George was of opinion that, from the time they had been tramping through the forest, they ought to have very nearly reached its southern skirts; but as far as the eye could penetrate, in the uncertain moonlight, through the sylvan vistas, there was no sign of break or opening of any kind; nothing but an apparently endless succession of trees and dense undergrowth. Seeing this, Leicester began to feel uneasy. He knew that they had been travelling through the timber in anything but a straight line—indeed, to do so would have been simply a physical impossibility— and he began to fear that, in spite of all his efforts to avoid such a misfortune, they had been journeying along the arc of a circle, instead of progressing steadily in a southerly direction.

The wanderers were beginning to feel thoroughly fatigued, what with their day's work in the fields, their exposure during the storm, and their painful tramp afterwards; but George felt that, fatigued or not, they must push on; liberty must be secured first; when that was won, they could afford time to rest, but not until then.

The first thing to be done, however, was to get a definite idea of whereabouts they were; it was obviously useless to continue plodding on, they knew not whither; besides, it was frightfully fatiguing and painful work, this marching through the forest, and George felt that it would be a positive advantage even to deviate somewhat from their direct course, if by so doing they could earlier gain the open ground once more. So, looking around him, he picked out the most lofty tree he could find, and, leaving Tom to keep watch by Walford's side, nimbly scrambled up its trunk, and was soon among its topmost branches.

A single glance around sufficed to show him that his suspicions were correct; they were only about half a mile from the northern edge of the timber; and, consequently, rather worse off than if they had never left the wrecked waggon at all. And, worse still, George found that, after all their travelling, they were little more than three miles from the estate, the whole of which was distinctly visible from his lofty stand-point. This was rather discouraging, but there was no help for it; he now knew exactly where they were, and how much greater than even he had imagined was the necessity for immediate action; so he turned his glances in a southerly direction, and sought to discover the most direct road out of their unpleasant predicament. Here he met with an ample reward for his trouble in climbing the tree, for he saw that, if they pursued their way due south—as they could now do, directing their course by the moon—they would have to travel through at least seven miles of forest; whilst by heading in a south-westerly direction, keeping the moon a little on their left hand, they would only have to traverse some two miles of forest, after which there seemed to be tolerably open ground as far as the eye could reach. About three miles East-South-East of him he detected the gleaming white walls of a number of buildings, which he judged to be a portion of the town of Santiago; beyond it rose a curiously-shaped, double-coned mountain; away on his right lay the table-land of Mariel; and—joyous sight—through a break in the rising ground to the southward he caught a glimpse of the sea, with, far away on the utmost verge of the horizon, an appearance of land, which he conjectured must be the Isle of Pines. Noting all these matters carefully, and making a rough mental sketch of "the lay of the land," George rapidly descended to where he had left Tom and Walford, and rapidly detailed to the former the result of his observations.

"We must be off at once," he explained, "for we have no time to spare; we have lost nearly three good hours blundering about here blindly in this wood; it must be now nearly or quite midnight; and, if so, it leaves us only ten hours at most to reach the sea, if we are to do so without being overtaken."

Accordingly, weary and stiff as they were, they again shouldered the pole from which Walford in his hammock was slung, and once more set out upon their journey, which, now that they were favoured by the light of the moon, they hoped would be of a somewhat more prosperous character than it had hitherto been.

Another painful and toilsome tramp of a couple of hours and they emerged, to their unbounded joy, from the southern side of the forest on to comparatively open ground. Trees and dense straggling clumps of bush were still abundant enough—far too much so, in fact—but there were wide patches of grass-land between, over which their progress was tolerably rapid. Once clear of the thick timber, George again shaped his course due south, intending to pass through the break in the rising ground which he had seen from his lofty lookout; but somehow they missed it, and this involved a great deal of toilsome climbing. At length they plunged once more into a belt of timber which stretched, seemingly for miles, across their path; and here exhausted nature gave out; Tom declared his utter inability to walk another yard, George felt scarcely better than his companion, and so, notwithstanding the terrible loss of precious time which it involved, they selected the first suitable spot they could find, and flinging themselves upon the ground, one on each side of Walford, gave themselves up to the sweetest sleep which had ever sealed their eyelids.

George was the first of the trio to awaken, and when he did so, he found, to his dismay, that the sun was already several hours high in the heavens. He immediately aroused the lad Tom, and, greatly refreshed by their sleep, the pair once more shouldered poor helpless Walford and his hammock, and resumed their flight. They were as hungry as healthy men usually are after great exertion and a fast of several hours' duration, but they had not a particle of food with them, so they were compelled to subsist for the present upon hope, the hope that ere long they would meet with something more substantial. They felt no particular anxiety upon this score, as George knew that wild fruits of several kinds were tolerably plentiful on the island, and about half an hour after they had started they were fortunate enough to fall in with a wild plantain, the fruit of which was just in the right condition for eating. No time was lost in securing a goodly bunch of this very nutritious fruit, upon which they feasted, as they went along, until their appetites were completely satisfied.

After trudging manfully along for about a couple of hours, they found themselves upon the crest of a range of low hills, from which they caught, through a break in the scrub, a glimpse of the sea, sparkling invitingly under the noonday sun. They also caught a glimpse of something, by no means so pleasant—namely, a town of considerable dimensions immediately before them and only about two miles distant.

To avoid this they were compelled to make a wide detour, and much valuable time was lost in this way and in reconnoitring; for they knew there would be several plantations in immediate proximity to so important a place, and through these they would have, as it were, to run the gauntlet. And, notwithstanding all their caution, they failed to effect their passage entirely unobserved through this dangerous district; it unfortunately happening that, just as they emerged from the bush, and were about to cross a high-road, which they had been watching for nearly half an hour, a vehicle appeared in sight, suddenly wheeling into the road close to them from a bush-path which they had failed to observe. This vehicle was occupied by two persons, a white man and a negro driver; and as it was utterly impossible to avoid the observation of these two persons, George told Tom, in a few low hasty words, to continue moving, to carefully conceal all appearance of chagrin, and to leave him to answer any questions which might be put to them. As the vehicle approached the fugitives, its owner signed to his driver to pull up, but he immediately changed his mind and passed on, contenting himself with a careful and prolonged scrutiny of the travellers. This disagreeable incident caused George and his companion to push on with renewed vigour, and it was with sincerely thankful hearts that they at last plunged into a shallow ravine, which promised to lead them directly down to the sea, then not more, in Leicester's opinion, than some four or five miles distant.

The sun was by this time sinking low in the heavens and the travellers, unutterably weary as they were, pressed eagerly forward, hoping to reach the coast before nightfall, and to discover a craft of some kind which they could appropriate, and in which, later on, when the night was well advanced, and they could hope to do so unobserved, they might venture to put to sea. This was the only effectual method of escape which George could devise—to put to sea upon the chance of being picked up by some passing vessel. He knew that, when once the fact of their escape became established, the news would travel faster than they possibly could; the whole country for many miles round, would be apprised of their number and appearance, and recapture would be certain. To get afloat, therefore, as speedily as possible was their first object; after that they must trust to chance—or Providence, rather—for their ultimate rescue.

As they advanced along the ravine, it grew deeper, whilst its sides became steeper and more rugged, until at last the place assumed quite the appearance of a mountain-gorge or defile, with rocky, precipitous sides, to which a few scattered shrubs clung here and there. At length, in the deep silence of the breathless evening, the thrice welcome sound of the sea breaking upon the shore came faintly to their ears. It was the merest, faintest murmur, it is true, but their experienced ears told them in a moment what it was; they were within the sound of the sea, and in a few short hours at most, please God, they would be safe from pursuit.

A bend in the defile was before them, about a quarter of a mile distant, and toward this they eagerly pressed believing that when they had passed it they would find themselves face to face with the sea. In their eagerness they broke into a run, notwithstanding their terrible state of fatigue, and soon rounded the bend—to find themselves in a cul-de-sac, with a perpendicular wall of cliff in front of them nearly two hundred feet high. With a groan of bitter anguish and disappointment they deposited Walford in his hammock on the ground, and turned to ask each other what should be done in the face of this new difficulty. As they did so, the deep bay of a dog smote upon their ears from the higher end of the ravine. The sound was instantly repeated again and again, in a slightly different key, proving that the cries were uttered not by one, but by several animals.

"The dogs! The dogs!" exclaimed Tom. "They are after us, by Jove; and here we are, caught like rats in a trap."

George glanced eagerly about him, up and down the ravine. To go back was simply to throw themselves into the arms of their pursuers, for that they were pursued he did not for an instant doubt; to hide, even if a hiding-place could be found, was impossible, with those keen-scented brutes upon their tracks; and to remain where they were was to await inevitable capture. Could they go forward? That meant scaling that terrible wall of rock. As George glanced despairingly up the lofty perpendicular cliff, he thought that an active man, unencumbered, might possibly accomplish the feat; at all events, were he so circumstanced, he would try it. And what he could do, he knew the lad Tom could do also; but there was Walford, unable to walk, much less to scale that awful precipice. As he stood thus, the baying of the dogs again came floating down the ravine; and how much nearer and clearer were now the sounds! The brutes must be coming down after them at a run, as of course they easily could upon a red-hot scent. The sounds decided George to make one more desperate effort for freedom.

"Look here, Tom," said he; "after coming thus far, we must not be taken for want of a little extra effort. If we are, you may be sure we shall never be allowed to make a second attempt. Now our only chance is to scale that cliff; we must do it, and we can do it, if we only go resolutely to work. It will be difficult, fatiguing, and awfully dangerous, for we must take poor Walford with us; but liberty awaits us at the top; the sea is not half a mile off, I know, by the sound of it; and we can reach it before those fellows can ride round to intercept us; so let us set to with a will, my lad, and we shall scrape clear yet, you take my word for it. Now out with your cane-knife, and cut away at the grass; we must well pad poor Walford all round with it, so that he may not be hurt by bumping against those rocks; then we'll lash him hard and fast in the canvas, lash ourselves one to each end of him, and away aloft we go."



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

ON THE FACE OF THE PRECIPICE.

The cane-knives were speedily at work; the grass was long and abundant, and as the two men were working for liberty—nay, probably for life itself—they were not long in cutting a sufficient quantity for their purpose. Walford was then lifted carefully out upon the ground, the grass was thickly and evenly distributed over the inner side of the hammock, and then the invalid was again deposited within it, and securely lashed up, his head only being left free. This done, two lanyards were securely attached to the extempore hammock, one at its head, and the other at its foot.

"Well done; that's capital!" exclaimed George, as the last turn was taken, making all secure. "Now slip the bight over your—ah! here come the dogs, by all that's unfortunate. We must defend ourselves with the cane-knives. I'll tackle the first one, you take the next, and—mind— we have no time to waste; luckily there are only three of the brutes as yet; we must kill them, and be up out of reach before the others or their masters arrive. Keep steady, Tom, my lad, and strike so that one blow shall be sufficient. Now then—come on, you devils!"

As George finished speaking, the dogs—three superb specimens of the Cuban bloodhound—dashed up to within about ten feet of the fugitives, and there stopped, not attacking them, as they had expected, but merely baying loudly.

"This will not do," exclaimed George; "if we turn our backs upon them for a single instant, they will seize us; and we cannot afford the time to stand looking at them. I will take the dark one, you attack the light fellow, and mind what you are about, for they are as strong and active as tigers. Now!"

At the word both men sprang forward with uplifted cane-knives, and made a slash at the dogs. The creatures tried to dodge the blows, and one of them—the one attacked by Tom—succeeded. George, however, was more fortunate; he made a feint, and as the dog sprang aside, he followed him up, recovering his weapon smartly at the same time, and bringing it down in another second on the creature's head with such strength and effect that the skull was cloven open, and the poor brute, with a yell of agony, rolled over dead. Tom, meanwhile, was battling ineffectually with the dog he had attacked, and George turned just in time to see the hound spring savagely at the lad's throat, and hurl him to the ground. With a single bound Leicester reached Tom's side, and raising the cane-knife above his head, and grasping the handle with both hands, he brought it down with all his strength across the dog's neck, taking care to avoid the thick leather collar which protected it. The blow clove through skin and bone, dividing the spine and nearly severing the head from the body; but even then it was difficult to free poor Tom from the iron jaws which had seized him. With a vigorous wrench, however, this was effected, and George then dragged the lad to his feet.

"Are you hurt?" panted Leicester.

"No," gasped Tom. "The beast only seized me by the collar of my jacket, and—"

"Then come on at once," interrupted George; "the third dog has turned tail, like a craven, luckily for us. Now slip the bight of the lanyard over your neck, and follow me. Leave the cane-knives; they will only encumber us, and perhaps throw us down the face of the precipice. Now, look out, I'm going to start."

As George spoke, he approached the face of the precipice, and, taking advantage of whatever projections he could find, began the task of scaling it, Tom following behind, and Walford slung in his make-shift hammock between the two.

They worked desperately, these two men, knowing how much depended upon the next few minutes, and an onlooker would have been astounded at the progress they made, encumbered as they were with the weight and bulk of their helpless companion.

In one minute from the time of starting they had gained a height of forty feet, and then the sudden trampling of horses' hoofs, and the loud shouts of their pursuers told them that the latter had rounded the bend, and that they were seen.

In a few seconds the sounds ceased at the foot of the cliff, and in another instant the voice of the head overseer was heard shouting to them—

"Hola there! Giorgio—you miscreant—come down, or I will fire!"

"Keep steady, Tom," gasped George. "Let them fire; the chances are ten to one that they will miss us. Do you feel nervous, lad?"

"Not I," answered Tom; "never felt steadier in my life, cap'n. This rope is cutting into my shoulders awful bad, though."

"So it is into mine," returned George; "but we must grin and bear it now, until we get to the top. And—whatever you do—look up, boy; if you look down, you'll grow dizzy, and, likely enough, slip; then down we must all inevitably go."

"Are you coming down, you rascals?" shouted the overseer.

"It don't look much like it, I reckon, senhor," chuckled Tom to himself, hoisting himself over the edge of a good broad ledge of rock as he spoke, a ledge some ten feet in width.

"Now!" exclaimed Leicester, as he helped the lad up, "we'll rest here a minute or two, and recover our breath. They may blaze away at us as long as they like now; we're as safe from their bullets as if they were a dozen miles away."

The overseer and his companions, however, seemed to think differently, for the fugitives had scarcely settled themselves comfortably, when a regular fusillade was opened upon them; but, as George and Tom were completely sheltered by the projecting ledge, none of the shot came near them.

They were now about half-way up the cliff, and from this position an excellent view presented itself for some distance up the ravine which they had just left; but both George and Tom, now that they were sitting quietly down, and had leisure to think about it, felt the sense of empty space immediately before them, and of the sheer precipice which they knew lay beyond that narrow ledge, to be exceedingly trying to the nerves.

Presently the clatter of horses' hoofs came ringing upward to them from the bottom of the ravine, and, peering cautiously over the edge of the rock, George saw that the party of man-hunters, accompanied by four bloodhounds, had started off at a gallop on their way back to the entrance of the cul-de-sac. He at once guessed that their intention was to ride round over the hills, and endeavour to pick up the trail again at the top of the cliff.

The act of looking downward from so great an elevation, and the sight of the sheer precipice, on the very edge of which he was hanging, with absolutely nothing to prevent him from falling over and going whirling headlong down to the bottom, produced in George a sudden attack of vertigo. The whole landscape appeared to rock to and fro; the ledge upon which he was standing seemed to sway suddenly forward over the abyss and threaten to launch him into space; he felt himself wavering upon the very brink, and an almost uncontrollable impulse seized him to spring off and take that terrible downward flight. Another glance downward, and the impulse became irresistible. He drew back a step, braced himself for the terrible leap, flung his arms above his head, and, uttering a piercing cry, was in the very act of launching himself forward over the edge, when Tom, happening to glance at him, and to detect his suicidal determination just in time, sprang up, and, with a cry of amazement and horror, dragged him forcibly back against the wall of rock behind.

"Why, cap'n!" exclaimed the lad, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from his astonishment to speak,—"why, cap'n, whatever's the matter with yer? What was you goin' to do?"

For the moment poor George was too unnerved to speak. The instant that he was dragged back from the ledge, the horrible fascination lost its hold upon him; he suddenly realised in its fullest extent the frightful peril from which he had been so providentially snatched, and, covering his face with his hands, as the revulsion of feeling came upon him, he shook and quivered like an aspen-leaf. A minute or two more and this dreadful feeling also passed away, his calmness and self-possession returned to him, and, placing himself upon his knees, there on that narrow ledge of rock he humbly returned his hearty thanks to God for his preservation, and prayed for help and deliverance for himself and his companions in their present sore need. Then, turning to Tom, he said—

"Thank you, Tom; you have saved my life as surely as ever man's life has been saved by a fellow-creature in this world. I was in the very act of springing off the rock when you dragged me back, and, but for you, my body would at this moment be lying mangled and lifeless a hundred feet below. I do not know how it was, but when I looked down over the edge, I turned giddy and sick all in a moment, and then I felt that I must fling myself down the precipice. Let this be a warning to us both, my lad; for it shows that, steady as are our heads aloft at sea, they are not to be too much depended upon when climbing precipices on shore. But, come! it is high time that we should be moving again; those fellows are half-way to the head of the valley by this time, and if we are not smart, they will have us yet. Do you feel sufficiently rested to tackle the other half of this cliff?"

"Ay, ay, cap'n, I'm ready," answered Tom; "but, for the Lord's sake, sir, and for all our sakes, don't you go for to look down and get tempted to jump off again. Perhaps I mightn't be able to stop you next time, you know."

"All right, Tom, never fear," answered George; "I'll take care not to run such an awful risk again, you may be sure. Now are you ready? Then take your end of this poor fellow, and let us be moving."

But, now that they were ready to resume their ascent, another terrible difficulty presented itself. On looking upward for a projection by which to raise himself, Leicester for the first time became aware that the ledge on which they stood marked a change of strata. Below them it was all hard rock; above the ledge he could see nothing but a vertical unbroken face, some twenty feet in height, of soft crumbling sandstone, so soft indeed that it scarcely merited the name of stone at all, but might be more fitly described as solidly compressed red sandy soil, of such slight tenacity that it was possible to scrape it away with the naked finger. To climb this smooth crumbling face, even with the aid of a ladder, George at once saw would have been utterly impossible; for, though it has been spoken of as vertical, it was not strictly so; it inclined slightly forward, so as actually to overhang them, and a ladder would therefore not have stood against the face; how, then, could they hope, encumbered as they were, to surmount it? The task was an obvious impossibility, and George saw that it would be necessary to seek for a practicable place elsewhere.

Accordingly Walford was once more laid upon the rock, with Tom to watch him and guard against any possible mishap, whilst George went off upon an exploring expedition.

He first tried to the left, passing along the ledge very cautiously, with his face turned to the wall, so that he might not again be exposed to the terrible temptation from which he had so recently escaped. At first he had great hopes of success, the ledge beginning to slope upward as he passed along it to the eastward; but when he had traversed some fifty yards or so, it suddenly narrowed away to nothing under a projecting angle of the superimposed sandstone, and in endeavouring to get a glimpse round this angle, the soft material crumbled in George's grasp, he lost his hold, staggered, reeled, struggled ineffectually to recover his balance, and fell. For a single instant he gave himself up as lost, and suffered in anticipation all the agonies of a frightful death; but he had not fallen more than six feet, when his outstretched hand encountered a long, stout, flexible twig, or rather a young tree, shooting out from an interstice in the rocks. He grasped it with the iron grip of a drowning man, grasped it with both hands, and, though it bent double with his weight, it held out bravely, and enabled him to regain his footing on the face of the precipice. In another moment he had scrambled once more on to the ledge, where he lay panting, breathless, with torn and bleeding hands, but safe.

The appalling peril from which he had thus a second time so narrowly escaped, inflicted a terrible shock on George's nerves, and it was some time before he could find courage to once more raise his head and look about him. The reflection, however, that two men, one of them utterly helpless, were in the same perilous situation as himself—having indeed been brought directly into it by him—helped him to once more recover the command of his nerves, and, somewhat ashamed of their unexpected weakness, he scrambled to his feet and set out to explore in the opposite direction.

By the time that he had once more reached the point where Tom sat patiently awaiting him, the dusk was closing down upon the landscape with all the rapidity peculiar to the tropics, and, shrouded as they were in the deep shadow of the precipice, it was already difficult for them to see each other clearly. This meant still another danger added to those which already confronted them, and George felt that, unless a way of escape could quickly be found, they would be compelled to remain where they were all night, a prospect which involved so many horrible contingencies that he dared not allow his mind to dwell upon it, but, turning his attention strictly to the matter in hand, hurried away on his quest to the westward.

In this direction he was more successful, the ledge, at a distance of some thirty yards, running into a steep earthy slope, some ten or a dozen yards in height, above which the precipice again rose sheer to the top. And, as far as he could see in the quick-gathering darkness, this precipice again presented a rocky face, up the inequalities of which it might be possible for them to climb.

But a single glance was enough to assure George that the most perilous portion of their journey still lay before them. In the first place, the slope was frightfully steep, rising at an angle of fully fifty degrees from the horizontal; and, in the next place, it was covered with a long thick growth of grass, rendering its face almost as slippery as ice. And its lower edge terminated abruptly in a vertical overhanging face, similar to that which towered above the place where he had left Tom and Walford, so that, should either of them slip in traversing this dangerous part of their journey, they must all, lashed together as they were, inevitably slide and roll helplessly down and over the edge into the depths below.

As George contemplated the fearful dangers attending their further progress, the idea occurred to him that perhaps, after all, now that their pursuers had gone, and the ground was left clear below, it would be better to retrace their steps and endeavour to find another and more practicable way out of the ravine.

But a few seconds' consideration of this plan convinced Leicester of its utter impracticability. They had, by superhuman exertions, succeeded in climbing up the precipice; but he knew that they could never get Walford safely down again. There was nothing for it, then, but to go on, and upward, even though they should find their pursuers awaiting them at the top, a contingency which so much lost time rendered only too probable.

Before going back, however, and attempting the passage up that awful slope, encumbered with Walford's helpless body, George thought it would be prudent to essay the passage alone, so that he might learn, from actual experience, the full extent of the danger, and thus be the better able to guard against disaster.

Accordingly down he went upon hands and knees, and forthwith began the ascent. His first attempt proved to him that he had in no wise magnified the perils of the journey, for his knees slipped helplessly from under him the moment that they touched the grass, and it was only by clinging desperately with his hands to the long tough herbage that he escaped being shot down to the bottom and over the edge.

Returning once more to the friendly ledge, which, after the dangers he had so recently passed through, seemed to afford a position of absolute safety, George began to cast about in his mind for some means of overcoming this new difficulty, and at last he hit upon the idea of making a narrow pathway up the slope by pulling up the grass by the roots. This, however, he soon found would be a work of considerable time; but he also discovered that it would be possible, without any great difficulty, to remove small patches of just sufficient size to give a precarious, but comparatively secure, foothold, and this he at once proceeded to do.

Half an hour of arduous labour in this direction enabled him to safely reach the top of the slope, where, to his great gratification, he discovered another platform of rock, about six feet wide. Passing along this, he came suddenly upon an irregular fissure in the rocky face of the precipice. This fissure was about four feet wide at the bottom, the walls sloping inwards, like a roof, until they met at a height of seven or eight feet from the ground. George at once unhesitatingly entered the opening, and found that it widened somewhat as it receded from the face of the rock, until at a distance of some five and twenty feet inwards it abruptly terminated in a small, cave-like aperture, some six feet in height, and perhaps twelve in diameter, being, as nearly as he could ascertain, by the sense of touch only, roughly of a circular form.

George was inexpressibly thankful that he had been guided to this place of refuge, for here, he resolved, the party should pass the night, as they easily could, with the most perfect safety. It was by this time far too dark to attempt the awful risk of a passage up the precipice, and he felt sure that, even could they succeed in safely reaching the top, their pursuers would be found there, awaiting them. But this cavernous fissure afforded them the very shelter they required; its existence was, in all probability, absolutely a secret; and, even were it not so, it was inaccessible to all but those who chose to risk their necks in an effort to reach it; and, lastly, they could seek in it the rest they so absolutely needed, without the haunting fear of rolling over the precipice in their sleep.

Thinking thus, Leicester rapidly, but cautiously, made his way back to Tom, whom he found in a state of the greatest mental perturbation, owing to his prolonged absence.

Hastily describing to the lad the fortunate discovery which he had made, George made what few preparations were required for the short but dangerous journey before them, and then the two resumed their load, and with cautious steps wended their way along the ledge to the treacherous slope, it was by this time as dark as it would be throughout the night; but this circumstance rather lessened than increased their peril, for it prevented their realising as fully as in broad daylight the giddy height of the narrow path along which they were travelling; whilst the brilliant light from the stars overhead was sufficient to enable them to pick their steps, and find the bare patches in the grass, in which it was so imperatively necessary for them to plant their footsteps. At last, after nearly a quarter of an hour's arduous labour, and several narrow escapes from a disastrous accident, the welcome shelter of the cave-like fissure was reached, and, feeling their way cautiously into it, they laid Walford down, released him from his uncomfortable bonds, and hungry, thirsty, and utterly fagged out as they were with the arduous labours of the day, threw themselves down beside him, and, with a half-unconscious thanksgiving for their preservation trembling upon their lips, fell at once into a profound slumber.

Their sleep lasted until late on in the following day, the sun being already low in the heavens when George was awakened by Walford with a querulous demand for food and drink. He at once rose, and, proceeding to the mouth of the fissure, effected a cautious reconnaissance, the result of which was the establishment of the satisfactory circumstance that no one was visible in the ravine below. The next point to be ascertained was, whether his pursuers—any or all of them—were still maintaining a watch for them on the cliff above. George had not the slightest doubt but that, when he saw them riding up the valley on the previous evening, they had resolved to ride round and intercept the fugitives, or pick up their trail at the cliff-top, if possible; the question to be settled was, whether, having failed in both these objects, they would establish a watch upon that part of the cliff at which the fugitives might be expected to make their appearance; or whether, believing that pursuit had been baffled, and an escape effected, they would return discomfited to the estate. Leicester was of opinion that, failing to detect any sign of the fugitives, and the dogs being unable to pick up the scent, a suspicion might occur to the minds of the pursuers that their prey was still lurking in some precarious resting-place on the face of the precipice, and, in that case, no doubt a strict watch would be maintained for some hours; but as to how long it would be before the patience of the watchers became exhausted, or before the conviction should thrust itself upon them that the fugitives had escaped, he could of course form no opinion. But, having thus far evaded capture, he thought it would be only prudent to make sure that the coast was clear before proceeding further in the prosecution of their flight.

Having come to this conclusion, he returned to the inner recesses of the cave, acquainted Tom with his intention to make a trip of exploration as far, if necessary, as the top of the cliff, and forthwith set out upon his mission.

George's first act, on issuing from the fissure, was to cast a look aloft, in order that he might judge of the nature of the task still before them. The sight was anything but encouraging, the task of climbing that vertical face—perfectly smooth, to all intents and purposes, the projections and inequalities being so slight as to be barely distinguishable beyond a height of twenty or five-and-twenty feet—seeming to him, even after his recent experience of cliff-climbing, a sheer impossibility. To climb it, even unencumbered as he then was, was a task not to be lightly entered upon, and he determined that, before attempting it, he would seek further, and endeavour to discover a somewhat less difficult path to the summit.

With this object in view, he continued his way along the rocky platform upon which he was then standing, until he rounded a sharp angle, where it abruptly came to an end, and gave place to a rough, jagged, and broken face, very similar to that which they had ascended on the previous evening. Casting his eye over and up this uneven face, in an effort to pick out the most suitable path, his gaze was arrested by the sight of a bush growing out of the face of the rock. The bush was only some ten feet distant, and he was therefore close enough to it, not only to see that it was evidently a species of wild raspberry, but also to discern the very welcome circumstance that it was literally bending beneath its weight of ripe fruit. He was not long in making his way to the spot where it stood, and then, removing his jacket, and knotting the sleeves round his neck, he, with a seaman's readiness of invention, converted it into a sort of bag, which he rapidly filled to its utmost capacity with the cool, ripe, refreshing juicy fruit. With this he hurried back to the inmates of the cave, and, laying it before them, bade them eat freely, returning himself to the bush, since it lay exactly in the way he intended to take, to satisfy the cravings of his own appetite.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE FUGITIVES MAKE GOOD THEIR ESCAPE.

Having partaken of as much of the fruit as he deemed prudent, George at once betook himself to the task of climbing the precipice, and was agreeably surprised at the rapidity and ease with which he accomplished the ascent. Now that he was unencumbered with Walford's weight, and was free from the horrible dread which had before haunted him—that a false step on Tom's part might precipitate all hands to the bottom—his confidence in his own powers enabled him to coolly approach and successfully surmount obstacles which, under less favourable conditions, he would have dreaded to face, and in a few minutes he was within a foot or two of the top.

Here he deemed it prudent to pause for a moment and survey the path by which he had ascended, so that, in the event of danger, he might be able to effect a rapid retreat. The glance downward which he permitted himself to take, though only momentary, brought on again, though happily only in a mitigated degree, the same feeling of vertigo and nausea from which he had before suffered; and he was obliged to close his eyes for a short time, clinging convulsively to the rock meanwhile, to avoid falling headlong to the bottom.

Having at length once more recovered his steadiness, he rose cautiously higher and higher, until his head was level with the top edge of the precipice, and then he ventured to raise his head rapidly, cast a flying glance round, and dip it again. But the latter precaution was needless; the ground still sloped upward, so that he could see for a distance of some forty yards only, but all the visible space was perfectly clear; there was no human eye to detect his presence there. Once more raising his head, and this time taking a more leisurely and deliberate glance round, to make assurance doubly sure, he proceeded to make his way up over the edge on to the comparatively level ground at the top. This was a task demanding the utmost caution, for a depth of some eighteen inches of light soil crowned the rock, thickly covered with long rank grass, which, owing to the lightness of the soil, afforded but a very precarious and uncertain hold. The soil itself, too, crumbled away immediately beneath his touch, so that at the very top of the precipice he was unable to find anything to which he could safely hold. For a short time it almost seemed as if these apparently trifling obstacles were about to baffle him altogether, and it was not until he had actually laid bare the rock immediately in front of him, as far as his arm could reach, that he accomplished his object, and stood safely on the top of the cliff.

He now threw himself flat on the ground in the long grass, thus effectually concealing himself from the view of any chance passer-by, and crawled to the crest of the hill, where he again peered cautiously about him. The ground, from the spot whereon he knelt, declined pretty steeply to the sea, only a quarter of a mile distant; slightly to his right there lay a valley, with a tiny river flowing through it into the sea; and on either bank of this stream there stood two or three crazy wattle-huts, scarcely worthy the name of human habitations, with a net or two spread behind them on poles in the sun to dry. Three or four fishing-canoes and a boat—a ship's boat, which looked as though it had been picked up derelict—were moored in the stream; but human beings, there were none visible. In line with the river, commencing at a distance of about two miles from the shore, and extending right out to the horizon, there lay a group of islets, some forty or more in number; and far away beyond them, lying like a thin grey cloud of haze on the water, he could see the Isle of Pines.

"So far, so good," thought George. The spot was evidently a lonely one, inhabited by a few fishermen only; there was no sign of any watch being maintained on the chance of the runaways putting in an appearance, so the chase had doubtless by this time been abandoned as hopeless; there was a capital boat—which, in his urgent necessity, he felt he need not scruple to appropriate—lying in the stream below, and everything promised favourably for a successful escape from the island.

But though the scene below looked so quiet and deserted, and though the boat lay there so temptingly within sight, Leicester felt that the evening would be the most suitable time for making their final effort; they were in no immediate hurry now, and it was scarcely worth while to risk detection by putting off in broad daylight. Besides, the sea-breeze was blowing half a gale, and in their exhausted condition they would scarcely be able to drive the boat ahead against it; whilst, by waiting until sundown, they would have it calm to start with, and the breeze, when it came, would be off the land and in their favour.

Thus arguing the matter with himself, he rose to his feet, and sauntered leisurely back to the cliff-edge on his return journey.

He was surprised and greatly disconcerted now to discover how easy it was to miss the spot at which he had made his ascent. The strong breeze, sweeping over the grass, had obliterated every trace of his recent passage through it, but he confidently walked in what he believed to be the right direction—only to find himself mistaken. The bare patch of rock which he had cleared to facilitate his passage over the edge was of course, when once found, an unmistakable landmark; but he was quite five minutes walking to and fro on the cliff-edge before he hit upon it, and quite long enough to have insured his capture had he been surprised and closely pursued.

Having at last found it, however, he forthwith began his descent; and here again he was disagreeably reminded of the much greater difficulty which is experienced in the descent than in the ascent of a cliff. His difficulties began with his first attempt to lower himself over the cliff-edge; and, notwithstanding his utmost care, he several times found himself in positions of the most appalling peril. He, however, got down safely to the cavern at last, and, after detailing to Tom the result of his observations, threw himself down on the rocky floor, to recover in sleep, if possible, the strength and nerve necessary for their final ascent.

When George awoke, the sun was within about an hour of setting. There was, therefore, time for him to go out and secure for his companions and himself another meal of the wild raspberries, which he accordingly did.

The fugitives had all their preparations complete in good time, and, when everything was quite ready, Leicester went out and stood at the entrance to the fissure, watching the shadows creep gradually higher and higher up the eastern side of the ravine as the sun declined toward the horizon. At length the last golden gleam vanished, the entire landscape assumed a hue of rich purple-grey, rapidly deepening in tone as the darkness of the tropical night settled swiftly down; and the supreme moment had arrived.

Returning at once to the interior of the cave, George briefly announced that it was time to start; Walford, already securely lashed in his hammock, was at once hoisted up between George and Tom as before, and, issuing from the mouth of the fissure, the fugitives forthwith began the last and most perilous part of the ascent.

They had scarcely risen a couple of yards when rapid hoof-beats were heard in the valley below, and, pausing for a moment to glance down, George saw a mounted figure galloping rapidly up the valley. He recognised it at once as one of their former pursuers, and saw in a moment how completely these pertinacious man-hunters had outwitted him. It immediately became clear to him that, failing to pick up the trail at the top of the precipice, these fellows had jumped to the conclusion that, improbable as it might seem, their prey must still be lurking hidden somewhere on the face of the precipice, and, doubtless during the previous night, the individual just seen had returned, and, secreting himself among the bushes below, had maintained an untiring watch on the face of the cliff. There could be no doubt that he had seen George's ascent of the cliff that morning, and, observing him to be alone, had rightly concluded that the journey up the cliff had been made for the purpose of a reconnaissance, and had therefore remained perdu, satisfied that before long his patience would be rewarded, as it had been, by witnessing the attempted flight of the whole party.

These reflections flashed like lightning through George's brain, and helped him to an instant decision.

"We must go on now!" he exclaimed to Tom. "They have discovered our hiding-place, and if we were to return to it, they would simply blockade the top and bottom of the precipice, knowing that, sooner or later, we must inevitably fall into their hands; and, in addition to that, they would spread the information of our position all over the country, and perhaps offer a reward for our capture, in which case we should have perhaps a hundred watching for us instead of half-a-dozen. We have a chance yet; for it will take them fully twenty minutes to ride round, by which time, if we are fortunate, we can reach the boat. Now, Tom, my lad, do your utmost; in twenty minutes we shall either have won our freedom or relapsed into slavery for ever."

Not another word was now said by either of them until that awful climb was over and they had, after countless hair-breadth escapes, safely reached the top of the cliff. When at last they once more stood on comparatively level ground, they felt as though their limbs had no strength to carry them another yard upon their way, so exhausting had been the superhuman efforts which they had put forth. But there was no pause—no rest for them yet; onward they must still press at their topmost speed, or all that they had hitherto endured would be in vain. The short journey from the top of the precipice to the summit of the rising ground was a cruel one; the slope, gentle though it was, telling upon them terribly as they staggered forward over the long slippery grass, panting, breathless, staggering and stumbling at every step, and dreading every moment to hear the triumphant shout announcing the arrival of their pursuers upon the scene.

But, so far, save that of their own laboured breathing, not a sound of any kind broke in upon the deep stillness of the evening hour; and, when at last they surmounted the crest of the hill, the scene below was one of peaceful solitude.

"Now one more—one supreme effort, Tom, and in five minutes we shall be free," gasped George. "Muster all your courage and resolution, and let us make a run for it. Can you do it?"

"Ay, ay, sir, I'll try," was the scarcely articulate reply, and without more ado they set off down the slope at a run.

A run? Well, yes, it was a run, if it was anything at all; but such a run! Their limbs felt like lead, and Walford's weight seemed to them enough to drag them down to the very centre of the earth. Every individual blade of grass seemed to be invested with the toughness of a hempen cable, and to trail directly across their path for the express purpose of retarding their progress and tripping them up. Their breath was gone; their mouths were open and gasping; their hearts were beating like sledge-hammers against their ribs, and pumping the blood in a great red-hot tide up into their heads; their brains reeled; their sight began to fail them; and what little of the scene was still perceptible to their disordered vision was apparently whirling in a mad dance up and down, round and round them, until they could not tell whether they were going right or wrong.

Yet on they still staggered and stumbled, first one, then the other, falling prone to the earth, but up again in an instant, and on once more.

At last they were at the base of the hill; another half-a-dozen yards, and they would be beside the stream; another twenty, and they would be in the boat. Hark! what sound is that? The dull thud of horses' hoofs upon the turf! With what headlong speed the riders are pressing forward! And—ha! there is the exultant shout which tells that the prey is in sight.

"Thank God, there are no dogs with them," thinks George. "Are there not?" Then what means that deep, sonorous baying sound which breaks with such startling distinctness on his frenzied ear? "On! on! for the love of God, press on!" gasps George; and with something almost like renewed effort the fugitives once more spring forward.

Hark! now you can hear the deep panting of those hell-hounds as they lunge forward at a gallop, silent now that their prey is in sight, their flaming eyes fixed upon the flying men in front of them, and their jaws champing in horrible anticipation.

One more bound, and the boat is reached. Poor Walford is tumbled unceremoniously into her; George and Tom follow, the latter wrenching from the foetid mud the stake to which the rotting painter is attached, whilst the former, with a last desperate effort, sends the crazy craft into the middle of the stream. As he rolls in over the gunwale a heavy splash is heard, and some cumbrous body scurries from the slimy bank into the water, whilst at the same moment the foremost hound, a magnificent creature, as big and as lithe as a panther, springs boldly after the receding boat. He almost reaches her, not quite, his front paws catch upon the gunwale, but the rest of his body falls short and drops into the water. A thrust from one of the oars sends him clear of the boat, and, with a baffled howl, he turns and swims for the shore. He is within three feet of the bank when a something, which looks like a log of charred timber, rises to the surface behind him, two gleaming eyes glare at him, and, with a horrid snap, a pair of serrated jaws close upon his hind quarters, and he is dragged back and under, to furnish a meal to the terrible cayman.

But the fugitives have no time for more than the merest superficial glance at this canine tragedy, for their human pursuers are now close at hand. The thowl-pins, luckily, are already in their places, left there by the fishermen, who have been too lazy to remove and stow them snugly away; the oars are therefore hastily caught up and tossed into their places, the boat is spun round like a top until her head points seaward, and, with vigorous strokes, the two men send her foaming out along the narrow river-channel toward the sea.

The pursuers rein up upon the bank, and with one accord draw their pistols, and open a fusillade upon the flying boat. Fortunately it is a harmless one; one bullet lodges in the stern transom, a second chips a shaving off the loom of George's oar, a third passes harmlessly through the planking of the boat's bow and skims a few yards along the surface of the water beyond, and the remainder fly wide.

But, after so long and persevering a hunt, these men are not disposed to sit still tamely and witness the escape of those whom they have sworn to take back with them, dead or alive, to the plantation; so, after a few minutes of hurried consultation, three of them dismount, and, hauling one of the canoes to the bank, enter her and start in chase.

The way in which they handle the paddles and send the light craft surging down the river in the wake of the boat proves that they are no novices in the boatman's art, but neither are the two of whom they are in chase. George and Tom have already nearly forgotten their terrible fatigue; they are fast recovering their wind; their legs—the members in which they suffered most severely—are now comparatively at rest, an entirely new set of muscles is brought into action, and, as they are perfect masters of the art of handling an oar, they are getting a surprising rate of speed out of the old boat without very much effort. In a couple of minutes they are clear of the river's mouth, through the rollers which are breaking on the miniature bar, and heading fairly out to sea.

But human endurance has its limits, and after they had been tugging away for half an hour at the clumsy, ill-made oars, their exertions began to tell upon them. Their strength began to flag, and the canoe, which they had hitherto contrived to keep at a distance, began slowly to gain on them, though how much they could not well tell, as it was by this time quite dark, and they could only distinguish her as a small, dark, shapeless blot on the surface of the water, with a tiny luminous ripple under her bow. They were just beginning to discuss their probabilities of success, should it come to a hand-to-hand fight with those three armed and unfatigued men, when a faint puff of warm air fanned their faces.

"Thank God!" exclaimed George fervently, "thank God! there is the first puff of the land-breeze."

With that he began to fumble with one hand at the lashings of the sail which lay stretched fore and aft along the thwart beside him, working his oar with the other hand meanwhile, and after a little difficulty the knot which secured them was cast loose, and the turns partially thrown off.

"Now, Tom, you must finish the job," exclaimed George; "you can reach and throw off the rest of the turns where you sit; the sail is a lug by the feel of it—at all events, here is a yard of some sort lying alongside the mast—and when you have cast off the lashings and are ready to step the mast, say the word, and lay in your oar; then I'll scull the boat, whilst you step the mast and hoist the sail. Hurrah! here comes the breeze, hot and strong; get the canvas on her, and at last we shall be able to enjoy a rest. If those fellows are wise now, they'll 'bout ship at once, and make for the shore, five minutes hence it will be blowing fresh, and, if they don't look out, they'll be blown off the land altogether. Are you ready? Then in oars, step the mast, and sway away upon the halliards."

So said, so done; Tom tossed in his oar, seized the mast, and stepped it. The halliards were already bent to the yard—laziness again, the fishermen evidently having been too indolent to cast them adrift, knowing that they would only have to bend them on again when next they wanted to use the sail—and in another minute Tom had the sail mastheaded, the tack lashed down, and the sheet aft in George's hand; whilst the latter, sinking down in the sternsheets with a sigh of ineffable relief, and too tired yet to ship the rudder, steered the boat with the oar which he had used for sculling, whilst Tom was busied in the operation of making sail.

The canoe, meanwhile, had crept up to within her own length of the chase, and oaths and exclamations of mutual encouragement were freely mingled with peremptory orders to the fugitives to surrender, and threats of the punishment awaiting them when caught; but no sooner was the sail set than the boat drew rapidly away, and in ten minutes more the canoe, with its occupants still paddling furiously out to sea, was invisible. George confidently expected to be saluted with a parting shower of bullets, but he was agreeably disappointed, owing possibly to the circumstance that in the hurry of pursuit the crew of the canoe had omitted to bring their ammunition with them.

For the first four hours of their flight the voyagers were sailing continuously among the group of low islets which George had seen from the top of the hill; but about midnight, as nearly as they could guess, the last rock was passed, and they found themselves in open water.

And now the want of a chart made itself disagreeably manifest. George was quite seaman enough to be able to steer a tolerably straight course, using the stars as a guide by night and the sun by day; but unfortunately, having nothing but his memory to go by, he had only a very vague notion of the proper course to steer, and of the distance which they would have to travel. His plans, moreover, were by no means fixed. One of his ideas was, to stand boldly out to sea in a south-easterly direction, in the hope of hitting Jamaica, where they would at once find themselves among friends able and willing to help them. But against this plan there were several grave objections, the chief of which was his uncertainty as to the exact position of the island and the consequent probability that, from its small size, they would miss it altogether. Then, again, they were absolutely without food or water. It is true, there were a few scraps of putrid fish in the boat, and Tom had found a fishing-line under the bottom-boards forward, so that, having a line and the wherewithal to bait it, they might possibly succeed in catching a few fish. But then it would obviously not do to rely on such a mere chance as that. Another idea was to get into the open water southward of the Isle of Pines, and look out for either an English frigate—one of which would be pretty certain to be cruising in that direction—or an eastward-bound merchantman from Honduras.

This plan seemed to George the most feasible under the circumstances, and in favour of it he finally decided.

The first matter to which they devoted themselves, on finding that they had no longer anything to fear from the canoe, was Walford's comfort. The poor fellow made no complaint—indeed he had scarcely opened his mouth to utter a word since the moment when he received his injury,—but it had for the last two days been growing increasingly apparent to George that his unfortunate rival was rapidly sinking into a very critical condition. Under the combined effects of the injury, exposure, and want, he was wasting visibly away; his strength was so completely gone that he was quite unable to move without assistance; and George had once or twice asked himself the question, whether he was justified in involving this poor weak demented creature in the sufferings which there was only too much reason to believe still awaited them. Would it not have been truer kindness, he asked himself, to have left Walford in some sheltered spot where there would be a certainty of his being speedily found and taken care of? But reflection satisfied him that it would not. To have left him in the hands of the Spaniards would have been to leave him in slavery for the remainder of his life; and, judging by himself, Leicester felt that death itself would be preferable to such a fate. Then, again, there was the possibility—a slender one, it is true, but still a possibility—of their speedy rescue; in which case, with the care and nursing which he would be sure to receive, there was no reason why Walford should not recover both his health and his intellect.

So, comforting himself with the reflection that he was doing the best he could for the unfortunate man, George arranged a comfortable berth for him in the sternsheets of the boat, and deposited him thereon, still lashed up in his canvas hammock, the grass packing of which formed a comparatively soft and comfortable support to his emaciated frame.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

DEATH CLAIMS A VICTIM.

The breeze continued fresh until about midnight, after which it lessened a trifle, and came off from the larboard quarter. Daybreak found the boat off the north-eastern extremity of the Isle of Pines, and about five miles distant from that curious chain of islets called by the Spaniards the Islas de Mangles, which curves out like a breakwater across the northern face of the island. Their hunger, which had to some extent been appeased by their last plentiful meal of wild raspberries, and which had been altogether forgotten in the excitement of their subsequent flight now returned to them in full force, and, the breeze failing them, George determined to put the line overboard and try for a few fish.

He was successful beyond his most sanguine expectations, half-a-dozen fine but grotesque-looking fish speedily rewarding his efforts. The idea of devouring them raw was rather repulsive, but as there was no possible means of cooking them, they had either to do that or go without breakfast; so, selecting the most tempting-looking, they cut it up, and, after making a wry face over the first mouthful or two, managed to satisfactorily dispose of it. That is to say, George and Tom did; but poor Walford, on being offered a share, shook his head, murmured that he was not hungry, and closed his eyes again in patient suffering. The balance of the catch was carefully cleaned and strung up on the yard, in the hope that it would dry in the sun.

Their great want now was water. Their hunger being satisfied, thirst began to assert itself, and George would have landed upon the Isle of Pines and endeavoured to find fresh water, but for the fact that he caught sight of several people on the shore, who appeared to be watching the boat with pertinacious curiosity. In this strait he tried the plan of dipping his shirt into the sea, and putting it on again dripping wet; and, to his great delight, he found that this proceeding had a very sensible effect in mitigating thirst. Upon this, Tom tried the same plan, with equally beneficial results, and then they well soused poor Walford with sea-water, hoping that it would, to some extent, revive and refresh him.

By mid-day the Isle of Pines was broad on their starboard quarter, the last Cay on the "Jardines" shoal had been passed, and they were fairly at sea and in deep water. They might now reasonably look out for a frigate at any moment; but, as it would not do to depend upon this source of rescue alone, George continued to stand boldly to the southward and eastward, hoping that by so doing he would not only improve his prospects of falling in with a British frigate, but that he would also—failing the frigate—meet with a friendly merchantman.

By sunset they were fairly out of sight of land, but, so far, nothing in the shape of a sail had greeted their longing eyes. Once or twice a white speck on the horizon had temporarily raised their hopes, but it had vanished the next moment, being probably nothing more than the sunlight flashing upon a sea-bird's wing.

George was hourly growing more and more anxious for a speedy rescue, not so much on his own account as for Walford's sake, the condition of the latter being such as to give rise to the liveliest apprehension. He had eaten nothing since the previous day, pleading want of appetite, and as the sun went down he watched its gradual disappearance beneath the purple waves with wistful eagerness, murmuring, "The last time, the last time!" Then as the solemn darkness swept down over the sea, and the stars came out one by one in the great blue vault above, the little consciousness of his surroundings which he hitherto retained left him, and he fell to murmuring snatches of songs, mingled with babblings of his childhood's days. The word "mother" was frequently upon his lips, and once he burst into a passion of hysterical tears, murmuring, child-like, that "he was very sorry; and that, if she would forgive him, he would be a good boy for the future, and would never do it again."

This state of things gravely alarmed George, who began to fear that the last great solemn change was at hand. It was therefore with a feeling of intense relief that he heard a hail of "Sail, ho!" from Tom, whose sharp eyes had at last caught sight of a genuine and unmistakable sail broad on the boat's lee bow.

There was nothing, however, to be done but to carefully watch the helm of the boat; she was already under canvas and steering the best course possible for intercepting the stranger; the only thing, therefore, was to steer straight, otherwise the chances were that the ship would be missed, after all. The strange sail was steering about east-south-east, being close-hauled on the larboard tack, and, from her position, George thought it just possible that he might intercept her, or, at all events, near her sufficiently to permit of her crew hearing his hail as they passed.

As the night deepened, the breeze freshened, and by the time that the strange sail had been in sight half an hour it was blowing so fresh that it was as much as they could do to keep the lee gunwale above water. Yet they dared not shorten sail, for the breeze which was threatening at every moment to capsize them was also hurrying the stranger more rapidly along, and consequently lessening their chances of intercepting her. Thick clouds, too, began to gather in the sky, threatening more wind, and, by obscuring the light of the moon, rendering it just so much the more unlikely that the crew of the approaching vessel would see them.

At last a heavy squall burst about a mile to windward of them, and George was reluctantly compelled to order Tom forward to shorten sail. Unfortunately the halliards had somehow got jammed aloft in the sheave, and the sail would not come down. Tom tugged and tugged at it desperately, but all to no purpose; there it stuck, with the squall rushing down upon them like a race-horse.

"Cast off the tack, Tom, and let the sail fly!" shouted George, and the lad had scarcely time to obey the order when the squall burst furiously upon them. The sail streamed out in the wind like a great banner from the top of the mast, lashing furiously, and shaking the boat to her keel. The crazy craft careened gunwale-to, notwithstanding that George had put his helm promptly up, and in another moment she would undoubtedly have gone over with them; but just as the water was beginning to pour in over the gunwale, crack! went the mast and the thwart with it over the side. The boat was nearly half full of water, and in their anxiety to free her, and get her before the wind, the mast and sail parted company from the boat, and they never saw them again.

The squall lasted about five minutes, and then passed off, leaving only a gentle breeze behind it. As soon as this was the case, they had a look round for the strange sail, and made her out—a topsail-schooner— about a mile and a half distant. George saw that there was still a chance for them, so they out oars and pulled vigorously. All was going well, when, to their intense surprise, the craft, after approaching to within little more than a quarter of a mile of them, suddenly put up her helm, and, wearing round, stood away upon a south-westerly course. With one accord George and Tom started to their feet and shouted lustily and repeatedly, "Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!" until their throats were so strained that their voices failed them, and they became unable to utter another sound. It was all to no purpose; their cries attracted not the slightest notice; the schooner ran rapidly away from them and at last George in despair laid in his oar, flung himself down in the sternsheets, and covered his eyes with his hands, to shut out the tantalising sight.

Half an hour afterwards the reason for this extraordinary conduct on the part of the schooner became apparent, the upper canvas of a large ship under a heavy press of sail appearing in the south-east quarter. That this ship was a man-o'-war was evident at a glance, from the cut of her sails; and the course which she was steering, together with her large spread of canvas, showed that she was in pursuit of the schooner.

The first impulse of those in the boat was to out oars and pull toward her, but five minutes' work sufficed to show them that their chance was almost hopeless; the frigate would pass them at a distance of about six miles, and with every eye on board her intently fixed upon the chase, what prospect was there, in that uncertain light, of so small an object as the boat being seen at so great a distance? Nevertheless, they toiled on with dogged perseverance, and did not abandon their efforts until the frigate had passed them, and her topsails had sunk below the horizon. Then indeed they laid in their oars, and directed their whole attention to Walford, whose condition became more alarming every moment.

Not that he made any complaint. The poor fellow indeed seemed to be quite unconscious of his pain and weakness; but his ghastly pallor, his laboured breathing, and the convulsive shudders which agitated his frame from time to time were to George a tolerably clear indication that dissolution was near at hand.

He was still quite light-headed, his mind wandering in feverish haste from scene to scene of his boyhood, as was evident from the rapid disjointed sentences which poured uninterruptedly from his lips. George was able to gather pretty clearly from them that, even as a lad, Walford had been wilful, headstrong, and obstinate, prone to go his own way without much consideration for the wishes of others, and there were occasional wild words and broken exclamations which seemed to indicate that, even whilst little more than a mere child, he had allowed himself to be betrayed into actual crime. And as he lay there, gasping his life away, the follies of boyhood and the graver offences of more recent days seemed to be in some way jumbled up hopelessly in his disordered mind with a confused idea of the urgent necessity for speedy repentance of both. There could be no doubt that, notwithstanding the disordered state of the unhappy man's intellect, conscience was busily at work with him; that he was already beginning to dimly see the error of his ways and the hollowness—the utter unprofitableness—of his past life, and possibly also the critical nature of his position. But the mind was too completely shattered to avail itself of these promptings, and the remorse and regret which had tardily come to him found expression only in the simple pleadings for pardon which a child offers to its grieved parent. This distressing state of things lasted at intervals all through the night and well into the following day, when the dying man, utterly exhausted, sank into a fitful, troubled sleep.

The pangs of hunger and—still worse—of thirst again making themselves felt, George once more put the fishing-line over the side, and, after waiting patiently for nearly an hour, had the satisfaction of feeling a smart tug at it. He gave a sharp jerk, to strike the hook firmly into his fish, and at once began to haul smartly in, but he had only gathered in a foot or so of the line when there came a terrific pull at it, which sent the cord flying through his fingers in spite of all his efforts to hold it. He promptly called Tom to his assistance, but even with this aid he was unable to hold the fish; and, as a last resource, he threw a couple of turns round one of the thowl-pins. The result was disastrous; the line snapped short off at the pin, and when they came to investigate further, they found that they had lost the whole of it, except a bare fathom, which still remained in the boat.

This was a misfortune indeed, as it deprived them of their only means of obtaining that sustenance which was now becoming so urgent a necessity to them. But sailors are not easily disheartened, and they forthwith set to work to manufacture a new line out of the rope which they still had in the boat; Tom carefully unlaying the strands and jointing the yarns, whilst George tried his best to manufacture a hook out of a nail drawn from the gunwale of the boat. This task occupied them for the remainder of the day, and when it was completed the hook and line together constituted such a very make-shift, hopeless-looking affair that George, in spite of his hunger, could not repress an incredulous smile at the idea of any fish with his wits about him being beguiled by it. They tried it, however, but it was an utter failure; they could not secure even the barren encouragement of a nibble; and at last the attempt was given up in despair.

Shortly before sunset Walford once more opened his eyes, and began to stare blankly about him. For a minute or two there was a look in his eyes which encouraged George to hope that reason was returning to her abandoned throne, but the look quickly passed away, and the incoherent mutterings recommenced. The sun went down, night's mantle of darkness once more descended upon the sea, and then the full moon in all her queenly beauty rolled slowly into view above the horizon, flooding the scene with her silvery light, and investing it with a magical beauty which was not without its influence even on those poor famine-stricken creatures, who were watching with such sympathetic solicitude beside their dying companion.

Suddenly Walford's mutterings ceased, an expression of joyous surprise lighted up his ghastly wasted features, he seized George's hand with a firm clasp in one of his, and, raising the other, exclaimed—

"Hark! what was that?"

"I heard nothing, Ned," answered George tremulously; he knew instinctively now that the last dread moment was close at hand,—"I heard nothing; what was it?"

"My mother," answered Walford,—"my mother calling to me as she used to call me, when I was a little innocent child, when she—ha! there it is again. It is her own dear, well-remembered voice. She is calling me to go to her; I must not stay out at play any longer; I did so last night, you know, and it grieved her. She said I was a naughty, disobedient boy, and I made her cry. But she forgave me and kissed me after I had said my prayers, and—and—'Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is done in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses.'"

As the first words of this simple, beautiful prayer issued from Walford's dying lips, George and Tom threw themselves upon their knees in the bottom of the boat, their hands clasped, their heads bent, and their hearts earnestly uplifted to Him who was thus mercifully taking the poor sufferer to Himself. The first sentence was spoken with child-like simplicity, but, after that, every word was uttered with increasing fervour and an evident conception of its momentous import, until the clause was reached, "and forgive us our trespasses," which was breathed forth with a solemn intensity that thrilled the very souls of the listeners. Then the voice suddenly ceased, and as George looked up with startled eyes he saw Walford's lips tremble, a radiant smile parted them for an instant, and he sank heavily back on the boat's thwart— dead.

George gazed long and earnestly in the face of the dead man, his thoughts travelling rapidly back to that eventful evening when they two met—the one going humbly and doubtingly to declare his love, the other hurrying triumphantly away from a successful wooing; and Leicester grieved, as he pictured the sorrow of that loving woman's heart, when the news should be taken to her of the sad event just past. He thought, too, of the strange meeting in mid-ocean, of the helpless state in which Walford had remained since then, of his own vow, and all that it had cost him, and as he reverently gathered the folds of canvas about the lifeless form he felt comforted with the reflection that, though he had failed, he had honestly done his best to keep that vow.

He did what he could to dispose the corpse decently and to prepare it for its last long sleep beneath the waves; it was not much that he was able to do, but he did what he could, "for Lucy's sake," as he kept on muttering to himself; and when all was ready he turned to Tom. The poor lad, utterly worn-out, had sunk down in the bottom of the boat, and, with one arm supporting his head on the thwart, was fast asleep.

"Well, better so," thought George to himself; "he is enjoying at least a temporary respite from his miseries; I will not disturb him;" and, murmuring a short but earnest prayer, he raised the body in his arms, lifted it over the side of the boat, and allowed it to pass gently away from his grasp into the peaceful depths below. "God have mercy on his soul," he murmured, and with clasped hands stood and watched the shrouded form passing slowly out of sight for ever.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

MR BOWEN UNEXPECTEDLY REAPPEARS.

About an hour afterwards a fine breeze sprang up from the north-east, and, putting the boat before it, George seated himself in the stern, tiller in hand, and steered as near a southerly course as the boat, without canvas, would go.

Very gloomy and despondent were his thoughts as he sat there, idly watching the crisp-curling waves racing past. One of the trio had passed away, and, without food or water, without mast or sail, with their strength rapidly ebbing away, the situation of the remaining two was hourly growing more critical. Had they not had the misfortune to lose both mast and sail, George would have endeavoured to return to the Isle of Pines; but to do so with the oars alone, now that they had scarcely strength to use them, was impossible. There was no alternative, therefore, but to wait patiently, and hope that they might be picked up before it should be too late.

The boat drifted on hour after hour, the sun rose, the wave-crests sparkled and glanced under his cheering rays, and still the horizon remained sail-less. At last Tom, after stirring uneasily, awoke from his stupor, glanced with eager, haggard eyes around him, and uttered a groan of despair.

"Then it is not true, after all," he gasped; and George noticed with consternation the difficulty with which the poor fellow articulated,—"it is not true; it was only a dream."

"What was a dream, Tom?" asked George, and he started at the hollow sepulchral tones of his own voice.

"I dreamt that a noble ship had hove in sight and was bearing down upon us under stunsails. She was painted white from her truck down to her water-line; her canvas was white as snow; she was flying a great white flag from her main-royal-masthead, and the people on board her were all dressed in white. It was a grand sight to see her sweeping down toward us, with the cool clear water flashing up under her sharp bows, and there was—ah! see, it was no dream, after all; hurrah! she comes—she comes!"

And the poor fellow pointed away to where the rays of the sun fell upon the water in a broad white dazzling glare.

"Merciful Heaven!" muttered George, "this is horrible; the lad is out of his senses, gone mad with hunger and thirst. Sit down, Tom," said he coaxingly, "sit down, there's a good fellow; I can see no ship. What you see is only the glare of the sun on the water. But if we are only patient, please God, a ship will come and pick us up before long. But we must be cool and steady, and keep a sharp lookout, so that when she heaves in sight we may be ready to signal to her."

Tom passed his hand wearily over his forehead, shaded his eyes with his hand, again peered long and anxiously over the gleaming sea, and shook his head despondingly. The bright vision had vanished, and he sank moodily down in the bottom of the boat, his arms resting upon the thwart, and his head bowed upon them.

Oh! that terrible time of waiting; with the sun beating mercilessly down upon their uncovered heads and scorching up their brains; with the hellish tortures of hunger and thirst, already unendurable, momentarily increasing in intensity; with a horrible feeling of deadly weakness fast paralysing their energies and dragging like leaden weights upon their aching limbs, what wonder that each moment lagged until it seemed an hour, each minute a day, and that the hours stretched themselves out into eternities of overwhelming anguish! At last George feebly felt, with a curious mingling of despair and relief, that his own senses were leaving him. Soon the boat was—to his disordered vision—no longer drifting helplessly upon a lonely sea; she was tranquilly gliding under silken sails up the winding reaches of a gently flowing stream, the crystal waters of which flowed over golden sands and between banks of richest flowery verdure, with overshadowing trees whose boughs drooped beneath their load of blushing fruit; whilst, in the distance, palaces of whitest marble gleamed amid the many-tinted foliage, and all the air was musical with the songs of birds. He no longer felt the agonies of hunger or the fiery torment of thirst; he plucked the ripe fruit as the boat swept gently past, and his pangs were assuaged; he no longer suffered from the scorching rays of the sun, for a silken awning floated over his head, and the cool breeze crept refreshingly beneath it and gently fanned his aching brow; and he no longer suffered from weariness, for his body reclined upon cushions of the softest down, and he felt himself gradually sinking into a luxurious slumber under the soothing influence of the most entrancing melodies.

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"Ou ay; he'll do weel eneuch, he's comin' roun' brawly; it's joost a plain common case o' starvation an' exposure; there's naething complicatit about it at a'; pairfect rest and a guid nourishing diet 'll set him on his pins again in less than a week."

Such were the words which fell upon George Leicester's ear as he once more became feebly conscious of the fact of his own existence. The words came to him mingled with other sounds, to wit—the creaking of bulkheads, the rattling of cabin doors hooked back to allow the free passage of fresh air, the grinding of a rudder and the clank of rudder-chains, the sonorous hum of the wind through a ship's rigging, the flapping of a sail, the distant subdued murmur of men's voices, and the soft plashing of water. He at the same time became conscious of a gentle swaying and pitching motion, such as is felt on board a ship close-hauled, with a moderate breeze and a correspondingly moderate sea.

For a minute or two George felt languidly puzzled as to his whereabouts, but he was by no means anxious for enlightenment upon the subject; he was in a state of blissful comfort, and he was quite content to remain in passive enjoyment of the same, to feel the gentle current of air softly fanning his brow, to yield himself to the easy, luxurious swing of the cot in which he was lying, and to listen dreamily to the soothing sough of the wind and the plash and gurgle of the water along the ship's side.

It was whilst he remained in this semi-conscious state of beatitude that another voice broke in, in cheery response to the words of the first speaker, with—

"That's capital news, doctor; I heartily congratulate you on the successful result of your efforts. And the other one is also likely to do well, you say?"

"Ou ay; he'll do weel eneuch, too; though—mind ye—the puir laddie has had a narrow escape. But they're a' richt the noo; I ken richt weel what tae do wi' baith noo that I hae succeedit in bringin' back some signs o' life in them. And noo, captain, if ye'll excuse me, I'll—eh, weel! hoo's a' wi' ye the noo, my mon?"

This exclamation was elicited by the circumstance that George had at last mustered sufficient resolution to open his eyes and look curiously about him.

And this is what he saw. He saw that he was the occupant of a snow-white canvas cot, which hung suspended from the beams of a ship's roomy after-cabin, the situation of the apartment being manifested by the presence of stern-ports fitted with glazed sashes, all of which were open. There were also two side-ports, one on each side of the cabin, out of which grinned a couple of eighteen-pound carronades, the carriages of which, as well as the whole of the gun inside the port, were painted white. The walls of the cabin, the deck-beams, and the underside of the deck were also painted white with gilt mouldings; a few pictures—one of which was the portrait of a lady—were securely fastened to the walls; the floor was covered with fine matting, and a large writing-table with three or four solid, substantial-looking chairs completed the furnishing of the apartment.