"Why didn't you heave-to when I ordered you," he said, "and so save all this trouble and worry?"

"Because," replied Captain Dunning drily, "I'm not in the habit of obeying orders until I know that he who gives 'em has a right to do so. But 'tis a pity to waste time talking about such trifles when the craft you are in search of is not very far away at this moment."

"What mean you, sir?" inquired the captain of the cruiser quickly.

"I mean that yonder vessel, scarcely visible now on the lee bow, is the slaver, in all likelihood."

The captain gave but one hasty glance in the direction pointed to by Captain Dunning, and next moment he was over the side of the ship, and the boat was flying swiftly towards his vessel. The rapid orders given on board the cruiser soon after, showed that her commander was eagerly in pursuit of the strange vessel ahead, and the flash and report of a couple of guns proved that he was again giving orders in his somewhat peremptory style.

When daylight appeared, Captain Dunning was still on deck, and Glynn Proctor stood by the wheel. The post of the latter, however, was a sinecure, as the wind had again fallen. When the sun rose it revealed the three vessels lying becalmed within a short distance of each other and several miles off shore.

"So, so," exclaimed the captain, taking the glass and examining the other vessels. "I see it's all up with the slaver. Serves him right; don't it, Glynn?"

"It does," replied Glynn emphatically. "I hope they will all be hanged. Isn't that the usual way of serving these fellows out?"

"Well, not exactly, lad. They don't go quite that length—more's the pity; if they did, there would be less slave-trading; but the rascals will lose both ship and cargo."

"I wonder," said Glynn, "how they can afford to carry on the trade when they lose so many ships as I am told they do every year."

"You wouldn't wonder, boy, if you knew the enormous prices got for slaves. Why, the profits on one cargo, safely delivered, will more than cover the loss of several vessels and cargoes. You may depend on't they would not carry it on if it did not pay."

"Humph!" ejaculated Glynn, giving the wheel a savage turn, as if to express his thorough disapprobation of the slave-trade, and his extreme disgust at not being able, by the strength of his own right arm, at once to repress it. "And who's to pay for our foretopsail-yard?" he inquired, abruptly, as if desirous of changing the subject.

"Ourselves, I fear," replied the captain. "We must take it philosophically, and comfort ourselves with the fact that it is the foretopsail-yard, and not the bowsprit or the mainmast, that was carried away. It's not likely the captain of the cruiser will pay for it, at any rate."

Captain Dunning was wrong. That same morning he received a polite note from the commander of the said cruiser, requesting the pleasure of his company to dinner, in the event of the calm continuing, and assuring him that the carpenter and the sail-maker of the man-of-war should be sent on board his ship after breakfast to repair damages. Captain Dunning, therefore, like an honest, straightforward man as he was, admitted that he had been hasty in his judgment, and stated to Glynn Proctor, emphatically, that the commander of the Firebrand was "a trump."



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

NEW SCENES—A FIGHT PREVENTED BY A WHALE—A STORM—BLOWN OFF THE YARDARM—WRECK OF THE "RED ERIC".

Five weeks passed away, and really, when one comes to consider the matter, it is surprising what a variety of events may be compressed into five weeks; what an amount of space may be passed over, what an immense change of scene and circumstance may be experienced in that comparatively short period of time.

Men and women who remain quietly at home do not, perhaps, fully realise this fact. Five weeks to them does not usually seem either very long or very short. But let those quiet ones travel; let them rush away headlong, by the aid of wind and steam, to the distant and wonderful parts of this wonderful world of ours, and, ten to one, they will afterwards tell you that the most wonderful discovery they had made during their travels, is the fact that a miniature lifetime (apparently) can be compressed into five weeks.

Five weeks passed away, and in the course of that time the foretopsail-yard of the Red Eric had been repaired; the Red Eric herself had passed from equatorial into southern seas; Alice Dunning had become very sea-sick, which caused her to look uncommonly green in the face, and had got well again, which caused her to become fresh and rosy as the early morning; Jacko had thoroughly established his reputation as the most arrant and accomplished thief that ever went to sea: King Bumble had been maligned and abused again and again, and over again, despite his protestations of innocence, by grim-faced Tarquin, the steward, for having done the deeds which were afterwards discovered to have been committed by Jacko; fat little Gurney had sung innumerable songs of his own composing, in which he was ably supported by Glynn Proctor; Dr Hopley had examined, phrenologically, all the heads on board, with the exception of that of Tarquin, who would not submit to the operation on any account, and had shot, and skinned, and stuffed a variety of curious sea-birds, and caught a number of remarkable sea-fish, and had microscopically examined—to the immense interest of Ailie, and consequently of the captain—a great many surprising animalcules, called Medusae, which possessed the most watery and the thinnest possible bodies, yet which had the power of emitting a beautiful phosphoric light at night, so as to cause the whole ocean sometimes to glow as if with liquid fire; Phil Briant had cracked more jokes, good, bad, and indifferent, than would serve to fill a whole volume of closely-printed pages, and had told more stories than would be believed by most people; Tim Rokens and the other harpooners had, with the assistance of the various boats' crews, slain and captured several large whales, and Nikel Sling had prepared, and assisted to consume, as many breakfasts, dinners, and suppers as there are days in the period of time above referred to;—in short, those five weeks, which we thus dismiss in five minutes, might, if enlarged upon, be expanded into material to fill five volumes such as this, which would probably take about five years to write—another reason for cutting this matter short. All this shows how much may be compressed into little space, how much may be done and seen in little time, and, therefore, how much value men ought to attach to little things.

Five weeks passed away, as we have already remarked, and at the end of that time the Red Eric found herself, one beautiful sunny afternoon, becalmed on the breast of the wide ocean with a strange vessel, also a whaler, a few miles distant from her, and a couple of sperm-whales sporting playfully about midway between the two ships. Jim Scroggles on that particular afternoon found himself in the crow's-nest at the masthead, roaring "Thar she blows!" with a degree of energy so appalling that one was almost tempted to believe that that long-legged individual had made up his mind to compress his life into one grand but brief minute, and totally exhaust his powers of soul and body in the reiterated vociferation of that one faculty of the sperm-whale. Allowance must be made for Jim, seeing that this was the first time he had been fortunate enough to "raise the oil" since he became a whaler.

The usual scene of bustle and excitement immediately ensued. The men sprang to their appointed places in a moment; the tubs, harpoons, etcetera, were got ready, and in a few minutes the three boats were leaping over the smooth swell towards the fish.

While this was taking place on board the Red Eric, a precisely similar scene occurred on board the other whale-ship, and a race now ensued between the boats of the two ships, for each knew well that the first boat that harpooned either of the whales claimed it.

"Give way, my lads," whispered Captain Dunning eagerly, as he watched the other boats; "we shall be first—we shall be first; only bend your backs."

The men needed not to be urged; they were quite as anxious as their commander to win the races and bent their backs, as he expressed it, until the oars seemed about to break. Glynn sat on the after thwart, and did good service on this occasion.

It soon became evident that the affair would be decided by the boats of the two captains, both of which took the lead of the others, but as they were advancing in opposite directions it was difficult to tell which was the fleeter of the two. When the excitement of the race was at its height the whales went down, and the men lay on their oars to wait until they should rise again. They lay in anxious suspense for about a minute, when the crew of Captain Dunning's boat was startled by the sudden apparition of a waterspout close to them, by which they were completely drenched. It was immediately followed by the appearance of the huge blunt head of one of the whales, which rose like an enormous rock out of the sea close to the starboard-quarter.

The sight was received with a loud shout, and Tim Rokens leaped up and grasped a harpoon, but the whale sheered off. A spare harpoon lay on the stern-sheets close to Glynn, who dropped his oar and seized it. Almost without knowing what he was about, he hurled it with tremendous force at the monster's neck, into which it penetrated deeply. The harpoon fortunately happened to be attached to a large buoy, called by whalers a drogue, which was jerked out of the boat like a cannon-shot as the whale went down, carrying harpoon and drogue along with it.

"Well done, lad," cried the captain, in great delight, "you've made a noble beginning! Now, lads, pull gently ahead, she won't go far with such an ornament as that dangling at her neck. A capital dart! couldn't have done it half so well myself, even in my young days!"

Glynn felt somewhat elated at this unexpected piece of success; to do him justice, however, he took it modestly. In a few minutes the whale rose, but it had changed its course while under water, and now appeared close to the leading boat of the other ship.

By the laws of the whale-fishery, no boat of one vessel has a right to touch a whale that has been struck by the boat of another vessel, so long as the harpoon holds fast and the rope remains unbroken, or so long as the float to which the harpoon is connected remains attached. Nevertheless, in defiance of this well-known law, the boat belonging to the captain of the strange ship gave chase, and succeeded in making fast to the whale.

To describe the indignation of Captain Dunning and his men on witnessing this act is impossible. The former roared rather than shouted, "Give way, lads!" and the latter bent their backs as if they meant to pull the boat bodily out of the water, and up into the atmosphere. Meanwhile all the other boats were in hot pursuit of the second whale, which had led them a considerable distance away from the first.

"What do you mean by striking that fish?" shouted Captain Dunning, when, after a hard pull, he came up with the boat, the crew of which had just succeeded in thrusting a lance deep into a mortal part of the huge animal, which soon after rolled over, and lay extended on the waves.

"What right have you to ask?" replied the captain of the strange ship, an ill-favoured, powerful man, whose countenance was sufficient to condemn him in any society, save that of ruffians. "Don't you see your drogue has broke loose?"

"I see nothing of the sort. It's fast at this moment; so you'll be good enough to cut loose and take yourself off as fast as you please."

To this the other made no reply, but, turning to his men, said: "Make fast there, lads; signal the other boats, and pull away for the ship; look sharp, you lubbers."

"Och! captain dear," muttered Phil Briant, baring both arms up to the shoulders, "only give the word; do, now!"

Captain Dunning, who was already boiling with rage, needed no encouragement to make an immediate attack on the stranger, neither did his men require an order; they plunged their oars into the water, ran right into the other boat, sprang to their feet, seized lances, harpoons, and knives, and in another moment would have been engaged in a deadly struggle had not an unforeseen event occurred to prevent the fray. This was the partial recovery of the whale, which, apparently resolved to make one final struggle for life, turned over and over, lashed the sea into foam, and churned it up with the blood which spouted in thick streams from its numerous wounds.

Both boats were in imminent danger, and the men sprang to their oars in order to pull out of the range of the monster's dying struggles. In this effort the strange boat was successful, but that of Captain Dunning fared ill. A heavy blow from the whale's tail broke it in two, and hurled it into the air, whence the crew descended, amid a mass of harpoons, lances, oars, and cordage, into the blood-stained water.

The fish sheered away for some distance, dragging the other boat along with it, and then rolled over quite dead. Fortunately not one of the crew of the capsized boat was hurt. All of them succeeded in reaching and clinging to the shattered hull of their boat; but there they were destined to remain a considerable time, as the boat of the stranger, having secured the dead fish, proceeded leisurely to tow it towards their ship, without paying the slightest attention to the shouts of their late enemies.

A change had now come over the face of the sky. Clouds began to gather on the horizon, and a few light puffs of air swept over the sea, which enabled the strange vessel to bear down on her boat, and take the whale in tow. It also enabled the Red Eric to beat up, but more slowly, towards the spot where their disabled boat lay, and rescue their comrades from their awkward position. It was some time before the boats were all gathered together. When this was accomplished the night had set in and the stranger had made off with her ill-gotten prize, the other whale having sounded, and the chase being abandoned.

"Now, of all the disgustin' things that ever happened to me, this is the worst," remarked Captain Dunning, in a very sulky tone of voice, as he descended to the cabin to change his garments, Ailie having preceded him in order to lay out dry clothes.

"Oh! my darling papa, what a fright I got," she exclaimed, running up and hugging him, wet as he was, for the seventh time, despite his efforts to keep her off. "I was looking through the spy-glass at the time it happened, and when I saw you all thrown into the air I cried— oh! I can't tell you how I cried."

"You don't need to tell me, Ailie, my pet, for your red, swelled-up eyes speak for themselves. But go, you puss, and change your own frock. You've made it as wet as my coat, nearly; besides, I can't undress, you know, while you stand there."

Ailie said, "I'm so very, very thankful," and then giving her father one concluding hug, which completely saturated the frock, went to her own cabin.

Meanwhile the crew of the captain's boat were busy in the forecastle stripping off their wet garments, and relating their adventures to the men of the other boats, who, until they reached the ship, had been utterly ignorant of what had passed.

It is curious that Tim Rokens should open the conversation with much the same sentiment, if not exactly the same phrase, as that expressed by the captain.

"Now boys," said he, slapping his wet limbs, "I'll tell ye wot it is, of all the aggrawations as has happened to me in my life, this is out o' sight the wust. To think o' losin' that there whale, the very biggest I ever saw—"

"Ah! Rokens, man," interrupted Glynn, as he pulled off his jacket, "the loss is greater to me than to you, for that was my first whale!"

"True, boy," replied the harpooner, in a tone of evidently genuine sympathy; "I feel for ye. I knows how I should ha' taken on if it had happened to me. But cheer up, lad; you know the old proverb, 'There's as good fish in the sea as ever came out o't.' You'll be the death o' many sich yet, I'll bet my best iron."

"Sure, the wust of it all is, that we don't know who was the big thief as got that fish away with him," said Phil Briant, with a rueful countenance.

"Don't we, though!" cried Gurney, who had been in the mate's boat; "I axed one o' the men o' the stranger's boats—for we run up close alongside durin' the chase—and he told me as how she was the Termagant of New York; so we can be down on 'em yet, if we live long enough."

"Humph!" observed Rokens; "and d'ye suppose he'd give ye the right name?"

"He'd no reason to do otherwise. He didn't know of the dispute between the other boats."

"There's truth in that," remarked Glynn, as he prepared to go on deck; "but it may be a year or more before we foregather. No, I give up all claim to my first fish from this date."

"All hands ahoy!" shouted the mate; "tumble up there! Reef topsails! Look alive!"

The men ran hastily on deck, completing their buttoning and belting as they went, and found that something very like a storm was brewing. As yet the breeze was moderate, and the sea not very high, but the night was pitchy dark, and a hot oppressive atmosphere boded no improvement in the weather.

"Lay out there, some of you, and close reef the topsails," cried the mate, as the men ran to their several posts.

The ship was running at the time under a comparatively small amount of canvas; for, as their object was merely to cruise about in those seas in search of whales, and they had no particular course to steer, it was usual to run at night under easy sail, and sometimes to lay-to. It was fortunate that such was the case on the present occasion; for it happened that the storm which was about to burst on them came with appalling suddenness and fury. The wind tore up the sea as if it had been a mass of white feathers, and scattered it high in air. The mizzen-topsail was blown to ribbons, and it seemed as if the other sails were about to share the same fate. The ship flew from billow to billow, after recovering from the first rude shock, as if she were but a dark cloud on the sea, and the spray flew high over her masts, drenching the men on the topsail-yards while they laboured to reef the sails.

"We shall have to take down these t'gallant-masts, Mr Millons," said the captain, as he stood by the weather-bulwarks holding on to a belaying-pin to prevent his being washed away.

"Shall I give the order, sir?" inquired the first mate.

"You may," replied the captain.

Just as the mate turned to obey, a shriek was heard high above the whistling of the fierce wind.

"Did you hear that?" said the captain anxiously.

"I did," replied the mate. "I fear—I trust—"

The remainder of the sentence was either suppressed, or the howling of the wind prevented its being heard.

Just then a flash of lightning lit up the scene, and a terrific crash of thunder seemed to rend the sky. The flash was momentary, but it served to reveal the men on the yards distinctly. They had succeeded in close-reefing the topsails, and were hurrying down the rigging.

The mate came close to the captain's side and said, "Did you see, sir, the way them men on the mainyard were scramblin' down?"

The captain had not time to reply ere a shout, "Man overboard!" was heard faintly in the midst of the storm, and in another instant some of the men rushed aft with frantic haste, shouting that one of their number had been blown off the yard into the sea.

"Down your helm," roared the captain; "stand-by to lower away the boats."

The usual prompt "Ay, ay, sir," was given, but before the men could reach their places a heavy sea struck the vessel amidships, poured several tons of water on the decks, and washed all the loose gear overboard.

"Let her away," cried the captain quickly.

The steersman obeyed; the ship fell off, and again bounded on her mad course like a wild horse set free.

"It's of no use, sir," said the mate, as the captain leaped towards the wheel, which the other had already gained; "no boat could live in that sea for a moment. The poor fellow's gone by this time. He must be more than half-a-mile astern already."

"I know it," returned the captain, in a deep sad voice. "Get these masts down, Mr Millons, and see that everything is made fast. Who is it, did you say?"

"The men can't tell, sir; one of 'em told me 'e thinks it was young Boswell. It was too dark to see 'is face, but 'is figure was that of a stout young fellow."

"A stout young fellow," muttered the captain, as the mate hurried forward. "Can it have been Glynn?" His heart sank within him at the thought, and he would have given worlds at that moment, had he possessed them, to have heard the voice of our hero, whom, almost unwittingly, he had begun to love with all the affection of a father. While he stood gazing up at the rigging, attempting to pierce the thick darkness, he felt his sleeve plucked, and, looking down, observed Ailie at his side.

"My child," he cried, grasping her by the arm convulsively, "you here! How came you to leave your cabin, dear? Go down, go down; you don't know the danger you run. Stay—I will help you. If one of those seas comes on board it would carry you overboard like a fleck of foam."

"I didn't know there was much danger, papa. Glynn told me there wasn't," she replied, as her father sprang with her to the companion-ladder.

"How? when? where, child? Did Glynn speak to you within the last ten minutes?"

"Yes; he looked down the hatch just as I was coming up, and told me not to be afraid, and said I must go below, and not think of coming on deck; but I heard a shriek, papa, and feared something had happened, so I came to ask what it was. I hope no one is hurt."

"My darling Ailie," replied the captain, in an agitated voice, "go down to your berth, and pray for us just now. There is not much danger; but in all times of danger, whether great or slight, we should pray to Our Father in Heaven, for we never know what a day or an hour may bring forth. I will speak to you about everything to-morrow; to-night I must be on deck."

He kissed her forehead, pushed her gently into the cabin, shut the door, and, coming on deck, fastened the companion-hatch firmly down.

In a short time the ship was prepared to face the worst. The topsails were close-reefed; the topgallant-masts sent down on deck; the spanker and jib were furled, and, soon after, the mainsail and foresail were also furled. The boats were taken in and secured on deck, and the ship went a little more easily through the raging sea; but as the violence of the gale increased, sail had to be further reduced, and at last everything was taken in except the main spencer and foretopmast-staysail.

"I wouldn't mind this much," said the captain, as he and the first mate stood close to the binnacle, "if I only knew our exact position. But we've not had an observation for several days, and I don't feel sure of our whereabouts. There are some nasty coral reefs in these seas. Did you find out who the poor fellow is yet?"

"It's young Boswell, I fear, Mr Markham is mustering the men just now, sir."

As he spoke, the second mate came aft and confirmed their fears. The man who had thus been summoned in a moment, without warning, into the presence of his Maker, had been a quiet, modest youth, and a favourite with every one on board. At any other time his death would have been deeply felt; but in the midst of that terrible storm the men had no time to think. Indeed, they could not realise the fact that their shipmate was really gone.

"Mr Markham," said the captain, as the second mate turned away, "send a hand in to the chains to heave the lead. I don't feel at all easy in my mind, so near these shoals as we must be just now."

While the order was being obeyed the storm became fiercer and more furious. Bright gleams of lightning flashed repeatedly across the sky, lighting up the scene as if with brightest moonlight, and revealing the horrid turmoil of the raging sea in which the ship now laboured heavily. The rapidity with which the thunder followed the lightning showed how near to them was the dangerous and subtle fluid; and the crashing, bursting reports that shook the ship from stem to stern gave the impression that mountains were being dashed to atoms against each other in the air.

All the sails still exposed to the fury of the gale were blown to shreds; the foretopmast and the jib-boom were carried away along with them and the Red Eric was driven at last before the wind under bare poles. The crew remained firm in the midst of this awful scene; each man stood at his post, holding on by any fixed object that chanced to be within his reach, and held himself ready to spring to obey every order. No voice could be heard in the midst of the howling winds, the lashing sea, and the rending sky. Commands were given by signs as well as possible, during the flashes of lightning; but little or nothing remained to be done. Captain Dunning had done all that a man thoroughly acquainted with his duties could accomplish to put his ship in the best condition to do battle with the storm, and he now felt that the issue remained in the hands of Him who formed the warring elements, and whose will alone could check their angry strife.

During one of the vivid flashes of lightning the captain observed Glynn Proctor standing near the starboard gangway, and, waiting for the next flash, he made a signal to him to come to the spot where he stood. Glynn understood it, and in a few seconds was at his commander's side.

"Glynn," my boy, said the latter, "you won't be wanted on deck for some time. There's little to be done now. Go down and see what Ailie's about, poor thing. She'll need a little comfort. Say I sent you."

Without other reply than a nod of the head, Glynn sprang to the companion-hatch, followed by the captain, who undid the fastenings to let him down and refastened them immediately, for the sea was washing over the stern continually.

Glynn found the child on her knees in the cabin with her face buried in the cushions of one of the sofas. He sat down beside her and waited until she should have finished her prayer; but as she did not move for some time he laid his hand gently on her shoulder. She looked up with a happy smile on her face.

"Oh, Glynn, is that you? I'm so glad," she said, rising, and sitting down beside him.

"Your father sent me down to comfort you, my pet," said Glynn, taking her hand in his and drawing her towards him.

"I have got comfort already," replied the child; "I'm so very happy, now."

"How so, Ailie? who has been with you?"

"God has been with me. You told me, Glynn, that there wasn't much danger, but I felt sure that there was. Oh! I never heard such terrible noises, and this dreadful tossing is worse than ever I felt it—a great deal. So I went down on my knees and prayed that God, for Christ's sake would save us. I felt very frightened, Glynn. You can't think how my heart beat every time the thunder burst over us. But suddenly—I don't know how it was—the words I used to read at home so often with my dear aunts came into my mind; you know them, Glynn, 'Call upon Me in the time of trouble, and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me.' I don't know where I read them. I forget the place in the Bible now; but when I thought of them I felt much less frightened. Do you think it was the Holy Spirit who put them into my mind? My aunts used to tell me that all my good thoughts were given to me by the Holy Spirit. Then I remembered the words of Jesus, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee,' and I felt so happy after that. It was just before you came down. I think we shall not be lost. God would not make me feel so happy if we were going to be lost, would He?"

"I think not, Ailie," replied Glynn, whose conscience reproached him for his ignorance of the passages in God's word referred to by his companion, and who felt that he was receiving rather than administering comfort. "When I came down I did not very well know how I should comfort you, for this is certainly the most tremendous gale I ever saw, but somehow I feel as if we were in less danger now. I wish I knew more of the Bible, Ailie. I'm ashamed to say I seldom look at it."

"Oh, that's a pity, isn't it, Glynn?" said Ailie, with earnest concern expressed in her countenance, for she regarded her companion's ignorance as a great misfortune; it never occurred to her that it was a sin. "But it's very easy to learn it," she added with an eager look. "If you come to me here every day we can read it together. I would like to have you hear me say it off, and then I would hear you."

Before he could reply the vessel received a tremendous shock which caused her to quiver from stem to stern.

"She must have been struck by lightning," cried Glynn, starting up and hurrying towards the door. Ailie's frightened look returned for a few minutes, but she did not tremble as she had done before.

Just as Glynn reached the top of the ladder the hatch was opened and the captain thrust in his head.

"Glynn, my boy," said he, in a quick, firm tone, "we are ashore. Perhaps we shall go to pieces in a few minutes. God knows. May He in His mercy spare us. You cannot do much on deck. Ailie must be looked after till I come down for her. Glynn, I depend upon you."

These words were uttered hurriedly, and the hatch was shut immediately after. It is impossible to describe accurately the conflicting feelings that agitated the breast of the young sailor as he descended again to the cabin. He felt gratified at the trust placed in him by the captain, and his love for the little girl would at any time have made the post of protector to her an agreeable one; but the idea that the ship had struck the rocks, and that his shipmates on deck were struggling perhaps for their lives while he was sitting idly in the cabin, was most trying and distressing to one of his ardent and energetic temperament. He was not, however, kept long in suspense.

Scarcely had he regained the cabin when the ship again struck with terrific violence, and he knew by the rending crash overhead that one or more of the masts had gone over the side. The ship at the same moment slewed round and was thrown on her beam-ends. So quickly did this occur that Glynn had barely time to seize Ailie in his arms and save her from being dashed against the bulkhead.

The vessel rose again on the next wave, and was hurled on the rocks with such violence that every one on board expected her to go to pieces immediately. At the same time the cabin windows were dashed in, and the cabin itself was flooded with water. Glynn was washed twice across the cabin and thrown violently against the ship's sides, but he succeeded in keeping a firm hold of his little charge and in protecting her from injury.

"Hallo, Glynn!" shouted the captain, as he opened the companion-hatch, "come on deck, quick! bring her with you!"

Glynn hurried up and placed the child in her father's arms.

The scene that presented itself to him on gaining the deck was indeed appalling. The first grey streak of dawn faintly lighted up the sky, just affording sufficient light to exhibit the complete wreck of everything on deck, and the black froth-capped tumult of the surrounding billows. The rocks on which they had struck could not be discerned in the gloom, but the white breakers ahead showed too clearly where they were. The three masts had gone over the side one after another, leaving only the stumps of each standing. Everything above board—boats, binnacle, and part of the bulwarks—had been washed away. The crew were clinging to the belaying-pins and to such parts of the wreck as seemed likely to hold together longest. It seemed to poor Ailie, as she clung to her father's neck that she had been transported to some far-distant and dreadful scene, for scarcely a single familiar object remained by which her ocean home, the Red Eric, could be recognised.

But Ailie had neither desire nor opportunity to remark on this tremendous change. Every successive billow raised the doomed vessel, and let her fall with heavy violence on the rocks. Her stout frame trembled under each shock, as if she were endued with life, and shrank affrighted from her impending fate; and it was as much as the captain could do to maintain his hold of the weather-bulwarks and of Ailie at the same time. Indeed, he could not have done it at all had not Glynn stood by and assisted him to the best of his ability.

"It won't last long, lad," said the captain, as a larger wave than usual lifted the shattered hull and dashed it down on the rocks, washing the deck from stern to stem, and for a few seconds burying the whole crew under water. "May the Almighty have mercy on us; no ship can stand this long."

"Perhaps the tide is falling," suggested Glynn, in an encouraging voice, "and I think I see something like a shore ahead. It will be daylight in half-an-hour or less."

The captain shook his head. "There's little or no tide here to rise or fall, I fear. Before half-an-hour we shall—"

He did not finish the sentence, but looking at Ailie with a gaze of agony, he pressed her more closely to his breast.

"I think we shall be saved," whispered the child, twining her arms more closely round her father's neck, and laying her wet cheek against his.

Just then Tim Rokens crept aft, and said that he saw a low sandy island ahead, and a rocky point jutting out from it close to the bows of the ship. He suggested that a rope might be got ashore when it became a little lighter.

Phil Briant came aft to make the same suggestion, not knowing that Rokens had preceded him. In fact, the men had been consulting as to the possibility of accomplishing this object, but when they looked at the fearful breakers that boiled in white foam between the ship's bow and the rocky point, their hearts failed them, and no one was found to volunteer for the dangerous service.

"Is any one inclined to try it?" inquired the captain. "There's niver a wan of us but 'ud try it, cap'en, if you gives the order," answered Briant.

The captain hesitated. He felt disinclined to order any man to expose himself to such imminent danger; yet the safety of the whole crew might depend on a rope being connected with the shore. Before he could make up his mind, Glynn, who saw what was passing in his mind, exclaimed—"I'll do it, captain;" and instantly quitting his position, hurried forward as fast as circumstances would permit.

The task which Glynn had undertaken to perform turned out to be more dangerous and difficult than at first he had anticipated. When he stood at the lee bow, fastening a small cord round his waist, and looking at the turmoil of water into which he was about to plunge, his heart well-nigh failed him, and he felt a sensation of regret that he had undertaken what seemed now an impossibility. He did not wonder that the men had one and all shrunk from the attempt. But he had made up his mind to do it. Moreover, he had said he would do it, and feeling that he imperilled his life in a good cause, he set his face as a flint to the accomplishment of his purpose.

Well was it for Glynn Proctor that day that in early boyhood he had learned to swim, and had become so expert in the water as to be able to beat all his young companions!

He noticed, on looking narrowly at the foaming surge through which he must pass in order to gain the rocky point, that many of the submerged rocks showed their tops above the flood, like black spots, when each wave retired. To escape these seemed impossible—to strike one of them he knew would be almost certain death.

"Don't try it, boy," said several of the men, as they saw Glynn hesitate when about to spring, and turn an anxious gaze in all directions; "it's into death ye'll jump, if ye do."

Glynn did not reply; indeed, he did not hear the remark, for at that moment his whole attention was riveted on a ledge of submerged rock, which ever and anon showed itself, like the edge of a knife, extending between the ship and the point. Along the edge of this the retiring waves broke in such a manner as to form what appeared to be dead water-tossed, indeed, and foam-clad, but not apparently in progressive motion. Glynn made up his mind in an instant, and just as the first mate came forward with an order from the captain that he was on no account to make the rash attempt, he sprang with his utmost force off the ship's side and sank in the raging sea.

Words cannot describe the intense feeling of suspense with which the men on the lee bow gazed at the noble-hearted boy as he rose and buffeted with the angry billows. Every man held his breath, and those who had charge of the line stood nervously ready to haul him back at a moment's notice.

On first rising to the surface he beat the waves as if bewildered, and while some of the men cried, "He's struck a rock," others shouted to haul him in; but in another second he got his eyes cleared of spray, and seeing the ship's hull towering above his head, he turned his back on it and made for the shore. At first he went rapidly through the surge, for his arm was strong and his young heart was brave; but a receding wave caught him and hurled him some distance out of his course—tossing him over and over as if he had been a cork. Again he recovered himself, and gaining the water beside the ledge, he made several powerful and rapid strokes, which carried him within a few yards of the point.

"He's safe," said Rokens eagerly.

"No; he's missed it!" cried the second mate, who, with Gurney and Dick Barnes, payed out the rope.

Glynn had indeed almost caught hold of the farthest-out ledge of the point when he was drawn back into the surge, and this time dashed against a rock and partially stunned. The men had already begun to haul in on the rope when he recovered, and making a last effort, gained the rocks, up which he clambered slowly. When beyond the reach of the waves he fell down as if he had fainted.

This, however, was not the case; he was merely exhausted, as well as confused, by the blows he had received on the rocks, and lay for a few seconds quite still in order to recover strength, during which period of inaction he thanked God earnestly for his deliverance, and prayed fervently that he might be made the means of saving his companions in danger.

After a minute or two he rose, unfastened the line from his waist, and began to haul it ashore. To the other end of the small line the men in the ship attached a thick cable, the end of which was soon pulled up, and made fast to a large rock.

Tim Rokens was now ordered to proceed to the shore by means of the rope in order to test it. After this a sort of swing was constructed, with a noose which was passed round the cable. To this a small line was fastened, and passed to the shore. On this swinging-seat Ailie was seated, and hauled to the rocks, Tim Rokens "shinning" along the cable at the same time to guard her from accident. Then the men began to land, and thus, one by one, the crew of the Red Eric reached the shore in safety; and when all had landed, Captain Dunning, standing in the midst of his men, lifted up his voice in thanksgiving to God for their deliverance.

But when daylight came the full extent of their forlorn situation was revealed. The ship was a complete wreck; the boats were all gone, and they found that the island on which they had been cast was only a few square yards in extent—a mere sandbank, utterly destitute of shrub or tree, and raised only a few feet above the level of the ocean.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE SANDBANK—THE WRECKED CREW MAKE THE BEST OF BAD CIRCUMSTANCES.

It will scarcely surprise the reader to be told that, after the first emotions of thankfulness for deliverance from what had appeared to the shipwrecked mariners to be inevitable death, a feeling amounting almost to despair took possession of the whole party for a time.

The sandbank was so low that in stormy weather it was almost submerged. It was a solitary coral reef in the midst of the boundless sea. Not a tree or bush grew upon it, and except at the point where the ship had struck, there was scarcely a rock large enough to afford shelter to a single man. Without provisions, without sufficient shelter, without the means of escape, and almost without the hope of deliverance, it seemed to them that nothing awaited them but the slow, lingering pains and horrors of death by starvation.

As those facts forced themselves more and more powerfully home to the apprehension of the crew,—while they cowered for shelter from the storm under the lee of the rocky point, they gave expression to their feelings in different ways. Some sat down in dogged silence to await their fate; others fell on their knees and cried aloud to God for mercy; while a few kept up their own spirits and those of their companions by affecting a cheerfulness which, however, in some cages, was a little forced. Ailie lay shivering in her father's arms, for she was drenched with salt water and very cold. Her eyes were closed, and she was very pale from exposure and exhaustion, but her lips moved as if in prayer.

Captain Dunning looked anxiously at Dr Hopley, who crouched beside them, and gazed earnestly in the child's face while he felt her pulse.

"It's almost too much for her, I fear," said the captain, in a hesitating, husky voice.

The doctor did not answer for a minute or two, then he said, as if muttering to himself rather than replying to the captain's remark, "If we could only get her into dry clothes, or had a fire, or even a little brandy, but—" He did not finish the sentence, and the captain's heart sank within him, and his weather-beaten face grew pale as he thought of the possibility of losing his darling child.

Glynn had been watching the doctor with intense eagerness, and with a terrible feeling of dread fluttering about his heart. When he heard the last remark he leaped up and cried—"If brandy is all you want you shall soon have it." And running down to the edge of the water, he plunged in and grasped the cable, intending to clamber into the ship, which had by this time been driven higher on the rocks, and did not suffer so much from the violence of the breakers. At the same instant Phil Briant sprang to his feet, rushed down after him, and before he had got a yard from the shore, seized him by the collar, and dragged him out of the sea high and dry on the land.

Glynn was so exasperated at this unceremonious and at the moment unaccountable treatment, that he leaped up, and in the heat of the moment prepared to deal the Irishman a blow that would very probably have brought the experiences of the "ring" to his remembrance; but Briant effectually checked him by putting both his own hands into his pockets, thrusting forward his face as if to invite the blow, and exclaiming—

"Och! now, hit fair, Glynn, darlint; put it right in betwane me two eyes!"

Glynn laughed hysterically, in spite of himself.

"What mean you by stopping me?" he asked somewhat sternly.

"Shure, I mane that I'll go for the grog meself. Ye've done more nor yer share o' the work this mornin', an' it's but fair to give a poor fellow a chance. More be token, ye mustn't think that nobody can't do nothin' but yeself. It's Phil Briant that'll shin up a rope with any white man in the world, or out of it."

"You're right, Phil," said Rokens, who had come to separate the combatants. "Go aboord, my lad, an' I'll engage to hold this here young alligator fast till ye come back."

"You don't need to hold me, Tim," retorted Glynn, with a smile; "but don't be long about it, Phil. You know where the brandy is kept—look alive."

Briant accomplished his mission successfully, and, despite the furious waves, brought the brandy on shore in safety. As he emerged like a caricature of old Neptune dripping from the sea, it was observed that he held a bundle in his powerful grasp. It was also strapped to his shoulders.

"Why, what have you got there?" inquired the doctor, as he staggered under the shelter of the rocks.

"Arrah! give a dhrop to the child, an' don't be wastin' yer breath," replied Briant, as he undid the bundle. "Sure I've brought a few trifles for her outside as well as her in." And he revealed to the glad father a bundle of warm habiliments which he had collected in Ailie's cabin, and kept dry by wrapping them in several layers of tarpaulin.

"God bless you, my man," said the captain, grasping the thoughtful Irishman by the hand. "Now, Ailie, my darling pet, look up, and swallow a drop o' this. Here's a capital rig-out o' dry clothes too."

A few sips of brandy soon restored the circulation which had well-nigh been arrested, and when she had been clothed in the dry garments, Ailie felt comparatively comfortable, and expressed her thanks to Phil Briant with tears in her eyes.

A calm often succeeds a storm somewhat suddenly, especially in southern latitudes. Soon after daybreak the wind moderated, and before noon it ceased entirely, though the sea kept breaking in huge rolling billows on the sandbank for many hours afterwards. The sun, too, came out hot and brilliant, shedding a warm radiance over the little sea-girt spot as well as over the hearts of the crew.

Human nature exhibits wonderful and sudden changes. Men spring from the depths of despair to the very summit, of light-hearted hope, and very frequently, too, without a very obvious cause to account for the violent change. Before the day after the storm was far advanced, every one on the sandbank seemed to be as joyous as though there was no danger of starvation whatever. There was, however, sufficient to produce the change in the altered aspect of affairs. For one thing, the warm sun began to make them feel comfortable—and really it is wonderful how ready men are to shut their eyes to the actual state of existing things if they can only enjoy a little present comfort. Then the ship was driven so high up on the rocks as to be almost beyond the reach of the waves, and she had not been dashed to pieces, as had at first been deemed inevitable, so that the stores and provisions in her might be secured, and the party be thus enabled to subsist on their ocean prison until set free by some passing ship.

Under the happy influence of these improved circumstances every one went about the work of rendering their island home more comfortable, in good, almost in gleeful spirits. Phil Briant indulged in jests which a few hours ago would have been deemed profane, and Gurney actually volunteered the song of the "man wot got his nose froze;" but every one declined to listen to it, on the plea that it reminded them too forcibly of the cold of the early morning. Even the saturnine steward, Tarquin, looked less ferocious than usual, and King Bumble became so loquacious that he was ordered more than once to hold his tongue and to "shut up."

The work they had to do was indeed of no light nature. They had to travel to and fro between the ship and the rocks on the rope-cable, a somewhat laborious achievement, in order to bring ashore such things as they absolutely required. A quantity of biscuit, tea, coffee, and sugar were landed without receiving much damage, then a line was fastened to a cask of salt beef, and this, with a few more provisions, was drawn ashore the first day, and placed under the shelter of the largest rock on the point. On the following day it was resolved that a raft should be constructed, and everything that could in any way prove useful be brought to the sandbank and secured. For Captain Dunning well knew that another storm might arise as quickly as the former had done, and although the ship at present lay in comparatively quiet water, the huge billows that would be dashed against her in such circumstances would be certain to break her up and scatter her cargo on the breast of the all-devouring sea.

In the midst of all this activity and bustle there sat one useless and silent, but exceedingly grave and uncommonly attentive spectator, namely, Jacko the monkey. That sly and sagacious individual, seeing that no one intended to look after him, had during the whole of the recent storm wisely looked after himself. He had ensconced himself in a snug and comparatively sheltered corner under the afterpart of the weather-bulwarks. But when he saw the men one by one leaving the ship, and proceeding to the shore by means of the rope, he began to evince an anxiety as to his own fate which had in it something absolutely human. Jacko was the last man, so to speak, to leave the Red Eric. Captain Dunning, resolving, with the true spirit of a brave commander; to reserve that honour to himself, had seen the last man, he thought, out of the ship, and was two-thirds of the distance along the rope on his way to land, when Jim Scroggles, who was always either in or out of the way at the most inopportune moments, came rushing up from below, whither he had gone to secure a favourite brass finger-ring, and scrambled over the side.

It would be difficult to say whether Jim's head, or feet, or legs, or knees, or arms went over the side first,—they all got over somehow, nobody knew how—and in the getting over his hat flew off and was lost for ever.

Seeing this, and feeling, no doubt, the momentous truth of that well-known adage "Now or never," Master Jacko uttered a shriek, bounded from his position of fancied security, and seized Jim Scroggles firmly by the hair, resolved apparently to live or perish along with him. As to simply clambering along that cable to the shore. Jacko would have thought no more of it than of eating his dinner. Had he felt so disposed he could have walked along it, or hopped along it, or thrown somersaults along it. But to proceed along it while it was at one moment thirty feet above the sea, rigid as a bar of iron, and the next moment several feet under the mad turmoil of the raging billows—this it was that filled his little bosom with inexpressible horror, and induced him to cling with a tight embrace to the hair of the head of his bitterest enemy!

Having gained the shore, Jacko immediately took up his abode in the warmest spot on that desolate sandbank, which was the centre of the mass of cowering and shivering men who sought shelter under the lee of the rocks, where he was all but squeezed to death, but where he felt comparatively warm, nevertheless. When the sun came out he perched himself in a warm nook of the rock near to Ailie, and dried himself, after which, as we have already hinted, he superintended the discharging of the cargo and the arrangements made for a prolonged residence on the sandbank.

"Och! but yer a queer cratur," remarked Briant, as he passed, chucking the monkey under the chin.

"Oo-oo-oo-ee-o!" replied Jacko.

"Very thrue, no doubt—but I haven't time to spake to ye jist yet, lad," replied Briant, with a laugh, as he ran down to the beach and seized a barrel which had just been hauled to the water's edge.

"What are you going to do with the wood, papa?" asked Ailie.

The captain had seized an axe at the moment, and began vigorously to cut up a rough plank which had been driven ashore by the waves.

"I'm going to make a fire, my pet, to warm your cold toes."

"But my toes are not cold, papa; you've no idea how comfortable I am."

Ailie did indeed look comfortable at that moment, for she was lying on a bed of dry sand, with a thick blanket spread over her.

"Well, then, it will do to warm Jacko's toes, if yours don't want it; and besides, we all want a cup of tea after our exertions. The first step towards that end, you know, is to make a fire."

So saying, the captain piled up dry wood in front of the place where Ailie lay, and in a short time had a capital fire blazing, and a large tin kettle full of fresh water boiling thereon.

It may be as well to remark here that the water had been brought in a small keg from the ship, for not a single drop of fresh water was found on the sandbank after the most careful search. Fortunately, however, the water-tanks of the Red Eric still contained a large supply.

During the course of that evening a sort of shed or tent was constructed out of canvas and a few boards placed against the rock. This formed a comparatively comfortable shelter, and one end of it was partitioned off for Ailie's special use. No one was permitted to pass the curtain that hung before the entrance to this little boudoir, except the captain, who claimed a right to do what he pleased, and Glynn, who was frequently invited to enter in order to assist its fair occupant in her multifarious arrangements, and Jacko, who could not be kept out by any means that had yet been hit upon, except by killing him; but as Ailie objected to this, he was suffered to take up his abode there, and, to do him justice, he behaved very well while domiciled in that place.

It is curious to note how speedily little children, and men too, sometimes, contrive to forget the unpleasant or the sad, or, it may be, the dangerous circumstances in which they may chance to be placed, while engaged in the minute details incident to their peculiar position. Ailie went about arranging her little nest under the rock with as much zeal and cheerful interest as if she were "playing at houses" in her own room at home. She decided that one corner was peculiarly suited for her bed, because there was a small rounded rock in it which looked like a pillow; so Glynn was directed to spread the tarpaulin and the blankets there. Another corner exhibited a crevice in the rock, which seemed so suitable for a kennel for Jacko that the arrangement was agreed to on the spot. We say agreed to, because Ailie suggested everything to Glynn, and Glynn always agreed to everything that Ailie suggested, and stood by with a hammer and nails and a few pieces of plank in his hands ready to fulfil her bidding, no matter what it should be. So Jacko was sent for to be introduced to his new abode, but Jacko was not to be found, for the very good reason that he had taken possession of the identical crevice some time before, and at that moment was enjoying a comfortable nap in its inmost recess. Then Ailie caused Glynn to put up a little shelf just over her head, which he did with considerable difficulty, because it turned out that nails could not easily be driven into the solid rock. After that a small cave at the foot of the apartment was cleaned out and Ailie's box placed there. All this and sundry other pieces of work were executed by the young sailor and his little friend with an amount of cheerful pleasantry that showed they had, in the engrossing interest of their pursuit, totally forgotten the fact that they were cast away on a sandbank on which were neither food nor water, nor wood, except what was to be found in the wrecked ship, and around which for thousands of miles rolled the great billows of the restless sea.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

LIFE ON THE SANDBANK—AILIE TAKES POSSESSION OF FAIRYLAND—GLYNN AND BUMBLE ASTONISH THE LITTLE FISHES.

In order that the reader may form a just conception of the sandbank on which the crew of the Red Eric had been wrecked, we shall describe it somewhat carefully.

It lay in the Southern Ocean, a little to the west of the longitude of the Cape of Good Hope, and somewhere between 2000 and 3000 miles to the south of it. As has been already remarked, the bank at its highest point was little more than a few feet above the level of the ocean, the waves of which in stormy weather almost, and the spray of which altogether, swept over it. In length it was barely fifty yards, and in breadth about forty. Being part of a coral reef, the surface of it was composed of the beautiful white sand that is formed from coral by the dashing waves. At one end of the bank—that on which the ship had struck—the reef rose into a ridge of rock, which stood a few feet higher than the level of the sand, and stretched out into the sea about twenty yards, with its points projecting here and there above water. On the centre of the bank at its highest point one or two very small blades of green substance were afterwards discovered. So few were they, however, and so delicate, that we feel justified in describing the spot as being utterly destitute of verdure. Ailie counted those green blades many a time after they were discovered. There were exactly thirty-five of them; twenty-six were, comparatively speaking, large; seven were of medium size, and two were extremely small—so small and thin that Ailie wondered they did not die of sheer delicacy of constitution on such a barren spot. The greater part of the surface of the bank was covered with the fine sand already referred to, but there were one or two spots which were covered with variously-sized pebbles, and an immense number of beautiful small shells.

On such a small and barren spot one would think there was little or nothing to admire. But this was not the case. Those persons whose thoughts are seldom allowed to fix attentively on any subject, are apt to fall into the mistake of supposing that in this world there are a great many absolutely uninteresting things. Many things are, indeed, uninteresting to individuals, but there does not exist a single thing which has not a certain amount of interest to one or another cast of mind, and which will not afford food for contemplation, and matter fitted to call forth our admiration for its great and good Creator.

We know a valley so beautiful that it has been for generations past, and will probably be for generations to come, the annual resort of hundreds of admiring travellers. The valley cannot be seen until you are almost in it. The country immediately around it is no way remarkable; it is even tame. Many people would exclaim at first sight in reference to it, "How uninteresting."

It requires a close view, a minute inspection, to discover the beauties that lie hidden there.

So was it with our sandbank. Ailie's first thoughts were, "Oh! how dreary; how desolate!" and in some respects she was right; but she dwelt there long enough to discover things that charmed her eye and her imagination, and caused her sometimes to feel as if she had been transported to the realms of Fairyland.

We do not say, observe, that the crew of the Red Eric were ever blessed with such dreams. Jim Scroggles, for instance, had no eye for the minute beauties or wonders of creation. Jim, according to his own assertion, could see about as far through a millstone as most men. He could apostrophise his eye, on certain occasions, and tell it—as though its own power of vision were an insufficient medium of information—that "that wos a stunnin' iceberg;" or that "that wos a gale and a half, fit to tear the masts out o' the ship a'most." But for any less majestic object in nature, Jim Scroggles had nothing to say either to his eye, or his nose, or his shipmates.

As was Jim Scroggles, so were most of the other men. Hence they grumbled a good deal at their luckless condition. But upon the whole they were pretty cheerful—especially at meal-times—and, considering their circumstances, they behaved very well.

Glynn Proctor was a notable exception to the prevailing rule of indifference to small things. By nature he was of a superior stamp of mind to his comrades; besides, he had been better educated; and more than all, he was at that time under the influence of Ailie Dunning. She admired what she admired; he liked what she liked; he looked with interest at the things which she examined. Had Ailie sat down beside the stock of an old anchor and looked attentively at it, Glynn would have sat down and stared at it too, in the firm belief that there was something there worth looking at! Glynn laughed aloud sometimes at himself, to think how deeply interested he had become in the child, for up to that time he had rather avoided than courted the society of children; and he used to say to Ailie that the sailors would begin to call her his little sweetheart, if he spent so much of his time with her; to which Ailie would reply by asking what a sweetheart was; whereat Glynn would laugh immoderately; whereupon Ailie would tell him not to be stupid, but to come and play with her!

All the sailors, even including the taciturn Tarquin, had a tender feeling of regard for the little girl who shared their fortunes at that time, but with the exception of Glynn, none were capable of sympathising with her in her pursuits. Tim Rokens, her father, and Dr Hopley did to some extent, but these three had their minds too deeply filled with anxiety about their critical position to pay her much attention, beyond the kindest concern for her physical wants. King Bumble, too, we beg his pardon, showed considerable interest in her. The sable assistant of Nikel Sling shone conspicuous at this trying time, for his activity, good-humour, and endurance, and in connection with Phil Briant, Gurney, and Jacko, kept up the spirits of the shipwrecked men wonderfully.

Close under the rocks, on the side farthest removed from the spot where the rude tent was pitched, there was a little bay or creek, not more than twenty yards in diameter, which Ailie appropriated and called Fairyland! It was an uncommonly small spot, but it was exceedingly beautiful and interesting. The rocks, although small, were so broken and fantastically formed, that when Ailie crept close in amongst them, and so placed herself that the view of the sandbank was entirely shut out, and nothing was to be seen but little pools of crystal water and rocklets, with their margin of dazzling white sand, and the wreck of the ship in the distance, with the deep blue sea beyond, she quite forgot where she actually was, and began to wander in the most enchanting daydreams. But when, as often happened, there came towering thick masses of snowy clouds, like mountain peaks and battlements in the bright blue sky, her delight was so great that she could find no words to express it.

At such times—sometimes with Glynn by her side, sometimes alone—she would sit in a sunny nook, or in a shady nook if she felt too warm, and invite innumerable hosts of fairies to come and conduct her through interminable tracts of pure-white cloud region, and order such unheard-of wild creatures (each usually wanting a tail, or a leg, or an ear) to come out of the dark caves, that had they been all collected in one garden for exhibition to the public, that zoological garden would have been deemed, out of sight, the greatest of all the wonders of the world!

When a little wearied with those aerial journeys she would return to "Fairyland," and, leaning over the brinks of the pools, peer down into their beautiful depths for hours at a time.

Ailie's property of Fairyland had gardens, too, of the richest possible kind, full of flowers of the most lovely and brilliant hues. But the flowers were scentless, and, alas! she could not pluck them, for those gardens were all under water; they grew at the bottom of the sea!

Yes, reader, if the land was barren on that ocean islet, the pools there made up for it by presenting to view the most luxuriant marine vegetation. There were forests of branching coral of varied hues; there were masses of fan-shaped sponges; there were groves of green and red sea-weeds; and beds of red, and white, and orange, and striped creatures that stuck to the rocks, besides little fish with bright coloured backs that played there as if they really enjoyed living always under water— which is not easy for us, you know, to realise! And above all, the medium of water between Ailie and these things was so pure and pellucid when no breeze fanned the surface, that it was difficult to believe, unless you touched it, there was any water there at all.

While Ailie thus spent her time, or at least her leisure time, for she was by no means an idler in that busy little isle, the men were actively engaged each day in transporting provisions from the Red Eric to the sandbank, and in making them as secure as circumstances would admit of. For this purpose a raft had been constructed, and several trips a day were made to and from the wreck, so that in the course of a few days a considerable stock of provisions was accumulated on the bank. This was covered with tarpaulin, and heavy casks of salt junk were placed on the corners and edges to keep it down.

"I'll tell ye wot it is, messmates," remarked Gurney, one day, as they sat down round their wood fire to dine in front of their tent, "we're purvisioned for six months at least, an' if the weather only keeps fine I've no objection to remain wotiver."

"Maybe," said Briant, "ye'll have to remain that time whether ye object or not."

"By no means, Paddy," retorted Gurney; "I could swum off to sea and be drownded if I liked."

"No ye couldn't, avic," said Briant.

"Why not?" demanded Gurney.

"'Cause ye haven't the pluck," replied Phil.

"I'll pluck the nose off yer face," said Gurney, in affected anger.

"No ye won't," cried Phil, "'cause av ye do I'll spile the soup by heavin' it all over ye."

"Oh!" exclaimed Gurney, with a look of horror, "listen to him, messmates, he calls it 'soup'—the nasty kettle o' dirty water! Well, well, it's lucky we hain't got nothin' better to compare it with."

"But, I say, lads," interposed Jim Scroggles, seriously, "wot'll we do if it comes on to blow a gale and blows away all our purvisions?"

"Ay, boys," cried Dick Barnes, "that 'ere's the question, as Hamlet remarked to his grandfather's ghost; wot is to come on us supposin' it comes on to blow sich a snorin' gale as'll blow the whole sandbank away, carryin' us and our prog overboard along with it?"

"Wot's that there soup made of?" demanded Tim Rokens.

"Salt junk and peas," replied Nikel Sling.

"Ah! I thought there was somethin' else in it," said Tim, carelessly, "for it seems to perdooce oncommon bad jokes in them wot eats of it."

"Now, Tim, don't you go for to be sorcostic, but tell us a story."

"Me tell a story? No, no, lads; there's Glynn Proctor, he's the boy for you. Where is he?"

"He's aboard the wreck just now. The cap'n sent him for charts and quadrants, and suchlike cooriosities. Come, Gurney, tell you one if Tim won't. How wos it, now, that you so mistook yer trade as to come for to go to sea?"

"I can't very well tell ye," answered Gurney, who, having finished dinner, had lit his pipe, and was now extended at full length on the sand, leaning on one arm. "Ye see, lads, I've had more or less to do with the sea, I have, since ever I comed into this remarkable world—not that I ever, to my knowledge, knew one less coorous, for I never was up in the stars; no more, I s'pose, was ever any o' you. I was born at sea, d'ye see? I don't 'xactly know how I comed for to be born there, but I wos told that I wos, and if them as told me spoke truth, I s'pose I wos. I was washed overboard in gales three times before I comed for to know myself at all. When I first came alive, so to speak, to my own certain knowledge, I wos a-sitting on the top of a hen-coop aboard an East Indiaman, roarin' like a mad bull as had lost his senses; 'cause why? the hens wos puttin' their heads through the bars o' the coops, and pickin' at the calves o' my legs as fierce as if they'd suddenly turned cannibals, and rather liked it. From that time I began a life o' misery. My life before that had bin pretty much the same, it seems, but I didn't know it, so it didn't matter. D'ye know, lads, when ye don't know a thing it's all the same as if it didn't exist, an' so, in coorse, it don't matter."

"Oh!" exclaimed the first mate, who came up at the moment, "'ave hany o' you fellows got a note-book in which we may record that horacular and truly valuable hobserwation?"

No one happening to possess a note-book, Gurney was allowed to proceed with his account of himself.

"Ships has bin my houses all along up to this here date. I don't believe, lads as ever I wos above two months ashore at a time all the coorse of my life, an' mostly not as long as that. The smell o' tar and the taste o' salt water wos the fust things I iver comed across—'xcept the Line, I comed across that jist about the time I wos born, so I'm told—and the smell o' tar and taste o' salt water's wot I've bin used to most o' my life, and moreover, wot I likes best. One old gentleman as took a fancy to me w'en I wos a boy, said to me, one fine day, w'en I chanced to be ashore visitin' my mother—says he, 'My boy, would ye like to go with me and live in the country, and be a gardner?' 'Wot,' says I, 'keep a garding, and plant taters, and hoe flowers an' cabidges?' 'Yes,' says he, 'at least, somethin' o' that sort.' 'No, thankee,' says I; 'I b'long to the sea, I do; I wouldn't leave that 'ere no more nor I would quit my first love if I had one. I'm a sailor, I am, out and out, through and through—true blue, and no mistake, an' no one need go for to try to cause me for to forsake my purfession, and live on shore like a turnip'—that's wot I says to that old gen'lemen. Yes, lads, I've roamed the wide ocean, as the song says, far an' near. I've bin tattooed by the New Zealanders, and I've danced with the Hottentots, and ate puppy dogs with the Chinese, and fished whales in the North Seas, and run among the ice near the South Pole, and fowt with pirates, and done service on boord of men-o'-war and merchantmen, and junks, and bumboats; but I never," concluded Gurney, looking round with a sigh, "I never came for to be located on a sandbank in the middle of the ocean."

"No more did any on us," added Rokens, "Moreover, if we're not picked up soon by a ship o' some sort, we're not likely to be located here long, for we can't live on salt junk for ever; we shall all die o' the scurvy."

There was just enough of possible and probable truth in the last remark to induce a feeling of sadness among the men for a few minutes, but this was quickly put to flight by the extraordinary movements of Phil Briant. That worthy had left the group round the fire, and had wandered out to the extreme end of the rocky point, where he sat down to indulge, possibly in sad, or mayhap hopeful reflections. He was observed to start suddenly up, and gaze into the sea eagerly for a few seconds; then he cut a caper, slapped his thigh, and ran hastily towards the tent.

"What now? where away, Phil?" cried one of the men.

Briant answered not, but speedily reappeared at the opening of the tent door with a fishing-line and hook. Hastening to the point of rock, he opened a small species of shell-fish that he found there, wherewith he baited his hook, and then cast it into the sea. In a few minutes he felt a twitch, which caused him to return a remarkably vigorous twitch, as it were in reply.

The fish and the sailor for some minutes acted somewhat the part of electricians in a telegraph office; when the fish twitched, Briant twitched; when the fish pulled and paused, Briant pulled and paused, and when the fish held on hard, Briant pulled hard, and finally pulled him ashore, and a very nice plump rock-codling he was. There were plenty of them, so in a short time there was no lack of fresh fish, and Rokens' fear that they would have to live on salt junk was not realised.

Fishing for rock-codlings now became one of the chief recreations of the men while not engaged in bringing various necessaries from the wreck. But for many days at first they found their hands fully occupied in making their new abode habitable, in enlarging and improving the tent, which soon by degrees came to merit the name of a hut, and in inventing various ingenious contrivances for the improvement of their condition. It was not until a couple of weeks had passed that time began to hang heavy on their hands and fishing became a general amusement.

They all fished, except Jacko. Even Ailie tried it once or twice, but she did not like it and soon gave it up. As for Jacko, he contented himself with fishing with his hands, in a sly way, among the provision casks, at which occupation he was quite an adept; and many a nice tit-bit did he fish up and secrete in his private apartment for future use. Like many a human thief, Jacko was at last compelled to leave the greater part of his ill-gotten and hoarded gains behind him.

One day Glynn and Ailie sat by the margin of a deep pool in Fairyland, gazing down into its clear depths. The sun's rays penetrated to the very bottom, revealing a thousand beauties in form and colour that called forth from Ailie the most extravagant expressions of admiration. She wound up one of those eloquent bursts by saying—

"Oh, Glynn, how very, very much I do wish I could go down there and play with the dear, exquisite, darling little fishes!"

"You'd surprise them, I suspect," said Glynn. "It's rather too deep a pool to play in unless you were a mermaid."

"How deep is it, Glynn?"

"'Bout ten feet, I think."

"So much? It does not look like it. What a very pretty bit of coral I see over there, close to the white rock; do you see it? It is bright pink. Oh, I would like so much to have it."

"Would you?" cried Glynn, jumping up and throwing off his jacket; "then here goes for it."

So saying he clasped his hands above his head, and bending forward, plunged into the pool and went straight at the piece of pink coral, head-foremost, like an arrow!

Glynn was lightly clad. His costume consisted simply of a pair of white canvas trousers and a blue striped shirt, with a silk kerchief round his neck, so that his movements in the water were little, if at all, impeded by his clothes. At the instant he plunged into the water King Bumble happened to approach, and while Ailie stood, petrified with fear as she saw Glynn struggling violently at the bottom of the pool, her sable companion stood looking down with a grin from ear to ear that displayed every one of his white teeth.

"Don't be 'fraid, Missie Ally," said the negro; "him's know wot him's doin', ho yis!"

Before Ailie could reply, Glynn was on the surface spluttering and brushing the hair from his forehead with one hand, while with the other he hugged to his breast the piece of pink coral.

"Here—it—ha!—is. My breath—oh—is a'most gone—Ailie—catch hold!" cried he, as he held out the coveted piece of rock to the child, and scrambled out of the pool.

"Oh, thank you, Glynn; but why did you go down so quick and stay so long? I got such a fright."

"You bin pay your 'spects to de fishes," said Bumble, with a grin.

"Yes, I have, Bumble, and they say that if you stare at them any longer with your great goggle eyes they'll all go mad with horror and die right off. Have you caught any codlings, Bumble?"

"Yis, me hab, an' me hab come for to make a preeposol to Missie Ally."

"A what, Bumble?"

"A preeposol—a digestion."

"I suppose you mean a suggestion, eh?"

"Yis, dat the berry ting."

"Well, out with it."

"Dis am it. Me ketch rock-coddles; well, me put 'em in bucket ob water an' bring 'em to you, Missie Ally, an' you put 'em into dat pool and tame 'em, an' hab great fun with 'em. Eeh! wot you tink?"

"Oh, it will be so nice. How good of you to think about it, Bumble; do get them as quick as you can."

Bumble looked grave and hesitated.

"Why, what's wrong?" inquired Glynn.

"Oh, noting. Me only tink me not take the trouble to put 'em into dat pool where de fishes speak so imperently ob me. Stop, me will go an' ask if dey sorry for wot dey hab say."

So saying the negro uttered a shout, sprang straight up into the air, doubled his head down and his heels up, and cleft the water like a knife. Glynn uttered a cry something between a yell and a laugh, and sprang after him, falling flat on the water and dashing the whole pool into foam, and there the two wallowed about like two porpoises, to the unbounded delight of Ailie, who stood on the brink laughing until the tears ran down her cheeks, and to the unutterable horror, no doubt, of the little fish.

The rock-codlings were soon caught and transferred to the pool, in which, after that, neither Glynn nor Bumble were suffered to dive or swim, and Ailie succeeded, by means of regularly feeding them, in making the little fish less afraid of her than they were at first.

But while Ailie and Glynn were thus amusing themselves and trying to make the time pass as pleasantly as possible, Captain Dunning was oppressed with the most anxious forebodings. They had now been several weeks on the sandbank. The weather had, during that time, been steadily fine and calm, and their provisions were still abundant, but he knew that this could not last. Moreover, he found on consulting his charts that he was far out of the usual course of ships, and that deliverance could only be expected in the shape of a chance vessel.

Oppressed with these thoughts, which, however, he carefully concealed from every one except Tim Rokens and the doctor, the captain used to go on the point of rocks every day and sit there for hours, gazing out wistfully over the sea.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

MATTERS GROW WORSE AND WORSE—THE MUTINY—COMMENCEMENT OF BOAT-BUILDING, AND THREATENING STORMS.

One afternoon, about three weeks after the Red Eric had been wrecked on the sandbank, Captain Dunning went out on the point of rocks, and took up his accustomed position there. Habit had now caused him to go to the point with as much regularity as a sentinel. But on the present occasion anxiety was more deeply marked on his countenance than usual, for dark, threatening clouds were seen accumulating on the horizon, an unnatural stillness prevailed in the hot atmosphere and on the glassy sea, and everything gave indication of an approaching storm.

While he sat on a low rock, with his elbows on his knees, and his chin resting in his hands, he felt a light touch on his shoulder, and looking round, found Ailie standing by his side. Catching her in his arms, he pressed her fervently to his heart, and for the first time spoke to her in discouraging tones.

"My own darling," said he, parting the hair from her forehead, and gazing at the child with an expression of the deepest sadness, "I fear we shall never quit this dreary spot."

Ailie looked timidly in her father's face, for his agitated manner, more than his words, alarmed her.

"Won't we leave it, dear papa," said she, "to go up yonder?" and she pointed to a gathering mass of clouds overhead, which, although heavy with dark shadows, had still a few bright, sunny points of resemblance to the fairy realms in which she delighted to wander in her daydreams.

The captain made no reply; but, shutting his eyes, and drawing Ailie close to his side, he uttered a long and fervent prayer to God for deliverance, if He should see fit, or for grace to endure with Christian resignation and fortitude whatever He pleased to send upon them.

When he concluded, and again looked up, Dr Hopley was standing beside them, with his head bowed upon his breast.

"I fear, doctor," said the captain, "that I have broken my resolution not to alarm my dear Ailie by word or look. Yet why should I conceal from her the danger of our position? Her prayers for help ought to ascend, as well as ours, to Him who alone can deliver us from evil at any time, but who makes us to feel, as well as know, the fact at such times as these."

"But I am not afraid, papa," said Ailie quickly. "I'm never afraid when you are by me; and I've known we were in danger all along, for I've heard everybody talking about it often and often, and I've always prayed for deliverance, and surely it must come; for has not Jesus said if we ask anything in His name He will give it to us?"

"True, darling; but He means only such things as will do us good."

"Of course, papa, if I asked for a bad thing, I would not expect Him to give me that."

"Deliverance from death," said the doctor, "is a good thing, yet we cannot be sure that God will grant our prayer for that."

"There are worse things than death, doctor," replied the captain; "it may be sometimes better for men to die than to live. It seems to me that we ought to use the words, 'if it please the Lord,' more frequently than we do in prayer. Deliverance from sin needs no such 'if,' but deliverance from death does."

At this point the conversation was interrupted by Tim Rokens, who came up to the captain, and said respectfully—

"If ye please, sir, it 'ud be as well if ye wos to speak to the men; there's somethin' like mutiny a-goin' on, I fear."

"Mutiny! why, what about?"

"It's about the spirits. Some on 'em says as how they wants to enjoy theirselves here as much as they can, for they won't have much chance o' doin' so ashore any more. It's my belief that fellow Tarquin's at the bottom o't."

"There's not much spirits aboard the wreck to fight about," said the captain, somewhat bitterly, as they all rose, and hurried towards the hut. "I only brought a supply for medicine; but it must not be touched, however little there is."

When the captain came up, he found the space in front of their rude dwelling a scene of contention and angry dispute that bade fair to end in a fight. Tarquin was standing before the first mate, with his knife drawn, and using violent language and gesticulations towards him, while the latter stood by the raft, grasping a handspike, with which he threatened to knock the steward down if he set foot on it. The men were grouped round them, some with looks that implied a desire to side with Tarquin, while others muttered "Shame!"

"Shame!" cried Tarquin, looking fiercely round on his shipmates, "who cried shame? We're pretty sure all on us to be starved to death on this reef; and it's my opinion, that since we haven't got to live long, we should try to enjoy ourselves as much as we can. There's not much spirits aboard, more's the pity; but what there is I shall have. So again I say, who cried 'Shame?'"

"I did," said Glynn Proctor, stepping quickly forward; "and I invite all who think with me to back me up."

"Here ye are, me boy," said Phil Briant, starting forward, and baring his brawny arms, as was his invariable custom in such circumstances. "It's meself as'll stick by ye, lad, av the whole crew should go with that half-caste crokidile."

Gurney and Dick Barnes immediately sided with Glynn also, but Jim Scroggles and Nikel Sling, and, to the surprise of every one, Markham, the second mate, sided with the steward. As the opposing parties glanced at each other, Glynn observed that, although his side was superior in numbers, some of the largest and most powerful men of the crew were among his opponents, and he felt that a conflict between such men must inevitably be serious. Matters had almost come to a crisis when Dr Hopley and the captain approached the scene of action. The latter saw at a glance the state of affairs, and stepping up to the steward, ordered him at once into the hut.

Tarquin seemed to waver for a moment under the stern gaze of his commander; but he suddenly swore a terrible oath, and said that he would not obey.

"You're no longer in command of us," he said gruffly, "now that you have lost your ship. Every man may do what he pleases."

"May he?" replied the captain; "then it pleases me to do that!" and, launching out his clenched right hand with all his might, he hit the steward therewith right between the eyes.

Tarquin went down as if he had been shot, and lay stunned and at full length upon the sand.

"Now, my lads," cried the captain, turning towards the men, "what he said just now is so far right. Having lost my ship, I am no longer entitled to command you; but my command does not cease unless a majority of you choose that it should. Tarquin has taken upon himself to decide the question, without asking your opinion, which amounts to mutiny, and mutiny, under the circumstances in which we are placed, requires to be promptly dealt with. I feel it right to say this, because I am a man of peace, as you well know, and do not approve of a too ready appeal to the fists for the settlement of a dispute."

"Ah, then, more's the pity!" interrupted Briant, "for ye use them oncommon well."

A suppressed laugh followed this remark.

"Silence, men, this is no time for jesting. One of our shipmates has, not long since, been taken suddenly from us; it may be that we shall all of us be called into the presence of our Maker before many days pass over us. We have much to do that will require to be done promptly and well, if we would hope to be delivered at all, and the question must be decided now whether I am to command you, or every one is to do what he pleases."

"I votes for Cap'en Dunning," exclaimed Gurney.

"So does I," cried Jim Scroggles; who, being somewhat weather-cockish in his nature, turned always with wonderful facility to the winning side.