He kissed her, and down she sat with the dog beside her, and looked very
demure indeed, with that one wee forefinger in her mouth.
Strange to say, she soon fell fast asleep, with her head pillowed on the
dog's back, one hand clutching his mane.
The battle now became general all along the line. For the riflemen in
the back, as well as those within the fort, began to fire.
And now slowly down the hill came Bertha, the Island Queen, sceptre-pole
in hand, and dressed in skins of dazzling white. A very imposing figure
she looked. But her presence gave extra courage to her people.
The officers in almost every boat were picked off easily, so short was
now the range.
It must be admitted that the enemy showed no lack of courage, though
boat after boat was sunk to the number of six, and rifles rang out from
the bush and fort in a series of independent but incessant firing, and
well did the foe understand that their main safety now consisted in
landing as soon as they possibly could. They knew that in a
hand-to-hand fight the "fire-sticks," as savages call our rifles, would
be of little avail.
The guns were worked with splendid results, however, and by the time the
war canoes were beached only about four hundred men were left to fight.
But these cannibals knew no fear.
One more telling volley from the bush, one more shot from a six-pounder,
then from behind a bush rushed the white Queen waving aloft her sceptre,
and instantly from their cover, spear-armed, now rushed the Flower
Islanders, one thousand strong at least The fight was a fearful one.
Dickson, Hall, with Reginald and the men in the fort, joined with
revolver and cutlass. The Queen was in the front. No, she fought not,
but her presence there was like that of Joan of Arc.
Many of the invaded fell dead and wounded; but even the fierce foe was
forced to yield at last, and the miserable remnant of them tried once
more to reach their boats.
They never did. It was a war of extermination, and the invaders were
utterly and completely wiped out Never a boat, never a man returned home
to their distant island to tell the fearful tale.
The Flower Islanders expected now a grand feast. Here was flesh--human
flesh.
The Queen forbade it, and Dickson himself gave orders that every body--
the wounded had been stabbed--should be rowed out to sea and thrown
overboard to feed the sharks. They demurred. Dickson was determined
and stern. If not obeyed instantly, he should turn the guns on the
would-be cannibals.
Reginald suggested as a kind of compromise that each man who had been
fighting should receive a large biscuit and a glass of rum. It was a
happy thought, and after this the work was set about merrily. The
sea-burial occupied all the afternoon till within an hour of sunset.
Then the canoes returned. All was over. The Armada was no more.
But around him now Dickson gathered the Flower Island Army, and offered
up a prayer of thanks to the God of Battle, who had fought on their
side, and the islanders seemed much impressed. The enemy would probably
never attempt invasion again--in our heroes' time, at all events.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Queen gave a banquet that night, she herself presiding. Of course,
nothing was talked about except the incidents of the recent terrible
battle.
Matty came in for a share of praise, but was told she really must not
run away again. And she promised, only adding that she thought she
could "'ssist the poor dear doc."
The banquet lasted till late. The Queen had not forgotten how to play
and sing. Dickson and Reginald were both good musicians, and one or two
blacks gave inimitable performances, partly gesture, partly song; which
would assuredly have brought down the house if given in a London
music-hall.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Being freed now for a time from any fear of further invasion, attention
was turned to the gold mines and to the pearl-fishing. At a meeting on
the hillside it was resolved that the men--they were all honest
fellows--should be admitted to the secret. To have shut them out would
hardly have been fair, so thought all.
Well, naturally enough, Reginald chose what he considered the best two
claims; then came Dickson's choice; then Mr Hall's, and after these the
six white sailors, and they were willing to dig like heroes.
They divided the work of the day into two parts. One was spent at the
gold mines, the other in fishing for pearls. They were remarkably
successful with the latter, but for nine months at least the gold came
but slowly in, and this was disheartening. Nevertheless, they continued
to dig and dig, assisted by native labour. The savages often found
nuggets among the _debris_ that had been overlooked by the white men,
and these they dutifully presented to the owners of the claims.
It must be admitted that the men were most energetic, for while their
officers were always at the Queen's palace by five o'clock, and ready
for dinner, the men often worked by moonlight, or even by the glimmer of
lanterns. They were slowly accumulating wealth.
Success crowned Reginald's efforts at last, though. For, to his extreme
wonderment and delight, he struck a splendid pocket.
It was deep down at the far end of the cave, and the mould was of a
sandy nature, much of it apparently powdered quartz, broken, perhaps, by
the awful pressure of the mountain above. But the very first nugget he
pulled from here was as large as a pineapple, and many more followed,
though none so large.
No wonder his heart palpitated with joy and excitement, or that his
comrades crowded round to shake his hand and congratulate him. But that
cave had already made Reginald a fairly wealthy man. His success,
moreover, encouraged the others to dig all the harder, and not without
excellent results. It seemed, indeed, that not only was this island a
flowery land, but an isle of gold. And the further they dug into the
hill the more gold did they find. The men were very happy.
"Oh, Bill," said one to his pal one night at supper, "if ever we does
get a ship home from this blessed isle, won't my Polly be glad to see me
just!"
"Ay, Jack, she will; but I ain't in any particular hurry to go yet, you
know."
"Well, it's two years come Monday since we sailed away from the
beautiful Clyde. Heigho! I shouldn't wonder if Polly has given me up
for good and all, and married some counter-jumping land-lubber of a
draper or grocer."
"Never mind, Jack; there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of
it yet. Pass the rum. This is Saturday night, and it was just real
good of Captain Dickson to send us an extra drop of the rosy. Fill your
glasses, gentlemen, for a toast and a song. That digging has made me a
mighty deal too tired to think of dancing to the sweetest jig e'er a
fiddler could scrape out."
"Well, give us your toast, Bill. We're all primed and waiting."
"My toast ain't a very short one, but here it goes: `May the next year
be our very last in this 'ere blessed island; may we all go home with
bags of gold, and find our sweethearts true and faithful.'"
"Hear, hear!" And every glass was drained to the bottom. "Now for the
song."
"Oh, only an old ditty o' Dibdin's, and I'd rather be on the heavin'
ocean when I sings it. There is no accompaniment to a song so fetching
as that which the boom and the wash of the waves make. Them's my
sentiments, boys.
"Wives and Sweethearts.
"'Tis said we ve't'rous diehards, when we leave the shore,
Our friends should mourn,
Lest we return
To bless their sight no more;
But this is all a notion
Bold Jack can't understand,
Some die upon the ocean,
And some die on the land.
Then since 'tis clear,
Howe'er we steer,
No man's life's under his command;
Let tempests howl
And billows roll,
And dangers press;
In spite of these there are some joys
Us jolly tars to bless,
For Saturday night still comes, my boys,
To drink to Poll and Bess.
"Hurrah!" But just at this moment a strange and ominous sound, like
distant thunder, put a sudden stop to the sailors' Saturday night. All
started to their feet to listen.