NEW YORK AND HOME.
The ships were in no condition to cross the Atlantic, and by the royal
decree the British West Indies were closed against them, while, of
course, they dare not trust the mercy of the Spaniards. Their only
alternative, therefore, was to make their way up to New York in the
hope of finding their way back to Scotland from there later on.
Donalblane quite approved of this plan. He had had quite enough of
South America to last him for the rest of his life, and, now that he
had left, it was quite clear in his mind as to never returning.
But of North America he knew nothing, and he was eager to learn.
"Nae doot there'll be Indians there like those at Darien," he said to
Mr. Paterson, "and we'll be going to see them. Have they kings, too?"
An amused look lightened Mr. Paterson's face for the moment as he
replied--
"There are Indians, of course, in the country, very many tribes of
them, and we may see some of them at New York, but we will not have
anything to do with them. We are of no account now," he went on sadly.
"We shall be little better than beggars when we reach New York, and
shall have to trust to the kindness of our countrymen there to afford
us the help we need. Ah, Donald, Donald! it is a sore thing to fail--a
sore, sore thing!" and he turned away to hide the emotion that mastered
him.
Donalblane was touched to the heart, and in his passion of loyal love
would not have hesitated to give his very life if thereby the fortunes
of his hero could have been retrieved. But no sacrifice could save
them now. The great scheme that was to have been a blessing to the
world and to make Scotland mighty among the nations had failed utterly.
Creeping cautiously along the coast, the two ships made their slow way
northward, and, after passing through many a peril, at length reached
New York, with the rotten rigging dropping from the masts, the pumps
going steadily to keep the leaky hulks afloat, and scarce two days'
scant supply of food and water. With inexpressible joy the wearied
voyagers hastened to land, Donalblane of course accompanying Mr.
Paterson.
Although for a quarter of a century in possession of the British, New
York was still for the most part a Dutch town, and the keen-eyed Scotch
boy saw much that was novel and interesting in the quaint ways of the
people and the odd appearance of the houses. He was quick to notice
the aspect of comfort and neatness that marked the place, and made so
pleasing a contrast to the squalor and misery of the settlement at
Darien.
"Oh, but it's verra bonnie here!" he said to Mr. Paterson as, strolling
through the streets in the cool of the evening, he saw the prosperous
burghers with their plump wives and rosy children sitting out at the
front of their houses, so evidently enjoying life in their simple,
sober way.
"Do you think you'd like to stay here, then?" Mr. Paterson asked, with
a kindly twinkle in his eye. "I dare say it could be managed. One of
these well-to-do merchants might be glad to take you as an apprentice."
Donald smiled and shook his head. There was indeed something
attractive in the idea, but he did not feel free to entertain it.
"Wad ye be thinkin' of staying yer ain sel'?" he inquired in turn.
"Oh, no, Donald," replied Mr. Paterson with a deep sigh. "I must
return to Scotland to give an account of my stewardship."
"Then if ye're going back, I'm going wi' ye," responded the lad in a
tone of absolute decision; and Mr. Paterson, patting him affectionately
on the shoulder, said in a voice whose unwonted tremor showed how
strongly he felt--
"You're a good boy, Donald, leal and true, and I believe that in the
providence of God you will come to greatness yet."
The survivors of the unfortunate Darien expedition were so kindly
treated at New York that quite a number of them were glad to settle
permanently in the prosperous colony; but Mr. Paterson impatiently
awaited the opportunity to get back to Scotland.
During the delay Donalblane had an adventure that caused him to retain
a vivid remembrance of the place for the remainder of his life. His
restless, inquiring spirit kept him constantly on the move, and one
fine day he had roamed away up toward the north end of the island, and
so overstayed his time that night had fallen ere he reached the
outskirts of the city.
There were no street lights in those days, and, save where a friendly
gleam came from the window or open door of a house, the streets were
dark as pitch; hence there were many good chances for highwaymen to
practise their evil profession, which they were not slow to seize upon.
Donalblane had just got well into the city, when, as he passed through
a dark, narrow street, he heard a cry for help, followed by the sounds
of a violent struggle. At once the impulse to render aid took
possession of him, and he darted in the direction whence the sounds
came, grasping tightly his pistol, which he always carried with him. A
short run brought him to where three persons were struggling together,
one crying out for help, while the other two strove to smother his
cries and knock him senseless with their bludgeons.
"Hi, there, ye scoondrels!" shouted Donalblane. "Hands off, or I'll
shoot ye!"
As the words left his lips, one of the highwaymen got in so brutal a
blow that his victim fell limply to the ground; but the next instant
the report of the pistol rang out, and its bullet buried itself in the
ruffian's shoulder.
Completely taken by surprise--for neither of them had been aware of the
boy's swift approach--the rascals were so panic-stricken that they took
to their heels and disappeared around the corner, leaving Donalblane
with the seemingly lifeless form.
"The puir man, they've killed him, nae doot," he murmured sadly, as he
bent over the prostrate figure to feel if there were any signs of life
left.
He was thus engaged when a door near by opened, and out sprang a couple
of men, who rushed upon him and grasped him roughly, exclaiming--
"Ah--ah! now we've caught you red-handed! You'll swing high for this,
you villain!"
"Hoot, man, ye're quite wrong!" retorted Donalblane hotly. "I'm no'
the villain. I ran to help this man. 'Twas the robbers that killed
him."
But they refused to believe him, and others coming up, the poor boy was
like to have been roughly handled, when a grey-haired man, who spoke
with authority, commanded that he be brought to his house for
examination. When this had been done, and the men realised what a mere
lad he was, and what a frank, honest countenance he possessed, the tide
of feeling at once began to turn.
"I am greatly disposed to believe the boy," said the elderly man after
he had heard Donalblane's story. "But we must keep him in ward until
we can find this Mr. Paterson of whom he speaks."
So Donalblane was securely locked up until the morning, when he not
only had the joy of being vouched for by Mr. Paterson, and honourably
released, but the relief of learning that the highwaymen's victim had
been only stunned, not killed, and would soon recover from his injuries.
He proved to be a prosperous merchant, who felt profoundly grateful for
the timely service, and, as it chanced, had a vessel sailing for
England in a short time. On learning of their desire to cross the
ocean, he at once placed the cabin of the vessel at the disposal of Mr.
Paterson and Donalblane, adding to this kindness a substantial advance
of money, which the former might repay at his convenience.
Thus the way home was providentially opened up, and in far greater
comfort than they had set out for the New World, the two friends
returned to Scotland. Here Donalblane was received with characteristic
coolness by his uncle, who felt very sore over the loss of his five
hundred pounds; and Mr. Paterson had to bear the undeserved reproaches
of those who had lost not merely money, but relatives, in the
unfortunate enterprise.
Yet there were far brighter days in store for both. Mr. Paterson
cleared himself of all blame for the catastrophe, and filled the
remaining years of his life with honourable work, while Donalblane,
sobered by his experience, devoted himself to his uncle's business with
such ardour and intelligence that ere long he came to be his right-hand
man.
The step from that to a partnership was an easy and natural one, and,
combining in a rare degree daring enterprise with far-sighted caution,
Donalblane of Darien became in time one of the merchant princes of
Scotland, winning, through the right use of his wealth and influence,
high honour among his fellow-men, and the favour of Divine Providence.
THE END.
_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._
End of Project Gutenberg's Donalblane of Darien, by J. Macdonald Oxley