"OH, MERCIFUL FATHER! THEY ARE HERE."
Well, it seemed there was very little chance of poor Reginald (if we
dare extend pity to him) forgetting either his loves or the terrible
incubus that pressed like a millstone on heart and brain.
Captain Dickson was now doctor instead of Grahame, and the latter was
his patient. Two things he knew right well: first, that in three or
four months at the least a ship of some kind would arrive, and Reginald
be taken prisoner back to England; secondly, that if he could not get
him to work, and thus keep his thoughts away from the awful grief, he
might sink and die. He determined, therefore, to institute a fresh
prospecting party. Perhaps, he told the men, the gold was not so much
buried but that they might find their way to it.
"That is just what we think, sir, and that is why we stayed in the
island with you and Dr Grahame instead of going home in the _Erebus_.
Now, sir," continued the man, "why not employ native labour? We have
plenty of tools, and those twenty stalwart blacks that fought so well
for us would do anything to help us. Shall I speak to them, captain?"
"Very well, McGregor; you seem to have the knack of giving good advice.
It shall be as you say."
After a visit to the Queen, who received them both with great
cordiality, and endeavoured all she could to keep up poor Reginald's
heart, they took their departure, and bore up for the hills, accompanied
by their black labourers, who were as merry as crickets. Much of the
lava, or ashes, had been washed away from the Golden Mount, as they
termed it, and they could thus prospect with more ease in the gulch
below.
In the most likely part, a place where crushed or powdered quartz
abound, work was commenced in downright earnest.
"Here alone have we any chance, men," said Captain Dickson cheerily.
"Ah, sir," said McGregor, "you have been at the diggings before, and so
have I."
"You are right, my good fellow; I made my pile in California when little
more than a boy. I thought that this fortune was going to last me for
ever, and there was no extravagance in New York I did not go in for.
Well, my pile just vanished like mist before the morning sun, and I had
to take a situation as a man before the mast, and so worked myself up to
what I am now, a British master mariner."
"Well, sir," said Mac, "you have seen the world, anyhow, and gained
experience, and no doubt that your having been yourself a common sailor
accounts for much of your kindness to and sympathy for us poor Jacks."
"Perhaps."
Mining work was now carried on all day long, and a shaft bored into the
mountain side. This was their only chance. Timber was cut down and
sawn into beams and supports, and for many weeks everything went on with
the regularity of clock-work; but it was not till after a month that
fortune favoured the brave. Then small nuggets began to be found, and
to these succeeded larger ones; and it was evident to all that a
well-lined pocket was found. In this case both the officers and men
worked together, and the gold was equally divided between them. They
were indeed a little Republic, but right well the men deserved their
share, for well and faithfully did they work.
Two months had passed away since the departure of the _Erebus_, and soon
the detectives must come. Reginald's heart gave a painful throb of
anxiety when he thought of it. Another month and he should be a
prisoner, and perhaps confined in a hot and stuffy cell on board ship.
Oh! it was terrible to think of! But work had kept him up. Soon,
however, the mine gave out, and was reluctantly deserted. Every night
now, however, both Dickson and Reginald dined and slept at the palace of
Queen Bertha. With her Reginald left his nuggets.
"If I should be condemned to death," he said,--"and Fate points to that
probability--the gold and all the rest is yours, Dickson."
"Come, sir, come," said the Queen, "keep up your heart. You say you are
not guilty."
They were sitting at table enjoying wine and fruit, though the latter
felt like sawdust in Reginald's hot and nerve-fevered mouth.
"I do not myself believe I am guilty, my dear lady," he answered.
"You do not _believe_?"
"Listen, and I will tell you. The knife found--it was mine--by the side
of poor Craig Nicol is damning evidence against me, and this is my
greatest fear. Listen again. All my life I have been a sleep-walker or
somnambulist."
The Queen was interested now, and leaned more towards him as he spoke.
"You couldn't surely--" she began.
"All I remember of that night is this--and I feel the cold sweat of
terror on my brow as I relate it--I had been to Aberdeen. I dined with
friends--dined, not wisely, perhaps, but too well. I remember feeling
dazed when I left the train at--Station. I had many miles still to
walk, but before I had gone there a stupor seemed to come over me, and I
laid me down on the sward thinking a little sleep would perfectly
refresh me. I remember but little more, only that I fell asleep,
thinking how much I would give only to have Craig Nicol once more as my
friend. Strange, was it not? I seemed to awake in the same place where
I had lain down, but cannot recollect that I had any dreams which might
have led to somnambulism. But, oh, Queen Bertha, my stocking knife was
gone! I looked at my hands. `Good God!' I cried, for they were
smeared with blood! And I fainted away. I have no more to say," he
added, "no more to tell. I will tell the same story to my solicitor
alone, and will be guided by all he advises. If I have done this deed,
even in my sleep, I deserve my fate, whate'er it may be, and, oh, Queen
Bertha, the suspense and my present terrible anxiety is worse to bear
than death itself could be."
"From my very inmost heart I pity you," said the Queen.
"And I too," said Dickson.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was now well-nigh three months since the _Erebus_ had left, and no
other vessel had yet arrived or appeared in sight.
But one evening the Queen, with Reginald and Dickson, sat out of doors
in the verandah. They were drinking little cups of black coffee and
smoking native cigarettes, rolled round with withered palm leaves in
lieu of paper. It was so still to-night that the slightest sound could
be heard: even leaves rustling in the distant woods, even the whisk of
the bats' wings as they flew hither and thither moth-hunting. It was,
too, as bright as day almost, for a round moon rode high in the clear
sky, and even the brilliant Southern Cross looked pale in her dazzling
rays. There had been a lull in the conversation for a few minutes, but
suddenly the silence was broken in a most unexpected way. From seaward,
over the hills, came the long-drawn and mournful shriek of a steamer's
whistle.
"O, Merciful Father!" cried Reginald, half-rising from his seat, but
sinking helplessly back again--"they are here!"
Alas! it was only too true.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
When the _Erebus_ left the island, with, as passengers, Mr Hall and
poor, grief-stricken Ilda, she had a good passage as far as the Line,
and here was becalmed only a week, and made a quick voyage afterwards to
the Golden Horn. Here Mr Hall determined to stay for many months, to
recruit his daughter's health. All the remedies of San Francisco were
at her command. She went wherever her father pleased, but every
pleasure appeared to pall upon her. Doctors were consulted, and
pronounced the poor girl in a rapid decline. There was a complete
collapse of the whole nervous system, they said, and she must have
received some terrible shock. Mr Hall admitted it, asking at the same
time if the case were hopeless, and what he could do.
"It is the last thing a medical man should do," replied the physician,
"to take hope away. I do not say she may not recover with care, but--I
am bound to tell you, sir--the chances of her living a year are somewhat
remote."
Poor Mr Hall was silent and sad. He would soon be a lonely man indeed,
with none to comfort him save little Matty, and she would grow up and
leave him too.
Shortly after the arrival of the _Erebus_ at California, a sensational
heading to a Scotch newspaper caught the eye of the old Laird McLeod, as
he sat with his daughter one morning at breakfast:
"Remarkable Discovery.
The Supposed Murderer of Craig Nicol
Found on a Cannibal Island."
The rest of the paragraph was but brief, and detailed only what we
already know. But Annie too had seen it, and almost fainted. And this
very forenoon, too, Laird Fletcher was coming to McLeod Cottage to ask
her hand formally from her father.
Already, as I have previously stated, she had given a half-willing
consent. But now her mind was made up. She would tell Fletcher
everything, and trust to his generosity. She mentioned to Jeannie, her
maid, what her intentions were.
"I would not utterly throw over Fletcher," said Jeannie. "You never
know what may happen."
Jeannie was nothing if not canny. Well, Fletcher did call that
forenoon, and she saw him before he could speak to her old uncle--saw
him alone. She showed him the paper and telegram. Then she boldly told
him that while her betrothed, whom she believed entirely innocent of the
crime laid at his door, was in grief and trouble, all thoughts of
marriage were out of the question entirely.
"And you love this young man still?"
"Ay, Fletcher," she said, "and will love him till all the seas run dry."
The Laird gave her his hand, and with tears running down her cheeks, she
took it.
"We still shall be friends," he said.
"Yes," she cried; "and, oh, forgive me if I have caused you grief. I am
a poor, unhappy girl!"
"Every cloud," said Fletcher, "has a silver lining."
Then he touched her hand lightly with his lips, and next moment he was
gone.