The Red Eric

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

THE RED ERIC, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE TALE BEGINS WITH THE ENGAGING OF A "TAIL"--AND THE CAPTAIN DELIVERS HIS OPINIONS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.

Captain Dunning stood with his back to the fireplace in the back-parlour of a temperance coffee-house in a certain town on the eastern seaboard of America.

The name of that town is unimportant, and, for reasons with which the reader has nothing to do, we do not mean to disclose it.

Captain Dunning, besides being the owner and commander of a South Sea whale-ship, was the owner of a large burly body, a pair of broad shoulders, a pair of immense red whiskers that met under his chin, a short, red little nose, a large firm mouth, and a pair of light-blue eyes, which, according to their owner's mood, could flash like those of a tiger or twinkle sweetly like the eyes of a laughing child. But his eyes seldom flashed; they more frequently twinkled, for the captain was the very soul of kindliness and good-humour. Yet he was abrupt and sharp in his manner, so that superficial observers sometimes said he was hasty.

Captain Dunning was, so to speak, a sample of three primary colours-- red, blue, and yellow--a walking fragment, as it were, of the rainbow. His hair and face, especially the nose, were red; his eyes, coat, and pantaloons were blue, and his waistcoat was yellow.

At the time we introduce him to the reader he was standing, as we have said, with his back to the fireplace, although there was no fire, the weather being mild, and with his hands in his breeches pockets. Having worked with the said hands for many long years before the mast, until he had at last worked himself _behind_ the mast, in other words, on to the quarterdeck and into possession of his own ship, the worthy captain conceived that he had earned the right to give his hands a long rest; accordingly he stowed them away in his pockets and kept them there at all times, save when necessity compelled him to draw them forth.

"Very odd," remarked Captain Dunning, looking at his black straw hat which lay on the table before him, as if the remark were addressed to it--"very odd if, having swallowed the cow, I should now be compelled to worry at the tail."

As the black straw hat made no reply, the captain looked up at the ceiling, but not meeting with any response from that quarter, he looked out at the window and encountered the gaze of a seaman flattening his nose on a pane of glass, and looking in.

The captain smiled. "Ah! here's a tail at last," he said, as the seaman disappeared, and in another moment reappeared at the door with his hat in his hand.

It may be necessary, perhaps, to explain that Captain Dunning had just succeeded in engaging a first-rate crew for his next whaling voyage (which was the "cow" he professed to have swallowed), with the exception of a cook (which was the "tail," at which he feared he might be compelled to worry).

"You're a cook, are you?" he asked, as the man entered and nodded.

"Yes, sir," answered the "tail," pulling his forelock.

"And an uncommonly ill-favoured rascally-looking cook you are," thought the captain; but he did not say so, for he was not utterly regardless of men's feelings. He merely said, "Ah!" and then followed it up with the abrupt question--

"Do you drink?"

"Yes, sir, and smoke too," replied the "tail," in some surprise.

"Very good; then you can go," said the captain, shortly.

"Eh!" exclaimed the man:

"You can go," repeated the captain. "You won't suit. My ship is a temperance ship, and all the hands are teetotalers. I have found from experience that men work better, and speak better, and in every way act better, on tea and coffee than on spirits. I don't object to their smoking; but I don't allow drinkin' aboard my ship; so you won't do, my man. Good-morning."

The "tail" gazed at the captain in mute amazement.

"Ah! you may look," observed the captain, replying to the gaze; "but you may also mark my words, if you will. I've not sailed the ocean for thirty years for nothing. I've seen men in hot seas and in cold--on grog, and on tea--and _I_ know that coffee and tea carry men through the hardest work better than grog. I also know that there's a set o' men in this world who look upon teetotalers as very soft chaps--old wives, in fact. Very good," (here the captain waxed emphatic, and struck his fist on the table.) "Now look here, young man, _I'm_ an old wife, and my ship's manned by similar old ladies; so you won't suit."

To this the seaman made no reply, but feeling doubtless, as he regarded the masculine specimen before him, that he would be quite out of his element among such a crew of females, he thrust a quid of tobacco into his cheek, put on his hat, turned on his heel and left the room, shutting the door after him with a bang.

He had scarcely left when a tap at the door announced a second visitor.

"Hum! Another `tail,' I suppose. Come in."

If the new-comer _was_ a "tail," he was decidedly a long one, being six feet three in his stockings at the very least.

"You wants a cook, I b'lieve?" said the man, pulling off his hat.

"I do. Are you one?"

"Yes, I jist guess I am. Bin a cook for fifteen year."

"Been to sea as a cook?" inquired the captain.

"I jist have. Once to the South Seas, twice to the North, an' once round the world. Cook all the time. I've roasted, and stewed, and grilled, and fried, and biled, right round the 'arth, I have."

Being apparently satisfied with the man's account of himself, Captain Dunning put to him the question--"Do you drink?"

"Ay, like a fish; for I drinks nothin' but water, I don't. Bin born and raised in the State of Maine, d'ye see, an' never tasted a drop all my life."

"Very good," said the captain, who plumed himself on being a clever physiognomist, and had already formed a good opinion of the man. "Do you ever swear?"

"Never, but when I can't help it."

"And when's that?"

"When I'm fit to bu'st."

"Then," replied the captain, "you must learn to bu'st without swearin', 'cause I don't allow it aboard my ship."

The man evidently regarded his questioner as a very extraordinary and eccentric individual; but he merely replied, "I'll try;" and after a little further conversation an agreement was come to; the man was sent away with orders to repair on board immediately, as everything was in readiness to "up anchor and away next morning."

Having thus satisfactorily and effectually disposed of the "tail," Captain Dunning put on his hat very much on the back of his head, knit his brows, and pursed his lips firmly, as if he had still some important duty to perform; then, quitting the hotel, he traversed the streets of the town with rapid strides.

CHAPTER TWO.

IMPORTANT PERSONAGES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE READER--THE CAPTAIN MAKES INSANE RESOLUTIONS, FIGHTS A BATTLE, AND CONQUERS.

In the centre of the town whose name we have declined to communicate, there stood a house--a small house--so small that it might have been more appropriately, perhaps, styled a cottage. This house had a yellow-painted face, with a green door in the middle, which might have been regarded as its nose, and a window on each side thereof, which might have been considered its eyes. Its nose was, as we have said, painted green, and its eyes had green Venetian eyelids, which were half shut at the moment Captain Dunning walked up to it as if it were calmly contemplating that seaman's general appearance.

There was a small garden in front of the house, surrounded on three sides by a low fence. Captain Dunning pushed open the little gate, walked up to the nose of the house, and hit it several severe blows with his knuckles. The result was that the nose opened, and a servant-girl appeared in the gap.

"Is your mistress at home?" inquired the captain.

"Guess she is--both of 'em!" replied the girl.

"Tell both of 'em I'm here, then," said the captain, stepping into the little parlour without further ceremony; "and is my little girl in?"

"Yes, she's in."

"Then send her here too, an' look alive, lass." So saying, Captain Dunning sat down on the sofa, and began to beat the floor with his right foot somewhat impatiently.

In another second a merry little voice was heard in the passage, the door burst open, a fair-haired girl of about ten years of age sprang into the room, and immediately commenced to strangle her father in a series of violent embraces.

"Why, Ailie, my darling, one would think you had not seen me for fifty years at least," said the captain, holding his daughter at arm's-length, in order the more satisfactorily to see her.

"It's a whole week, papa, since you last came to see me," replied the little one, striving to get at her father's neck again, "and I'm sure it seems to me like a hundred years at least."

As the child said this she threw her little arms round her father, and kissed his large, weather-beaten visage all over--eyes, mouth, nose, chin, whiskers, and, in fact, every attainable spot. She did it so vigorously, too, that an observer would have been justified in expecting that her soft, delicate cheeks would be lacerated by the rough contact; but they were not. The result was a heightening of the colour, nothing more. Having concluded this operation, she laid her cheek on the captain's and endeavoured to clasp her hands at the back of his neck, but this was no easy matter. The captain's neck was a remarkably thick one, and the garments about that region were voluminous; however, by dint of determination, she got the small fingers intertwined, and then gave him a squeeze that ought to have choked him, but it didn't: many a strong man had tried that in his day, and had failed signally.

"You'll stay a long time with me before you go away to sea again, won't you, dear papa?" asked the child earnestly, after she had given up the futile effort to strangle him.

"How like!" murmured the captain, as if to himself, and totally unmindful of the question, while he parted the fair curls and kissed Ailie's forehead.

"Like what, papa?"

"Like your mother--your beloved mother," replied the captain, in a low, sad voice.

The child became instantly grave, and she looked up in her father's face with an expression of awe, while he dropped his eyes on the floor.

Poor Alice had never known a mother's love. Her mother died when she was a few weeks old, and she had been confided to the care of two maiden aunts--excellent ladies, both of them; good beyond expression; correct almost to a fault; but prim, starched, and extremely self-possessed and judicious, so much so that they were injudicious enough to repress some of the best impulses of their natures, under the impression that a certain amount of dignified formality was essential to good breeding and good morals in every relation of life.

Dear, good, starched Misses Dunning! if they had had their way, boys would have played cricket and football with polite urbanity, and girls would have kissed their playmates with gentle solemnity. They did their best to subdue little Alice, but that was impossible. The child _would_ rush about the house at all unexpected and often inopportune seasons, like a furiously insane kitten and she _would_ disarrange their collars too violently every evening when she bade them good-night.

Alice was intensely sympathetic. It was quite enough for her to see any one in tears, to cause her to open up the flood-gates of her eyes and weep--she knew not and she cared not why. She threw her arms round her father's neck again, and hugged him, while bright tears trickled like diamonds from her eyes. No diamonds are half so precious or so difficult to obtain as tears of genuine sympathy!

"How would you like to go with me to the whale-fishery?" inquired Captain Dunning, somewhat abruptly as he disengaged the child's arms and set her on his knee.

The tears stopped in an instant, as Alice leaped, with the happy facility of childhood, totally out of one idea and thoroughly into another.

"Oh, I should like it _so_ much!"

"And how much is `so' much, Ailie?" inquired the captain.

Ailie pursed her mouth, and looked at her father earnestly, while she seemed to struggle to give utterance to some fleeting idea.

"Think," she said quickly, "think something good _as much as ever you can_. Have you thought?"

"Yes," answered the captain, smiling.

"Then," continued Ailie, "its twenty thousand million times as much as that, and a great deal more!"

The laugh with which Captain Dunning received this curious explanation of how much his little daughter wished to go with him to the whale-fishery, was interrupted by the entrance of his sisters, whose sense of propriety induced them to keep all visitors waiting at least a quarter of an hour before they appeared, lest they should be charged with unbecoming precipitancy.

"Here you are, lassies; how are ye?" cried the captain as he rose and kissed each lady on the cheek heartily.

The sisters did not remonstrate. They knew that their brother was past hope in this respect, and they loved him, so they suffered it meekly.

Having admitted that they were well--as well, at least, as could be expected, considering the cataract of "trials" that perpetually descended upon their devoted heads--they sat down as primly as if their visitor were a perfect stranger, and entered into a somewhat lengthened conversation as to the intended voyage, commencing, of course, with the weather.

"And now," said the captain, rubbing the crown of his straw hat in a circular manner, as if it were a beaver, "I'm coming to the point."

Both ladies exclaimed, "What point, George?" simultaneously, and regarded the captain with a look of anxious surprise.

"_The_ point," replied the captain, "about which I've come here to-day. It ain't a point o' the compass; nevertheless, I've been steerin' it in my mind's eye for a considerable time past. The fact is" (here the captain hesitated), "I--I've made up my mind to take my little Alice along with me this voyage."

The Misses Dunning wore unusually tall caps, and their countenances were by nature uncommonly long, but the length to which they grew on hearing this announcement was something preternaturally awful.

"Take Ailie to sea!" exclaimed Miss Martha Dunning, in horror.

"To fish for whales!" added Miss Jane Dunning, in consternation.

"Brother, you're mad!" they exclaimed together, after a breathless pause; "and you'll do nothing of the kind," they added firmly.

Now, the manner in which the Misses Dunning received this intelligence greatly relieved their eccentric brother. He had fully anticipated, and very much dreaded, that they would at once burst into tears, and being a tender-hearted man he knew that he could not resist that without a hard struggle. A flood of woman's tears, he was wont to say, was the only sort of salt water storm he hadn't the heart to face. But abrupt opposition was a species of challenge which the captain always accepted at once--off-hand. No human power could force him to any course of action.

In this latter quality Captain Dunning was neither eccentric nor singular.

"I'm sorry you don't like my proposal, my dear sisters," said he; "but I'm resolved."

"You won't!" said Martha.

"You shan't!" cried Jane.

"I _will_!" replied the captain.

There was a pause here of considerable length, during which the captain observed that Martha's nostrils began to twitch nervously. Jane, observing the fact, became similarly affected. To the captain's practised eye these symptoms were as good as a barometer. He knew that the storm was coming, and took in all sail at once (mentally) to be ready for it.

It came! Martha and Jane Dunning were for once driven from the shelter of their wonted propriety--they burst simultaneously into tears, and buried their respective faces in their respective pocket-handkerchiefs, which were immaculately clean and had to be hastily unfolded for the purpose.

"Now, now, my dear girls," cried the captain, starting up and patting their shoulders, while poor little Ailie clasped her hands, sat down on a footstool, looked up in their faces--or, rather, at the backs of the hands which covered their faces--and wept quietly.

"It's very cruel, George--indeed it is," sobbed Martha; "you know how we love her."

"Very true," remarked the obdurate captain; "but you _don't_ know how _I_ love her, and how sad it makes me to see so little of her, and to think that she may be learning to forget me--or, at least," added the captain, correcting himself as Ailie looked at him reproachfully through her tears--"at least to do without me. I can't bear the thought. She's all I have left to me, and--"

"Brother," interrupted Martha, looking hastily up, "did you ever before hear of such a thing as taking a little girl on a voyage to the whale-fishing?"

"No, never," replied the captain; "what has that got to do with it?"

Both ladies held up their hands and looked aghast. The idea of any man venturing to do what no one ever thought of doing before was so utterly subversive of all their ideas of propriety--such a desperate piece of profane originality--that they remained speechless.

"George," said Martha, drying her eyes, and speaking in tones of deep solemnity, "did you ever read _Robinson Crusoe_?"

"Yes, I did, when I was a boy; an' that wasn't yesterday."

"And did you," continued the lady in the same sepulchral tone, "did you note how that man--that beacon, if I may use the expression, set up as a warning to deter all wilful boys and men from reckless, and wicked, and wandering, and obstreperous courses--did you note, I say, how that man, that beacon, was shipwrecked, and spent a dreary existence on an uninhabited and dreadful island, in company with a low, dissolute, black, unclothed companion called Friday?"

"Yes," answered the captain, seeing that she paused for a reply.

"And all," continued Martha, "in consequence of his resolutely and obstinately, and wilfully and wickedly going to sea?"

"Well, it couldn't have happened if he hadn't gone to sea, no doubt."

"Then," argued Martha, "will you, can you, George, contemplate the possibility of your only daughter coming to the same dreadful end?"

George, not exactly seeing the connection, rubbed his nose with his forefinger, and replied--"Certainly not."

"Then you are bound," continued Martha, in triumph, "by all that is upright and honourable, by all the laws of humanity and _propriety_, to give up this wild intention--and you _must_!"

"There!" cried Miss Jane emphatically, as if the argument were unanswerable--as indeed it was, being incomprehensible.

The last words were unfortunate. They merely riveted the captain's determination.

"You talk a great deal of nonsense, Martha," he said, rising to depart. "I've fixed to take her, so the sooner you make up your minds to it the better."

The sisters knew their brother's character too well to waste more time in vain efforts; but Martha took him by the arm, and said earnestly--"Will you promise me, my dear George, that when she comes back from this voyage, you will never take her on another?"

"Yes, dear sister," replied the captain, somewhat melted, "I promise that."

Without another word Martha sat down and held out her arms to Ailie, who incontinently rushed into them. Propriety fled for the nonce, discomfited. Miss Martha's curls were disarranged beyond repair, and Miss Martha's collar was crushed to such an extent that the very laundress who had washed and starched and ironed it would have utterly failed to recognise it. Miss Jane looked on at these improprieties in perfect indifference--nay, when, after her sister had had enough, the child was handed over to her, she submitted to the same violent treatment without a murmur. For once Nature was allowed to have her way, and all three had a good hearty satisfactory cry; in the midst of which Captain Dunning left them, and, proceeding on board his ship, hastened the preparations for his voyage to the Southern Seas.

CHAPTER THREE.

THE TEA-PARTY--ACCIDENTS AND INCIDENTS OF A MINOR KIND--GLYNN PROCTOR GETS INTO TROUBLE.

On the evening of the day in which the foregoing scenes were enacted, the Misses Dunning prepared a repast for their brother and one or two of his officers, who were to spend the last evening in port there, and discuss various important and unimportant matters in a sort of semi-convivio-business way.

An event of this kind was always of the deepest interest and productive of the most intense anxiety to the amiable though starched sisters; first, because it was of rare occurrence; and second, because they were never quite certain that it would pass without some unhappy accident, such as the upsetting of a tea-cup or a kettle, or the scalding of the cat, not to mention visitors' legs. They seemed to regard a tea-party in the light of a firearm--a species of blunderbuss--a thing which, it was to be hoped, would "go off well"; and, certainly, if loading the table until it groaned had anything to do with the manner of its "going off," there was every prospect of its doing so with pre-eminent success upon that occasion.

But besides the anxieties inseparable from the details of the pending festivities, the Misses Dunning were overwhelmed and weighed down with additional duties consequent upon their brother's sudden and unexpected determination. Little Ailie had to be got ready for sea by the following morning! It was absolute and utter insanity! No one save a madman or a sea-captain could have conceived such a thing, much less have carried it into effect tyrannically.

The Misses Dunning could not attempt any piece of duty or work separately. They always acted together, when possible; and might, in fact, without much inconvenience, have been born Siamese twins. Whatever Martha did, Jane attempted to do or to mend; wherever Jane went, Martha followed. Not, by any means, that one thought she could improve upon the work of the other; their conduct was simply the result of a desire to assist each other mutually. When Martha spoke, Jane echoed or corroborated; and when Jane spoke, Martha repeated her sentences word for word in a scarcely audible whisper--not after the other had finished, but during the course of the remarks.

With such dispositions and propensities, it is not a matter to be wondered at that the good ladies, while arranging the tea-table, should suddenly remember some forgotten article of Ailie's wardrobe, and rush simultaneously into the child's bedroom to rectify the omission; or, when thus engaged, be filled with horror at the thought of having left the buttered toast too near the fire in the parlour.

"It is really quite perplexing," said Martha, sitting down with a sigh, and regarding the tea-table with a critical gaze; "quite perplexing. I'm sure I don't know how I shall bear it. It is too bad of George-- darling Ailie--(dear me, Jane, how crookedly you have placed the urn)-- it is really too bad."

"Too bad, indeed; yes, isn't it?" echoed Jane, in reference to the captain's conduct, while she assisted Martha, who had risen to readjust the urn.

"Oh!" exclaimed Martha, with a look of horror.

"What?" cried Jane, who looked and felt equally horrified, although she knew not yet the cause.

"The eggs!"

"The eggs?"

"Yes, the eggs. You know every one of the last dozen we got was bad, and we've forgot to send for more," said Martha.

"For more; so we have!" cried Jane; and both ladies rushed into the kitchen, gave simultaneous and hurried orders to the servant-girl, and sent her out of the house impressed with an undefined feeling that life or death depended on the instant procuring of two dozen fresh eggs.

It may be as well to remark here, that the Misses Dunning, although stiff, and starched, and formal, had the power of speeding nimbly from room to room, when alone and when occasion required, without in the least degree losing any of their stiffness or formality, so that we do not use the terms "rush," "rushed," or "rushing" inappropriately. Nevertheless, it may also be remarked that they never acted in a rapid or impulsive way in company, however small in numbers or unceremonious in character the company might be--always excepting the servant-girl and the cat, to whose company, from long habit, they had become used, and therefore indifferent.

The sisters were on their knees, stuffing various articles into a large trunk, and Ailie was looking on, by way of helping, with very red and swollen eyes, and the girl was still absent in quest of eggs, when a succession of sounding blows were administered to the green door, and a number of gruff voices were heard conversing without.

"_There_!" cried Martha and Jane, with bitter emphasis, looking in each other's faces as if to say, "We knew it. Before that girl was sent away for these eggs, we each separately and privately prophesied that they would arrive, and that we should have to open the door. And you see, so it has happened, and we are not ready!"

But there was no time for remark. The case was desperate. Both sisters felt it to be so, and acted accordingly, while Ailie, having been forbidden to open the door, sat down on her trunk, and looked on in surprise. They sprang up, washed their hands simultaneously in the same basin, with the same piece of soap broken in two; dried them with the same towel, darted to the mirror, put on two identically similar clean tall caps, leaped down-stairs, opened the door with slow dignity of demeanour, and received their visitors in the hall with a calmness and urbanity of manner that contrasted rather strangely with their flushed countenances and heaving bosoms.

"Hallo! Ailie!" exclaimed the captain, as his daughter pulled down his head to be kissed. "Why, you take a fellow all aback, like a white squall. Are you ready, my pet? Kit stowed and anchor tripped? Come this way, and let us talk about it. Dear me, Martha, you and Jane--look as if you had been running a race, eh? Here are my messmates come to talk a bit with you. My sisters, Martha and Jane--Dr Hopley." (Dr Hopley bowed politely.) "My first mate, Mr Millons" (Mr Millons also bowed, somewhat loosely); "and Rokens--Tim Rokens, my chief harpooner." (Mr Rokens pulled his forelock, and threw back his left leg, apparently to counterbalance the bend in his body.) "He didn't want to come; said he warn't accustomed to ladies' society; but I told him you warn't ladies--a--I don't mean that--not ladies o' the high-flyin' fashionable sort, that give themselves airs, you know. Come along, Ailie."

While the captain ran on in this strain, hung up his hat, kissed Ailie, and ran his fingers through his shaggy locks, the Misses Dunning performed a mingled bow and courtsey to each guest as his name was mentioned, and shook hands with him, after which the whole party entered the parlour, where the cat was discovered enjoying a preliminary meal of its own at one of the pats of butter. A united shriek from Martha and Jane, a nautical howl from the guests, and a rolled-up pocket-handkerchief from Rokens sent that animal from the table as if it had received a galvanic shock.

"I ax yer parding, ladies," said Mr Rokens, whose aim had been so perfect that his handkerchief not only accelerated the flight of the cat, but carried away the violated pat of butter along with it. "I ax yer parding, but them brutes is sich thieves--I could roast 'em alive, so I could."

The harpooner unrolled his handkerchief, and picking the pat of butter from its folds with his fingers, threw it into the fire. Thereafter he smoothed down his hair, and seated himself on the extreme edge of a chair, as near the door as possible. Not that he had any intention whatever of taking to flight, but he deemed that position to be more suited to his condition than any other.

In a few minutes the servant-girl returned with the eggs. While she is engaged in boiling them, we shall introduce Captain Dunning's friends and messmates to the reader.

Dr Hopley was a surgeon, and a particular friend of the captain's. He was an American by birth, but had travelled so much about the world that he had ceased to "guess" and "calculate," and to speak through his nose. He was a man about forty, tall, big-boned, and muscular, though not fat; and besides being a gentlemanly man, was a good-natured, quiet creature, and a clever enough fellow besides, but he preferred to laugh at and enjoy the jokes and witticisms of others rather than to perpetrate any himself. Dr Hopley was intensely fond of travelling, and being possessed of a small independence, he indulged his passion to the utmost. He had agreed to go with Captain Dunning as the ship's doctor, simply for the sake of seeing the whale-fishery of the South Seas, having already, in a similar capacity, encountered the dangers of the North.

Dr Hopley had few weaknesses. His chief one was an extravagant belief in phrenology. We would not be understood to imply that phrenology is extravagant; but we assert that the doctor's belief in it was extravagant, assigning, as he did, to every real and ideal facility of the human mind "a local habitation and a name" in the cranium, with a corresponding depression or elevation of the surface to mark its whereabouts. In other respects he was a commonplace sort of a man.

Mr Millons, the first mate, was a short, hale, thick-set man, without any particularly strong points of character. He was about thirty-five, and possessed a superabundance of fair hair and whiskers, with a large, broad chin, a firm mouth, rather fierce-looking eyes, and a hasty, but by no means a bad temper. He was a trustworthy, matter-of-fact seaman, and a good officer, but not bright intellectually. Like most men of his class, his look implied that he did not under-estimate his own importance, and his tones were those of a man accustomed to command.

Tim Rokens was an old salt; a bluff, strong, cast-iron man, of about forty-five years of age, who had been at sea since he was a little boy, and would not have consented to live on dry land, though he had been "offered command of a seaport town all to himself," as he was wont to affirm emphatically. His visage was scarred and knotty, as if it had been long used to being pelted by storms--as indeed it had. There was a scar over his left eye and down his cheek, which had been caused by a slash from the cutlass of a pirate in the China Seas; but although it added to the rugged effect of his countenance, it did not detract from the frank, kindly expression that invariably rested there. Tim Rokens had never been caught out of temper in his life. Men were wont say he had no temper to lose. Whether this was true or no, we cannot presume to say, but certainly he never lost it. He was the best and boldest harpooner in Captain Dunning's ship, and a sententious deliverer of his private opinion on all occasions whatsoever. When we say that he wore a rough blue pilot-cloth suit, and had a large black beard, with a sprinkling of silver hairs in it, we have completed his portrait.

"What's come of Glynn?" inquired Captain Dunning, as he accepted a large cup of smoking tea with one hand, and with the other handed a plate of buttered toast to Dr Hopley, who sat next him.

"I really cannot imagine," replied Miss Martha.

"No, cannot imagine," whispered Miss Jane.

"He promised to come, and to be punctual," continued Miss Martha ("Punctual," whispered Miss J), "but something seems to have detained him. Perhaps--"

Here Miss Martha was brought to an abrupt pause by observing that Mr Rokens was about to commence to eat his egg with a teaspoon.

"Allow me, Mr Rokens," she said, handing that individual an ivory eggspoon.

"Oh, cer'nly, ma'am. By all means," replied Rokens, taking the spoon and handing it to Miss Jane, under the impression that it was intended for her.

"I beg pardon, it is for yourself, Mr Rokens," said Martha and Jane together.

"Thank'ee, ma'am," replied Rokens, growing red, as he began to perceive he was a little "off his course" somehow. "I've no occasion for _two_, an' this one suits me oncommon."

"Ah! you prefer big spoons to little ones, my man, don't you?" said Captain Dunning, coming to the rescue. "Let him alone, Martha, he's used to take care of himself. Doctor, can you tell me now, which is the easiest of digestion--a hard egg or a soft one?"

Thus appealed to, Dr Hopley paused a moment and frowned at the teapot, as though he were about to tax his brain to the utmost in the solution of an abstruse question in medical science.

"Well now," he replied, stirring his tea gently, and speaking with much deliberation, "that depends very much upon circumstances. Some digestions can manage a hard egg best, others find a soft one more tractable. And then the state of the stomach at the time of eating has to be taken into account. I should say now, that my little friend Ailie, here, to judge from the rosy colour of her cheeks, could manage hard or soft eggs equally well; couldn't you, eh?"

Ailie laughed, as she replied, "I'm sure I don't know, Doctor Hopley; but I _like_ soft ones best."

To this, Captain Dunning said, "Of course you do, my sensible little pet;" although it would be difficult to show wherein lay the sensibility of the preference, and then added--"There's Rokens, now; wouldn't you, doctor--judging from his rosy, not to say purple cheeks--conclude that he wasn't able to manage even two eggs of any kind?"

"Wot, _me_!" exclaimed Mr Rokens, looking up in surprise, as indeed he well might, having just concluded his fourth, and being about to commence his fifth egg, to the no small anxiety of Martha and Jane, into whose limited and innocent minds the possibility of such a feat had never entered. "Wot, _me_! Why, capting, if they was biled as hard as the head of a marline-spike--"

The expanding grin on the captain's face, and a sudden laugh from the mate, apprised the bold harpooner at this point of his reply that the captain was jesting, so he felt a little confused, and sought relief by devoting himself assiduously to egg Number 5.

It fared ill with Tim Rokens that evening that he had rashly entered into ladies' society, for he was a nervous man in refined company, though cool and firm as a grounded iceberg when in the society of his messmates, or when towing with the speed of a steamboat in the wake of a sperm-whale.

Egg Number 5 proved to be a bad one. Worse than that, egg Number 5 happened to belong to that peculiar class of bad eggs which "go off" with a little crack when hit with a spoon, and sputter their unsavoury contents around them. Thus it happened, that when Mr Rokens, feeling confused, and seeking relief in attention to the business then in hand, hit egg Number 5 a smart blow on the top, a large portion of its contents spurted over the fair white tablecloth, a small portion fell on Mr Rokens' vest, and a minute yellow globule thereof alighted on the fair Martha's hand, eliciting from that lady a scream, and as a matter of course, an echo from Jane in the shape of a screamlet.

Mr Rokens flushed a deep Indian-red, and his nose assumed a warm blue colour instantly.

"Oh! ma'am, I ax yer parding."

"Pray don't mention it--a mere accident. I'm so sorry you have got a bad--Oh!"

The little scream with which Miss Martha interrupted her remark was caused by Mr Rokens (who had just observed the little yellow globule above referred to) seizing her hand, and wiping away the speck with the identical handkerchief that had floored the cat and swept away the pat of butter. Immediately thereafter, feeling heated, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and unwittingly transferred the spot thereto in the form of a yellow streak, whereat Ailie and the first mate burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Even Miss Martha smiled, although she rather objected to jesting, as being a dangerous amusement, and never laughed at the weaknesses or misfortunes of others, however ludicrous they might be, when she could help it.

"How can you, brother?" she said, reproachfully, shaking her head at the captain, who was winking at the doctor with one eye in a most obstreperous manner. "Do try another egg, Mr Rokens; the others, I am sure, are fresh. I cannot imagine how a bad one came to be amongst them."

"Ah, try another, my lad," echoed the captain. "Pass 'em up this way, Mr Millons."

"By no manner o' means; I'll eat this 'un!" replied the harpooner, commencing to eat the bad egg with apparent relish. "I like 'em this way--better than nothin', anyhow. Bless ye, marm, ye've no notion wot sort o' things I've lived on aboard ship--"

Rokens came to an abrupt pause in consequence of the servant-girl, at a sign from her mistresses (for she always received duplicate orders), seizing his plate and carrying it off bodily. It was immediately replaced by a clean one and a fresh egg. While Rokens somewhat nervously tapped the head of Number 6, Miss Martha, in order to divert attention from him, asked Mr Millons if sea-fare was always salt junk and hard biscuit?

"Oh, no, madam," answered the first mate. "We've sometimes salt pork, and vegetables now and agin; and pea-soup, and plum-duff--"

"Plum-duff, Ailie," interrupted the captain, in order to explain, "is just a puddin' with few plums and fewer spices in it. Something like a white-painted cannon-shot, with brown spots on it here and there."

"Is it good?" inquired Ailie.

"Oh, ain't it!" remarked Mr Rokens, who had just concluded Number 6, and felt his self-possession somewhat restored. "Yes, miss, it is; but it ain't equal to whale's-brain fritters, it ain't; them's first-chop."

"Have whales got brains?" inquired Miss Martha, in surprise.

"Brains!" echoed Miss Jane, in amazement.

"Yes, madam, they 'ave," answered the first mate, who had hitherto maintained silence, but having finished tea was now ready for any amount of talk; "and what's more remarkable still, they've got several barrels of oil in their skulls besides."

"Dear me!" exclaimed the sisters.

"Yes, ladies, capital oil it is, too; fetches a 'igher price hin the markit than the other sort."

"By the bye, Millons, didn't you once fall into a whale's skull, and get nearly drowned in oil?" inquired the doctor.

"I did," answered the first mate, with the air of a man who regarded such an event as a mere trifle, that, upon consideration, might almost be considered as rather a pleasant incident than otherwise in one's history.

"Nearly drowned in oil!" exclaimed the sisters, while Ailie opened her eyes in amazement, and Mr Rokens became alarmingly purple in the face with suppressed chuckling.

"It's true," remarked Rokens, in a hoarse whisper to Miss Martha, putting his hand up to his mouth, the better to convey the sound to her ears; "I seed him tumble in, and helped to haul him out."

"Let's have the story, Millons," cried the captain, pushing forward his cup to be replenished; "It's so long since I heard it, that I've almost forgotten it. Another cup o' tea, Martha, my dear--not quite so strong as the last, and three times as sweet. I'll drink `Success to the cup that cheers, but don't inebriate.' Go ahead, Millons."

Nothing rejoiced the heart of Mr Millons more than being asked to tell a story. Like most men who are excessively addicted to the habit, his stories were usually very long and very dry; but he had a bluff good-natured way of telling them, that rendered his yarns endurable on shore, and positively desirable at sea. Fortunately for the reader, the story he was now requested to relate was not a long one.

"It ain't quite a _story_," he began--and in beginning he cleared his throat with emphasis, thrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, and tilted his chair on its hind-legs--"it ain't quite a story; it's a hanecdote, a sort of hincident, so to speak, and this is 'ow it 'appened:--

"Many years ago, w'en I was a very young man, or a big boy, I was on a voyage to the South Seas after whales. Tim Rokens was my messmate then, and has bin so almost ever since, off, and on." (Mr Rokens nodded assent to this statement.) "Well, we came up with a big whale, and fixed an iron cleverly in him at the first throw--"

"An iron?" inquired Miss Martha, to whose mind flat and Italian irons naturally occurred.

"Yes, madam, an iron; we call the 'arpoons irons. Well, away went the fish, like all alive! not down, but straight for'ard, takin' out the line at a rate that nearly set the boat on fire, and away we went along with it. It _was_ a chase, that. For six hours, off and on, we stuck to that whale, and pitched into 'im with 'arpoons and lances; but he seemed to have the lives of a cat--nothin' would kill 'im. At last the 'arpooner gave him a thrust in the life, an' up went the blood and water, and the fish went into the flurries, and came nigh capsizin' the boat with its tail as it lashed the water into foam. At last it gave in, and we had a four hours' pull after that, to tow the carcase to the ship, for there wasn't a cat's-paw of wind on the water.

"W'en we came alongside, we got out the tackles, and before beginning to flense (that means, ma'am, to strip off the blubber), we cut a hole in the top o' the skull to get out the oil that was there; for you must know that the sperm-whale has got a sort of 'ollow or big cavern in its 'ead, w'ich is full o' the best oil, quite pure, that don't need to be cleared, but is all ready to be baled out and stowed away in casks. Well, w'en the 'ole was cut in its skull I went down on my knees on the edge of it to peep in, when my knees they slipped on the blubber, and in I went 'ead-foremost, souse into the whale's skull, and began to swim for life in the oil.

"Of course I began to roar for 'elp like a bull, and Rokens there, 'oo 'appened to be near, 'e let down the hend of a rope, but my 'ands was so slippy with oil I couldn't ketch 'old of it; so 'e 'auls it up agin, and lets down a rope with a 'ook at the hend, and I got 'old of this and stuck it into the waistband o' my trousers, and gave the word, `'Eave away, my 'earties;' and sure enough so they did, and pulled me out in a trice. And that's 'ow it was; and I lost a suit o' clo's, for nothing on 'arth would take the oil out, and I didn't need to use pomatum for six months after."

"No more you did," cried Rokens, who had listened to the narrative with suppressed delight; "no more you did. I never see sich a glazed rat as you wos when you comed out o' that hole, in all my life; an' he wos jist like a eel; it wos all we could do to keep 'old on 'im, marm, he was so slippery."

While the captain was laughing at the incident, and Rokens was narrating some of the minute details in the half-unwilling yet half-willing ears of the sisters, the door opened, and a young man entered hastily and apologised for being late.

"The fact is, Miss Dunning, had I not promised faithfully to come, I should not have made my appearance at all to-night."

"Why, Glynn, what has kept you, lad?" interrupted the captain. "I thought you were a man of your word."

"Ay, that's the question, capting," said Rokens, who evidently regarded the new arrival with no favourable feelings; "it's always the way with them _gentlemen_ sailors till they're got into blue water and brought to their bearin's."

Mr Rokens had wisdom enough to give forth the last part of his speech in a muttered tone, for the youth was evidently a favourite with the captain, as was shown by the hearty manner in which he shook him by the hand.

"Messmates, this is Glynn Proctor, a friend o' mine," said Captain Dunning, in explanation: "he is going with us this voyage _before_ the mast, so you'll have to make the most of him as an equal to-night, for I intend to keep him in his proper place when afloat. He chooses to go as an ordinary seaman, against my advice, the scamp; so I'll make him keep his head as low as the rest when aboard. You'll to keep your time better, too, than you have done to-night, lad," continued the captain, giving his young friend a slap on the shoulder. "What has detained you, eh?"

"Necessity, captain," replied the youth, with a smile, as he sat down to table with an off-hand easy air that savoured of recklessness; "and I am prepared to state, upon oath if need be, that necessity is not `the mother of invention.' If she had been, she would have enabled me to invent a way of escape from my persecutors in time to keep my promise to Miss Dunning."

"Persecutors, Glynn!" exclaimed Martha; "to whom do you refer?"

"To the police of this good city."

"Police!" echoed the captain, regarding his young friend seriously, while the doctor and the first mate and Tim Rokens listened in some surprise.

"Why, the fact is," said Glynn, "that I have just escaped from the hands of the police, and if it had not been that I was obliged to make a very wide detour, in order to reach this house without being observed, I should have been here long ago."

"Boy, boy, your hasty disposition will bring you into serious trouble one of these days," said the captain, shaking his head. "What mischief have you been about?"

"Ay, there you go--it's my usual fate," cried Glynn, laughing. "If I chance to get into a scrape, you never think of inquiring whether it was my fault or my misfortune. This time, however, it _was_ my misfortune, and if Miss Dunning will oblige me with a cup of tea, I'll explain how it happened.

"Little more than two hours ago I left the ship to come here to tea, as I had promised to do. Nikel Sling, the long-legged cook you engaged this morning, went ashore with me. As we walked up the street together, I observed a big porter passing along with a heavy deal plank on his shoulder. The street was somewhat narrow and crowded at that part, and Sling had turned to look in at a shop-window just as the big fellow came up. The man shouted to my shipmate to get out o' the way, but the noise in the street prevented him from hearing. Before I could turn to touch the cook's arm, the fellow uttered an oath and ran the end of the plank against his head. Poor Sling was down in an instant. Before I well knew what I was about, I hit the porter between the eyes and down he went with a clatter, and the plank above him. In a moment three policemen had me by the collar. I tried to explain, but they wouldn't listen. As I was being hurried away to the lock-up, it flashed across me that I should not only lose my tea and your pleasant society this evening, but be prevented from sailing to-morrow, so I gave a sudden twist, tripped up the man on my left, overturned the one on my right, and bolted."

"They ran well, the rascals, and shouted like maniacs, but I got the start of 'em, dived down one street, up another, into a by-lane, over a back-garden wall, in at the back-door of a house and out at the front, took a round of two or three miles, and came in here from the west; and whatever other objections there may be to the whole proceeding, I cannot say that it has spoiled my appetite."

"And so, sir," said Captain Dunning, "you call this your `misfortune?'"

"Surely, captain," said Glynn, putting down his cup and looking up in some surprise--"surely, you cannot blame me for punishing the rascal who behaved so brutally, without the slightest provocation, to my shipmate!"

"Hear, hear!" cried Rokens involuntarily.

"I do blame you, lad," replied the captain seriously. "In the first place, you had no right to take the law into your own hands. In the second place, your knocking down the man did no good whatever to your shipmate; and in the third place, you've got yourself and me and the ship into a very unsatisfactory scrape."

Rokens' face, which had hitherto expressed approval of Glynn's conduct, began to elongate as the captain went on in this strain; and the youth's recklessness of manner altogether disappeared as inquired, "How so, captain? I have escaped, as you see; and poor Sling, of course, was not to blame, so he'll be all safe aboard, and well, I hope, by this time."

"There you're mistaken, boy. They will have secured Sling and made him tell the name of his ship, and also the name of his pugnacious comrade."

"And do you think he'd be so mean as to tell?" asked Glynn indignantly.

"You forget that the _first_ act in this nice little melodrama was the knocking down of Sling, so that he could not know what happened after, and the police would not be so soft as to tell him _why_ they wanted such information until after they had got it."

Poor Glynn looked aghast, and Rokens was overwhelmed.

"It seems to me, I'd better go and see about this," said Millons, rising and buttoning his coat with the air of a man who had business to transact and meant to transact it.

"Right, Millons," answered the captain. "I'm sorry to break up our evening so soon, but we must get this man aboard by hook or crook as speedily as possible. You had better go too, doctor. Rokens and I will take care of this young scamp, who must be made a nigger of in order to be got on board, for his face, once seen by these sharp limbs of justice, is not likely soon to be forgotten."

Glynn Proctor was indeed a youth whose personal appearance was calculated to make a lasting impression on most people. He was about eighteen years of age, but a strong, well-developed muscular frame, a firm mouth, a large chin, and an eagle eye, gave him the appearance of being much older. He was above the middle height, but not tall, and the great breadth of his shoulders and depth of his chest made him appear shorter than he really was. His hair was of that beautiful hue called nut-brown, and curled close round his well-shaped head. He was a model of strength and activity.

Glynn Proctor had many faults. He was hasty and reckless. He was unsteady, too, and preferred a roving idle life to a busy one; but he had redeeming qualities. He was bold and generous. Above all, he was unselfish, and therefore speedily became a favourite with all who knew him. Glynn's history is briefly told. He was an Englishman. His father and mother had died when he was a child, and left him in charge of an uncle, who emigrated to America shortly after his brother's death. The uncle was a good man, after a fashion, but he was austere and unlovable. Glynn didn't like him; so when he attained the age of thirteen, he quietly told him that he meant to bid him good-bye, and go seek his fortune in the world. The uncle as quietly told Glynn that he was quite right, and the sooner he went the better. So Glynn went, and never saw his uncle again, for the old man died while he was abroad.

Glynn travelled far and encountered many vicissitudes of fortune in his early wanderings; but he was never long without occupation, because men liked his looks, and took him on trial without much persuasion. To say truth, Glynn never took the trouble to persuade them. When his services were declined, he was wont to turn on his heel and walk away without a word of reply; and not unfrequently he was called back and employed. He could turn his hand to almost anything, but when he tired of it, he threw it up and sought other work elsewhere.

In the course of his peregrinations, he came to reside in the city in which our story finds him. Here he had become a compositor in the office of a daily newspaper, and, happening to be introduced to the Misses Dunning, soon became a favourite with them, and a constant visitor at their house. Thus he became acquainted with their brother. Becoming disgusted with the constant work and late hours of the printing-office, he resolved to join Captain Dunning's ship, and take a voyage to southern seas as an ordinary seaman. Glynn and little Alice Dunning were great friends, and it was a matter of extreme delight to both of them that they were to sail together on this their first voyage.

Having been made a nigger of--that is, having had his face and hands blackened in order to avoid detection--Glynn sallied forth with the captain and Rokens to return to their ship, the _Red Eric_, which lay in the harbour, not ten minutes' walk from the house.

They passed the police on the wharf without creating suspicion, and reached the vessel.

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE ESCAPE.

"Well, Millons, what news?" inquired the captain, as he stepped on deck.

"Bad news, sir, I fear" replied the first mate. "I found, on coming aboard, that no one knew anything about Sling, so I went ashore at once and 'urried up to the hospital, w'ere, sure enough, I found 'im lyin' with his 'ead bandaged, and lookin' as if 'e were about gone. They asked me if I knew what ship 'e belonged to, as the police wanted to know. So I told 'em I knew well enough, but I wasn't going to tell if it would get the poor fellow into a scrape.

"`Why don't you ask himself?' says I.

"They told me 'e was past speaking, so I tried to make 'im understand, but 'e only mumbled in reply. W'en I was about to go 'e seemed to mumble very 'ard, so I put down my ear to listen, and 'e w'ispered quite distinct tho' very low--`All right, my 'eartie. I'm too cute for 'em by a long way; go aboard an' say nothin'.' So I came away, and I've scarce been five minutes aboard before you arrived. My own opinion is, that 'e's crazed, and don't know what 'e's sayin'."

"Oh!" ejaculated Captain Dunning. "He said that, did he? Then _my_ opinion is, that he's not so crazed as you think. Tell the watch, Mr Millons, to keep a sharp look-out."

So saying, Captain Dunning descended to the cabin, and Rokens to the forecastle (in sea phraseology the "fok-sail"), while Glynn Proctor procured a basin and a piece of soap, and proceeded to rub the coat of charcoal off his face and hands.

Half-an-hour had not elapsed when the watch on deck heard a loud splash near the wharf, as if some one had fallen into the water. Immediately after, a confused sound of voices and rapid footsteps was heard in the street that opened out upon the quay, and in a few seconds the end of the wharf was crowded with men who shouted to each other, and were seen in the dim starlight to move rapidly about as if in search of something.

"Wot can it be?" said Tim Rokens in a low voice, to a seaman who leaned on the ship's bulwarks close to him.

"Deserter, mayhap," suggested the man.

While Rokens pondered the suggestion, a light plash was heard close to the ship's side, and a voice said, in a hoarse whisper, "Heave us a rope, will ye. Look alive, now. Guess I'll go under in two minits if ye don't."

"Oho!" exclaimed Rokens, in a low, impressive voice, as he threw over the end of a rope, and, with the aid of the other members of the watch, hauled Nikel Sling up the side, and landed him dripping and panting on the deck.

"W'y--Sling! what on airth--?" exclaimed one of the men.

"It's lucky--I am--on airth--" panted the tall cook, seating himself on the breech of one of the main-deck carronades, and wringing the water from his garments. "An' it's well I'm not at the bottom o' this 'ere 'arbour."

"But where did ye come from, an' why are they arter ye, lad?" inquired Rokens.

"W'y? 'cause they don't want to part with me, and I've gi'n them the slip, I guess."

When Nikel Sling had recovered himself so as to talk connectedly, he explained to his wondering shipmates how that, after being floored in the street, he had been carried up to the hospital, and on recovering his senses, found Mr Millons standing by the bedside, conversing with the young surgeons. The first words of their conversation showed him that something was wrong, so, with remarkable self-possession, he resolved to counterfeit partial delirium, by which means he contrived to give the first mate a hint that all was right, and declined, without creating suspicion, to give any intelligible answers as to who he was or where he had come from.

The blow on his head caused him considerable pain, but his mind was relieved by one of the young surgeons, who remarked to another, in going round the wards, that the "skull of that long chap wasn't fractured after all, and he had no doubt he would be dismissed cured in a day or two." So the cook lay quiet until it was dark.

When the house-surgeon had paid his last visit, and the nurses had gone their rounds in the accident-ward, and no sound disturbed the quiet of the dimly-lighted apartment save the heavy fitful breathing and occasional moans and restless motions of the sufferers, Nikel Sling raised himself on his elbow, and glanced stealthily round on the rows of pain-worn and haggard countenances around him. It was a solemn sight to look upon, especially at that silent hour of the night. There were men there with almost every species of painful wound and fracture. Some had been long there, wasting away from day to day, and now lay quiet, though suffering, from sheer exhaustion. Others there were who had been carried in that day, and fidgeted impatiently in their unreduced strength, yet nervously in their agony; or, in some cases, where the fear of death was on them, clasped their hands and prayed in whispers for mercy to Him whose name perhaps they had almost never used before except for the purpose of taking it in vain.

But such sights had little or no effect on the cook, who had rubbed hard against the world's roughest sides too long to be easily affected by the sight of human suffering, especially when exhibited in men. He paused long enough to note that the nurses were out of the way or dozing, and then slipping out of bed, he stalked across the room like a ghost, and made for the outer gateway of the hospital. He knew the way, having once before been a temporary inmate of the place. He reached the gate undiscovered, tripped up the porter's heels, opened the wicket, and fled towards the harbour, followed by the porter and a knot of chance passers-by. The pursuers swelled into a crowd as he neared the harbour.

Besides being long-limbed, Nikel Sling was nimble. He distanced his pursuers easily, and, as we have seen, swam off and reached his ship almost as soon as they gained the end of the wharf.

The above narration was made much more abruptly and shortly than we have presented it, for oars were soon heard in the water, and it behoved the poor hunted cook to secrete himself in case they should take a fancy to search the vessel. Just as the boat came within a few yards of the ship he hastily went below.

"Boat ahoy!" shouted Tim Rokens; "wot boat's that?"

The men lay on their oars.

"Have you a madman on board your ship?" inquired the gatekeeper of the hospital, whose wrath at the unceremonious treatment he had received had not yet cooled down.

"No," answered Rokens, laying his arms on the bulwarks, and looking down at his questioner with a sly leer; "no, we ha'n't, but you've got a madman aboord that boat."

"Who's that?" inquired the warder, who did not at first understand the sarcasm.

"Why, yourself, to be sure," replied Rokens, "an' the sooner you takes yourself off, an' comes to an anchor in a loo-natick asylum, the better for all parties consarned."

"No, but I'm in earnest, my man--"

"_As_ far as that goes," interrupted the imperturbable Rokens, "so am I."

"The man," continued the gatekeeper, "has run out of the hospital with a smashed head, I calc'late, stark starin' mad, and gone off the end o' the w'arf into the water--"

"You don't mean it!" shouted Rokens, starting with affected surprise. "Now you _are_ a fine fellow, ain't you, to be talkin' here an' wastin' time while a poor feller-mortal is bein' drownded, or has gone and swummed off to sea--p'r'aps without chart, compass, or rudder! Hallo, lads! tumble up there! Man overboard! tumble up, tumble up!"

In less than three minutes half-a-dozen men sprang up the hatchway, hauled up the gig which swung astern, tumbled into it, and began to pull wildly about the harbour in search of the drowning man. The shouts and commotion roused the crews of the nearest vessels, and ere long quite a fleet of boats joined in the search.

"Wos he a big or a little feller?" inquired Rokens, panting from his exertions, as he swept up to the boat containing the hospital warder, round which several of the other boats began to congregate.

"A big fellow, I guess, with legs like steeples. He was sloping when they floored him. A thief, I expect he must ha' bin."

"A thief!" echoed Rokens, in disgust; "why didn't ye say, so at first? If he's a thief, he's born to be hanged, so he's safe and snug aboard his ship long ago, I'll be bound. Good-night t'ye, friend, and better luck next time."

A loud laugh greeted the ears of the discomfited warder as the crews of the boats dipped their oars in the water and pulled towards, their respective ships.

Next morning, about daybreak, little Alice Dunning came on board her father's ship, accompanied by her two aunts, who, for once, became utterly and publicly regardless of appearances and contemptuous of all propriety, as they sobbed on the child's neck and positively refused to be comforted.

Just as the sun rose, and edged the horizon with a gleam of liquid fire, the _Red Eric_ spread her sails and stood out to sea.

CHAPTER FIVE.

DAY DREAMS AND ADVENTURES AMONG THE CLOUDS--A CHASE, A BATTLE, AND A VICTORY.

Early morning on the ocean! There is poetry in the idea; there is music in the very sound. As there is nothing new under the sun, probably a song exists with this or a similar title; if not, we now recommend it earnestly to musicians.

Ailie Dunning sat on the bulwarks of the _Red Eric_, holding on tightly by the mizzen-shrouds, and gazing in open-eyed, open-mouthed, inexpressible delight upon the bright calm sea. She was far, far out upon the bosom of the Atlantic now. Sea-sickness--which during the first part of the voyage, had changed the warm pink of her pretty face into every imaginable shade of green--was gone, and the hue of health could not now be banished even by the rudest storm. In short, she had become a thorough sailor, and took special delight in turning her face to windward during the wild storm, and drinking-in the howling blast as she held on by the rigid shrouds, and laughed at the dashing spray--for little Ailie was not easily frightened. Martha and Jane Dunning had made it their first care to implant in the heart of their charge a knowledge of our Saviour's love, and especially of His tenderness towards, and watchful care over, the lambs of His flock. Besides this, little Ailie was naturally of a trustful disposition. She had implicit confidence in the strength and wisdom of her father, and it never entered into her imagination to dream that it was possible for any evil to befall the ship which _he_ commanded.

But, although Ailie delighted in the storm, she infinitely preferred the tranquil beauty and rest of a "great calm," especially at the hour just before sunrise, when the freshness, brightness, and lightness of the young day harmonised peculiarly with her elastic spirit. It was at this hour that we find her alone upon the bulwarks of the _Red Eric_.

There was a deep, solemn stillness around, that irresistibly and powerfully conveyed to her mind the idea of rest. The long, gentle undulation of the deep did not in the least detract from this idea. So perfect was the calm, that several masses of clouds in the sky, which shone with the richest saffron light, were mirrored in all their rich details as if in a glass. The faintest possible idea of a line alone indicated, in one direction, where the water terminated and the sky began. A warm golden haze suffused the whole atmosphere, and softened the intensity of the deep-blue vault above.

There was, indeed, little variety of object to gaze upon--only the water and the sky. But what a world of delight did not Ailie find in that vast sky and that pure ocean, that reminded her of the sea of glass before the great white throne, of which she had so often read in Revelation. The towering masses of clouds were so rich and thick, that she almost fancied them to be mountains and valleys, rocks and plains of golden snow. Nay, she looked so long and so ardently at the rolling mountain heights in the sky above, and their magical counterparts in the sky below, that she soon, as it were, _thought herself into_ Fairyland, and began a regular journey of adventures therein.

Such a scene at such an hour is a source of gladsome, peaceful delight to the breast of man in every stage of life; but it is a source of unalloyed, bounding, exhilarating, romantic, unspeakable joy only in the years of childhood, when the mind looks hopefully forward, and before it has begun--as, alas! it must begin, sooner or later--to gaze regretfully back.

How long Ailie would have sat in motionless delight it is difficult to say. The man at the wheel having nothing to do, had forsaken his post, and was leaning over the stern, either lost in reverie, or in a vain effort to penetrate with his vision the blue abyss to the bottom. The members of the watch on deck were either similarly engaged or had stowed themselves away to sleep in quiet corners among blocks and cordage. No one seemed inclined to move or speak, and she would probably have sat there immovable for hours to come, had not a hand fallen gently on her shoulder, and by the magic of its simple contact scattered the bright dreams of Fairyland as the finger-touch destroys the splendour of the soap-bubble.

"Oh! Glynn," exclaimed Ailie, looking round and heaving a deep sigh; "I've been away--far, far away--you can't believe how far."

"Away, Ailie! Where have you been?" asked Glynn, patting the child's head as he leaned over the gunwale beside her.

"In Fairyland. Up in the clouds yonder. Out and in, and up and down. Oh, you've no idea. Just look." She pointed eagerly to an immense towering cloud that rose like a conspicuous landmark in the centre of the landscape of the airy world above. "Do you see that mountain?"

"Yes, Ailie; the one in the middle, you mean, don't you? Yes, well?"

"Well," continued the child, eagerly and hurriedly, as if she feared to lose the thread of memory that formed the warp and woof of the delicate fabric she had been engaged in weaving; "well, I began there; I went in behind it, and I met a fairy--not really, you know, but I tried to think I met one, so I began to speak to her, and then I made her speak to me, and her voice was so small and soft and sweet. She had on silver wings, and a star--a bright star in her forehead--and she carried a wand with a star on the top of it too. So I asked her to take me to see her kingdom, and I made her say she would--and, do you know, Glynn, I really felt at last as if she didn't wait for me to tell her what to say, but just went straight on, answering my questions, and putting questions to me in return. Wasn't it funny?

"Well, we went on, and on, and on--the fairy and me--up one beautiful mountain of snow and down another, talking all the time so pleasantly, until we came to a great dark cave; so I made up my mind to make a lion come out of it; but the fairy said, `No, let it be a bear;' and immediately a great bear came out. Wasn't it strange? It really seemed as if the fairy had become real, and could do things of her own accord."

The child paused at this point, and looking with an expression of awe into her companion's face, said--"Do you think, Glynn, that people can _think_ so hard that fairies _really_ come to them?"

Glynn looked perplexed.

"No, Ailie, I suspect they can't--not because we can't think hard enough, but because there are no fairies to come."

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry!" replied the child sadly.

"Why?" inquired Glynn.

"Because I love them _so_ much--of course, I mean the good ones. I don't like the bad ones--though they're very useful, because they're nice to kill, and punish, and make examples of, and all that, when the good ones catch them."

"So they are," said the youth, smiling. "I never thought of that before. But go on with your ramble in the clouds."

"Well," began Ailie; "but where was I?"

"Just going to be introduced to a bear."

"Oh yes; well--the bear walked slowly away, and then the fairy called out an elephant, and after that a 'noceros--"

"A 'noceros!" interrupted Glynn; "what's that?"

"Oh, you know very well. A beast with a thick skin hanging in folds, and a horn on its nose--"

"Ah, a _rhi_noceros--I see. Well, go on, Ailie."

"Then the fairy told a camel to appear, and after that a monkey, and then a hippopotamus, and they all came out one after another, and some of them went away, and others began to fight. But the strangest thing of all was, that every one of them was _so_ like the pictures of wild beasts that are hanging in my room at home! The elephant, too, I noticed, had his trunk broken exactly the same way as my toy elephant's one was. Wasn't it odd?"

"It was rather odd," replied Glynn; "but where did you go after that?"

"Oh, then we went on, and on again, until we came to--"

"It's your turn at the wheel, lad, ain't it?" inquired Mr Millons, coming up at that moment, and putting an abrupt termination to the walk in Fairyland.

"It is, sir," answered Glynn, springing quickly to the wheel, and relieving the man who had been engaged in penetrating the ocean's depths.

The mate walked forward; the released sailor went below, and Ailie was again left to her solitary meditations;--for she was enough of a sailor now, in heart, to know that she ought not to talk too much to the steersman, even though the weather should be calm and there was no call for his undivided attention to the duties of his post.

While Nature was thus, as it were, asleep, and the watch on deck were more than half in the same condition, there was one individual in the ship whose faculties were in active play, whose "steam," as he himself would have remarked, "was up." This was the worthy cook, Nikel Sling, whose duties called him to his post at the galley-fire at an early hour each day.

We have often thought that a cook's life must be one of constant self-denial and exasperation of spirit. Besides the innumerable anxieties in reference to such important matters as boiling over and over-boiling, being done to a turn, or over-done, or singed or burned, or capsized, he has the diurnal misery of being the first human being in his little circle of life, to turn out of a morning, and must therefore experience the discomfort--the peculiar discomfort--of finding things as _they were left_ the night before. Any one who does not know what that discomfort is, has only to rise an hour before the servants of a household, whether at sea or on shore, to find out. Cook, too, has generally, if not always, to light the fire; and that, especially in frosty weather, is not agreeable. Moreover, cook roasts _himself_ to such an extent, and at meal-times, in nine cases out of ten, gets into such physical and mental perturbation, that he cannot possibly appreciate the luxuries he has been occupied all the day in concocting. Add to this, that he spends all the morning in preparing breakfast; all the forenoon in preparing dinner; all the afternoon in preparing tea and supper, and all the evening in clearing up, and perhaps all the night in dreaming of the meals of the following day, and mentally preparing breakfast, and we think that we have clearly proved the truth of the proposition with which we started--namely, that a cook's life must be one of constant self-denial and exasperation of spirit.

But this is by the way, and was merely suggested by the fact that, while all other creatures were enjoying either partial or complete repose, Nikel Sling was washing out pots and pans and kettles, and handling murderous-looking knives and two-pronged tormentors with a demoniacal activity that was quite appalling.

Beside him, on a little stool close to the galley-fire, sat Tim Rokens-- not that Mr Rokens was cold--far from it. He was, to judge from appearances, much hotter than was agreeable. But Tim had come there and sat down to light his pipe, and being rather phlegmatic when not actively employed, he preferred to be partially roasted for a few minutes to getting up again.

"We ought," remarked Tim Rokens, puffing at a little black pipe which seemed inclined to be obstinate, "we ought to be gittin' among the fish by this time. Many's the one I've seed in them 'ere seas."

"I rather guess we should," replied the cook, pausing the midst of his toils and wiping the perspiration from his forehead with an immense bundle of greasy oakum. "But I've seed us keep dodgin' about for weeks, I have, later in the year than this, without clappin' eyes on a fin. What sort o' baccy d'ye smoke, Rokens?"

"Dun know. Got it from a Spanish smuggler for an old clasp-knife. Why?"

"Cause it smells like rotten straw, an' won't improve the victuals. Guess you'd better take yourself off, old chap."

"Wot a cross-grained crittur ye are," said Rokens, as he rose to depart.

At that moment there was heard a cry that sent the blood tingling to the extremities of every one on board the _Red Eric_.

"Thar she blows! thar she blows!" shouted the man in the crow's-nest.

The crow's-nest is a sort of cask, or nest, fixed at the top of the mainmast of whale-ships, in which a man is stationed all day during the time the ships are on the fishing-ground, to look out for whales; and the cry, "Thar she blows," announced the fact that the look-out had observed a whale rise to the surface and blow a spout of steamy water into the air.

No conceivable event--unless perhaps the blowing-up of the ship itself-- could have more effectually and instantaneously dissipated the deep tranquillity to which we have more than once referred. Had an electric shock been communicated through the ship to each individual, the crew could not have been made to leap more vigorously and simultaneously. Many days before, they had begun to expect to see whales. Every one was therefore on the _qui vive_, so that when the well-known signal rang out like a startling peal in the midst of the universal stillness, every heart in the ship leaped in unison.

Had an observant man been seated at the time in the forecastle, he would have noticed that from out of the ten or fifteen hammocks that swung from the beams, there suddenly darted ten or fifteen pairs of legs which rose to the perpendicular position in order to obtain leverage to "fetch way." Instantly thereafter the said legs descended, and where the feet had been, ten or fifteen heads appeared. Next moment the men were "tumbling up" the fore-hatch to the deck, where the watch had already sprung to the boat-tackles.

"Where away?" sang out Captain Dunning who was among the first on deck.

"Off the weather bow, sir, three points."

"How far?"

"About two miles. Thar she blows!"

"Call all hands," shouted the captain.

"Starboard watch, ahoy!" roared the mate, in that curious hoarse voice peculiar to boatswains of men-of-war. "Tumble up, lads, tumble up! Whale in sight! Bear a hand, my hearties!"

The summons was almost unnecessary. The "starboard watch" was--with the exception of one or two uncommonly heavy sleepers--already on deck pulling on its ducks and buckling its belts.

"Thar she breaches, thar she blows!" again came from the crow's-nest in the voice of a Stentor.

"Well done, Dick Barnes, you're the first to raise the oil," remarked one of the men, implying by the remark that the said Dick was fortunate enough to be the first to sight a whale.

"Where away now?" roared the captain, who was in a state of intense excitement.

"A mile an' a half to leeward, sir."

"Clear away the boats," shouted the captain.

"Masthead, ahoy! D'ye see that whale now?"

"Ay, ay, sir. Thar she blows!"

"Bear a hand, my hearties," cried the captain, as the men sprang to the boats which were swinging at the davits. "Get your tubs in! Clear your falls! Look alive, lads! Stand-by to lower! All ready?"

"All ready, sir."

"Thar she blows!" came again from the masthead with redoubled energy. "Sperm-whales, sir; there's a school of 'em."

"A _school_ of them!" whispered Ailie, who had left her post at the mizzen-shrouds, and now stood by her father's side, looking on at the sudden hubbub in unspeakable amazement. "Do whales go to school?" she said, laughing.

"Out of the road, Ailie, my pet," cried her father hastily. "You'll get knocked over. Lower away, lads, lower away!"

Down went the starboard, larboard, and waist-boats as if the falls had been cut, and almost before you could wink the men literally tumbled over the side into them, took their places, and seized their oars.

"Here, Glynn, come with me, and I'll show you a thing or two," said the captain. "Jump in, lad; look sharp."

Glynn instantly followed his commander into the starboard boat, and took the aft oar. Tim Rokens, being the harpooner of that boat, sat at the bow oar with his harpoons and lances beside him, and the whale-line coiled in a tub in the boat's head. The captain steered.

And now commenced a race that taxed the boats' crews to the utmost; for it is always a matter keenly contested by the different crews, who shall fix the first harpoon in the whale. The larboard boat was steered by Mr Millons, the first mate; the waist-boat by Mr Markham, the second mate--the latter an active man of about five-and-twenty, whose size and physical strength were herculean, and whose disposition was somewhat morose and gloomy.

"Now, lads, give way! That's it! that's the way. Bend your backs, now! _do_ bend your backs," cried the captain, as the three boats sprang from the ship's side and made towards the nearest whale, with the white foam curling at their bow.

Several more whales appeared in sight spouting in all directions, and the men were wild with excitement.

"That's it! Go it lads!" shouted Mr Millons, as the waist-boat began to creep ahead. "Lay it on! give way! What d'ye say, boys; shall we beat 'em?"

Captain Dunning stood in the stern-sheets of the starboard boat, almost dancing with excitement as he heard these words of encouragement.

"Give way, boys!" he cried. "They can't do it! That whale's ours--so it is. Only bend your backs! A steady pull! Pull like steam-tugs! That's it! Bend the oars! Double 'em up! Smash 'em in bits, _do_!"

Without quite going the length of the captain's last piece of advice, the men did their work nobly. They bent their strong backs with a will, and strained their sinewy arms to the utmost. Glynn, in particular, to whom the work was new, and therefore peculiarly exciting and interesting, almost tore the rowlocks out of the boat in his efforts to urge it on, and had the oar not been made of the toughest ash, there is no doubt that he would have obeyed the captain's orders literally and have smashed it in bits.

On they flew like racehorses. Now one boat gained an inch on the others, then it lost ground again as the crew of another put forth additional energy, and the three danced over the glassy sea as if the inanimate planks had been suddenly endued with life, and inspired with the spirit that stirred the men.

A large sperm-whale lay about a quarter of a mile ahead, rolling lazily in the trough of the sea. Towards this the starboard boat now pulled with incredible speed, leaving the other two gradually astern. A number of whales rose in various directions. They had got into the midst of a shoal, or school of them, as the whale-men term it; and as several of these were nearer the other boats than the first whale was, they diverged towards them.

"There go flukes," cried Rokens, as the whale raised its huge tail in the air and "sounded"--in other words, dived. For a few minutes the men lay on their oars, uncertain in what direction the whale would come up again; but their doubts were speedily removed by its rising within a few yards of the boat.

"Now, Rokens," cried the captain; "now for it; give him the iron. Give way, lads; spring, boys. Softly now, softly."

In another instant the boat's bow was on the whale's head, and Rokens buried a harpoon deep in its side.

"Stern all!" thundered the captain.

The men obeyed, and the boat was backed off the whale just in time to escape the blow of its tremendous flukes as it dived into the sea, the blue depths of which were instantly dyed red with the blood that flowed in torrents from the wound.

Down it went, carrying out the line at a rate that caused the chocks through which it passed to smoke. In a few minutes the line ceased to run out, and the whale returned to the surface. It had scarcely showed its nose, when the slack of the line was hauled in, and a second harpoon was fixed in its body.

Infuriated with pain, the mighty fish gave vent to a roar like a bull, rolled half over, and lashed the sea with his flukes, till, all round for many yards, it was churned into red slimy foam. Then he turned round, and dashed off with the speed of a locomotive engine, tearing the boat through the waves behind it, the water curling up like a white wall round the bows.

"She won't stand that long," muttered Glynn Proctor, as he rested on his oar, and looked over his shoulder at the straining line.

"That she will, boy," said the captain; "and more than that, if need be. You'll not be long of havin' a chance of greasin' your fingers, I'll warrant."

In a few minutes the speed began to slacken, and after a time they were able to haul in on the line. When the whale again came to the surface, a third harpoon was cleverly struck into it, and a spout of blood from its blow-hole showed that it was mortally wounded. In throwing the harpoon, Tim Rokens slipped his foot, and went down like a stone head-foremost into the sea. He came up again like a cork, and just as the boat flew past fortunately caught hold of Glynn Proctor's hand. It was well that the grasp was a firm one, for the strain on their two arms was awful. In another minute Tim was in his place, ready with his lance to finish off the whale at its next rise.

Up it came again, foaming, breaching, and plunging from wave to wave, flinging torrents of blood and spray into the air. At one moment he reared his blunt gigantic head high above the sea; the next he buried his vast and quivering carcase deep in the gory brine, carrying down with him a perfect whirlpool of red foam. Then he rose again and made straight for the boat. Had he known his own power, he might have soon terminated the battle, and come off the victor, but fortunately he did not. Tim Rokens received his blunt nose on the point of his lance, and drove him back with mingled fury and terror. Another advance was made, and a successful lance-thrust delivered.

"That's into his life," cried the captain.

"So it is," replied Rokens.

And so it was. A vital part had been struck. For some minutes the huge leviathan lashed and rolled and tossed in the trembling waves in his agony, while he spouted up gallons of blood with every throe; then he rolled over on his back, and lay extended a lifeless mass upon the waters.

"Now, lads; three cheers for our first whale. Hip! hip! hip!--"

The cheer that followed was given with all the energy and gusto inspired by a first victory, and it was repeated again and again, and over again, before the men felt themselves sufficiently relieved to commence the somewhat severe and tedious labour of towing the carcase to the ship.

It was a hard pull, for the whale had led them a long chase, and as the calm continued, those left aboard could not approach to meet the boats. The exhausted men were cheered, however, on getting aboard late that night, to find that the other boats had been equally successful, each of them having captured a sperm-whale.

CHAPTER SIX.

DISAGREEABLE CHANGES--SAGACIOUS CONVERSATIONS, AND A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT.

A striking and by no means a pleasant change took place in the general appearance of the _Red Eric_ immediately after the successful chase detailed in the last chapter.

Before the arrival of the whales the decks had been beautifully clean and white, for Captain Dunning was proud of his ship, and fond of cleanliness and order. A few hours after the said arrival the decks were smeared with grease, oil, and blood, and everything from stem to stern became from that day filthy and dirty.

This was a sad change to poor Ailie, who had not imagined it possible that so sudden and disagreeable an alteration could take place. But there was no help for it; the duties of the fishery in which they were engaged required that the whales should not only be caught, but cut up, boiled down to oil, and stowed away in the hold in casks.

If the scene was changed for the worse a few hours after the cutting-up operations were begun, it became infinitely more so when the _try-works_ were set going, and the melting-fires were lighted, and huge volumes of smoke begrimed the masts, and sails, and rigging. It was vain to think of clearing up; had they attempted that, the men would have been over-tasked without any good being accomplished. There was only one course open to those who didn't like it, and that was--to "grin and bear it."

"Cutting out" and "trying in" are the terms used by whale-men to denote the processes of cutting off the flesh or "blubber" from the whale's carcase, and reducing it to oil.

At an early hour on the following morning the first of these operations was commenced.

Ailie went about the decks, looking on with mingled wonder, interest, and disgust. She stepped about gingerly, as if afraid of coming in contact with slimy objects, and with her nose and mouth screwed up after the fashion of those who are obliged to endure bad smells. The expression of her face under the circumstances was amusing.

As for the men, they went about their work with relish, and total indifference as to consequences.

When the largest whale had been hauled alongside, ropes were attached to his head and tail, and the former was secured near the stern of the ship, while the latter was lashed to the bow; the cutting-tackle was then attached. This consisted of an arrangement of pulleys depending from the main-top, with a large blubber-hook at the end thereof. The cutting was commenced at the neck, and the hook attached; then the men hove on the windlass, and while the cutting was continued in a spiral direction round the whale's body, the tackle raised the mass of flesh until it reached the fixed blocks above. This mass, when it could be hauled up no higher, was then cut off, and stowed away under the name of a "blanket-piece." It weighed upwards of a ton. The hook being lowered and again attached, the process was continued until the whole was cut off. Afterwards, the head was severed from the body and hoisted on board, in order that the oil contained in the hollow of it might be baled out.

From the head of the first whale ten barrels of oil were obtained. The blubber yielded about eighty barrels.

When the "cutting out" was completed, and the remnants of bone and flesh were left to the sharks which swarmed round the vessel, revelling in their unusually rich banquet, the process of "trying in" commenced. "Trying in" is the term applied to the melting of the fat and the stowing of it away in barrels in the form of oil; and an uncommonly dirty process it is. The large "blanket-pieces" were cut into smaller portions, and put into the try-pots, which were kept in constant operation. At night the ship had all the appearance of a vessel on fire, and the scene on deck was particularly striking and unearthly.

One night several of the men were grouped on and around the windlass, chatting, singing, and "spinning yarns." Ailie Dunning stood near them, lost in wonder and admiration; for the ears and eyes of the child were assailed in a manner never before experienced or dreamed of even in the most romantic mood of cloud-wandering.

It was a very dark night, darker than usual, and not a breath of wind ruffled the sea, which was like a sheet of undulating glass--for, be it remembered, there is no such thing at any time as absolute stillness in the ocean. At all times, even in the profoundest calm, the long, slow, gentle swell rises and sinks with unceasing regularity, like the bosom of a man in deep slumber.

Dense clouds of black smoke and occasional lurid sheets of flame rose from the try-works, which were situated between the foremast and the main-hatch. The tops of the masts were lost in the curling smoke, and the black waves of the sea gleamed and flashed in the red light all round the ship. One man stood in front of the melting-pot, pitching in pieces of blubber with a two-pronged pitchfork. Two comrades stood by the pots, stirring up their contents, and throwing their figures into wild uncouth attitudes, while the fire glared in their greasy faces, and converted the front of their entire persons into deep vermilion.

The oil was hissing in the try-pots; the rough weather-beaten faces of the men on the windlass were smeared, and their dirty-white ducks saturated, with oil. The decks were blood-stained; huge masses of flesh and blubber lay scattered about; sparks flew upwards in splendid showers as the men raked up the fires; the decks, bulwarks, railings, try-works, and windlass were covered with oil and slime, and glistening in the red glare. It was a terrible, murderous-looking scene, and filled Ailie's mind with mingled feelings of wonder, disgust, and awe, as she leaned on a comparatively clean spot near the foremast, listening to the men and gazing at the rolling smoke and flames.

"Ain't it beautiful?" said a short, fat little seaman named Gurney, who sat swinging his legs on the end of the windlass, and pointed, as he spoke, with the head of his pipe to a more than usually brilliant burst of sparks and flame that issued that moment from the works.

"Beautiful!" exclaimed a long-limbed, shambling fellow named Jim Scroggles, "why, that ain't the word at all. Now, I calls it splendiferous."

Scroggles looked round at his comrades, as if to appeal to their judgment as to the fitness of the word, but not receiving any encouragement, he thrust down the glowing tobacco in his pipe with the end of his little finger, and reiterated the word "splendiferous" with marked emphasis.

"Did ye ever see that word in Johnson?" inquired Gurney.

"Who's Johnson?" said Scroggles, contemptuously.

"Wot, don't ye know who Johnson is?" cried Gurney, in surprise.

"In course I don't; how should I?" retorted Scroggles. "There's ever so many Johnsons in the world; which on 'em all do you mean?"

"Why, I mean Johnson wot wrote the diksh'nary--the great lexikragofer."

"Oh, it's _him_ you mean, is it? In course I've knowed him ever since I wos at school."

A general laugh interrupted the speaker.

"At school!" cried Nickel Sling, who approached the group at that moment with a carving knife in his hand--he seldom went anywhere without an instrument of office in his hand--"At school! Wal now, that beats creation. If ye wos, I'm sartin ye only larned to forgit all ye orter to have remembered. I'd take a bet now, ye wosn't at school as long as I've been settin' on this here windlass."

"Yer about right, Sling, it 'ud be unpossible for me to be as _long_ as you anywhere, 'cause everybody knows I'm only five fut two, whereas you're six fut four!"

"Hear, hear!" shouted Dick Barnes--a man with a huge black beard, who the reader may perhaps remember was the first to "raise the oil." "It'll be long before you make another joke like that, Gurney. Come, now, give us a song, Gurney, do; there's the cap'n's darter standin' by the foremast, a-waitin' to hear ye. Give us `Long, long ago.'"

"Ah! that's it, give us a song," cried the men. "Come, there's a good fellow."

"Well, it's so long ago since I sung that song, shipmates," replied Gurney, "that I've bin and forgot it; but Tim Rokens knows it; where's Rokens?"

"He's in the watch below."

In sea parlance, the men whose turn it is to take rest after their long watch on deck are somewhat facetiously said to belong to the "watch below."

"Ah! that's a pity; so we can't have that 'ere partickler song. But I'll give ye another, if ye don't object."

"No, no. All right; go ahead, Gurney! Is there a chorus to it?"

"Ay, in course there is. Wot's a song without a chorus? Wot's plum-duff without the plums? Wot's a ship without a 'elm? It's my opinion, shipmates, that a song without a chorus is no better than it should be. It's wus nor nothin'. It puts them wot listens in the blues an' the man wot sings into the stews--an' sarve him right. I wouldn't, no, I wouldn't give the fag-end o' nothin' mixed in bucket o' salt water for a song without a chorus--that's flat; so here goes."

Having delivered himself of these opinions in an extremely vigorous manner, and announced the fact that he was about to begin, Gurney cleared his throat and drew a number of violent puffs from his pipe in quick succession, in order to kindle that instrument into a glow which would last through the first verse and the commencement of the chorus. This he knew was sufficient, for the men, when once fairly started on the chorus, would infallibly go on to the end with or without his assistance, and would therefore afford him time for a few restorative whiffs.

"It hain't got no name, lads."

"Never mind, Gurney--all right--fire away."

"Oh, I once know'd a man as hadn't got a nose,
An' this is how he come to hadn't--
One cold winter night he went and got it froze--
By the pain he was well-nigh madden'd.
(_Chorus_.) Well-nigh madden'd,
By the pain he was well-nigh madden'd.

"Next day it swoll up as big as my head,
An' it turn'd like a piece of putty;
It kivered up his mouth, oh, yes, so it did,
So he could not smoke his cutty.
(_Chorus_.) Smoke his cutty,
So he could not smoke his cutty.

"Next day it grew black, and the next day blue,
An' tough as a junk of leather;
(Oh! he yelled, so he did, fit to pierce ye through)--
An' then it fell off altogether!
(_Chorus_.) Fell off altogether,
An' then it fell off altogether!

"But the morial is wot you've now got to hear,
An' it's good--as sure as a gun;
An' you'll never forget it, my messmates dear,
For this song it hain't got none!
(_Chorus_.) Hain't got none,
For this song it hain't got none!"

The applause that followed this song was most enthusiastic, and evidently gratifying to Gurney, who assumed a modest deprecatory air as he proceeded to light his pipe, which had been allowed to go out at the third verse, the performer having become so engrossed in his subject as to have forgotten the interlude of puffs at that point.

"Well sung, Gurney. Who made it?" inquired Phil Briant, an Irishman, who, besides being a jack-of-all-trades and an able-bodied seaman, was at that time acting-assistant to the cook and steward, the latter--a half Spaniard and half negro, of Californian extraction--being unwell.

"I'm bound not to tell," replied Gurney, with a conscious air.

"Ah, then, yer right, my boy, for it's below the average entirely."

"Come, Phil, none o' yer chaff," cried Dick Barnes, "that song desarves somethin' arter it. Suppose now, Phil, that you wos to go below and fetch the bread-kid."

"Couldn't do it," replied Phil, looking solemn, "on no account wotiver."

"Oh, nonsense, why not?"

"'Cause its unpossible. Why, if I did, sure that surly compound o' all sorts o' human blood would pitch into me with the carvin'-knife."

"Who? Tarquin?" cried Dick Barnes, naming the steward.

"Ay, sure enough that same--Tarquin's his name, an it's kuriously befittin' the haythen, for of all the cross-grained mixtures o' buffalo, bear, bandicoot, and crackadile I iver seed, he's out o' sight--"

"Did I hear any one mention my name?" inquired the steward himself who came aft at that moment. He was a wild Spanish-like fellow, with a handsome-enough figure, and a swart countenance that might have been good-looking but for the thickish lips and nose and the bad temper that marked it. Since getting into the tropics, the sailors had modified their costumes considerably, and as each man had in some particular allowed himself a slight play of fancy, their appearance, when grouped together, was varied and picturesque. Most of them wore no shoes, and the caps of some were, to say the least, peculiar. Tarquin wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, with a conical crown, and a red silk sash tied round his waist.

"Yes, Tarquin," replied Barnes, "we _wos_ engaged in makin' free-an'-easy remarks on you; and Phil Briant there gave us to understand that you wouldn't let us have the bread--kid up. Now, it's my opinion you ain't goin' to be so hard on us as that; you will let us have it up to comfort our hearts on this fine night, won't you?"

The steward, whose green visage showed that he was too ill to enter into a dispute at that time, turned on his heel and walked aft, remarking that they might eat the bottom out o' the ship, for all he cared.

"There now, you misbemannered Patlander, go and get it, or we'll throw you overboard," cried Scroggles, twisting his long limbs awkwardly as he shifted his position on the windlass.

"Now, then, shipmates, don't go for to ax it," said Briant, remaining immovable. "Don't I know wot's best for ye? Let me spaake to ye now. Did any of ye iver study midsin?"

"No!" cried several with a laugh.

"Sure I thought not," continued Phil, with a patronising air, "or ye'd niver ask for the bread--kid out o' saisin. Now I was in the medical way meself wance--ay, ye may laugh, but it's thrue--I wos 'prentice to a 'pothecary, an' I've mixed up more midsins than would pisen the whole popilation of owld Ireland--barrin' the praists, av coorse. And didn't I hear the convarse o' all the doctors in the place? And wasn't the word always--`Be rigglar with yer mails--don't ait, avic, more nor three times a day, and not too much, now. Be sparin'.'"

"Hah! ye long-winded grampus," interrupted Dick Barnes, impatiently. "An' warn't the doctors right? Three times a day for sick folk, and six times--or more--for them wot's well."

"Hear, hear!" cried the others, while two of them seized Briant by the neck, and thrust him forcibly towards the after-hatch. "Bring up the kid, now; an' if ye come without it, look out for squalls."

"Och! worse luck," sighed the misused assistant, as he disappeared.

In a few minutes Phil returned with the kid, which was a species of tray filled with broken sea-biscuit, which, when afloat, goes by the name of "bread."

This was eagerly seized, for the appetites of sailors are always sharp, except immediately after meals. A quantity of the broken biscuit was put into a strainer, and fried in whale-oil, and the men sat round the kid to enjoy their luxurious feast, and relate their adventures--all of which were more or less marvellous, and many of them undoubtedly true.

The more one travels in this world of ours, and the more one reads of the adventures of travellers upon whose narratives we can place implicit confidence, the more we find that men do not now require, as they did of old, to draw upon their imaginations for marvellous tales of wild, romantic adventure, in days gone by, travellers were few; foreign lands were almost unknown. Not many books were written; and of the few that were, very few were believed. In the present day men of undoubted truthfulness have roamed far and wide over the whole world, their books are numbered by hundreds, and much that was related by ancient travellers, but not believed, has now been fully corroborated. More than that, it is now known that men have every where received, as true, statements which modern discovery has proved to be false, and on the other hand they have often refused to believe what is now ascertained to be literally true.

We would suggest, in passing, that a lesson might be learned from this fact--namely, that we ought to receive a statement in regard to a foreign land, not according to the probability or the improbability of the statement itself, but according to the credibility of him who makes it. Ailie Dunning had a trustful disposition; she acted on neither of the above principles. She believed all she heard, poor thing, and therefore had a head pretty well stored with mingled fact and nonsense.

While the men were engaged with their meal, Dr Hopley came on deck and found her leaning over the stern, looking down at the waves which shone with sparkling phosphorescent light. An almost imperceptible breeze had sprung up, and the way made by the vessel as she passed through the water was indicated by a stream of what appeared lambent blue flame.

"Looking at the fish, Ailie, as usual?" said the doctor as he came up. "What are they saying to you to-night?"

"I'm not looking at the fish," answered Ailie; "I'm looking at the fire--no, not the fire; papa said it wasn't fire, but it's so like it, I can scarcely call it anything else. What _is_ it, doctor?"

"It is called phosphorescence," replied the doctor, leaning over the bulwarks, and looking down at the fiery serpent that seemed as if it clung to the ship's rudder. "But I dare say you don't know what that means. You know what fire-flies and glow-worms are?"

"Oh! yes; I've often caught them."

"Well, there are immense numbers of very small and very thin jelly-like creatures in the sea, so thin and so transparent that they can scarcely be observed in the water. These Medusae, as they are called, possess the power of emitting light similar to that of the fire-fly. In short, Ailie, they are the fire-flies and glow-worms of the ocean."

The child listened with wonder, and for some minutes remained silent. Before she could again speak, there occurred one of those incidents which are generally spoken of as "most unexpected" and sudden, but which, nevertheless, are the result of natural causes, and might have been prevented by means of a little care.

The wind, as we have said, was light, so light that it did not distend the sails; the boom of the spanker-sail hung over the stern, and the spanker-braces lay slack along the seat on which Ailie and the doctor knelt. A little gust of wind came: it was not strong--a mere puff; but the man at the wheel was not attending to his duty: the puff, light as it was, caused the spanker to jibe--that is to fly over from one side of the ship to the other--the heavy boom passed close over the steersman's head as he cried, "Look out!" The braces tautened, and in so doing they hurled Dr Hopley violently to the deck, and tossed Ailie Dunning over the bulwarks into the sea.

It happened at that moment that Glynn Proctor chanced to step on deck.

"Hallo! what's wrong?" cried the youth, springing forward, catching the doctor by the coat, as he was about to spring overboard, and pulling him violently back, under the impression that he was deranged.

The doctor pointed to the sea, and, with a look of horror, gasped the word "Ailie."

In an instant Glynn released his hold, plunged over the stern of the ship, and disappeared in the waves.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE RESCUE--PREPARATIONS FOR A STORM.

It is impossible to convey by means of words an adequate idea of the terrible excitement and uproar that ensued on board the _Red Eric_ after the events narrated in the last chapter. From those on deck who witnessed the accident there arose a cry so sharp, that it brought the whole crew from below in an instant. But there was no confusion. The men were well trained. Each individual knew his post, and whale-men are accustomed to a sudden and hasty summons. The peculiarity of the present one, it is true, told every man in an instant that something was wrong, but each mechanically sprang to his post, while one or two shouted to ascertain what had happened, or to explain.

But the moment Captain Dunning's voice was heard there was perfect silence.

"Clear away the starboard-quarter-boat," he cried, in a deep, firm tone.

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Stand-by the falls--lower away!"

There was no occasion to urge the sailors; they sprang to the work with the fervid celerity of men who knew that life or death depended on their speed. In less time than it takes to relate, the boat was leaping over the long ocean swell, as it had never yet done in chase of the whale, and, in a few seconds, passed out of the little circle of light caused by the fires and into the gloom that surrounded the ship.

The wind had been gradually increasing during all these proceedings, and although no time had been lost, and the vessel had been immediately brought up into the wind, Ailie and Glynn were left struggling in the dark sea a long way behind ere the quarter-boat could be lowered; and now that it was fairly afloat, there was still the danger of its failing to hit the right direction of the objects of which it was in search.

After leaping over the stern, Glynn Proctor, the moment he rose to the surface, gave a quick glance at the ship, to make sure of her exact position, and then struck out in a straight line astern, for he knew that wherever Ailie fell, there she would remain struggling until she sank. Glynn was a fast and powerful swimmer. He struck out with desperate energy, and in a few minutes the ship was out of sight behind him. Then he paused suddenly, and letting his feet sink until he attained an upright position, trod the water and raised himself breast-high above the surface, at the same time listening intently, for he began to fear that he might have overshot his mark. No sound met his straining ear save the sighing of the breeze and the ripple of the water as it lapped against his chest. It was too dark to see more than a few yards in any direction.

Glynn knew that each moment lost rendered his chance of saving the child terribly slight. He shouted "Ailie!" in a loud, agonising cry, and swam forward again with redoubled energy, continuing the cry from time to time, and raising himself occasionally to look round him. The excitement of his mind, and the intensity with which it was bent on the one great object, rendered him at first almost unobservant of the flight of time. But suddenly the thought burst upon him that fully ten minutes or a quarter of an hour had elapsed since Ailie fell overboard, and that no one who could not swim could exist for half that time in deep water. He shrieked with agony at the thought, and, fancying that he must have passed the child, he turned round and swam desperately towards the point where he supposed the ship lay. Then he thought, "What if I have turned just as I was coming up with her?" So he turned about again, but as the hopelessness of his efforts once more occurred to him, he lost all presence of mind, and began to shout furiously, and to strike out wildly in all directions.

In the midst of his mad struggles his hand struck an object floating near him. Instantly he felt his arm convulsively grasped, and the next moment he was seized round the neck in a gripe so violent that it almost choked him. He sank at once, and the instinct of self-preservation restored his presence of mind. With a powerful effort he tore Ailie from her grasp, and quickly raised himself to the surface, where he swam gently with his left hand, and held the struggling child at arm's-length with his right.

The joy caused by the knowledge that she had still life to struggle infused new energy into Glynn's well-nigh exhausted frame, and he assumed as calm and cheerful a tone as was possible under the circumstances when he exclaimed--"Ailie, Ailie, don't struggle, dear, I'll save you _if you keep quiet_."

Ailie was quiet in a moment. She felt in the terror of her young heart an almost irresistible desire to clutch at Glynn's neck; but the well-known voice reassured her, and her natural tendency to place blind, implicit confidence in others, served her in this hour of need, for she obeyed his injunctions at once.

"Now, dear," said Glynn, with nervous rapidity, "don't grasp me, else we shall sink. Trust me. _I'll never let you go_. Will you trust me?"

Ailie gazed wildly at her deliverer through her wet and tangled tresses, and with great difficulty gasped the word "Yes," while she clenched the garments on her labouring bosom with her little hands, as if to show her determination to do as she was bid.

Glynn at once drew her towards him and rested her head on his shoulder. The child gave vent to a deep, broken sigh of relief, and threw her right arm round his neck, but the single word "Ailie," uttered in a remonstrative tone, caused her to draw it quickly back and again grasp her breast.

All this time Glynn had been supporting himself by that process well-known to swimmers as "treading water," and had been so intent upon his purpose of securing the child, that he failed to observe the light of a lantern gleaming in the far distance on the sea, as the boat went ploughing hither and thither, the men almost breaking the oars in their desperate haste, and the captain standing in the stern-sheets, pale as death, holding the light high over his head, and gazing with a look of unutterable agony into the surrounding gloom.

Glynn now saw the distant light, and exerting his voice to the utmost, gave vent to a prolonged cry. Ailie looked up in her companion's face while he listened intently. The moving light became stationary for a moment, and a faint reply floated back to them over the waves. Again Glynn raised his voice to the utmost, and the cheer that came back told him that he had been heard.

But the very feeling of relief at the prospect of immediate deliverance had well-nigh proved fatal to them both; for Glynn experienced a sudden relaxation of his whole system, and he felt as if he could not support himself and his burden a minute longer.

"Ailie," he said faintly but quickly, "we shall be saved if you obey at _once_; if not, we shall be drowned. Lay your two hands on my breast, and let yourself sink _down to the very lips_."

Glynn turned on his back as he spoke, spread out his arms and legs to their full extent, let his head fall back, until it sank, leaving only his lips, nose, and chin above water, and lay as motionless as if he had been dead. And now came poor Ailie's severest trial. When she allowed herself to sink, and felt the water rising about her ears, and lipping round her mouth, terror again seized upon her; but she felt Glynn's breast heaving under her hands, so she raised her eyes to heaven and prayed silently to Him who is the only true deliverer from dangers. Her self-possession was restored, and soon she observed the boat bearing down on the spot, and heard the men as they shouted to attract attention.

Ailie tried to reply, but her tiny voice was gone, and her soul was filled with horror as she saw the boat about to pass on. In her agony she began to struggle. This roused Glynn, who had rested sufficiently to have recovered a slight degree of strength. He immediately raised his head, and uttered a wild cry as he grasped Ailie again with his arm.

The rowers paused; the light of the lantern gleamed over the sea, and fell upon the spray tossed up by Glynn. Next moment the boat swept up to them--and they were saved.

The scene that followed baffles all description. Captain Dunning fell on his knees beside Ailie, who was too much exhausted to speak, and thanked God, in the name of Jesus Christ, again and again for her deliverance. A few of the men shouted; others laughed hysterically; and some wept freely as they crowded round their shipmate, who, although able to sit up, could not speak except in disjointed sentences. Glynn, however, recovered quickly, and even tried to warm himself by pulling an oar before they regained the ship, but Ailie remained in a state of partial stupor, and was finally carried on board and down into the cabin, and put between warm blankets by her father and Dr Hopley.

Meanwhile, Glynn was hurried forward, and dragged down into the forecastle by the whole crew, who seemed unable to contain themselves for joy, and expressed their feelings in ways that would have been deemed rather absurd on ordinary occasions.

"Change yer clo's, avic, at wance," cried Phil Briant, who was the most officious and violent in his offers of assistance to Glynn. "Och! but it's wet ye are, darlin'. Give me a howld."

This last request had reference to the right leg of Glynn's trousers, which happened to be blue cloth of a rather thin quality, and which therefore clung to his limbs with such tenacity that it was a matter of the utmost difficulty to get them off.

"That's your sort, Phil--a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together," cried Dick Barnes, hurrying forward, with a bundle of garments in his arms. "Here's dry clo's for him."

"Have a care, Phil," shouted Gurney, who stood behind Glynn and held him by the shoulders; "it'll give way."

"Niver a taste," replied the reckless Irishman. But the result proved that Gurney was right, for the words had scarce escaped his lips when the garment parted at the knee, and Phil Briant went crashing back among a heap of tin pannikins, pewter plates, blocks, and cordage. A burst of laughter followed, of course, but the men's spirits were too much roused to be satisfied with this, so they converted the laugh into a howl, and prolonged it into a cheer; as if their comrade had successfully performed a difficult and praiseworthy deed.

"Hold on, lads," cried Glynn. "I'm used up, I can't stand it."

"Here you are," shouted Nickel Sling, pushing the men violently aside, and holding a steaming tumbler of hot brandy-and-water under Glynn's nose. "Down with it; that's the stuff to get up the steam fit to bust yer biler, I calc'late."

The men looked on for a moment in silence, while Glynn drank, as if they expected some remarkable chemical change to take place in his constitution.

"Och! ain't it swate?" inquired Phil Briant, who, having gathered himself up, now stood rubbing his shoulder with the fragment of the riven garment. "Av I wasn't a taytotaler, it's meself would like some of that same."

In a few minutes our hero was divested of his wet garments, rubbed perfectly dry by his kind messmates, and clad in dry costume, after which he felt almost as well as if nothing unusual had happened to him. The men meanwhile cut their jokes at him or at each other as they stood round and watched, assisted, or retarded the process. As for Tim Rokens, who had been in the boat and witnessed the rescue, he stood gazing steadfastly at Glynn without uttering a word, keeping his thumbs the while hooked in the arm-holes of his vest, and his legs very much apart. By degrees--as he thought on what had passed, and the narrow escape poor little Ailie had had, and the captain's tears, things he had never seen the captain shed before and had not believed the captain to have possessed--as he pondered these things, we say, his knotty visage began to work, and his cast-iron chin began to quiver, and his shaggy brows contracted, and his nose, besides becoming purple, began to twist, as if it were an independent member of his face, and he came, in short, to that climax which is familiarly expressed by the words "bursting into tears."

But if anybody thinks the act, on the part of Tim Rokens, bore the smallest resemblance to the generally received idea of that sorrowful affection, "anybody," we take leave to tell him, is very much mistaken. The bold harpooner did it thus--he suddenly unhooked his right hand from the arm-hole of his vest, and gave his right thigh a slap which produced a crack that would have made a small pistol envious; then he uttered a succession of ferocious roars, that might have quite well indicated pain, or grief, or madness, or a drunken cheer, and, un-hooking the left hand, he doubled himself up, and thrust both knuckles into his eyes. The knuckles were wet when he pulled them out of his eyes, but he dried them on his pantaloons, bolted up the hatchway, and rushing up to the man at the wheel, demanded in a voice of thunder--"How's 'er head?"

"Sou'-sou'-east-and-by-east," replied the man, in some surprise.

"Sou'-sou'-east-and-by-east!" repeated Mr Rokens, in a savage growl of authority, as if he were nothing less than the admiral of the Channel Fleet. "That's two points and a half off yer course, sir. Luff, luff, you--you--"

At this point Tim Rokens turned on his heel, and began to walk up and down the deck as calmly as if nothing whatever had occurred to disturb his equanimity.

"The captain wants Glynn Proctor," said the second mate, looking down the fore-hatch.

"Ay, ay, sir," answered Glynn, ascending, and going aft.

"Ailie wants to see you, Glynn, my boy," said Captain Dunning, as the former entered the cabin; "and I want to speak to you myself--to thank you Glynn. Ah, lad! you can't know what a father's heart feels when--Go to her, boy." He grasped the youth's hand, and gave it a squeeze that revealed infinitely more of his feelings than could have been done by words.

Glynn returned the squeeze, and opening the door of Ailie's private cabin, entered and sat down beside her crib.

"Oh, Glynn, I want to speak to you; I want to thank you. I love you so much for jumping into the sea after me," began the child, eagerly, and raising herself on one elbow while she held out her hand.

"Ailie," interrupted Glynn, taking her hand, and holding up his finger to impose silence, "you obeyed me _in_ the water, and now I insist on your obedience _out_ of the water. If you don't, I'll leave you. You're still too weak to toss about and speak loud in this way. Lie down, my pet."

Glynn kissed her forehead, and forced her gently back on the pillow.

"Well, I'll be good, but don't leave me yet, Glynn. I'm much better. Indeed, I feel quite strong. Oh! it was good of you--"

"There you go again."

"I love you," said Ailie.

"I've no objection to that," replied Glynn, "but don't excite yourself. But tell me, Ailie, how was it that you managed to keep afloat so long? The more I think of it the more I am filled with amazement, and, in fact, I'm half inclined to think that God worked a miracle in order to save you."

"I don't know," said Ailie, looking very grave and earnest, as she always did when our Maker's name happened to be mentioned. "Does God work miracles still?"

"Men say not," replied Glynn.

"I'm sure I don't quite understand what a miracle is," continued Ailie, "although Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane have often tried to explain it to me. Is floating on your back a miracle?"

"No," said Glynn, laughing; "it isn't."

"Well, that's the way I was saved. You know, ever since I can remember, I have bathed with Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane, and they taught me how to float--and it's so nice, you can't think how nice it is--and I can do it so easily now, that I never get frightened. But, oh!--when I was tossed over the side of the ship into the sea I _was_ frightened just. I don't think I _ever_ got such a fright. And I splashed about for some time, and swallowed some water, but I got upon my back somehow. I can't tell how it was, for I was too frightened to try to do anything. But when I found myself floating as I used to do long ago, I felt my fear go away a little, and I shut my eyes and prayed, and then it went away altogether; and I felt quite sure you would come to save me, and you _did_ come, Glynn, and I know it was God who sent you. But I became a good deal frightened again when I thought of the sharks, and--"

"Now, Ailie, stop!" said Glynn. "You're forgetting your promise, and exciting yourself again."

"So she is, and I must order you out, Master Glynn," said the doctor, opening the door, and entering at that moment.

Glynn rose, patted the child's head, and nodded cheerfully as he left the little cabin.

The captain caught him as he passed, and began to reiterate his thanks, when their conversation was interrupted by the voice of Mr Millons, who put his head in at the skylight and said--"Squall coming, sir, I think."

"So, so," cried the captain, running upon deck. "I've been looking for it. Call all hands, Mr Millons, and take in sail--every rag, except the storm-trysails."

Glynn hurried forward, and in a few minutes every man was at his post. The sails were furled, and every preparation made for a severe squall; for Captain Dunning knew that that part of the coast of Africa off which the _Red Eric_ was then sailing was subject to sudden squalls, which, though usually of short duration, were sometimes terrific in their violence.

"Is everything snug, Mr Millons?"

"All snug, sir."

"Then let the men stand-by till it's over."

The night had grown intensely dark, but away on the starboard-quarter the heavens appeared of an ebony blackness that was quite appalling. This appearance, that rose on the sky like a shroud of crape, quickly spread upwards until it reached the zenith. Then a few gleams of light seemed to illuminate it very faintly, and a distant hissing noise was heard.

A dead calm surrounded the ship, which lay like a log on the water, and the crew, knowing that nothing more could be done in the way of preparation, awaited the bursting of the storm with uneasy feelings. In a few minutes its distant roar was heard,--like muttered thunder. On it came, with a steady continuous roar, as if chaos were about to be restored, and the crashing wreck of elements were being hurled in mad fury against the yet unshattered portions of creation. Another second, and the ship was on her beam-ends, and the sea and sky were white as milk as the wind tore up the waves and beat them flat, and whirled away broad sheets of driving foam.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE STORM, AND ITS RESULTS.

Although the _Red Eric_ was thrown on her beam-ends, or nearly so, by the excessive violence of the squall, the preparations to meet it had been so well made that she righted again almost immediately, and now flew before the wind under bare poles with a velocity that was absolutely terrific.

Ailie had been nearly thrown out of her berth when the ship lay over, and now when she listened to the water hissing and gurgling past the little port that lighted her cabin, and felt the staggering of the vessel, as burst after burst of the hurricane almost tore the masts out of her, she lay trembling with anxiety and debating with herself whether or not she ought to rise and go on deck.

Captain Dunning well knew that his child would be naturally filled with fear, for this was the first severe squall she had ever experienced, so, as he could not quit the deck himself, he called Glynn Proctor to him and sent him down with a message.

"Well, Ailie," said Glynn, cheerfully, as he opened the door and peeped in; "how d'ye get on, dear? The captain has sent me to say that the worst o' this blast is over, and you've nothing to fear."

"I am glad to hear that, Glynn," replied the child, holding out her hand, while a smile lighted up her face and smoothed out the lines of anxiety from her brow. "Come and sit by me, Glynn, and tell me what like it is. I wish so much that I had been on deck. Was it grand, Glynn?"

"It was uncommonly grand; it was even terrible--but I cannot sit with you more than a minute, else my shipmates will say that I'm skulking."

"Skulking, Glynn! What is that?"

"Why, it's--it's shirking work, you know," said Glynn, somewhat puzzled.

Ailie laughed. "But you forget that I don't know what `shirking' means. You must explain that too."

"How terribly green you are, Ailie."

"No! am I?" exclaimed the child in some surprise. "What _can_ have done it? I'm not sick."

Glynn laughed outright at this, and then proceeded to explain the meaning of the slang phraseology he had used. "Green, you must know, means ignorant," he began.

"How funny! I wonder why."

"Well, I don't know exactly. Perhaps it's because when a fellow's asked to answer questions he don't understand, he's apt to turn either blue with rage or yellow with fear--or both; and that, you know, would make him green. I've heard it said that it implies a comparison of men to plants--very young ones, you know, that are just up, just born, as it were, and have not had much experience of life, are green of course--but I like my own definition best."

It may perhaps be scarcely necessary to remark that our hero was by no means singular in this little preference of his own definition to that of any one else!

"Well, and what does skulking mean, and shirking work?" persisted Ailie.

"It means hiding so as to escape duty, my little catechist; but--"

"Hallo! Glynn, Glynn Proctor," roared the first mate from the deck--"where's that fellow? Skulking, I'll be bound. Lay aloft there and shake out the foretopsail. Look alive."

"Ay, ay, sir," was the ready response as the men sprang to obey.

"There, you have it now, Ailie, explained and illustrated," cried Glynn, starting up. "Here I am, at this minute in a snug, dry berth chatting to you, and in half a minute more I'll be out on the end o' the foreyard holding on for bare life, with the wind fit to tear off my jacket and blow my ducks into ribbons, and the rain and spray dashing all over me fit to blot me out altogether. There's a pretty little idea to turn over in your mind, Ailie, while I'm away."

Glynn closed the door at the last word, and, as he had prophesied, was, within half a minute, in the unenviable position above referred to.

The force of the squall was already broken, and the men were busy setting close-reefed topsails, but the rain that followed the squall bid fair to "blot them out," as Glynn said, altogether. It came down, not in drops, but in masses, which were caught up by the fierce gale and mingled with the spray, and hurled about and on with such violent confusion, that it seemed as though the whole creation were converted into wind and water, and had engaged in a war of extermination, the central turmoil of which was the _Red Eric_.

But the good ship held on nobly. Although not a fast sailer she was an excellent sea-boat, and danced on the billows like a sea-mew. The squall, however, was not over. Before the topsails had been set many minutes it burst on them again with redoubled fury, and the main-topsail was instantly blown into ribbons. Glynn and his comrades were once more ordered aloft to furl the remaining sails, but before this could be done the foretopmast was carried away, and in falling it tore away the jib-boom also. At the same moment a tremendous sea came rolling on astern; in the uncertain light it looked like a dark moving mountain that was about to fall on them.

"Luff, luff a little--steady!" roared the captain, who saw the summit of the wave toppling over the stern, and who fully appreciated the danger of being "pooped," which means having a wave launched upon the quarterdeck.

"Steady it is," replied the steersman.

"Look out!" shouted the captain and several of the men, simultaneously.

Every one seized hold of whatever firm object chanced to be within reach; next moment the black billow fell like an avalanche on the poop, and rushing along the decks, swept the waist-boat and all the loose spars into the sea. The ship staggered under the shock, and it seemed to every one on deck that she must inevitably founder; but in a few seconds she recovered, the water gushed from the scuppers and sides in cataracts, and once more they drove swiftly before the gale.

In about twenty minutes the wind moderated, and while some of the men went aloft to clear away the wreck of the topsails and make all snug, others went below to put on dry garments.

"That was a narrow escape, Mr Millons," remarked the captain, as he stood by the starboard-rails.

"It was, sir," replied the mate. "It's a good job too, sir, that none o' the 'ands were washed overboard."

"It is, indeed, Mr Millons; we've reason to be thankful for that; but I'm sorry to see that we've lost our waist-boat."

"We've lost our spare sticks, sir," said the mate, with a lugubrious face, while he wrung the brine out of his hair; "and I fear we've nothink left fit to make a noo foretopmast or a jib-boom."

"True, Mr Millons; we shall have to run to the nearest port on the African coast to refit; luckily we are not very far from it. Meanwhile, tell Mr Markham to try the well; it is possible that we may have sprung a leak in all this straining, and see that the wreck of the foretopmast is cleared away. I shall go below and consult the chart; if any change in the weather takes place, call me at once."

"Yes, sir," answered the mate, as he placed his hand to windward of his mouth, in order to give full force to the terrific tones in which he proceeded to issue his captain's commands.

Captain Dunning went below, and looking into Ailie's berth, nodded his wet head several times, and smiled with his damp visage benignly--which acts, however well meant and kindly they might be, were, under the circumstances, quite unnecessary, seeing that the child was sound asleep. The captain then dried his head and face with a towel about as rough as the mainsail of a seventy-four, and with a violence that would have rubbed the paint off the figurehead of the _Red Eric_. Then he sat down to his chart, and having pondered over it for some minutes, he went to the foot of the companion-ladder and roared up--"Lay the course nor'-nor'-east-and-by-nor'-half-nor', Mr Millons."

To which Mr Millons replied in an ordinary tone, "Ay, ay, sir," and then roared--"Lay her head nor'-nor'-east-and-by-nor'-half-nor'," in an unnecessarily loud and terribly fierce tone of voice to the steersman, as if that individual were in the habit of neglecting to obey orders, and required to be perpetually threatened in what may be called a tone of implication.

The steersman answered in what, to a landsman, would have sounded as a rather amiable and forgiving tone of voice--"Nor'-nor'-east-and-by-nor'-half-nor' it is, sir;" and thereupon the direction of the ship's head was changed, and the _Red Eric_, according to Tim Rokens, "bowled along" with a stiff breeze on the quarter, at the rate of ten knots, for the west coast of Africa.

CHAPTER NINE.

RAMBLES ON SHORE, AND STRANGE THINGS AND CEREMONIES WITNESSED THERE.

Variety is charming. No one laying claim to the smallest amount of that very uncommon attribute, common-sense, will venture to question the truth of that statement. Variety is so charming that men and women, boys and girls, are always, all of them, hunting after it. To speak still more emphatically on this subject, we venture to affirm that it is an absolute necessity of animal nature. Were any positive and short-sighted individual to deny this position, and sit down during the remainder of his life in a chair and look straight before him, in order to prove that he could live without variety, he would seek it in change of position. If he did not do that, he would seek it in change of thought. If he did not do _that_, he would die!

Fully appreciating this great principle of our nature, and desiring to be charmed with a little variety, Tim Rokens and Phil Briant presented themselves before Captain Dunning one morning about a week after the storm, and asked leave to go ashore. The reader may at first think the men were mad, but he will change his opinion when we tell him that four days after the storm in question the _Red Eric_ had anchored in the harbour formed by the mouth of one of the rivers on the African coast, where white men trade with the natives for bar-wood and ivory, and where they also carry on that horrible traffic in negroes, the existence of which is a foul disgrace to humanity.

"Go ashore!" echoed Captain Dunning. "Why, if you all go on at this rate, we'll never get ready for sea. However, you may go, but don't wander too far into the interior, and look out for elephants and wild men o' the woods, boys--keep about the settlements."

"Ay, ay, sir, and thank'ee," replied the two men, touching their caps as they retired.

"Please, sir, I want to go too," said Glynn Proctor, approaching the captain.

"What! more wanting to go ashore?"

"Yes, and so do I," cried Ailie, running forward and clasping her father's rough hand; "I did enjoy myself _so_ much yesterday, that I must go on shore again to-day, and I must go with Glynn. He'll take such famous care of me; now _won't_ you let me go, papa?"

"Upon my word, this looks like preconcerted mutiny. However, I don't mind if I do let you go, but have a care, Glynn, that you don't lose sight of her for a moment, and keep to the shore and the settlements. I've no notion of allowing her to be swallowed by an alligator, or trampled on by an elephant, or run away with by a gorilla."

"Never fear, sir. You may trust me; I'll take good care of her."

With a shout of delight the child ran down to the cabin to put on her bonnet, and quickly reappeared, carrying in her hand a basket which she purposed to fill with a valuable collection of plants, minerals and insects. These she meant to preserve and carry home as a surprise to aunts Martha and Jane, both of whom were passionately fond of mineralogy, delighted in botany, luxuriated in entomology, doted on conchology, and raved about geology--all of which sciences they studied superficially, and specimens of which they collected and labelled beautifully, and stowed away carefully in a little cabinet, which they termed (not jocularly, but seriously) their "Bureau of Omnology."

It was a magnificent tropical morning when the boat left the side of the _Red Eric_ and landed Glynn and Ailie, Tim Rokens and Phil Briant on the wharf that ran out from the yellow beach of the harbour in which their vessel lay. The sun had just risen. The air was cool (comparatively) and motionless, so that the ocean lay spread out like a pure mirror, and revealed its treasures and mysteries to a depth of many fathoms. The sky was intensely blue and the sun intensely bright, while the atmosphere was laden with the delightful perfume of the woods--a perfume that is sweet and pleasant to those long used to it, how much more enchanting to nostrils rendered delicately sensitive by long exposure to the scentless gales of ocean?

One of the sailors who had shown symptoms of weakness in the chest during the voyage, had begged to be discharged and left ashore at this place. He could ill be spared, but as he was fit for nothing, the captain agreed to his request, and resolved to procure a negro to act as cook's assistant in the place of Phil Briant, who was too useful a man to remain in so subordinate a capacity. The sick man was therefore sent on shore in charge of Tim Rokens.

On landing they were met by a Portuguese slave-dealer, an American trader, a dozen or two partially-clothed negroes, and a large concourse of utterly naked little negro children, who proved to demonstration that they were of the same nature and spirit with white children, despite the colour of their skins, by taking intense delight in all the amusements practised by the fair-skinned juveniles of more northern lands--namely scampering after each other, running and yelling, indulging in mischief, spluttering in the waters, rolling on the sand, staring at the strangers, making impudent remarks, and punching each other's heads.

If the youth of America ever wish to prove that they are of a distinct race from the sable sons of Africa, their only chance is to become paragons of perfection, and give up _all_ their wicked ways.

"Oh!" exclaimed Ailie, half amused, half frightened, as Glynn lifted her out of the boat; "oh! how funny! Don't they look so _very_ like as if they were all painted black?"

"Good-day to you, gentlemen," cried the trader, as he approached the landing. "Got your foretop damaged, I see. Plenty of sticks here to mend it. Be glad to assist you in any way I can. Was away in the woods when you arrived, else I'd have come to offer sooner."

The trader, who was a tall, sallow man in a blue cotton shirt, sailor's trousers, and a broad-brimmed straw hat, addressed himself to Glynn, whose gentlemanly manner led him to believe he was in command of the party.

"Thank you," replied Glynn, "we've got a little damage--lost a good boat, too; but we'll soon repair the mast. We have come ashore just now, however, mainly for a stroll."

"Ay," put in Phil Briant, who was amusing the black children--and greatly delighting himself by nodding and smiling ferociously at them, with a view to making a favourable impression on the natives of this new country. "Ay, sir, an' sure we've comed to land a sick shipmate who wants to see the doctor uncommon. Have ye sich an article in these parts?"

"No, not exactly," replied the trader, "but I do a little in that way myself; perhaps I may manage to cure him if he comes up to my house."

"We wants a nigger too," said Rokens, who, while the others were talking, was extremely busy filling his pipe.

At this remark the trader looked knowing.

"Oh!" he said, "that's your game, is it? There's your man there; I've nothing to do with such wares."

He pointed to the Portuguese slave-dealer as he spoke.

Seeing himself thus referred to, the slave-dealer came forward, hat in hand, and made a polite bow. He was a man of extremely forbidding aspect. A long dark visage, which terminated in a black peaked beard, and was surmounted by a tall-crowned broad-brimmed straw hat, stood on the top of a long, raw-boned, thin, sinewy, shrivelled, but powerful frame, that had battled with and defeated all the fevers and other diseases peculiar to the equatorial regions of Africa. He wore a short light-coloured cotton jacket and pantaloons--the latter much too short for his limbs, but the deficiency was more than made up by a pair of Wellington boots. His natural look was a scowl. His assumed smile of politeness was so unnatural, that Tim Rokens thought, as he gazed at him, he would have preferred greatly to have been frowned at by him. Even Ailie, who did not naturally think ill of any one, shrank back as he approached and grasped Glynn's hand more firmly than usual.

"Goot morning, gentl'm'n. You was vish for git nigger, I suppose."

"Well, we wos," replied Tim, with a faint touch of sarcasm in his tone. "Can _you_ get un for us?"

"Yees, sare, as many you please," replied the slave-dealer, with a wink that an ogre might have envied. "Have great many ob 'em stay vid me always."

"Ah! then, they must be fond o' bad company," remarked Briant, in an undertone, "to live along wid such a alligator."

"Well, then," said Tim Rokens, who had completed the filling of his pipe, and was now in the full enjoyment of it; "let's see the feller, an' I'll strike a bargain with him, if he seems a likely chap."

"You will have strike de bargin vid _me_," said the dealer. "I vill charge you ver' leetle, suppose you take full cargo."

The whole party, who were ignorant of the man's profession, started at this remark, and looked at the dealer in surprise.

"Wot!" exclaimed Tim Rokens, withdrawing his pipe from his lips; "do you _sell_ niggers?"

"Yees, to be surely," replied the man, with a peculiarly saturnine smile.

"A slave-dealer?" exclaimed Briant, clenching his fists.

"Even so, sare."

At this Briant uttered a shout, and throwing forward his clenched fists in a defiant attitude, exclaimed between his set teeth--

"Arrah! come on!"

Most men have peculiarities. Phil Briant had many; but his most striking peculiarity, and that which led him frequently into extremely awkward positions, was a firm belief that his special calling--in an amateur point of view--was the redressing of wrongs--not wrongs of a particular class, or wrongs of an excessively glaring and offensive nature, but _all_ wrongs whatsoever. It mattered not to Phil whether the wrong had to be righted by force of argument or force of arms. He considered himself an accomplished practitioner in both lines of business--and in regard to the latter his estimate of his powers was not very much too high, for he was a broad-shouldered, deep-chested, long-armed fellow, and had acquired a scientific knowledge of boxing under a celebrated bruiser at the expense of a few hard-earned shillings, an occasional bottle of poteen, and many a severe thrashing.

Justice to Phil's amiability of character requires, however, that we should state that he never sought to terminate an argument with his fists unless he was invited to do so, and even then he invariably gave his rash challenger fair warning, and offered to let him retreat if so disposed. But when injustice met his eye, or when he happened to see cruelty practised by the strong against the weak, his blood fired at once, and he only deigned the short emphatic remark--"Come on," sometimes preceded by "Arrah!" sometimes not. Generally speaking, he accepted his own challenge, and _went_ on forthwith.

Of all the iniquities that draw forth the groans of humanity on this sad earth, slavery, in the opinion of Phil Briant, was the worst. He had never come in contact with it, not having been in the Southern States of America. He knew from hearsay that the coast of Africa was its fountain, but he had forgotten the fact, and in the novelty of the scene before him, it did not at first occur to him that he was actually face to face with a "live slave-dealer."

"Let me go!" roared the Irishman, as he struggled in the iron grip of Tim Rokens; and the not less powerful grasp of Glynn Proctor. "Och! let me go! _Doo_, darlints. I'll only give him wan--jist _wan_! Let me go, will ye?"

"Not if I can help it," said Glynn, tightening his grasp.

"Wot a cross helephant it is," muttered Rokens, as he thrust his hand into his comrade's neckcloth and quietly began to choke him as he dragged him away towards the residence of the trader, who was an amused as well as surprised spectator of this unexpected ebullition of passion.

At length Phil Briant allowed himself to be forced away from the beach where the slave-dealer stood with his arms crossed on his breast, and a sarcastic smile playing on his thin lips. Had that Portuguese trafficker in human flesh known how quickly Briant could have doubled the size of his long nose and shut up both his eyes, he would probably have modified the expression of his countenance; but he didn't know it, so he looked after the party until they had entered the dwelling of the trader, and then sauntered up towards the woods, which in this place came down to within a few yards of the beach.

The settlement was a mere collection of rudely-constructed native huts, built of bamboos and roofed with a thatch of palm-leaves. In the midst of it stood a pretty white-painted cottage with green-edged windows and doors, and a verandah in front. This was the dwelling of the trader; and alongside of it, under the same roof, was the store, in which were kept the guns, beads, powder and shot, etcetera, etcetera, which he exchanged with the natives of the interior for elephants' tusks and bar-wood, from which latter a beautiful dye is obtained; also ebony, indiarubber, and other products of the country.

Here the trader entertained Tim Rokens and Phil Briant with stories of the slave-trade; and here we shall leave them while we follow Glynn and Ailie, who went off together to ramble along the shore of the calm sea.

They had not gone far when specimens of the strange creatures that dwell in these lands presented themselves to their astonished gaze. There were birds innumerable on the shore, on the surface of the ocean, and in the woods. The air was alive with them; many being similar to the birds they had been familiar with from infancy, while others were new and strange.

To her immense delight Ailie saw many living specimens of the bird-of-paradise, the graceful plumes of which she had frequently beheld on very high and important festal occasions, nodding on the heads of Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane. But the prettiest of all the birds she saw there was a small creature with a breast so red and bright, that it seemed, as it flew about, like a little ball of fire. There were many of them flying about near a steep bank, in holes of which they built their nests. She observed that they fed upon flies which they caught while skimming through the air, and afterwards learned that they were called bee-eaters.

"Oh! look!" exclaimed Ailie in that tone of voice which indicated that a surprising discovery had been made. Ailie was impulsive, and the _tones_ in which she exclaimed "Oh!" were so varied, emphatic, and distinct, that those who knew her well could tell exactly the state of her mind on hearing the exclamation. At present, her "Oh!" indicated surprise mingled with alarm.

"Eh! what, where?" cried Glynn, throwing forward his musket--for he had taken the precaution to carry one with him, not knowing what he might meet with on such a coast.

"The snake! look--oh!"

At that moment a huge black snake, about ten feet long, showed itself in the grass. Glynn took aim at once, but the piece, being an old flint-lock, missed fire. Before he could again take aim the loathsome-looking reptile had glided into the underwood, which in most places was so overgrown with the rank and gigantic vegetation of the tropics as to be quite impenetrable.

"Ha! he's gone, Ailie!" cried Glynn, in a tone of disappointment, as he put fresh priming into the pan of his piece. "We must be careful in walking here, it seems. This wretched old musket! Lucky for us that our lives did not depend on it. I wonder if it was a poisonous serpent?"

"Perhaps it was," said Ailie, with a look of deep solemnity, as she took her companion's left hand, and trotted along by his side. "Are not all serpents poisonous?"

"Oh dear, no. Why, there are some kinds that are quite harmless. But as I don't know which are and which are not, we must look upon all as enemies until we become more knowing."

Presently they came to the mouth of a river--one of those sluggish streams on the African coast, which suggest the idea of malaria and the whole family of low fevers. It glided through a mangrove swamp, where the tree seemed to be standing on their roots, which served the purpose of stilts to keep them out of the mud. The river was oily, and sluggish, and hot-looking, and its mud-banks were slimy and liquid, so that it was not easy to say whether the water of the river was mud, or the mud on the bank was water. It was a place that made one involuntarily think of creeping monsters, and crawling objects, and slimy things!

"Look! oh! oh! such a darling pet!" exclaimed Ailie, as they stood near the banks of this river wondering what monster would first cleave the muddy waters, and raise its hideous head. She pointed to the bough of a dead tree near which they stood, and on which sat the "darling pet" referred to. It was a very small monkey with white whiskers; a dumpy little thing, that looked at them with an expression of surprise quite equal in intensity to their own.

Seeing that it was discovered, the "darling pet" opened its little mouth, and uttered a succession of "Ohs!" that rendered Ailie's exclamations quite insignificant by comparison. They were sharp and short, and rapidly uttered, while, at the same time, two rows of most formidable teeth were bared, along with the gums that held them.

At this Ailie and her companion burst into a fit of irrepressible laughter, whereupon the "darling pet" put itself into such a passion-- grinned, and coughed, and gasped, and shook the tree, and writhed, and glared, to such an extent that Glynn said he thought it would burst, and Ailie agreed that it was very likely. Finding that this terrible display of fury had no effect on the strangers, the "darling pet" gave utterance to a farewell shriek of passion, and, bounding nimbly into the woods, disappeared.

"Oh, _what_ a funny beast," said Ailie, sitting down on a stone, and drying her eyes, which had filled with tears from excessive laughter.

"Indeed it was," said Glynn. "It's my opinion that a monkey is the funniest beast in the world."

"No, Glynn; a kitten's funnier," said Ailie, with a degree of emphasis that showed she had considered the subject well, and had fully made up her mind in regard to it long ago. "I think a kitten's the _very_ funniest beast in all the whole world."

"Well, perhaps it is," said Glynn thoughtfully.

"Did you ever see _three_ kittens together?" asked Ailie.

"No; I don't think I ever did. I doubt if I have seen even two together. Why?"

"Oh! because they are so very, very funny. Sit down beside me, and I'll tell you about three kittens I once had. They were very little--at least they were little before they got big."

Glynn laughed.

"Oh, you know what I mean. They were able to play when they were very little, you know."

"Yes, yes, I understand. Go on."

"Well, two were grey, and one was white and grey, but most of it was white; and when they went to play, one always hid itself to watch, and then the other two began, and came up to each other with little jumps, and their backs up and tails curved, and hair all on end, glaring at each other, and pretending that they were so angry. Do you know, Glynn, I really believe they sometimes forgot it was pretence, and actually became angry. But the fun was, that, when the two were just going to fly at each other, the third one, who had been watching, used to dart out and give them _such_ a fright--a _real_ fright, you know--which made them jump, oh! three times their own height up into the air, and they came down again with a _fuff_ that put the third one in a fright too; so that they all scattered away from each other as if they had gone quite mad. What's that?"

"It's a fish, I think," said Glynn, rising and going towards the river, to look at the object that had attracted his companion's attention. "It's a shark, I do believe."

In a few seconds the creature came so close that they could see it quite distinctly; and on a more careful inspection, they observed that the mouth of the river was full of these ravenous monsters. Soon after they saw monsters of a still more ferocious aspect; for while they were watching the sharks, two crocodiles put up their snouts, and crawled sluggishly out of the water upon a mud-bank, where they lay down, apparently with the intention of taking a nap in the sunshine. They were too far off, however, to be well seen.

"Isn't it strange, Glynn, that there are such ugly beasts in the world?" said Ailie. "I wonder why God made them?"

"So do I," said Glynn, looking at the child's thoughtful face in some surprise. "I suppose they must be of some sort of use."

"Oh! yes, _of course_ they are," rejoined Ailie quickly. "Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane used to tell me that every creature was made by God for some good purpose; and when I came to the crocodile in my book, they said it was certainly of use too, though they did not know what. I remember it very well, because I was _so_ surprised to hear that Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane did not know _everything_."

"No doubt Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane were right," said Glynn, with a smile. "I confess, however, that crocodiles seem to me to be of no other use than to kill and eat up everything that comes within the reach of their terrible jaws. But, indeed, now I think of it, the very same may be said of man, for _he_ kills and eats up at least everything that he _wants_ to put into his jaws."

"So he does," said Ailie; "isn't it funny?"

"Isn't what funny?" asked Glynn.

"That we should be no better than crocodiles--at least, I mean about eating."

"You forget, Ailie, we cook our food."

"Oh! so we do. I did not remember to think of that. That's a great difference, indeed."

Leaving Glynn and his little charge to philosophise on the resemblance between men and crocodiles, we shall now return to Tim Rokens and Phil Briant, whom we left in the trader's cottage.

The irate Irishman had been calmed down by reason and expostulation, and had again been roused to great indignation several times since we left him, by the account of things connected with the slave-trade, given him by the trader, who, although he had no interest in it himself, did not feel very much aggrieved by the sufferings he witnessed around him.

"You don't mane to tell me, now, that _whalers_ comes in here for slaves, do ye?" said Briant, placing his two fists on his two knees, and thrusting his head towards the trader, who admitted that he meant to say that; and that he meant, moreover, to add, that the thing was by no means of rare occurrence--that whaling ships occasionally ran into that very port on their way south, shipped a cargo of negroes, sold them at the nearest slave-buying port they could make on the American coast, and then proceeded on their voyage, no one being a whit the wiser.

"You don't mean it?" remarked Tim Rokens, crossing his legs and devoting himself to his pipe, with the air of a man who mourned the depravity of his species, but did not feel called upon to disturb his equanimity very much because of it.

Phil Briant clenched his teeth, and glared.

"Indeed I do mean it," reiterated the trader. "Would you believe it, there was one whaler put in here, and what does he do but go and invite a lot o' free blacks aboard to have a blow-out; and no sooner did he get them down into the hold then he shut down the hatches, sailed away, and sold 'em every one."

"Ah! morther, couldn't I burst?" groaned Phil; "an' ov coorse they left a lot o' fatherless children and widders behind 'em."

"They did; but all the widders are married again, and most of the children are grown up."

Briant looked as if he did not feel quite sure whether he ought to regard this as a comforting piece of information or the reverse, and wisely remained silent.

"And now you must excuse me if I leave you to ramble about alone for some time, as I have business to transact; meanwhile I'll introduce you to a nigger who will show you about the place, and one who, if I mistake not, will gladly accompany you to sea as steward's assistant."

The trader opened a door which led to the back part of his premises, and shouted to a stout negro who was sawing wood there, and who came forward with alacrity.

"Ho! Neepeelootambo, go take these gentlemen round about the village, and let them see all that is to be seen."

"Yes, massa."

"And they've got something to say to you about going to sea--would you like to go?"

The negro grinned, and as his mouth was of the largest possible size, it is not exaggeration to say that the grin extended from ear to ear, but he made no other reply.

"Well, please yourself. You're a free man--you may do as you choose."

Neepeelootambo, who was almost naked, having only a small piece of cloth wrapped round his waist and loins, grinned again, displaying a double row of teeth worthy of a shark in so doing, and led his new friends from the house.

"Now," said Tim Rokens, turning to the negro, and pointing along the shore, "we'll go along this way and jaw the matter over. Business first, and pleasure, if ye can get it, arterwards--them's my notions, Nip--Nip--Nippi--what's your name?"

"Coo Tumble, I think," suggested Briant.

"Ay, Nippiloo Bumble--wot a jaw-breaker! so git along, old boy."

The negro, who was by no means an "old boy," but a stalwart man in the prime of life, stepped out, and as they walked along, both Rokens and Briant did their best to persuade him to ship on board the _Red Eric_, but without success. They were somewhat surprised as well as chagrined, having been led to expect that the man would consent at once. But no alluring pictures of the delights of seafaring life, or the pleasures and excitements of the whale-fishery, had the least effect on their sable companion. Even sundry shrewd hints, thrown out by Phil Briant, that "the steward had always command o' the wittles, and that his assistant would only have to help himself when convanient," failed to move him.

"Well, Nippi-Boo-Tumble," cried Tim Rokens, who in his disappointment unceremoniously contracted his name, "it's my opinion--private opinion, mark'ee--that you're a ass, an' you'll come for to repent of it."

"Troth, Nippi-Bumble, he's about right," added Briant coaxingly. "Come now, avic, wot's the raisin ye won't go? Sure we ain't blackguards enough to ax ye to come for to be sold; it's all fair and above board. Why won't ye, now?"

The negro stopped, and turning towards them, drew himself proudly up; then, as if a sudden thought had occurred to him, he advanced a step and held up his forefinger to impose silence.

"You no tell what I go to say? at least, not for one, two day."

"Niver a word, honour bright," said Phil, in a confidential tone, while Rokens expressed the same sentiment by means of an emphatic wink and nod.

"You mus' know," said the negro, earnestly, "me expec's to be made a king!"

"A wot?" exclaimed both his companions in the same breath, and very much in the same tone.

"A king."

"Wot?" said Rokens; "d'ye mean, a ruler of this here country?"

Neepeelootambo nodded his head so violently that it was a marvel it remained on his shoulders.

"Yis. Ho! ho! ho! 'xpec's to be a king."

"And when are ye to be crowned, Bumble?" inquired Briant, rather sceptically, as they resumed their walk.

"Oh, me no say me _goin'_ to be king; me only _'xpec's_ dat."

"Werry good," returned Rokens; "but wot makes ye for to expect it?"

"Aha! Me berry clebber fellow--know most ebbery ting. Me hab doo'd good service to dis here country. Me can fight like one leopard, and me hab kill great few elephant and gorilla. Not much mans here hab shoot de gorilla, him sich terriferick beast; 'bove five foot six tall, and bigger round de breast dan you or me--dat is a great true fact. Also, me can spok Englis'."

"An' so you expec's they're goin' to make you a king for all that?"

"Yis, dat is fat me 'xpec's, for our old king be just dead; but dey nebber tell who dey going to make king till dey do it. I not more sure ob it dan the nigger dat walk dare before you."

Neepeelootambo pointed as he spoke to a negro who certainly had a more kingly aspect than any native they had yet seen. He was a perfect giant, considerably above six feet high, and broad in proportion. He wore no clothing on the upper part of his person, but his legs were encased in a pair of old canvas trousers, which had been made for a man of ordinary stature, so that his huge bony ankles were largely exposed to view.

Just as Phil and Rokens stopped to take a good look at him before passing on, a terrific yell issued from the bushes, and instantly after, a negro ran towards the black giant and administered to him a severe kick on the thigh, following it up with a cuff on the side of the head, at the same time howling something in the native tongue, which our friends of course did not understand. This man was immediately followed by three other blacks, one of whom pulled the giant's hair, the other pulled his nose, and the third spat in his face!

It is needless to remark that the sailors witnessed this unprovoked assault with unutterable amazement. But the most remarkable part of it was, that the fellow, instead of knocking all his assailants down, as he might have done without much trouble, quietly submitted to the indignities heaped upon him; nay, he even smiled upon his tormentors, who increased in numbers every minute, running out from among the bushes and surrounding the unoffending man, and uttering wild shouts as they maltreated him.

"Wot's he bin doin'?" inquired Rokens, turning to his black companion. But Rokens received no answer, for Neepeelootambo was looking on at the scene with an expression so utterly woe-begone and miserable that one would imagine he was himself suffering the rough usage he witnessed.

"Arrah! ye don't appear to be chairful," said Briant, laughing, as he looked in the negro's face. "This is a quare counthrie, an' no mistake;--it seems to be always blowin' a gale o' surprises. Wot's wrong wid ye, Bumble?"

The negro groaned.

"Sure that may be a civil answer, but it's not o' much use. Hallo! what air they doin' wid the poor cratur now?"

As he spoke the crowd seized the black giant by the arms and neck and hair, and dragged him away towards the village, leaving our friends in solitude.

"A very purty little scene," remarked Phil Briant when they were out of sight; "very purty indade, av we only knowed wot it's all about."

If the surprise of the two sailors was great at what they had just witnessed, it was increased tenfold by the subsequent behaviour of their negro companion.

That eccentric individual suddenly checked his groans, gave vent to a long, deep sigh, and assuming a resigned expression of countenance, rose up and said--"Ho! It all ober now, massa."

"I do believe," remarked Rokens, looking gravely at his shipmate, "that the feller's had an attack of the mollygrumbles, an's got better all of a suddint."

"No, massa, dat not it. But me willin' to go wid you now to de sea."

"Eh? willin' to go? Why, Nippi-Too-Cumble, wot a rum customer you are, to be sure!"

"Yis, massa," rejoined the negro. "Me not goin' to be king now, anyhow; so it ob no use stoppin' here. Me go to sea."

"Not goin' to be king? How d'ye know that?"

"'Cause dat oder nigger, him be made king in a berry short time. You mus' know, dat w'en dey make wan king in dis here place, de peeple choose de man; but dey not let him know. He may guess if him please-- like me--but p'raps him guess wrong--like me! Ho! ho! Den arter dey fix on de man, dey run at him and kick him, as you hab seen dem do, and spit on him, and trow mud ober him, tellin' him all de time, `You no king yet, you black rascal; you soon be king, and den you may put your foots on our necks and do w'at you like, but not yit; take dat, you tief!' An' so dey 'buse him for a littel time. Den dey take him straight away to de palace and crown him, an', oh! arter dat dey become very purlite to him. Him know dat well 'nuff, and so him not be angry just now. Ah! me did 'xpec, to hab bin kick and spitted on dis berry day!"

Poor Neepeelootambo uttered the last words in such a deeply touching tone, and seemed to be so much cast down at the thought that his chance of being "kicked and spitted upon" had passed away for ever, that Phil Briant burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and Tim Rokens exhibited symptoms of internal risibility, though his outward physiognomy remained unchanged.

"Och! Bumble, you'll be the death o' me," cried Briant. "An' are they a-crownin' of him now?"

"Yis, massa. Dat what dey go for to do jist now."

"Troth, then, I'll go an' inspict the coronation. Come along, Bumble, me darlint, and show us the way."

In a few minutes Neepeelootambo conducted his new friends into a large rudely-constructed hut, which was open on three sides and thatched with palm-leaves. This was the palace before referred to by him. Here they found a large concourse of negroes, whose main object at that time seemed to be the creation of noise; for besides yelling and hooting, they beat a variety of native drums, some of which consisted of bits of board, and others of old tin and copper kettles. Forcing their way through the noisy throng they reached the inside of the hut, into which they found that Ailie Dunning and Glynn Proctor had pushed their way before them. Giving them a nod of recognition, they sat down on a mat by their side to watch the proceedings, which by this time were nearly concluded.

The new king--who was about to fill the throne rendered vacant by the recent death of the old king of that region--was seated on an elevated stool looking very dignified, despite the rough ordeal through which he had just passed. When the noise above referred to had calmed down, an old grey-headed negro rose and made a speech in the language of the country, after which he advanced and crowned the new king, who had already been invested in a long scarlet coat covered with tarnished gold lace, and cut in the form peculiar to the last century. The crown consisted of an ordinary black silk hat, considerably the worse for wear. It looked familiar and commonplace enough in the eyes of their white visitors; but, being the only specimen of the article in the district, it was regarded by the negroes with peculiar admiration, and deemed worthy to decorate the brows of royalty.

Having had this novel crown placed on the top of his woolly pate, which was much too large for it, the new king hit it an emphatic blow on the top, partly with a view to force it on, and partly, no doubt, with the design of impressing his new subjects with the fact that he was now their rightful sovereign, and that he meant thenceforth to exercise all the authority, and avail himself of all the privileges that his high position conferred on him. He then rose and made a pretty long speech, which was frequently applauded, and which terminated amid a most uproarious demonstration of loyalty on the part of the people.

If you wish to gladden the heart of a black man, reader, get him into the midst of an appalling noise. The negro's delight is to shout, and laugh, and yell, and beat tin kettles with iron spoons. The greater the noise, the more he enjoys himself. Great guns and musketry, gongs and brass bands, kettledrums and smashing crockery, crashing railway-engines, blending their utmost whistles with the shrieks of a thousand pigs being killed, all going at once, full blast, and as near to him as possible, is a species of Elysium to the sable son of Africa. On their occasions of rejoicing, negroes procure and produce as much noise as is possible, so that the white visitors were soon glad to seek shelter, and find relief to their ears, on board ship.

But even there the sounds of rejoicing reached them, and long after the curtain of night had enshrouded land and sea, the hideous din of royal festivities came swelling out with the soft warm breeze that fanned Ailie's cheek as she stood on the quarterdeck of the _Red Eric_, watching the wild antics of the naked savages as they danced round their bright fires, and holding her father's hand tightly as she related the day's adventures, and told of the monkeys, crocodiles, and other strange creatures she had seen in the mangrove-swamps and on the mud-banks of the slimy river.

CHAPTER TEN.

AN INLAND JOURNEY--SLEEPING IN THE WOODS--WILD BEASTS EVERYWHERE--SAD FATE OF A GAZELLE.

The damage sustained by the _Red Eric_ during the storm was found to be more severe than was at first supposed. Part of her false keel had been torn away by a sunken rock, over which the vessel had passed, and scraped so lightly that no one on board was aware of the fact, yet with sufficient force to cause the damage to which we have referred. A slight leak was also discovered, and the injury to the top of the foremast was neither so easily nor so quickly repaired as had been anticipated.

It thus happened that the vessel was detained on this part of the African coast for nearly a couple of weeks, during which time Ailie had frequent opportunities of going on shore, sometimes in charge of Glynn, sometimes with Tim Rokens, and occasionally with her father.

During these little excursions the child lived in a world of romance. Not only were the animals, and plants, and objects of every kind with which she came in contact, entirely new to her, except in so far as she had made their acquaintance in pictures, but she invested everything in the roseate hue peculiar to her own romantic mind. True, she saw many things that caused her a good deal of pain, and she heard a few stories about the terrible cruelty of the negroes to each other, which made her shudder, but unpleasant thoughts did not dwell long on her mind; she soon forgot the little annoyances or frights she experienced, and revelled in the enjoyment of the beautiful sights and sweet perfumes which more than counterbalanced the bad odours and ugly things that came across her path.

Ailie's mind was a very inquiring one, and often and long did she ponder the things she saw, and wonder why God made some so very ugly and some so very pretty, and to what use He intended them to be put. Of course, in such speculative inquiries, she was frequently very much puzzled, as also were the companions to whom she propounded the questions from time to time, but she had been trained to _believe_ that everything that was made by God was good, whether she understood it or not, and she noticed particularly, and made an involuntary memorandum of the fact in her own mind, that ugly things were very few in number, while beautiful objects were absolutely innumerable.

The trader, who rendered good assistance to Captain Dunning in the repair of his ship, frequently overheard Ailie wishing "so much" that she might be allowed to go far into the wild woods, and one day suggested to the captain that, as the ship would have to remain a week or more in port, he would be glad to take a party an excursion up the river in his canoe, and show them a little of forest life, saying at the same time that the little girl might go too, for they were not likely to encounter any danger which might not be easily guarded against.

At first the captain shook his head, remembering the stories that were afloat regarding the wild beasts of those regions. But, on second thoughts, he agreed to allow a well-armed party to accompany the trader; the more so that he was urged thereto very strongly by Dr Hopley, who, being a naturalist, was anxious to procure specimens of the creatures and plants in the interior, and being a phrenologist, was desirous of examining what Glynn termed the "bumpological developments of the negro skull."

On still further considering the matter, Captain Dunning determined to leave the first mate in charge of the ship, head the exploring party himself, and take Ailie along with him.

To say that Ailie was delighted, would be to understate the fact very much. She was wild with joy, and went about all the day, after her father's decision was announced, making every species of insane preparation for the canoe voyage, clasping her hands, and exclaiming, "Oh! _what_ fun!" while her bright eyes sparkled to such an extent that the sailors fairly laughed in her face when they looked at her.

Preparations were soon made. The party consisted of the captain and his little child, Glynn Proctor (of course), Dr Hopley, Tim Rokens, Phil Briant, Jim Scroggles, the trader, and Neepeelootambo, which last had been by that time regularly domesticated on board, and was now known by the name of King Bumble, which name, being as good as his own, and more pronounceable, we shall adopt from this time forward.

The very morning after the proposal was made, the above party embarked in the trader's canoe; and plying their paddles with the energy of men bent on what is vulgarly termed "going the whole hog," they quickly found themselves out of sight of their natural element, the ocean, and surrounded by the wild, rich, luxuriant vegetation of equatorial Africa.

"Now," remarked Tim Rokens, as they ceased paddling, and ran the canoe under the shade of a broad palm-tree that overhung the river, in order to take a short rest and a smoke after a steady paddle of some miles--"Now this is wot I calls glorious, so it is! Ain't it? Pass the 'baccy this way."

This double remark was made to King Bumble, who passed the tobacco-pouch to his friend, after helping himself, and admitted that it was "mugnifercent."

"Here have I bin a-sittin' in this here canoe," continued Rokens, "for more nor two hours, an' to my sartin knowledge I've seed with my two eyes twelve sharks (for I counted 'em every one) at the mouth of the river, and two crocodiles, and the snout of a hopplepittimus; is that wot ye calls it?"

Rokens addressed his question to the captain, but Phil Briant, who had just succeeded in getting his pipe to draw beautifully, answered instead.

"Och! no," said he; "that's not the way to pronounce it at all, at all. It's a huppi-puppi-puttimus."

"I dun know," said Rokens, shaking his head gravely; "it appears to me there's too many huppi puppies in that word."

This debate caused Ailie infinite amusement, for she experienced considerable difficulty herself in pronouncing that name, and had a very truthful picture of the hippopotamus hanging at that moment in her room at home.

"Isn't Tim Rokens very funny, papa?" she remarked in a whisper, looking up in her father's face.

"Hush! my pet, and look yonder. There is something funnier, if I mistake not."

He pointed, as he spoke, to a ripple in the water on the opposite side of the river, close under a bank which was clothed with rank, broad-leaved, and sedgy vegetation. In a few seconds a large crocodile put up its head, not farther off than twenty yards from the canoe, which apparently it did not see, and opening its tremendous jaws, afforded the travellers a splendid view of its teeth and throat. Briant afterwards asserted that he could see down its throat, and could _almost_ tell what it had had for dinner!

"Plaze, sir, may I shoot him?" cried Briant, seizing his loaded musket, and looking towards the captain for permission.

"It's of no use while in that position," remarked the trader, who regarded the hideous-looking monster with the calm unconcern of a man accustomed to such sights.

"You may try;" said the captain with a grin. Almost before the words had left his lips, Phil took a rapid aim and fired. At the same identical moment the crocodile shut his jaws with a snap, as if he had an intuitive perception that something uneatable was coming. The bullet consequently hit his forehead, off which it glanced as if it had struck a plate of cast-iron. The reptile gave a wabble, expressive of lazy surprise, and sank slowly back into the slimy water.

The shot startled more than one huge creature, for immediately afterwards they heard several flops in the water near them, but the tall sedges prevented their seeing what animals they were. A whole troop of monkeys, too, went shrieking away into the woods, showing that those nimble creatures had been watching all their movements, although, until that moment, they had taken good care to keep themselves out of sight.

"Never fire at a crocodile's head," said the trader, as the party resumed their paddles, and continued their ascent of the stream; "you might as well fire at a stone wall. It's as hard as iron. The only place that's sure to kill it just behind the foreleg. The niggers always spear them there."

"What do they spear them for?" asked Dr Hopley.

"They eat 'em," replied the trader; "and the meat's not so bad after you get used to it."

"Ha!" exclaimed Glynn Proctor; "I should fancy the great difficulty is to get used to it."

"If you ever chance to go for a week without tasting fresh meat," replied the trader quietly, "you'll not find it so difficult as you think."

That night the travellers encamped in the woods, and a wild charmingly romantic scene their night bivouac was--so thought Ailie, and so, too, would you have thought, reader, had you been there. King Bumble managed to kindle three enormous fires, for the triple purpose of keeping the party warm--for it was cold at night--of scaring away wild beasts, and of cooking their supper. These fires he fed at intervals during the whole night with huge logs, and the way in which he made the sparks fly up in among the strange big leaves of the tropical trees and parasitical plants overhead, was quite equal, if not superior, to a display of regular fireworks.

Then Bumble and Glynn built a little platform of logs, on which they strewed leaves and grass, and over which they spread a curtain or canopy of broad leaves and boughs. This was Ailie's couch. It stood in the full blaze of the centre fire, and commanded a view of all that was going on in every part of the little camp; and when Ailie lay down on it after a good supper, and was covered up with a blanket, and further covered over with a sort of gauze netting to protect her from the mosquitoes, which were very numerous--when all this was done, we say, and when, in addition to this, she lay and witnessed the jovial laughter and enjoyment of His Majesty King Bumble, as he sat at the big fire smoking his pipe, and the supreme happiness of Phil Briant, and the placid joy of Tim Rokens, and the exuberant delight of Glynn, and the semi-scientific enjoyment of Dr Hopley as he examined a collection of rare plants; and the quiet comfort of the trader, and the awkward, shambling, loose-jointed pleasure of long Jim Scroggles; and the beaming felicity of her own dear father; who sat not far from her, and turned occasionally in the midst of the conversation to give her a nod--she felt in her heart that then and there she had fairly reached the very happiest moment in all her life.

Ailie gazed in dreamy delight until she suddenly and unaccountably saw at least six fires, and fully half-a-dozen Bumbles, and eight or nine Glynns, and no end of fathers, and thousands of trees, and millions of sparks, all jumbled together in one vast complicated and magnificent pyrotechnic display; and then she fell asleep.

It is a curious fact, and one for which it is not easy to account, that however happy you may be when you go to sleep out in the wild woods, you invariably awake in the morning in possession of a very small amount of happiness indeed. Probably it is because one in such circumstances is usually called upon to turn out before he has had enough sleep; perhaps it may be that the fires have burnt low or gone out altogether, and the gloom of a forest before sunrise is not calculated to elevate the spirits. Be this as it may, it is a fact that when Ailie was awakened on the following morning about daybreak, and told to get up, she felt sulky--positively and unmistakably sulky.

We do not say that she looked sulky or acted sulkily--far from it; but she felt sulky, and that was a very uncomfortable state of things. We dwell a little on this point because we do not wish to mislead our young readers into the belief that life in the wild woods is _all_ delightful together. There are shadows as well as lights there--some of them, alas! so deep that we would not like even to refer to them while writing in a sportive vein.

But it is also a fact, that when Ailie was fairly up and once more in the canoe, and when the sun began to flood the landscape with his golden light and turn the water into liquid fire, her temporary feelings of discomfort passed away, and her sensation of intense enjoyment returned.

The scenery through which they passed on the second day was somewhat varied. They emerged early in the day upon the bosom of a large lake which looked almost like the ocean. Here there were immense flocks of water-fowl, and among them that strange, ungainly bird, the pelican. Here, too, there were actually hundreds of crocodiles. The lake was full of little mud islands, and on all of them these hideous and gigantic reptiles were seen basking lazily in the sun.

Several shots were fired at them, but although the balls hit, they did not penetrate their thick hides, until at last one took effect in the soft part close behind the foreleg. The shot was fired by the trader, and it killed the animal instantly. It could not have been less than twenty feet long, but before they could secure it the carcass sank in deep water.

"What a pity!" remarked Glynn, as the eddies circled round the spot where it had gone down.

"Ah, so it is!" replied the doctor; "but he would have been rather large to preserve and carry home as a specimen."

"I ax yer parding, sir," said Tim Rokens, addressing Dr Hopley; "but I'm curious to know if crocodiles has got phrenoligy?"

"No doubt of it," replied the doctor, laughing. "Crocodiles have brains, and brains when exercised must be enlarged and developed, especially in the organs that are most used, hence corresponding development must take place in the skull."

"I should think, doctor," remarked the captain, who was somewhat sceptical, "that their bumps of combativeness must be very large."

"Probably they are," continued the doctor; "something like my friend Phil Briant here. I would venture to guess, now, that his organ of combativeness is well-developed--let me see."

The doctor, who sat close beside the Irishman, caused him to pull in his paddle and submit his head for inspection.

"Ah! then, don't operate on me, doctor dear! I've a mortial fear o' operations iver since me owld grandmother's pig got its foreleg took off at the hip-jint."

"Hold your tongue, Paddy. Now the bump lies here--just under--eh! why, you haven't got so much as--what!"

"Plaize, I think it's lost in fat, sur," remarked Briant, in a plaintive tone, as if he expected to be reprimanded for not having brought his bump of combativeness along with him.

"Well," resumed the doctor, passing his fingers through Briant's matted locks, "I suppose you're not so combative as we had fancied--"

"Thrue for you," interrupted Phil.

"But, strange enough, I find your organ of veneration is very large, _very_ large indeed; singularly so for a man of your character; but I cannot feel it easily, you have such a quantity of hair."

"Which is it, doctor dear?" inquired Phil.

"This one I am pressing now."

"Arrah! don't press so hard, plaze, it's hurtin' me ye are. Shure that's the place where I run me head slap up agin the spanker-boom four days ago. Av _that's_ me bump o' vineration, it wos three times as big an' twice as hard yisterday--it wos, indade."

Interruptions in this world of uncertainty are not uncommon, and in the African wilds they are peculiarly frequent. The interruption which occurred on the present occasion to Dr Hopley's reply was, we need scarcely remark, exceedingly opportune. It came in the form of a hippopotamus, which rose so close to the boat that Ailie got a severe start, and Tim Rokens made a blow at its head with his paddle. It did not seem to notice the boat, but after blowing a quantity of water from its nostrils, and opening its horrible mouth as if it were yawning, it slowly sank again into the flood.

"Wot an 'orrible crittur!" exclaimed Jim Scroggles, in amazement at the sight.

"The howdacious willain!" remarked Rokens.

"Is that another on ahead?" said Glynn, pointing to an object floating on the water about a hundred yards up the river: for they had passed the lake, and were now ascending another stream. "D'ye see it, Ailie? Look!"

The object sank as he spoke, and Ailie looked round just in time to see the tail of a crocodile flop the water and follow its owner to the depths below.

"Oh! oh!" exclaimed Ailie, with one of those peculiar intonations that told Glynn she saw something very beautiful, and that induced the remainder of the crew to rest on their paddles, and turn their eyes in the direction indicated.

They did not require to ask what she saw, for the child's finger directed their eyes to a spot on the bank of the river, where, under the shadow of a spreading bush with gigantic leaves, stood a lovely little gazelle. The graceful creature had trotted down to the stream to drink, and did not observe the canoe, which had been on the point of rounding a bank that jutted out into the river where its progress was checked. The gazelle paused a moment, looked round to satisfy itself that no enemy was near, and then put its lips to the water.

Alas! for the timid little thing! There were enemies near it and round it in all directions. There were leopards and serpents of the largest size in the woods, and man upon the river--although on this occasion it chanced that most of the men who gazed in admiration at its pretty form were friends. But its worst enemy, a crocodile, was lurking close under the mud-bank at its feet.

Scarcely had its parched lips reached the stream when a black snout darted from the water, and the next instant the gazelle was struggling in the crocodile's jaws. A cry of horror burst from the men in the boat, and every man seized a musket; but before an aim could be taken the struggle was over; the monster had dived with its prey, and nothing but a few streaks of red foam floated on the troubled water.

Ailie did not move. She stood with her hands tightly clasped and her eyes starting almost out of their sockets. At last her feelings found vent. She threw her arms round her father's neck, and burying her face in his bosom, burst into a passionate flood of tears.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

NATIVE DOINGS, AND A CRUEL MURDER--JIM SCROGGLES SEES WONDERS, AND HAS A TERRIBLE ADVENTURE.

It took two whole days and nights to restore Ailie to her wonted cheerful state of mind, after she had witnessed the death of the gazelle. But although she sang and laughed, and enjoyed herself as much as ever, she experienced the presence of a new and strange feeling, that ever after that day, tinged her thoughts and influenced her words and actions.

The child had for the first time in her life experienced one of those rude shocks--one of those rough contacts with the stern realities of life which tend to deepen and intensify our feelings. The mind does not always grow by slow, imperceptible degrees, although it usually does so. There are periods in the career of every one when the mind takes, as it were, a sharp run and makes a sudden and stupendous jump out of one region of thought into another in which there are things new as well as old.

The present was such an occasion to little Ailie Dunning. She had indeed seen bloody work before, in the cutting-up of a whale. But although she had been told it often enough, she did not _realise_ that whales have feelings and affections like other creatures. Besides, she had not witnessed the actual killing of the whale; and if she had, it would probably have made little impression on her beyond that of temporary excitement--not even that, perhaps, had her father been by her side. But she _sympathised_ with the gazelle. It was small, and beautiful, and lovable. Her heart had swelled the moment she saw it, and she had felt a longing desire to run up to it and throw her arms round its soft neck, so that, when she saw it suddenly struggling and crushed in the tremendous jaws of the horrible crocodile, every tender feeling in her breast was lacerated; every fibre of her heart trembled with a conflicting gush of the tenderest pity and the fiercest rage. From that day forward new thoughts began to occupy her mind, and old ideas presented themselves in different aspects.

We would not have the reader suppose, for a moment, that Ailie became an utterly changed creature. To an unobservant eye--such as that of Jim Scroggles, for instance--she was the same in all respects a few days after as she had been a few hours before the event. But new elements had been implanted in her breast, or rather, seeds which had hitherto lain dormant were now caused to burst forth into plants by the All-wise Author of her being. She now _felt_ for the first time--she could not tell why--that enjoyment was _not_ the chief good in life.

Of course she did not argue or think out all this clearly and methodically to herself. Her mind, on most things, material as well as immaterial, was very much what may be termed a jumble; but undoubtedly the above processes of reasoning and feeling, or something like them, were the result to Ailie of the violent death of that little gazelle.

The very next day after this sad event the travellers came to a native village, at which they stayed a night, in order to rest and procure fresh provisions. The trader was well-known at this village, but the natives, all of whom were black, of course, and nearly naked, had never seen a little white girl before, so that their interest in and wonder at Ailie were quite amusing to witness. They crowded round her, laughing and exclaiming and gesticulating in a most remarkable manner, and taking special notice of her light-brown glossy hair, which seemed to fill them with unbounded astonishment and admiration; as well it might, for they had never before seen any other hair except the coarse curly wool on their own pates, and the long lank hair of the trader, which happened to be coarse and black.

The child was at first annoyed by the attentions paid her, but at last she became interested in the sooty little naked children that thronged round her, and allowed them to handle her as much as they pleased, until her father led her to the residence of the chief or king of the tribe. Here she was well treated, and she began quite to like the people who were so kind to her and her friends. But she chanced to overhear a conversation between the doctor and Tim Rokens, which caused her afterwards to shrink from the negroes with horror.

She was sitting on a bank picking wild-flowers some hours after the arrival of her party, and teaching several black children how to make necklaces of them, when the doctor and Rokens happened to sit down together at the other side of a bush which concealed her from their view. Tim was evidently excited, for the tones of his voice were loud and emphatic.

"Yes," he said, in reply to some questions put to him by the doctor; "yes, I seed 'em do it, not ten minutes agone, with my own two eyes. Oh! but I would like to have 'em up in a row--every black villain in the place--an' a cutlass in my hand, an'--an' wouldn't I whip off their heads? No, I wouldn't; oh, no, by no means wotiver."

There was something unusually fierce in Rokens' voice that alarmed Ailie.

"I was jist takin' a turn," continued the sailor, "down by the creek yonder, when I heerd a great yellin' goin' on, and saw the trader in the middle of a crowd o' black fellows, a-shakin' his fists; so I made sail, of course, to lend a hand if he'd got into trouble. He was scoldin' away in the native lingo, as if he'd bin a born nigger.

"`Wot's all to do?' says I.

"`They're goin' to kill a little boy,' says he, quite fierce like, `'cause they took it into their heads he's bewitched.'

"An' sayin' that, he sot to agin in the other lingo, but the king came up an' told him that the boy had to be killed 'cause he had a devil in him, and had gone and betwitched a number o' other people; an' before he had done speakin', up comes two fellers, draggin' the poor little boy between them. The king axed him if he wos betwitched, and the little chap--from sheer fright, I do believe--said he wos. Of coorse I couldn't understand 'em, but the trader explained it all arter. Well, no sooner had he said that, than they all gave a yell, and rushed upon the poor boy with their knives, and cut him to pieces. It's as sure as I'm sittin' here," cried Rokens, savagely, as his wrath rose again at the bare recital of the terrible deed he had witnessed. "I would ha' knocked out the king's brains there and then, but the trader caught my hand, and said, in a great fright, that if I did, it would not only cost me my life, but likely the whole party; so that cooled me, and I come away; an' I'm goin' to ax the captin wot we shud do."

"We can do nothing," said the doctor sadly. "Even suppose we were strong enough to punish them, what good would it do? We can't change their natures. They are superstitious, and are firmly persuaded they did right in killing that poor boy."

The doctor pondered for a few seconds, and then added, in a low voice, as if he were weighing the meaning of what he said: "Clergymen would tell us that nothing can deliver them from this bondage save a knowledge of the true God and of His Son Jesus Christ; that the Bible might be the means of curing them, if Bibles were only sent, and ministers to preach the gospel."

"Then why ain't Bibles sent to 'em at once?" asked Rokens, in a tone of great indignation, supposing that the doctor was expressing his own opinion on the subject. "Is there nobody to look arter these matters in Christian lands?"

"Oh, yes, there are many Bible Societies, and both Bibles and missionaries have been sent to this country; but it's a large one, and the societies tell us their funds are limited."

"Then why don't they git more funds?" continued Rokens, in the same indignant tone, as his mind still dwelt upon the miseries and wickedness that he had seen, and that _might_ be prevented; "why don't they git more funds, and send out heaps o' Bibles, an' no end o' missionaries?"

"Tim Rokens," said the doctor, looking earnestly into his companion's face, "if I were one of the missionaries, I might ask you how much money _you_ ever gave to enable societies to send Bibles and missionaries to foreign lands?"

Tim Rokens was for once in his life completely taken aback. He was by nature a stolid man, and not easily put out. He was a shrewd man, too, and did not often commit himself. When he did, he was wont to laugh at himself, and so neutralise the laugh raised against him. But here was a question that was too serious for laughter, and yet one which he could not answer without being self-condemned. He looked gravely in the doctor's face for two minutes without speaking; then he heaved a deep sigh, and said slowly, and with a pause between each word--

"Doctor Hopley--I--never--gave--a--rap--in--all--my--life."

"So then, my man," said the doctor, smiling, "you're scarcely entitled to be indignant with others."

"Wot you remark, doctor, is true; I--am--not."

Having thus fully and emphatically condemned himself, and along with himself all mankind who are in a similar category, Tim Rokens relapsed into silence, deliberately drew forth his pipe, filled it, lit it, and began to smoke.

None of the party of travellers slept well that night, except perhaps the trader, who was accustomed to the ways of the negroes, and King Bumble, who had been born and bred in the midst of cruelties. Most of them dreamed of savage orgies, and massacres of innocent children, so that when daybreak summoned them to resume their journey, they arose and embarked with alacrity, glad to get away from the spot.

During that day and the next they saw a great number of crocodiles and hippopotami, besides strange birds and plants innumerable. The doctor filled his botanical-box to bursting. Ailie filled her flower-basket to overflowing. Glynn hit a crocodile on the back with a bullet, and received a lazy stare from the ugly creature in return, as it waddled slowly down the bank on which it had been lying, and plumped into the river. The captain assisted Ailie to pluck flowers when they landed, which they did from time to time, and helped to arrange and pack them when they returned to the canoe. Tim Rokens did nothing particularly worthy of record; but he gave utterance to an immense number of sententious and wise remarks, which were listened to by Bumble with deep respect, for that sable gentleman had taken a great fancy for the bold harpooner, and treasured up all his sayings in his heart.

Phil Briant distinguished himself by shooting an immense serpent, which the doctor, who cut off and retained its head, pronounced to be an anaconda. It was full twenty feet long; and part of the body was cut up, roasted, and eaten by Bumble and the trader, though the others turned from it with loathing.

"It be more cleaner dan one pig, anyhow," remarked Bumble, on observing the disgust of his white friends; "an' you no objic' to eat dat."

"Clainer than a pig, ye spalpeen!" cried Phil Briant; "that only shows yer benighted haithen ignerance. Sure I lived in the same cabin wid a pig for many a year--not not to mintion a large family o' cocks and hens--an' a clainer baste than that pig didn't stop in that cabin."

"That doesn't say much for your own cleanliness, or that of your family," remarked Glynn.

"Och! ye've bin to school, no doubt, haven't ye?" retorted Phil.

"I have," replied Glynn.

"Shure I thought so. It's there ye must have larned to be so oncommon cliver. Don't you iver be persuaded for to go to school, Bumble, if ye iver git the chance. It's a mighty lot o' taichin' they'd give ye, but niver a taste o' edication. Tin to wan, they'd cram ye till ye turned white i' the face, an' that wouldn't suit yer complexion, ye know, King Bumble, be no manes."

As for the trader, he acted interpreter when the party fell in with negroes, and explained everything that puzzled them, and told them anecdotes without end about the natives and the wild creatures, and the traffic of the regions through which they passed. In short, he made himself generally useful and agreeable.

But the man who distinguished himself most on that trip was Jim Scroggles. That lanky individual one day took it into his wise head to go off on a short ramble into the woods alone. He had been warned by the trader, along with the rest of the party, not to venture on such a dangerous thing; but being an absent man the warning had not reached his intellect although it had fallen on his ear. The party were on shore cooking dinner when he went off, without arms of any kind, and without telling whither he was bound. Indeed, he had no defined intentions in his own mind. He merely felt inclined for a ramble, and so went away, intending to be back in half-an-hour or less.

But Jim Scroggles had long legs and loved locomotion. Moreover, the woods were exceedingly beautiful and fragrant, and comparatively cool: for it happened to be the coolest season of the year in that sultry region, else the party of Europeans could not have ventured to travel there at all.

Wandering along beneath the shade of palm-trees and large-leaved shrubs and other tropical productions, with his hands in his breeches pockets, and whistling a variety of popular airs, which must have not a little astonished the monkeys and birds and other creatures--such of them, at least, as had any taste for or knowledge of music--Jim Scroggles penetrated much farther into the wilds than he had any intention of doing. There is no saying how far, in his absence of mind, he might have wandered, had he not been caught and very uncomfortably entangled in a mesh-work of wild vines and thorny plants that barred his further progress.

Jim had encountered several such before in his walk, but had forced his way through without more serious damage than a rent or two in his shirt and pantaloons, and several severe scratches to his hands and face; but Scroggles had lived a hard life from infancy, and did not mind scratches. Now, however, he could not advance a step, and it was only by much patient labour and by the free use of his clasp-knife, that he succeeded at length in releasing himself. He left a large portion of one of the legs of his trousers and several bits of skin on the bushes, as a memorial of his visit to that spot.

Jim's mind was awoken to the perception of three facts--namely, that he had made himself late for dinner; that he would be the means of detaining his party; and that he had lost himself.

Here was a pretty business! Being a man of slow thought and much deliberation, he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and looking up, as men usually do when soliloquising, exclaimed--

"My eye, here's a go! Wot is to be done?"

A very small monkey, with an uncommonly wrinkled and melancholy cast of visage, which chanced to be seated on a branch hard by, peering down at the lost mariner, replied--

"O! o-o-o, O! o-o!" as much as to say, "Ah, my boy, that's just the question."

Jim Scroggles shook his head, partly as a rebuke to the impertinent little monkey and partly as an indication of the hopelessness of his being able to return a satisfactory answer to his own question.

At last he started up, exclaiming, "Wotever comes on it, there's no use o' sitting here," and walked straight forward at a brisk pace. Then he suddenly stopped, shook his head again, and said, "If I goes on like this, an' it shud turn out to be the wrong course arter all--wot'll come on't?"

Being as unable to answer this question as the former, he thrust both hands into his pockets, looked at the ground and began to whistle. When he looked up again he ceased whistling very abruptly, and turned deadly pale--perhaps we should say yellow. And no wonder, for there, straight before him, not more than twenty yards off, stood a creature which, to his ignorant eyes, appeared to be a fiend incarnate, but which was in reality a large-sized and very ancient sheego monkey.

It stood in an upright position like a man, and was above four feet high. It had a bald head, grey whiskers, and an intensely black wrinkled face, and, at the moment Jim Scroggles' eyes encountered it, that face was working itself into such a variety of remarkable and hideous contortions that no description, however graphic, could convey a correct notion of it to the reader's mind. Seen behind the bars of an iron cage it might, perhaps, have been laughable; but witnessed as it was, in the depths of a lonely forest, it was appalling.

Jim Scroggles' knees began to shake. He was fascinated with horror. The huge ape was equally fascinated with terror. It worked its wrinkled visage more violently than ever. Jim trembled all over. In another second the sheego displayed not only all its teeth--and they were tremendous--but all its gums, and they were fearful to behold, besides being scarlet. Roused to the utmost pitch of fear, the sheego uttered a shriek that rang through the forest like a death-yell. This was the culminating point. Jim Scroggles turned and fled as fast as his long and trembling legs could carry him.

The sheego, at the same instant, was smitten with an identically similar impulse. It turned, uttered another yell, and fled in the opposite direction; and thus the two ran until they were both out of breath. What became of the monkey we cannot tell; but Jim Scroggles ran at headlong speed straight before him, crashing through brake and bush, in the full belief that the sheego was in hot pursuit, until he came to a mangrove swamp; here his speed was checked somewhat, for the trees grew in a curious fashion that merits special notice.

Instead of rising out of the ground, the mangroves rose out of a sea of mud, and the roots stood up in a somewhat arched form, supporting their stem, as it were, on the top of a bridge. Thus, had the ground beneath been solid, a man might have walked _under_ the roots. In order to cross the swamp, Jim Scroggles had to leap from root to root--a feat which, although difficult, he would have attempted without hesitation. But Jim was agitated at that particular moment. His step was uncertain at a time when the utmost coolness was necessary. At one point the leap from one root to the next was too great for him. He turned his eye quickly to one side to seek a nearer stem; in doing so he encountered the gaze of a serpent. It was not a large one, probably about ten feet long, but he knew it to be one whose bite was deadly. In the surprise and fear of the moment he took the long leap, came short of the root by about six inches, and alighted up to the waist in the soft mud.

Almost involuntarily he cast his eyes behind him, and saw neither sheego nor serpent. He breathed more freely, and essayed to extricate himself from his unpleasant position. Stretching out his hands to the root above his head, he found that it was beyond his reach. The sudden fear that this produced caused him to make a violent struggle, and in his next effort he succeeded in catching a twig; it supported him, for a moment, then broke, and he fell back again into the mud. Each successive struggle only sank him deeper. As the thick adhesive semi-liquid clung to his lower limbs and rose slowly on his chest, the wretched man uttered a loud cry of despair. He felt that he was brought suddenly face to face with death in its most awful form. The mud was soon up to his arm-pits. As the hopelessness of his condition forced itself upon him, he began to shout for help until the dark woods resounded with his cries; but no help came, and the cold drops of sweat stood upon his brow as he shrieked aloud in agony, and prayed for mercy.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

JIM SCROGGLES RESCUED, AND GLYNN AND AILIE LOST--A CAPTURE, UPSET, CHASE, ESCAPE, AND HAPPY RETURN.

The merciful manner in which God sends deliverance at the eleventh hour has been so often experienced and recognised, that it has originated the well-known proverb, "Man's extremity is God's opportunity;" and this proverb is true not only in reference to man's soul, but often, also, in regard to his temporal affairs.

While the wretched sailor was uttering cries for help, which grew feebler every moment as he sank deeper and deeper into what now he believed should be his grave, his comrades were hastening forward to his rescue.

Alarmed at his prolonged absence, they had armed themselves, and set out in search of him, headed by the trader and led by the negro, who tracked his steps with that unerring certainty which seems peculiar to all savages. The shrieks uttered by their poor comrade soon reached their ears, and after some little difficulty, owing to the cries becoming faint, and at last inaudible, they discovered the swamp where he lay, and revived his hope and energy by their shouts. They found him nearly up to the neck in mud, and the little of him that still remained above ground was scarcely recognisable.

It cost them nearly an hour, with the aid of poles, and ropes extemporised out of their garments, to drag Jim from his perilous position and place him on solid ground; and after they had accomplished this, it took more than an hour longer to clean him and get him recruited sufficiently to accompany them to the spot where they had left the canoe.

The poor man was deeply moved; and when he fully realised the fact that he was saved, he wept like a child, and then thanked God fervently for his deliverance. As the night was approaching, and the canoe, with Ailie in it, had been left in charge only of Glynn Proctor, Jim's recovery was expedited as much as possible, and as soon as he could walk they turned to retrace their steps.

Man knows not what a day or an hour will bring forth. For many years one may be permitted to move on "the even tenor of his way," without anything of momentous import occurring to mark the passage of his little span of time as it sweeps him onward to eternity. At another period of life, events, it may be of the most startling and abidingly impressive nature, are crowded into a few months or weeks, or even days. So it was now with our travellers on the African river. When they reached the spot where they had dined, no one replied to their shouts. The canoe, Glynn, and the child were gone.

On making this terrible discovery the whole party were filled with indescribable consternation, and ran wildly hither and thither, up and down the banks of the river, shouting the names of Glynn Proctor and Ailie, until the woods rang again. Captain Dunning was almost mad with anxiety and horror. His imagination pictured his child in every conceivable danger. He thought of her as drowned in the river and devoured by crocodiles; as carried away by the natives into hopeless captivity; or, perhaps, killed by wild beasts in the forest. When several hours had elapsed, and still no sign of the missing ones could be discovered, he fell down exhausted on the river's bank, and groaned aloud in his despair.

But Ailie was not lost. The Heavenly Father in whom she trusted still watched over and cared for her, and Glynn Proctor's stout right arm was still by her side to protect her.

About half-an-hour after the party had gone off in search of their lost companion, a large canoe, full of negroes, came sweeping down the river. Glynn and Ailie hid themselves in the bushes, and lay perfectly still, hoping they might be passed by. But they forgot that the blue smoke of their fire curled up through the foliage and revealed their presence at once. On observing the smoke, the savages gave a shout, and, running their canoe close in to the bank, leaped ashore and began to scamper through the wood like baboons.

Only a few minutes passed before they discovered the two hiders, whom they surrounded and gazed upon in the utmost possible amazement, shouting the while with delight, as if they had discovered a couple of new species of monkey. Glynn was by nature a reckless and hasty youth. He felt the power of a young giant within him, and his first impulse was to leap upon the newcomers, and knock them down right and left. Fortunately, for Ailie's sake as well as his own, he had wisdom enough to know that though he had possessed the power of ten giants, he could not hope, singly, to overcome twenty negroes, all of whom were strong, active, and lithe as panthers. He therefore assumed a good-humoured free-and-easy air, and allowed himself and Ailie to be looked at and handled without ceremony.

The savages were evidently not ill-disposed towards the wanderers. They laughed a great deal, and spoke to each other rapidly in what, to Glynn, was of course an unknown tongue. One who appeared to be the chief of the party passed his long black fingers through Ailie's glossy curls with evident surprise and delight. He then advanced to Glynn, and said something like--

"Holli--boobo--gaddle--bump--um--peepi--daddle--dumps."

To which Glynn replied very naturally, "I don't understand you."

Of course he did not. And he might have known well enough that the negro could not understand _him_. But he deemed it wiser to make a reply of some kind, however unintelligible, than to stand like a post and say nothing.

Again the negro spoke, and again Glynn made the same reply; whereupon the black fellow turned round to his comrades and looked at them, and they, in reply to the look, burst again into an immoderate fit of laughter, and cut a variety of capers, the very simplest of which would have made the fortune of any merry-andrew in the civilised world, had he been able to execute it. This was all very well, no doubt, and exceedingly amusing, not to say surprising; but it became quite a different matter when, after satisfying their curiosity, these dark gentlemen coolly collected the property of the white men, stowed it away in the small canoe, and made signs to Glynn and Ailie to enter.

Glynn showed a decided objection to obey, on which two stout fellows seized him by the shoulders, and pointed sternly to the canoe, as much as to say, "Hobbi-doddle-hoogum-toly-whack," which, being interpreted (no doubt) meant, "If you don't go quietly, we'll force you."

Again the young sailor's spirit leaped up. He clenched his fists, his brow flushed crimson, and, in another instant, whatever might have been the consequence, the two negroes would certainly have lain recumbent on the sward, had it not suddenly occurred to Glynn that he might, by appearing to submit, win the confidence of his captors, and, at the first night-encampment, quietly make his escape with Ailie in his arms!

Glynn was at that romantic age when young men have a tendency to think themselves capable of doing almost anything, with or without ordinary facilities, and in the face of any amount of adverse circumstance. He therefore stepped willingly and even cheerfully into the canoe, in which his and his comrades' baggage had been already stowed, and, seating himself in the stern, took up the steering-paddle. He was ordered to quit that post, however, in favour of a powerful negro, and made to sit in the bow and paddle there. Ailie was placed with great care in the centre of the canoe among a heap of soft leopard-skins; for the savages evidently regarded her as something worth preserving--a rare and beautiful specimen, perhaps, of the white monkey!

This done, they leaped into their large canoe, and, attaching the smaller one to it by means of a rope, paddled out from the bank, and descended the stream.

"Oh! Glynn," exclaimed Ailie, in a whisper--for she felt that things were beginning to look serious--"what _are_ we to do?"

"Indeed, my pet, I don't know," replied Glynn, looking round and encountering the gaze of the negro in the stern, at whom he frowned darkly, and received a savage grin by way of reply.

"I would like _so_ much to say something to you," continued Ailie, "but I'm afraid _he_ will know what I say."

"Never fear, Ailie; he's as deaf as a post to our language. Out with it."

"Could you not," she said, in a half-whisper, "cut the rope, and then paddle away back while _they_ are paddling down the river?"

Glynn laughed in spite of himself at this proposal.

"And what, my pretty one," he said, "what should we do with the fellow in the stern? Besides, the rascals in front might take it into their heads to paddle after us, you know, and what then?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Ailie, beginning to cry.

"Now, don't cry, my darling," said Glynn, looking over his shoulder with much concern. "I'll manage to get you out of this scrape somehow--now see if I don't."

The youth spoke so confidently, that the child felt somehow comforted, so drying her eyes she lay back among the leopard-skins, where, giving vent to an occasional sob, she speedily fell fast asleep.

They continued to advance thus in silence for nearly an hour, crossed a small lake, and again entered the river. After descending this some time, the attention of the whole party was attracted to a group of hippopotami, gambolling in the mud-banks and in the river a short distance ahead. At any other time Glynn would have been interested in the sight of these uncouth monsters, but he had seen so many within the last few days that he was becoming comparatively indifferent to them, and at that moment he was too much filled with anxiety to take any notice of them. The creatures themselves, however, did not seem to be so utterly indifferent to the strangers. They continued their gambols until the canoes were quite near, and then they dived. Now, hippopotami, as we have before hinted, are clumsy and stupid creatures, so much so that they occasionally run against and upset boats and canoes, quite unintentionally. Knowing this, the natives in the large canoe kept a sharp look-out in order to steer clear of them.

They had almost succeeded in passing the place, when a huge fellow, like a sugar-punchean, rose close to the small canoe, and grazed it with his tail. Apparently he considered this an attack made upon him by the boat, for he wheeled round in a rage, and swam violently towards it. The negro and Glynn sprang to their feet on the instant, and the former raised his paddle to deal the creature a blow on the head. Before he could do so, Glynn leaped lightly over Ailie, who had just awakened, caught the savage by the ankles, and tossed him overboard. He fell with a heavy splash just in front of the cavernous jaws of the hippopotamus! In fact, he had narrowly escaped falling head-first into the creature's open throat.

The nearness of the animal at the time was probably the means of saving the negro's life, for it did not observe where he had vanished to, as he sank under its chin, and was pushed by its forelegs right under its body. In its effort to lay hold of the negro, the hippopotamus made a partial dive, and thus passed the small canoe. When it again rose to the surface the large canoe met its eye. At this it rushed, drove its hammer-like skull through the light material of which it was made, and then seizing the broken ends in its strong jaws upset the canoe, and began to rend it to pieces in its fury.

Before this occurred, the crew had leaped into the water, and were now swimming madly to the shore. At the same moment Glynn cut the line that fastened the two canoes together, and seizing his paddle, urged his craft up the river as fast as possible. But his single arm could not drive it with much speed against the stream, and before he had advanced a dozen yards, one of the natives overtook him and several more followed close behind. Glynn allowed the first one to come near, and then gave him a tremendous blow on the head with the edge of the paddle.

The young sailor was not in a gentle frame of mind at that time, by any means. The blow was given with a will, and would probably have fractured the skull of a white man; but that of a negro is proverbially thick. The fellow was only stunned, and fell back among his comrades, who judiciously considering that such treatment was not agreeable and ought not to be courted, put about, and made for the shore.

Glynn now kept his canoe well over to the left side of the stream while the savages ran along the right bank, yelling ferociously and occasionally attempting to swim towards him, but without success. He was somewhat relieved, and sent them a shout of defiance, which was returned, of course with interest. Still he felt that his chance of escape was poor. He was becoming exhausted by the constant and violent exertion that was necessary in order to make head against the stream. The savages knew this, and bided their time.

As he continued to labour slowly up, Glynn came to the mouth of a small stream which joined the river. He knew not where it might lead to, but feeling that he could not hold out much longer, he turned into it, without any very definite idea as to what he would attempt next. The stream was sluggish. He advanced more easily, and after a few strokes of the paddle doubled round a point and was hid from the eyes of the negroes, who immediately set up a yell and plunged into the river, intending to swim over; but fortunately it was much too rapid in the middle, and they were compelled to return. We say fortunately, because, had they succeeded in crossing, they would have found Glynn in the bushes of the point behind which he had disappeared, in a very exhausted state, though prepared to fight to the last with all the energy of despair.

As it was, he had the extreme satisfaction of seeing his enemies, after regaining the right bank, set off at a quick run down the river. He now remembered having seen a place about two miles further down that looked like a ford, and he at once concluded his pursuers had set off to that point, and would speedily return and easily recapture him in the narrow little stream into which he had pushed. To cross the large river was impossible--the canoe would have been swamped in the rapid. But what was to hinder him from paddling close in along the side, and perhaps reach the lake while the negroes were looking for him up the small stream?

He put this plan into execution at once; and Ailie took a paddle in her small hands and did her utmost to help him. It wasn't much, poor thing; but to hear the way in which Glynn encouraged her and spoke of her efforts, one would have supposed she had been as useful as a full-grown man! After a couple of hours' hard work, they emerged upon the lake, and here Glynn felt that he was pretty safe, because, in the still water, no man could swim nearly as fast as he could paddle. Besides, it was now getting dark, so he pushed out towards a rocky islet on which there were only a few small bushes, resolved to take a short rest there, and then continue his flight under cover of the darkness.

While Glynn carried ashore some biscuit, which was the only thing in the boat they could eat without cooking, Ailie broke off some branches from the low bushes that covered the little rocky islet, and spread them out on a flat rock for a couch; this done, she stood on the top of a large stone and gazed round upon the calm surface of the beautiful lake, in the dark depths of which the stars twinkled as if there were another sky down there.

"Now, Ailie," said Glynn, "come along and have supper. It's not a very tempting one, but we must content ourselves with hard fare and a hard bed to-night, as I dare not light a fire lest the negroes should observe it and catch us."

"I'm sorry for that," replied the child; "for a fire is _so_ nice and cheery; and it helps to keep off the wild beasts, too, doesn't it?"

"Well, it does; but there are no wild beasts on such a small rock as this, and the sides are luckily too steep for crocodiles to crawl up."

"Shall we sleep here till morning?" asked Ailie, munching her hard biscuit and drinking her tin pannikinful of cold water with great relish, for she was very hungry.

"Oh, no!" replied Glynn. "We must be up and away in an hour at farthest. So, as I see you're about done with your luxurious supper, I propose that you lie down to rest."

Ailie was only too glad to accede to this proposal. She lay down on the branches, and after Glynn had covered her with a blanket, he stretched himself on a leopard-skin beside her, and both of them fell asleep in five minutes. The mosquitoes were very savage that night, but the sleepers were too much fatigued to mind their vicious attacks.

Glynn slept two hours, and then he wakened with a start, as most persons do when they have arranged, before going to sleep, to rise at a certain hour. He rose softly, carried the provisions back to the canoe, and in his sleepy condition almost stepped upon the head of a huge crocodile, which, ignorant of their presence, had landed its head on the islet in order to have a snooze. Then he roused Ailie, and led her, more than half asleep, down to the beach, and lifted her into the canoe, after which he pushed off, and paddled briskly over the still waters of the star-lit lake. Ailie merely yawned during all these proceedings; said, "Dear me! is it time to--yeaow! oh, I'm _so_ sleepy;" mumbled something about papa wondering what had become of Jim Scroggles, and about her being convinced that--"yeaow!--the ship must have lost itself among the whales and monkeys;" and then, dropping her head on the leopard-skins with a deep sigh of comfort, she returned to the land of Nod.

Glynn Proctor worked so well that it was still early in the morning and quite dark when he arrived at the encampment where they had been made prisoners. His heart beat audibly as he approached the dark landing-place, and observed no sign of his comrades. The moment the bow of the canoe touched the shore, he sprang over the side, and, without disturbing the little sleeper, drew it gently up the bank, and fastened the bow-rope to a tree; then he hurried to the spot where they had slept and found all the fires out except one, of which a few dull embers still remained; but no comrade was visible.

It is a felicitous arrangement of our organs of sense, that where one organ fails to convey to our inward man information regarding the outward world, another often steps in to supply its place, and perform the needful duty. We have said that Glynn Proctor saw nothing of his comrades,--although he gazed earnestly all round the camp--for the very good reason that it was almost pitch-dark; but although his eyes were useless, his ears were uncommonly acute, and through their instrumentality he became cognisant of a sound. It might have been distant thunder, but was too continuous and regular for that. It might have been the distant rumbling of heavy wagons or artillery over a paved road; but there were neither wagons nor roads in those African wilds. It might have been the prolonged choking of an alligator--it might, in fact, have been _anything_ in a region like that, where _everything_, almost, was curious, and new, and strange, and wild, and unaccountable; and the listener was beginning to entertain the most uncomfortable ideas of what it probably was, when a gasp and a peculiar snort apprised him that it was a human snore!--at least, if not a human snore, it was that of some living creature which indulged to a very extravagant degree in that curious and altogether objectionable practice.

Stepping cautiously forward on tip-toe, Glynn searched among the leaves all round the fire, following the direction of the sounds, but nothing was to be found; and he experienced a slight feeling of supernatural dread creeping over him, when a peculiarly loud metallic snore sounded clear above his head. Looking up, he beheld by the dull red light of the almost extinct fire, the form of Phil Briant, half-seated, half-reclining, on the branch of a tree not ten feet from the ground, and clasping another branch tightly with both arms.

At that moment, Ailie, who had awakened, ran up, and caught Glynn by the hand.

"Hallo! Briant!" exclaimed Glynn.

A very loud snore was the reply.

"Briant! Phil Briant, I say; hallo! Phil!" shouted Glynn.

"Arrah! howld yer noise will ye," muttered the still sleeping man--"sno--o--o--o--re!"

"A fall! a fall!--all hands ahoy! tumble up there, tumble up!" shouted Glynn, in the nautical tones which he well knew would have their effect upon his comrade.

He was right. They had more than their usual effect on him. The instant he heard them, Phil Briant shouted--"Ay, ay, sir!" and, throwing his legs over the side of what he supposed to be his hammock, he came down bodily on what he supposed to be the deck with a whack that caused him to utter an involuntary but tremendous howl.

"Oh! och! oh! murther! oh whirra!" he cried, as he lay half-stunned. "Oh, it's kilt I am entirely--dead as mutton at last, an' no mistake. Sure I might have knowd it--och! worse luck! Didn't yer poor owld mother tell ye, Phil, that ye'd come to a bad end--she did--"

"Are ye badly hurt?" said Glynn, stooping over his friend in real alarm.

At the sound of his voice Briant ceased his wails, rose into a sitting posture, shaded his eyes with his hand (a most unnecessary proceeding under the circumstances), and stared at him.

"It's me, Phil; all right, and Ailie. We've escaped, and got safe back again."

"It's jokin' ye are," said Briant, with the imbecile smile of a man who only half believes what he actually sees. "I'm draimin', that's it. Go away, avic, an' don't be botherin' me."

"It's quite true, though, I assure you, my boy. I've managed to give the niggers the slip; and here's Ailie, too, all safe, and ready to convince you of the fact."

Phil Briant looked at one and then at the other in unbounded amazement for a few seconds, after which he gave a short laugh as if of pity for his own weakness, and his face assumed a mild aspect as he said softly, "It's all a draim, av coorse it is!" He even turned away his eyes for a moment in order to give the vision time to dissipate. But on looking round again, there it was, as palpable as ever. Faith in the fidelity of his own eyesight returned in a moment, and Phil Briant, forgetting his bodily pains, sprang to his feet with a roar of joy, seized Ailie in his arms and kissed her, embraced Glynn Proctor with a squeeze like that of a loving bear, and then began to dance an Irish jig, quite regardless of the fact that the greater part of it was performed in the fire, the embers of which he sent flying in all directions like a display of fireworks. He cheered, too, now and then like a maniac--"Oh, happy day! I've found ye, have I? after all me trouble, too! Hooray! an' wan chair more for luck. Av me sowl only don't lape clane out o' me body, it's meself'll be thankful! But, sure--I'm forgittin'--"

Briant paused suddenly in the midst of his uproarious dance, and seized a burning stick, which he attempted to blow into a flame with intense vehemence of action. Having succeeded, he darted towards an open space a few yards off, in the centre of which lay a large pile of dry sticks. To these he applied the lighted brand, and the next instant a glare of ruddy flame leaped upwards, and sent a shower of sparks high above the forest trees into the sky. He then returned, panting a good deal, but much composed, and said--"Now, darlints, come an' help me to gather the bits o' stick; somebody's bin scatterin' them all over the place, they have, bad luck to them! an' then ye'll sit down and talk a bit, an' tell me all about it."

"But what's the fire for?" asked Ailie.

"Ay, ye may say that," added Glynn; "we don't need such a huge bonfire as that to cook our supper with."

"Och! be aisy, do. It'll do its work; small doubt o' that. The cap'n, poor man, ye know, is a'most deranged, an' they're every one o' them off at this good minute scourin' the woods lookin' for ye. O, then, it's sore hearts we've had this day! An' wan was sent wan way, an' wan another, an' the cap'n his-self he wint up the river, and, before he goes, he says to me, says he, `Briant, you'll stop here and watch the camp, for maybe they'll come wanderin' back to it, av they've bin and lost theirselves; an' mind ye don't lave it or go to slape. An' if they do come, or ye hear any news o' them, jist you light up a great fire, an' I'll be on the look-out, an' we'll all on us come back as fast as we can.' Now, that's the truth, an' the whole truth, an' nothin' but the truth, as the judge said to the witness when he swore at him."

This was a comforting piece of information to Glynn and Ailie, so, without further delay, they assisted their overjoyed comrade to collect the scattered embers of the fire and boil the kettle. In this work they were all the more energetic that the pangs of hunger were beginning to remind them of the frugal and scanty nature of their last meal.

The bonfire did its work effectually. From all parts of the forest to which they had wandered, the party came, dropping in one by one to congratulate the lost and found pair. Last of all came Captain Dunning and Tim Rokens, for the harpooner had vowed he would "stick to the cap'n through thick and thin." Tim kept his word faithfully. Through thick tangled brakes and thin mud-swamps did he follow his wretched commander that night until he could scarcely stand for fatigue, or keep his eyes open for sleep; and when the captain rushed into the camp at last, and clasped his sobbing child to his heart, Tim Rokens rushed in along with him, halted beside him, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked on, while his eyes blinked with irresistible drowsiness, and his mud-bespattered visage beamed with excessive joy.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

PHILOSOPHICAL REMARKS ON "LIFE"--A MONKEY SHOT AND A MONKEY FOUND--JACKO DESCRIBED.

"Such is life!" There is deep meaning in that expression, though it is generally applied in a bantering manner to life in all its phases, under all its peculiar and diversified circumstances. Taking a particular view of things in general, we may say of life that it is composed of diverse and miscellaneous materials--the grave and the gay; the sad and the comic; the extraordinary and the commonplace; the flat and the piquant; the heavy and the light; the religious and the profane; the bright and the dark; the shadow and the sunshine. All these, and a great deal more, similar as well as dissimilar, enter into the composition of what we familiarly term life.

These elements, too, are not arranged according to order, at least, order that is perceptible to our feeble human understandings. That there does exist both order and harmony is undeniable; but we cannot see it. The elements appear to be miscellaneously intermingled--to be accidentally thrown together; yet, while looking at them in detail there seems to us a good deal of unreasonable and chaotic jumble, in regarding them as a whole, or as a series of wholes, it becomes apparent that there is a certain harmony of arrangement that may be termed kaleidoscopically beautiful; and when, in the course of events, we are called to the contemplation of something grand or lovely, followed rather abruptly by something curiously contemptible or absurd, we are tempted to give utterance to the thoughts that are too complicated and deep for rapid analysis, in the curt expression "Such is life."

The physician invites his friends to a social _reunion_. He chats and laughs at the passing jest, or takes part in the music--the glee, or the comic song. A servant whispers in his ear. Ten minutes elapse, and he is standing by the bed of death. He watches the flickering flame; he endeavours to relieve the agonised frame; he wipes the cold sweat from the pale brow, and moistens the dry lips, or pours words of true, earnest, tender comfort into the ears of the bereaved. The contrast here is very violent and sudden. We have chosen, perhaps, the most striking instance of the kind that is afforded in the experience of men; yet such, in a greater or less degree, is life, in the case of every one born into this wonderful world of ours, and such, undoubtedly, it was intended to be. "There is a time for all things." We were made capable of laughing and crying; therefore, these being sinless indulgences in the abstract, we _ought_ to laugh and cry. And one of our great aims in life should be to get our hearts and affections so trained that we shall laugh and cry at the right time. It may be well to remark, in passing, that we should avoid, if possible, doing both at once.

Now, such being life, we consider that we shall be doing no violence to the harmonies of life if we suddenly, and without further preface, transport the reader into the middle of next day, and a considerable distance down the river up which we have for some time been travelling.

Here he (or she) will find Ailie and her father, and the whole party in fact, floating calmly and pleasantly down the stream in their canoe.

"Now, this is wot I do enjoy," said Rokens, laying down his paddle and wiping the perspiration from his brow; "it's the pleasantest sort o' thing I've known since I went to sea."

To judge from the profuse perspiration that flowed from his brow, and from the excessive redness of his face, one would suppose that Rokens' experience of "pleasant sort o' things" had not hitherto been either extensive or deep. But the man meant what he said, and a well-known proverb clears up the mystery--"What's one man's meat is another's poison!" Hard work, violent physical exertion, and excessive heat were Rokens' delight, and, whatever may be the opinion of flabby-muscled, flat individuals, there can be no reasonable doubt that Rokens meant it, when he added, emphatically, "It's fuss-rate; tip-top; A1 on Lloyd's, that's a fact!"

Phil Briant, on hearing this, laid down his paddle, also wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat, and exclaimed--"Ditto, says I."

Whereupon Glynn laughed, and Jim Scroggles grunted (this being _his_ method of laughing), and the captain shook his head, and said--

"P'r'aps it is, my lads, a pleasant sort o' thing, but the sooner we're out of it the better. I've no notion of a country where the natives murder poor little boys in cold blood, and carry off your goods and chattels at a moment's notice."

The captain looked at Ailie as he spoke, thereby implying that she was part of the "goods and chattels" referred to.

"Shure it's a fact; an' without sayin' by yer lave, too," added Briant, who had a happy facility of changing his opinion on the shortest notice to accommodate himself to circumstances.

"Oh, the monkey!" screamed Ailie.

Now as Ailie screamed this just as Briant ceased to speak, and, moreover, pointed, or appeared to point, straight into that individual's face, it was natural to suppose that the child was becoming somewhat personal--the more so that Briant's visage, when wrinkled up and tanned by the glare of a tropical sun, was not unlike to that of a large baboon. But every one knew that Ailie was a gentle, well-behaved creature--except, perhaps, when she was seized with one of her gleeful fits that bordered sometimes upon mischief--so that instead of supposing that she had made a personal attack on the unoffending Irishman, the boat's crew instantly directed their eyes close past Briant's face and into the recesses of the wood beyond, where they saw a sight that filled them with surprise.

A large-leaved tree of the palm species overhung the banks of the river and formed a support to a wild vine and several bright-flowering parasitical plants that drooped in graceful luxuriance from its branches and swept the stream, which at that place was dark, smooth, and deep. On the top of this tree, in among the branches, sat a monkey--at least so Ailie called it; but the term ape or baboon would have been more appropriate, for the creature was a very large one, and, if the expression of its countenance indicated in any degree the feelings of its heart, also a very fierce one--an exceedingly ferocious one indeed. This monkey's face was as black as coal, and its two deep-seated eyes were, if possible, blacker than coal. Its head was bald, but the rest of its body was plentifully covered with hair.

Now this monkey was evidently caught--taken by surprise--for instead of trying to escape as the canoe approached, it sat there chattering and exhibiting its teeth to a degree that was quite fiendish, not to say-- under the circumstances--unnecessary. As the canoe dropped slowly down the river, it became obvious that this monkey had a baby, for a very small and delicate creature was seen clinging round the big one's waist with its little hands grasping tightly the long hair on the mother's sides, its arms being much too short to encircle her body. Ailie's heart leapt with an emotion of tender delight as she observed that the baby monkey's face was white and sweet-looking; yes, we might even go the length of saying that, for a monkey, it was actually pretty. But it had a subdued, sorrowful look that was really touching to behold. It seemed as though that infantine monkey had, in the course of its brief career, been subjected to every species of affliction, to every imaginable kind of heart-crushing sorrow, and had remained deeply meek and humble under it all. Only for one brief instant did a different expression cross its melancholy face. That was when it first caught sight of the canoe. Then it exposed its very small teeth and gums after the fashion of its mother; but repentance seemed to follow instantly, for the sad look, mixed with a dash of timidity, resumed its place, and it buried its face in its mother's bosom.

At that moment there was a loud report. A bullet whistled through the air and struck the old monkey in the breast. We are glad to say, for the credit of our sailors, that a howl of indignation immediately followed, and more than one fist was raised to smite the trader who had fired the shot. But Captain Dunning called the men to order in a peremptory voice, while every eye was turned towards the tree to observe the effect of the shot. As for Ailie, she sat breathless with horror at the cruelty of the act.

The old monkey gave vent to a loud yell, clutched her breast with her hands, sprang wildly into the air, and fell to the ground. Her leap was so violent that the young one was shaken off and fell some distance from its poor mother, which groaned once or twice and then died. The baby seemed unhurt. Gathering itself nimbly up, it ran away from the men who had now landed, but who stood still, by the captain's orders, to watch its motions. Looking round, it observed its mother's form lying on the ground, and at once ran towards it and buried its little face in her breast, at which sight Ailie began to cry quietly. In a few seconds the little monkey got up and gently pawed the old one; then, on receiving no sign of recognition, it uttered a faint wail, something like "Wee-wee-wee-wee-oo!" and again hid its face in the breast of its dead parent.

"Ah! the poor cratur," said Briant, in a tone of voice that betrayed his emotion. "O, why did ye kill her?"

"Me ketch 'im?" said Bumble, looking inquiringly at the captain.

"Oh, do!" answered Ailie, with a sob.

The negro deemed this permission sufficient, for he instantly sprang forward, and throwing a piece of net over the little monkey, secured it.

Now the way in which that baby monkey struggled and kicked and shrieked, when it found itself a prisoner, was perfectly wonderful to see! It seemed as if the strength of fifty little monkeys had been compressed into its diminutive body, and King Bumble had to exert all his strength in order to hold the creature while he carried it into the canoe. Once safely there and in the middle of the stream, it was let loose. The first thing it did on being set free was to give a shriek of triumph, for monkeys, like men, when at last _allowed_ to do that which they have long struggled in vain to accomplish, usually take credit for the achievement of their own success.

Its next impulse was to look round at the faces of the men in search of its mother; but the poor mother was now lying dead covered with a cloth in the bottom of the canoe, so the little monkey turned from one to another with disappointment in its glance and then uttered a low wail of sorrow. Glynn Proctor affirmed positively that it looked twice at Phil Briant and even made a motion towards him; but we rather suspect that Glynn was jesting. Certain it is, however, that it looked long and earnestly at Ailie, and there is little doubt that, young though it was, it was able to distinguish something in her tender gaze of affection and pity that proved attractive. It did not, however, accept her invitation to go to her, although given in the most persuasive tones of her silver voice, and when any of the men tried to pat its head, it displayed such a row of sharp little teeth and made such a fierce demonstration of its intention to bite, that they felt constrained to leave it alone. At last Ailie held her hand towards it and said--

"Won't it come to me, dear, sweet pet? _Do_ come; I'll be as kind to you almost as your poor mother." The monkey looked at the child, but said nothing.

"Come, monkey, dear puggy, _do_ come," repeated Ailie, in a still more insinuating voice.

The monkey still declined to "come," but it looked very earnestly at the child, and trembled a good deal, and said, "Oo-oo-wee; oo-oo-wee!"

As Ailie did not quite understand this, she said, "Poor thing!" and again held out her hand.

"Try it with a small taste o' mate," suggested Briant.

"Right," said the captain. "Hand me the biscuit-bag, Glynn. There, now, Ailie, try it with that."

Ailie took the piece of biscuit offered to her by her father, and held it out to the monkey, who advanced with nervous caution, and very slowly, scratching its side the while. Putting out its very small hand, it touched the biscuit, then drew back the hand suddenly, and made a variety of sounds, accompanied by several peculiar contortions of visage, all of which seemed to say, "Don't hurt me, now; _don't_ deceive me, pray." Again it put forth its hand, and took the biscuit, and ate it in a very great hurry indeed; that is to say, it stuffed it into the bags in its cheeks.

Ailie gave it a bit more biscuit, which it received graciously, and devoured voraciously; whereupon she put forth her hand, and sought to pat the little creature on the head. The attempt was successful. With many slight grins, as though to say, "Take care, now, else I'll bite," the small monkey allowed Ailie to pat its head and stroke its back. Then it permitted her to take hold of its hand, and draw it towards her. In a few minutes it showed evident symptoms of a desire to be patted again, and at length it drew timidly towards the child, and took hold of her hand in both of its delicate pink paws. Ailie felt quite tenderly towards the creature, and stroked its head again, whereupon it seemed suddenly to cast aside all fear. It leaped upon her knee, put its slender arms as far round her neck as possible, said "Oo-oo-wee!" several times in a very sad tone of voice, and laid its head upon her bosom.

This was too much for poor Ailie; she thought of the dead mother of this infant monkey, and wept as she stroked its hairy little head and shoulders. From that time forward the monkey adopted Ailie as its mother, and Ailie adopted the monkey as her child.

Now the behaviour of that monkey during the remainder of that voyage was wonderful. Oh, you know, it was altogether preposterous, to say the very least of it. Affection, which displayed itself in a desire to conciliate the favour of every one, was ingrained in its bones; while deception, which was evinced in a constant effort to appear to be intent upon one thing, when it was really bent upon another, was incorporated with its marrow!

At first it was at war with every one, excepting, of course, Ailie, its adopted mother; but soon it became accustomed to the men, and in the course of a few days would go to any one who called it. Phil Briant was a particular favourite; so was Rokens, with whose black beard it played in evident delight, running its slender fingers through it, disentangling the knots and the matted portions which the owner of the beard had never yet been able to disentangle in a satisfactory way for himself; and otherwise acting the part of a barber and hairdresser to that bold mariner, much to his amusement, and greatly to the delight and admiration of the whole party.

To say that that small monkey had a face, would be to assert what was unquestionably true, but what, also, was very far short of the whole truth. No one ever could make up his mind exactly as to how many faces it had. If you looked at it at any particular time, and then shut your eyes and opened them a moment after, that monkey, as far as expression went, had another and a totally different face. Repeat the operation, and it had a third face; continue the process, and it had a fourth face; and so on, until you lost count altogether of its multitudinous faces. Now it was grave and pensive; anon it was blazing with amazement; again it bristled with indignation; then it glared with anger, and presently it was all serene--blended love and wrinkles. Of all these varied expressions, that of commingled surprise and indignation was the most amusing, because these emotions had the effect of not only opening its eyes and its mouth to the form of three excessively round O's, but also raised a small tuft of hair just above its forehead into a bristling position, and threw its brow into an innumerable series of wrinkles. This complex expression was of frequent occurrence, for its feelings were tender and sensitive, so that it lived in the firm belief that its new friends (always excepting Ailie) constantly wished to insult it; and was afflicted with a chronic state of surprise at the cruelty, and of indignation at the injustice, of men who could wantonly injure the feelings of so young, and especially so small a monkey.

When the men called it, it used to walk up to them with calm, deliberate condescension in its air; when Ailie held out her hand, it ran on its two legs, and being eager in its affections, it held out its arms in order to be caught up. As to food, that monkey was not particular. It seemed to be omnivorous. Certain it is that it never refused anything, but more than once it was observed quietly to throw away things that it did not relish. Once, in an unguarded moment, it accepted and chewed a small piece of tobacco; after which it made a variety of entirely new faces, and became very sick indeed--so sick that its adopted mother began to fear she was about to lose her child; but after vomiting a good deal, and moaning piteously for several days, it gradually recovered, and from that time entertained an unquenchable hatred for tobacco, and for the man who had given it to him, who happened to be Jim Scroggles.

Ailie, being of a romantic temperament, named her monkey Albertino, but the sailors called him Jacko, and their name ultimately became the well-known one of the little foundling, for Ailie was not obstinate; so, seeing that the sailors did not or could not remember Albertino, she soon gave in, and styled her pet Jacko to the end of the chapter, with which piece of information we shall conclude _this_ chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

RENCON