its stony bed with a noise like

thunder. It was doubtless fed by the melting snows of the Cordilleras.

Jill and I left the men to draw up the boat while we took a little

ramble into the interior, promising Ritchie not to go beyond hail. We

wanted to stretch our legs and get fully awakened.

Jill was his old self again, so I was happy accordingly.

"How's all this going to end, Jill?" I said.

"I don't know," replied Jill; "but I suppose we might as well be here as

anywhere else."

"Certainly; if those interesting savages do not give us more trouble."

"Oh, bother take them; never mind. We gave them such a dose yesterday

they'll hardly want another."

"Jill," I said, "look!"

We had come to a bit of clearing on the banks of the river, and close by

a huge tree were the remains of a fire. The ground round it, too, was

well beaten down, as if people had lately been round it.

"Strange!" said Jill, "and no one seems about."

I took up two half-burned branches. The ends were covered with ashes

and looked cold. I struck them together, _sparks flew out_!

"Jill," I said, "we'll go back now. The Indians are near us now."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A STATE OF SIEGE.

We hastened back to give Ritchie the news.

If we had expected he would exhibit any surprise we were mistaken.

"It's no more'n I expected," he said quietly.

"Perhaps," I hazarded, "these are friendly Fuegians?"

"I never met 'em," he replied. "Must be some new tribe. All that ever

I saw could be friendly enough when driving a good bargain, and scraping

the butter all to their own side of the dish. Their motto is, `Take all

we can get, and take it anyhow.' My dear lad," he continued, "could

anything be handier for these savages than to collar a white man. He is

dressed, and has nick-nacks in his pocket; well, they want the dress and

the nick-nacks, for you see they don't have any clothes of their own

worth mentioning; then the body of the white man comes in handy for a

side-dish. They think no more of killing a white man than they do of

sending an arrow through the heart of a guanaco. No, never trust a

Fuegian farther than you can fling him, and that'd be over the cliff if

I had all my will."

Hark! There was a crashing sound among the bushes not far off. I ran

to my gun. So did Jill. But Ritchie never moved step nor muscle, at

which I was at first a little surprised. Not, however, when a guanaco

appeared in the clearing not far off, and had a long-necked look at us.

"Don't fire!" he cried. "We're not ready for the niggers yet."

"Didn't you fancy," I asked, "that the savages were on us when you heard

the bushes crackling?"

"That I didn't. They don't come like that. You don't see them, and you

never hear them. No, they're all from home. That fire was lit last

night, and left burning. But they'll come back. So now to get ready.

You see, young gentlemen, the gentry very likely look upon the glen and

woods round here as a kind of happy hunting-ground. There is fish in

the river, too, and fish in the bay. So, though it may be days before

they come, we may as well cook their dinner in time."

"But surely we won't be here for days?"

"Maybe not. But it's just as likely to be days as not. It all

depends."

As he spoke, Ritchie advanced some little distance to the right,

beckoning us to follow.

He drew the bushes aside from the foot of the rock, and lo! the entrance

to a large cave.

"It's still there, you see," said Ritchie. "Not a bit altered since I

was here before. No; caves are like keyholes, they never fly away."

He entered, and we followed, the men holding the branches aside to admit

the light. The place was large and roomy, and evidently constantly

inhabited. Here were the remains of a fire, here a heap of bones, and

here again a bed of dry leaves.

The most of the forenoon was spent in preparing our fortifications. The

bushes were cut down from the front, admitting light and air, and a

bulwark of small tree trunks was built in front, the boat being hauled

inside. There was plenty of fallen wood about, so that our work was by

no means difficult.

After all had been done that could be done, we had nothing to do but

watch and wait.

Watch and wait for the wind to change and give us a chance, or for the

foe to come.

I do not know anything more irksome than such a position. When there is

danger ahead, it is human nature to wish to face it at once and be done

with it. But in this case we did not know whence the danger would come,

nor what would be its precise character when it did come.

All that day--and a dreary one it was--the wind blew steadily from the

east, whitening the waves, and moaning mournfully through the trees in

the forest around us. We kept a good outlook on the Reach for any

steamer or ship that might be passing, but none appeared.

The sun set in a gloomy sky to-night, and the moon failed to show. This

was no disadvantage. Our sentry was set, and beside him the two dogs

kept watch and ward. We lay down armed all in the dark, Jill and I side

by side, on our couches of leaves. I think Ritchie began to tell a

story, and I set myself to listen, but exhausted Nature would assert

herself, and I was soon hard and fast asleep. Nor did I waken till

broad daylight was streaming in at the mouth of the cave.

Another day went slowly past, without any alteration in the wind, and

without our friend the foe appearing.

About sundown Jill bantered Ritchie about the Pacific and Atlantic

fighting for mastery, and the frequent changes in the wind; but Ritchie

took it very good-naturedly.

"It is evident," Jill said, "the Atlantic has it all its own way this

time, Ritchie."

Night fell again, as dark and wild as ever. About ten o'clock, just as

we were thinking of settling, one of the dogs uttered a low and ominous

growl, but was at once muzzled by the sentry's hand.

A canoe had suddenly glided into the little creek or river's mouth, but

it passed on. Another and another followed, till we had counted seven

in all; but from the constant jabbering they kept up it was evident they

had not observed us.

"That makes the fleet," whispered Ritchie. "Seven is a magic number

with many savages."

About an hour after, Ritchie stole quietly out of the little fort. He

soon returned and asked me to come. I obeyed. Jill wanted to accompany

me, but I forbade him.

We stole quietly up the river, keeping well in under the shade of the

trees, and ere long saw the light of a fire glimmering through the bush

ahead. We crept on still more silently now, careful not even to snap a

twig.

We reached high ground just a little way above the clearing, and

gradually drew near the glimmering light. Then Ritchie cautiously

lifted a branch of evergreen.

A more fantastic and horrible sight I never saw. The fire was fiercely

hot, and evidently made of hard dry old wood. Around it, but at a

goodly distance, sat, crouched, or lay fully a score of semi-naked

savages, all men, all armed--at least their weapons lay near them--and

all silent. Many had hats and garments of our men on; woollen shirts or

linen ones, some bloodstained. But their legs and arms were all bare.

Every eye was turned towards the fire, where, spitted against the tree

up which the red flames were now roaring, were huge masses of flesh that

a glance told me was human. There was a hideous grotesqueness about the

whole scene that made me draw back and shudder. But some movement on

the part of the cannibals made me look again. The feast was about to

begin.

Ritchie and I drew back and cautiously took our departure.

We never spoke till near the creek side, and then only in whispers.

"Those are the fellows from the _Salamander_," said Ritchie. "The very

flesh they are now gorging on is part of their companions that were

blown in pieces."

The Fuegians evidently set no sentries, so their canoes, which we soon

came upon drawn up in a row, were entirely at our mercy.

Our mercy was excessively meagre in this instance.

These canoes are merely planks of wood fashioned with knives and fire,

and lashed together by means of pieces of skin.

It took us no great length of time to dismember them, nor to launch the

pieces into the stream afterwards.

"And now," said Ritchie, "the forest itself is our principal danger.

These chaps'll be all about us to-morrow morning early, like bluebottles

round a dead mouse: more'll come to help them, and the bush 'll be their

cover. We'll fire it. The wind is favourable."

"It really is a pity," I remarked, half seriously, "to spoil this

scenery."

"Come," was all my companion added.

So well and willingly did we both work, that in less that half an hour

we had fired the forest in five different places. The amount of

underwood and of fallen decayed trees was very great, so that the very

earth itself would undoubtedly smoulder and burn for days, thus

affording us protection from the savages.

I have seen many a conflagration in my time, but none, I think, so awful

as that.

So closely did the fire rage around us at one time and so great was the

heat, that we were considering whether we should not launch our boat and

put out to sea. From the high cliff above us burning branches ever came

toppling down, but these were easily removed.

Then the fire receded, and attacked the glen above and around the bay,

the crackling and roaring of the flames became indescribable; tongues of

fire seeming also to be carried away with the clouds of rolling smoke,

as if even that itself were ablaze. Ritchie and I both stood appalled

to behold the vastness of the ruin our work had effected.

Long after the flames had left them, and gone over the hill and high up

the valley towards the snow-line, the sturdy arms of the beech-trees

stretched out red against a background of black, and every now and then

a limb would fall with a loud report, sending up volumes of ashes,

smoke, and sparks.

Whether or not on the first outbreak of the fire, the savages had left

their fearful orgies and made a rush to the spot where they had left

their canoes can never be known. It was evident enough by next morning,

nevertheless, that they had found out we were in the bay, and had

managed even that night to communicate by signal fires to their

companions on other shores and on islands, that white men were about;

for as early as dawn canoes were seen off the coast--more and more came,

till there was quite a swarm.

We were besieged. The wind might change if it liked, or remain where it

was, it could make no difference to us now. To have ventured to run out

against such odds would have been to throw our lives recklessly away.

But our position was good.

As we expected, the decayed mould of which, the bottom of the glen and

hills was composed--centuries old, perhaps--kept on smouldering, and

would do so for weeks. Then the bay was in our front and to our right

the open sea.

No, we were safe for a time. But how long would our provisions last?

We made a careful survey, and found that with great economy we had

enough for a week or even longer.

When we first appeared in the open, the yelling and menacing of the

savages in their canoes was dreadful to hear and behold. For a time

Ritchie thought they would cast prudence to the winds and attempt to

force a landing.

Two boats did come near enough to fire arrows at us, but they dearly

paid for their rashness, and three at least of the Indians would never

fire an arrow more.

Long before sundown the enemy had drawn off, and there was not a canoe

to be seen anywhere.

"Now would be a chance," said Jill, "if the wind would only change."

Ritchie looked at him and smiled.

"My dear lad," he said, "we wouldn't be two hundred yards beyond the bar

before they would be on us. We wouldn't be able to get back, and we'd

never get far on in this world. No, that's only a trick, and a very

transparent one; just the same as pussy plays with a mouse. But I'm too

old for 'em. Drat 'em! Oh, I do love 'em, don't I just?"

He did not look as if he did.

Day after day--two, three, five, went hopelessly by. The weather kept

fine, and the wind was now favourable for a sortie if we were at length

compelled to run the gauntlet.

We had hoisted a signal on the cliff top in the hopes that passing ships

might see it and perhaps send to our assistance. But the ships we saw

were a long way off, and noticed not our signal, for we were some

distance out of the usual track of vessels.

On the fifth day Jill and I went up stream some little distance through

the burnt forest, and Ossian, the dog, found near the bank a guanaco

half-roasted. This was indeed a blessing, and we dined more heartily

that evening than we had done for a week. We tried fishing, hoping

thereby to add to our larder, but were only indifferently successful.

Having neither lines nor bait, we were reduced to the plan called

"guddling" by Scottish schoolboys, where you wade and catch the trout

with your hands.

Affairs grew desperate on the seventh day, not so much for want of food

as from the fact that the ground had ceased to burn, and cooled

sufficiently to permit one to walk over the ashes.

A combined attack by land and sea was therefore hourly expected by us,

all the more so in that the canoes seemed more active than usual,

flitting about hither and thither, but apparently paying no heed to us.

"They're too silent to please me," said Ritchie; "they'll be on us

to-night as sure as shot."

On the same afternoon far away out in the Reach we noticed a noble

steamer.

Jill and I stood looking at her until she had gone down out of sight on

the horizon. We could easily fancy ourselves on board of her. We could

see in imagination the orderly, clean white decks, the burnished brass

and wood, the sailors and officers in their smart uniforms, the chairs

on deck where lounged the passengers reading, talking, and quietly

napping, the officer on the bridge and the sturdy seaman at the wheel.

It was so sad; and we waiting--to sell our lives as dearly as possible.

That is the last consolation of the brave. And Jill and I had promised

ourselves so much, at least.

Jill put such a strange question to Ritchie this afternoon, but I knew

what the poor lad was thinking about.

"Ritchie," he said, "do these horrid Indians torture their prisoners if

they take any alive?"

"I've never heard they did," was the quiet reply. "And indeed I don't

think they have the sense--drat 'em."

The time, we thought, wore all too quickly to a close, and almost as

soon as the sun went down in the west, up rose the full moon in the

east, and then everything--if not as bright as day--was light enough at

all events for the work so soon to commence.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

FIGHTING IN TERRIBLE EARNEST--OUR LAST SORTIE--BACK TO BACK IN CORNISH

FASHION.

Long before the sun had set, we had strengthened our bulwarks, and put

our little citadel into as good a state of defence as possible, with the

materials at our command.

Knowing that sooner or later an attack would come, unless we could

communicate with some passing ship, Ritchie had been busy for days, and

our fortifications now consisted of an outer and an inner rampart of

trees. But neither were of great extent, there being but eight of us

altogether to defend them; unless, indeed, we counted the dogs, and they

were hardly dogs of war. Ossian, however, was an immensely powerful

animal, with the strength almost of a young mastiff, and all the agility

of the English greyhound. Bruce, on the other hand, made up in sagacity

and courage what he lacked in brute force.

Jill had become inordinately fond of the animals; I would not therefore

have had a hair of their honest heads touched in anger for all the

world. It was evident to me, nevertheless, that as soon as the _melee_

commenced they would join in, unless prevented, and get speared beyond a

doubt. I therefore had one of the men to make them secure to the boat

early in the evening.

Behind that boat our last stand was to be made, if the worst should come

to the worst. It was therefore drawn up opposite to and guarding the

entrance to the cave.

We had plenty of ammunition, rifles, revolvers, and boarding pikes, part

of a cargo which, as I hinted before, we were taking out to Honolulu.

Short though the time we had been thus closely thrown together, I think

we--the men and Jill and I--loved each other like a band of brothers.

There is nothing like danger for cementing the ties of social equality.

Then, we all looked up to Ritchie as to a father almost. As to our

captain, at all events, for that he was in reality if not by actual

rating.

He was a little, active, and very athletic man, and with a trusty weapon

in his hand, I never doubted that he would prove a terrible enemy among

even a score of these not over-wholesome Fuegians, or Firelanders, as

they are often called. Not but what these savages are hardy enough.

Passing ships can scarcely judge of the whole race from the miserable

and often puny creatures that are sent out to beg and sell curiosities.

No, if it be any credit to him, I will admit that the Fuegian Indian is

as fierce and warlike in his own way as any savage ever I met with. He

can be either a lamb or a wild beast, as it suits his purpose. He has

but one aim or object in the world, and but one motto: "Kill and eat."

Nor is he a whit particular what he does kill and eat. Is there nothing

good to be said for these Indians? Yes, they are fond of their

offspring and careful of their comforts, until the children can run.

After that they must look out for themselves, and pick up a dead mouse

or a dead bird, wherever they can find it, till they learn to use their

bows and arrows. And a Fuegian boy is quite a little warrior by the

time he has reached his sixth or seventh year.

The Fireland warrior full grown is not a giant, but sometimes very

powerful, and far more hardy than could be believed possible, going

almost stark naked even in winter--when at work, at all events; that is,

when hunting, fishing, rowing, or running.

This is a digression, but it is necessary to show the kind of enemy we

had so soon to meet in battle. I must digress further to the extent of

a few words, and tell you that Jill was an excellent swordsman. We had

a good tutor in our father, and my brother and I were always at sword

exercise when at home and not doing either work or mischief. Many a

hard knock we had given each other, but I rejoice to add we never lost

our tempers.

"You feel sure we'll have a go at these niggers to-night, Mr Ritchie,

if I may make so bold?"

This was a question put to our captain shortly after the moon had risen.

"As sure as that I'm looking at the moon," said Ritchie.

"And what think you will be the upshot?"

"It'll be a _down_-shot to begin with," replied Ritchie, by way of

making a grim joke.

"But, Lawlor lad, I'm half afraid the Fuegians will have the upper hand,

drat 'em!"

"And we'll all be scuppered?"

"We're all in the hands of Providence," said Ritchie.

"'Cause I've a sweetheart," said Lawlor.

"And I've a mother," said another man.

"And I," said another, "have a wife and the prettiest baby ever opened

blue eyes."

"I have neither kith nor kin," said Wrexham, a tall young giant of a

fellow. "I'm going to lay about me a bit by and by; and look here,

lads, I wouldn't mind dying for the lot of you."

"Don't talk thus," said Ritchie. "Let each of us now say a bit of a

prayer to himself."

There was silence for the space of five minutes; then we all stood up,

and there and then, as if by one common impulse, we shook hands all

round. We felt better now. We even wished the foe would come, but we

knew also that when they did commence the attack, it would be in silence

and with suddenness.

A whole hour went by. No one spoke much. We just hung about the cave

mouth, occasionally giving a look to see our arms were in perfect order

and array. Now and then Jill went into the cave and talked with the

dogs as if they were human beings. I think he did so simply to pass the

time.

I was wondering in what particular way the battle would commence, and

what would be the peculiar incidents connected with it, when Ritchie

suddenly clutched my arm and gazed seawards. A bright light was visible

far out in the offing. A bright white light. Could it be that

assistance was at hand?

Presently all was dark on the sea again, except for the quivering lines

of moonlight on the waters. But next minute a bright crimson glare was

thrown over the water. They were burning a red light. It was a signal

undoubtedly.

"Can we make them hear, I wonder?" said Ritchie. "I think we can. The

night is still, and the wind is off the shore."

We waited till the red light had quite burned out, then fired a volley,

that went reverberating away up among the hills and rocks like thunder,

and must have been heard far and near.

The savages must have seen that signal too, for now came a shower of

arrows, which we fain would have replied to had we seen an object to

fire at. We took shelter within the inner rampart, well knowing they

would soon appear in the outer.

We were not disappointed. Heads and spears were seen above our first

line of defence.

"Steady, men!"

The volley we gave them must have been effective. There was silence

among the foe no longer, but the wildest and most unearthly yells.

Again and again did they try to storm our outer defence. Again and

again were they hurled down and back.

Our little fort seemed impregnable. Hope was in our hearts now. We had

only to hold our position, and assistance would soon be with us.

The attack was renewed again and again, but with the same results. I

began almost to feel sorry for the carnage our guns and revolvers must

undoubtedly have been creating. But it was no fault of ours. We were

but acting on the defensive.

Then there came a lull in the storm, and we found time to bind up a

wound in Lawlor's left wrist. It had been caused by an arrow, and was

bleeding profusely. The rest of us were as yet unscathed.

"I don't like this silence," said Ritchie. "They're up to some

devilment, or my name isn't Ted. Let us get over and see."

We, Ritchie and I, scaled our first defence and mounted the second, only

to see "Birnam wood" advancing, so to speak.

"All hands here, quick?" cried Ritchie.

In a few minutes, nay moments, we were firing at the advancing wood. It

was too late. The pile was made and speedily lighted, and the smoke and

sparks went rolling over us.

This was their plan, then. We were to be burned out or smoked out, like

rats from a hole.

In this battle betwixt civilisation and savagery, the former had

hitherto got the advantage. Was all this to be changed? It would seem

so.

The natives retreated now. They had but to wait till our position

became untenable, and slay us as we sought safety in flight. Flight?

Yes, but whither?

The fire began to burn fiercely. In a few moments more the ramparts had

caught, and now it was time for action.

We determined to hold our fort as long as possible, then make our last--

our final sortie. We tore down the lee side of the inner bulwark, and

crouched on the ground close to the rock; and it is well we did, for

just then a whole shower of arrows flew over our heads.

"That is good, men," cried Ritchie. "The arrows come from the direction

of the creek. Stand by to rush out when I give the order."

I missed Jill from my side. The kindly boy, even in the midst of the

fire and fighting, had not forgotten the dogs, and had gone to let them

loose.

Now in a fight or battle of any kind it is very little any single

individual can tell of it. We only knew in the present instance that

the order was given to "Charge," and out we rushed from our fiery den.

Ritchie and Wrexham led, keeping the smoke as a cover as long as they

could. Jill and I, shoulder to shoulder, followed. I know little else;

I only thought of Jill.

Hitherto, I must own, I had considered that in many ways I was my

brother's superior, and more than once, I fear, I treated him as a

child. After his bravery this night, and his coolness in this terrible

_melee_, I always looked upon him as a man, and my equal--except, of

course, in age.

The savages would have done well had they scattered and poured upon us

their clouds of arrows. For some reason or another they did not, but

waited our charge by the creek side, all in a mass, and with spears and

yells. Savages as a rule put no end of value on their yelling and

whooping qualities, and at times, it must be admitted, these war cries

are very confusing and startling. We fired one rifle volley into their

midst; one or two volleys from the revolver. Then we met and mixed. I

cannot tell now, nor could I ever tell, their numbers. They seemed like

a huge dark cloud.

"Back to back, Jill!" I cried.

"Hurrah!" shouted my brother. "Back to back, Jack, in good old Cornish

fashion! Hurrah!"

And back to back we fought in the midst of those fiends, who went down

wherever we charged. Back to back, and wielding with terrible effect

two long supple Arab swords we had bought at the Cape.

Back to back, as brothers should in an engagement like this. But for

how long I know not. A mist came over my eyes, a strange white

smoke-like mist. Then I remembered no more.

But I was lying there by the creek side when I came to, with Jill

bending over me. Lying in the moonlight, and not far off, talking to

Ritchie, was Peter himself, who came towards us as soon as he heard Jill

saying, "Are you better now, brother?"

So we were saved. I had merely been stunned with a blow from a stone.

I had fallen about the very time Peter with his boat's crew had leapt on

shore, and the savages began to fly, and Jill had caught me up in his

arms and staggered with me to meet them.

That is all I know of this fight with the Firelanders.

Ritchie was unscathed. Poor Wrexham was stark and stiff, with, an arrow

sticking in his heart, and two of the others were wounded, but not

severely. It is unnecessary to add that the natives had suffered

severely.

"Peter," I said, as soon as I could gasp out a word or two, "I'm so glad

to see you."

"I thought you wouldn't mind my paying you a visit," said Peter,

smiling.

"I dare say I'm talking a bit strange," I said. "I feel rather dazed.

I fainted, didn't I? So foolish to faint!"

"True, it's very foolish to faint, old man, but when a fellow gets hit

behind the ear with a pebble as big as an ostrich's egg, then fainting

and folly are not quite synonymous terms."

"Well, thank you," I muttered. "I'm obliged, really. How's--"

"How's things?" said Peter, helping me out.

"Yes, how--are you all at home?"

"Poor Jack!" said Peter. "Why they've knocked you a kind of silly.

You'll be better when you've had a sleep."

They carried me to the boat. I remember the motion of it, and I

remember the bright moonlight on the water, but nothing else for another

day.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE STORY OF OUR RESCUE--A DINNER AND A BALL--PETER AND DULZURA.

On our arrival at Sandy Point (_Puenta Arenas_) we, that is Jill and I,

had been billeted at a pretty little bungalow belonging to a Chilian,

and next morning early Peter came to see us, and tell us the story of

our rescue.

"First and foremost," he began, "let me tell you that I'm precious glad

to see you again, Jack, and you too, Greenie; though, bother me if I'm

not beginning to think you're not half so green as you look, for the way

he was fighting, Jack, when I landed to help you, was a caution to

codgers, I can tell you. Ha, ha! why, I laugh to think how he was

making the spear heads fly whenever a few of those Foogies made a thrust

at him. How many Greenie killed I couldn't wager; but I'm pretty

certain he has found the cannibals in food for a fortnight.

"And you too, Jack. I got a blink of you before you fell. You were

back to back, you two; and what with you being so precious like Jill,

and Jill being so precious like you, I'm sure the Foogies were

frightened and took the two of you for one. And of course they're not

far wrong, though you're not fastened together like the Siamese twins by

a bit of skin."

"How did you find us?"

"Ay," said Jill, "that's more to the point."

"Well, I'm going to tell you, Greenie, if you'll only give me time. I'd

have told you all about it yesterday, but you wouldn't spare a minute

away from Jack.

"You see, then, when we got separated in that snow-squall, we did not

take much thought about you at first. We remembered you had a boat

compass, and that Ritchie was a good man, and naturally supposed you

would find your way here.

"The squally weather continued, but in the very thick of it we found

ourselves alongside a steamer--the same saucy little Chilian man-o'-war

that so kindly went in search of you. And it isn't fun, I can tell you,

to search all up and down among these coves and creeks and islands and

forests and glens.

"Well, they took us on board, and made very much of us all the way to

Sandy Point, and Captain Coates and our little mother Coates, with

Leila, are now living with the governor.

"We waited two days to see if you would show your noses. Then matters

looked serious, and as the captain of the gunboat had had several men

killed by the Foogies two summers ago, he all the more readily consented

to go to look for the missing boat.

"Well, we just looked till we found you. That is the long and the short

of it. We searched the wrong shore first. But really I had hoped you

had gone down in the squall; that your boat had foundered, and you had

been all drowned-dead, as Ritchie would say."

"But why, in the name of mystery, Peter, did you wish us drowned?"

"Why, because I imagined it would be death somehow; and, to tell you the

truth, I couldn't bear the thoughts of your being killed and eaten.

"Just fancy," continued Peter, looking mischievously at Jill, "just

fancy Greenie here served up with parsley and butter sauce, or however

they do serve them up."

"Never mind, Peter," I said, laughing; "all's well that ends well."

"Yes, my boy, unless it ends better than well, and that's how it's going

to."

"How do you mean?" asked Jill. "Why, in a ball. And that's what is

going to be given. There are two ships here, and I'm so glad, because

there is a pretty Chilian girl that I'm half mad on, the daughter of

somebody or another, and--and she'll be there. Do you see, Greenie?"

At little outlandish towns like Sandy Point it does not take a very long

time, when ships are alongside, to get up an entertainment of any kind,

so in less than a week the ball came off.

It was preceded by a dinner on board the man-o'-war, at which I was

pleased to note that Jill was the hero of the hour. I really felt proud

of him, but Jill took it all as a matter of course.

The dinner was excellent of its kind, though I think even Captain Coates

missed the big solid English joints. Here all was made dishes, dishes

of surprise you might say. Peter and I sat pretty close together, Jill

being stowed away among the ladies somewhere, so I knew what Peter did.

On the whole I should say he did well, and I should think he must have

changed his plate about twenty times before dessert.

"My object was," he told me next morning, "to taste everything. I

wanted to improve the mind as well as the body. D'ye see?"

"Oh yes, we saw right enough." Peter never failed to be explicit when

he talked. For the first time in my life, we tasted guanaco and ostrich

meat, and horseflesh; and the commander of the ship positively

apologised because he had not been able to procure a fry of agouti and a

curry of armadillo. I for one readily excused the gallant commander,

and I suppose so did Peter; though I know this much, if steak of grampus

and roast albatross had been placed before him, he would have felt it

his duty to eat of these dishes.

When talking grew fast and furious, which it did about the middle of the

seventeenth course--"the seventeenth round" Peter afterwards styled it--

I had time to look around me and note the peculiarities of my companions

at table.

The principal peculiarities of the foreign officers, I soon discovered,

were excessive politeness and a gesticulatory method of talking, not by

any means approaching to rudeness, but strange to an Englishman's eye.

The commander was a short, stout, good-natured little fellow, very

round-faced, and cheerful in eye. I do not wonder at this, if he

"fed"--the expression is Peter's--as well every day as we had now done.

His officers were second editions of himself, only boiled down, as it

were. There were several gentlemen from the two merchant ships, and two

ladies. One of the latter was a captain's wife, who, like our little

mother Coates, preferred to plough the stormy ocean with her husband to

staying at home on the dull shore.

The other lady was she on whom Peter had gone mad, as he told us. I

think I am right in asserting that poor Peter had eyes for nobody and

nothing at table except her. She really was a charming girl. I did not

wonder at Peter's all too sensitive heart being smitten with her.

Besides, you know, Peter was a sailor. He did not know her Christian

name. He had simply given her one. He called her Dulzura, which

certainly sounds very nice, and means "sweet," "suave," "pleasant,"

"pretty," and a whole regiment of other nice adjectives.

Near the head of the table sat Dulzura's father. I knew him for her

father at a glance. He was an exceedingly handsome man, but

bold-looking as well as handsome, though most deferential and

gentlemanly. His age might have been about fifty. I put him down at

once as a soldier, but found out afterwards that, though he had been in

the Chilian army, he was now, if anything, a sportsman and rover.

Well, after the dinner came the ball on the quarter-deck. There was not

a great deal of room, certainly, but then our party was not large.

Senor Castizo, as Dulzura's father was called, opened the ball, leading

off in a waltz with our little mother Coates. Poor little mother

Coates! she felt much flattered, but soon got tired. _Darning_ was more

in her way than _dancing_. But Castizo was not tired, and no sooner had

Mrs Coates retired than, full of glee and delight, there rushed up to

him his daughter. He might have been her elder brother, so gracefully

did he waltz. The two were the admiration of all beholders, especially

Peter. He was waiting to receive her, and I'll never forget the kindly

yet princely air with which her father handed the young lady over.

Peter led her away in triumph to breathe among the evergreens in the

improvised conservatory. I saw Peter soon after, and I never noticed

him look so happy before.

I saw him later on. He was out near the mainmast. I should have told

you that the ball was on the upper deck, under an awning beautifully

decorated with flags and greenery. Yes, I saw Peter there, and with him

was Dulzura's father. A glance told me he was doing the agreeable.

Both were smoking such huge cigars that really Peter looked small behind

his.

I next saw Peter among the musicians, playing on his clarionet. His

soul seemed in it. His soul seemed more in it when asked by Dulzura to

play a solo. I shall never forget that I did not know before he could

play so sweetly. Surely, I thought, Peter is inspired.

Well, as far as appearances went that night it was my brother Jill who

was the greater favourite with Dulzura. He could dance better than

Peter.

But next day, when Peter came to breakfast with us, he could speak about

nothing else but the dinner and ball of the previous evening.

I was amused, too, at the way he spoke to Jill.

"I'm awfully obliged to you, Greenie," he said, "for dancing so much

with my Dulzura. It was kind and considerate. I knew _you_ wouldn't

make love and talk nonsense to her as some of the officers tried to do."

"Oh no," said Jill, with his quiet smile, "we talked nothing but

politics, I assure you, and discussed the future prospects of the South

Sea Islanders."

"Do you like her, Greenie?"

"Assuredly."

"Love, of course, is out of the question?"

"Certainly."

"Well, you'll be glad to know that she and I get on famously together.

The worst of it is that she can't talk much English, and I don't know

much Spanish. But she is going to teach me. About a fortnight will

make me perfect."

"About a fortnight, Peter," I said in some surprise. "Why the boat for

Monte Video comes round the day after to-morrow."

"Ah! yes, but I'm not going in her. Neither are you nor Greenie here.

That's what I came to speak about."

"Well, heave round. I'll be glad to hear what you have to say."

"It's very simple. Senor Castizo has taken an inordinate fancy for me.

Dear Dulzura goes home with her maid to Valparaiso in about three weeks

time, but her father stops. He is going into the wilds of Patagonia,

where he has been before, and knows the lay of the land well. And he

asked me to stay too, and accompany him."

"Yes, and what did you say?"

"I said I'd do so like a shot, if I got you and Greenie to come with

us."

Jill's eyes sparkled with delight.

"It would be simply glorious," he said. "And I'm sure mother wouldn't

mind, nor aunt either."

"But we haven't much money to rig up," I said.

"Oh, we've enough, I assure you. It's a cheap country to live in.

Castizo says about all a man wants is a guanaco robe and a gun, with a

horse or two, and there you are."

I confess I was quite as struck with the notion of having a few wild

adventures in the Land of the Giants as Jill was; but, being the elder,

I was of course bound to prudence and discretion.

"We'd have to write a very long letter home," I said.

"Well, you're capable of doing that, I believe."

"And state that there is little danger, and that it will recruit Jill's

health."

"Capital phrase!" cried Peter. "Jack, you're quite a diplomatist."

"But," I added, "is there much danger?"

"Not very much, from the way Castizo speaks. I would bear very lightly

on those if I were you."

"And you know, Jack," said Jill, "adventures would not be much worth

without just a _soupcon_ of danger."

"True. Well, I must confess I'm willing. What about Ritchie?"

"He and another man are coming with us."

"And Captain Coates and our dear little mother?"

"Going home. They must, you know. We needn't. And it isn't French

leave either. You and I and Jill are shipwrecked mariners--that, by the

way, is why we are objects of interest and romance to Dulzura. We're

shipwrecked mariners, and it isn't as if we were apprentices."

"We are all passed mates."

"And the _Salamander_ was aunt's ship," added Jill. "She can get us

another."

"True, Jill; you're a brick."

"Well," he added, "is it a bargain?"

"Yes," I said, speaking for Jill and myself too. Then we all shook

hands, and the conversation took another turn; that is--it went back to

Dulzura.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.