Annie o' the Banks o' Dee

Well knowing that if once they got inside the little garrison would soon be butchered, Dickson immediately had both guns trained on them. He himself did so.

“Bang! bang!” they went, and the grape made fearful havoc in the close and serried ranks of the cannibals. The rifles kept up a withering fire. Again, and quickly too, the guns were loaded and run out, and just as the enemy had scaled the brae they were once more met by the terrible fire, and positively hewn down before it.

Not even savages could stand this. They became demoralised, and fled incontinently. And they soon disappeared, carrying many of their dead with them. Far along the beach went they, and as stakes were placed in the ground, large fires built around them, and one or more of the dead thrown on each, it was evident that they had made up their minds not to starve.

One of the blacks was now sent out from the fort to make a circuit round the hills, and then, mingling with the savages, to find out out what was their intention.

He returned in a few hours, and while the awful feast was still going on. A night attack was determined on, and they believed they would inherit strength and bravery by eating their dead comrades. That was the scout’s report.

Chapter Twenty Two.

More Fearful Fighting – Golden Gulch – “A Ship! A Ship!”

Forewarned is, or ought to be, forearmed. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that Dickson and the others greatly dreaded an attack by savages under cover of the moonless darkness of a tropical night. All was done that could be done to repel the fury of the onslaught. But come it must and would.

Just as the sun was sinking behind the western mountains, amidst lurid and threatening clouds, a happy thought occurred to one of the sailors.

“Sir,” he said to Dickson, “the darkness will be our greatest foe, will it not?”

“Certainly. If these demon cannibals would but show front in daylight we could easily disperse them, as we did before. Have you any plans, McGregor?”

“I’m only a humble sailor,” said McGregor, “but my advice is this. We can trust the honest blacks we have here within the fort?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let them throw up a bit of sand cover for themselves down here on the beach and by the sea. Each man should wear a bit of white cotton around his arm, that we may be able to distinguish friend from foe. Do you follow me, sir?”

“Good, McGregor. Go on.”

“Well, captain, the cannibals are certain to make direct for the barracks and attempt to scale as they did before. I will go in command of our twenty black soldiers, and just as you pour in your withering grape and rifle bullets we shall attack from the rear, or flank, rather, and thus I do not doubt we shall once more beat them off.”

“Good again, my lad; but remember we cannot aim in the darkness.”

“That can be provided against. We have plenty of tarry wood here, and we can cut down the still standing brush, and making two huge bonfires, deluge the whole with kerosene when we hear the beggars coming and near at hand. Thus shall you have light to fight.”

“McGregor, my lad, I think you have saved the fort and our lives. Get ready your men and proceed to duty. Or, stay. While they still are at their terrible feast and dancing round the fires, you may remain inside.”

“Thanks, sir, thanks.”

The men had supper at eleven o’clock and a modicum of rum each. The British sailor needs no Dutch courage on the day of battle.

The distant fires burnt on till midnight. Then, by means of his night-glass, Dickson could see the tall chieftain was mustering his men for the charge.

Half an hour later they came on with fiendish shouts and howling. Then brave McGregor and his men left the barracks and hid in the darkling to the left and low down on the sands.

The enemy advanced from the right. Their chief was evidently a poor soldier, or he would have caused them to steal as silently as panthers upon the fort. When within a hundred yards, Dickson at one side and Reginald at the other, each accompanied by a man carrying a keg of kerosene, issued forth at the back door.

In three minutes more the flames sprang up as if by magic. They leaped in great white tongues of fire up the rock sides, from which the rays were reflected, so that all round the camp was as bright as day.

The astonished savages, however, came on like a whirlwind, till within twenty yards of the brae on which stood the fort. Then Mr Hall, the brave and imperturbable Yankee, “gave them fits,” as he termed it. He trained a gun on them and fired it point-blank. The yells and awful howlings of rage and pain told how well the grape had done its deadly work, and that many had fallen never to rise again.

The tall, skin-clad chief now waved his spear aloft, and shouted to his men, pointing at the fort. That dark cloud was a mass of frenzied savages now. They leaped quickly over their dead and wounded, and rushed for the hill. But they were an easy mark, and once again both guns riddled their ranks. They would not be denied even yet.

But lo! while still but half-way up the hill, to their astonishment and general demoralisation, they were attacked by a terrible rifle fire from the flank. Again and again those rifles cracked, and at so close a range that the attacking party fell dead in twos and threes.

But not until two more shots were fired from the fort, not until the giant chief was seen to throw up his arms and fall dead in his tracks, did they hurriedly rush back helter-skelter, and seek safety in flight.

The black riflemen had no mercy on their brother-islanders. Their blood was up. So was McGregor’s, and they pursued the enemy, pouring in volley after volley until the darkness swallowed them up.

The slaughter had been immense. The camp was molested no more. But at daybreak it was observed that no cloud hung any longer on the volcanic peak. The savages were still grouped in hundreds around their now relighted fires, and it was evident a new feast was in preparation.

But something still more strange now happened. Accompanied by two gigantic spear-armed men of the guard, the Queen herself was seen to issue from the glen, and boldly approach the rebels. What she said may never be known. But, while her guard stood like two statues, she was seen to be haranguing the cannibals, sometimes striking her sceptre-pole against the hard white sand, sometimes pointing with it towards the volcanic mountain.

But see! another chief approaches her, and is apparently defying her. Next moment there is a little puff of white smoke, and the man falls, shot through the head.

And now the brave and romantic Queen nods to her guards, and with their spears far and near the fires are dispersed and put out.

This was all very interesting, as well as wonderful, to the onlookers at the fort, but when the Queen was seen approaching the little garrison, a little white flag waving from her pole, and followed by all the natives, astonishment was at its height.

Humbly enough they approached now, for the Queen in their eyes was a goddess. With a wave of her sceptre she stopped them under the brae, or hill, and Dickson and Reginald hurried down to meet her floral majesty.

“Had I only known sooner,” she said sympathisingly, “that my people had rebelled and attempted to murder you, I should have been here long, long before now. These, however, are but the black sheep of my island, and now at my command they have come to sue for pardon.”

“And they will lay down their arms?”

“Yes, every spear and bow and crease.”

“Then,” said Dickson, “let them go in single file and heap them on the still smouldering fire up yonder.”

Queen Bertha said something to them in their own language, and she was instantly obeyed. The fire so strangely replenished took heart and blazed up once more, and soon the arms were reduced to ashes, and the very knives bent or melted with the fierce heat.

“Go home now to your wives and children,” she cried imperiously. “For a time you shall remain in disgrace. But if you behave well I will gladly receive you once more into my favour. Disperse! Be off!”

All now quietly dispersed, thankfully enough, too, for they had expected decapitation. But ten were retained to dig deep graves near the sea and bury the dead. There were no wounded. This done, peace was restored once more on the Island of Flowers.

Three weeks of incessant rain followed. It fell in torrents, and the river itself overflowed its banks, the fords being no longer of any use, so that the men were confined to their barracks.

It was a long and a dreary time. Very much indeed Reginald would have liked to visit the palace, to romp with little Matty, and listen to the music of Ilda’s sweet voice.

“As for Annie – she must have given me up for dead long ere now,” he said to himself. “Why, it is two years and nine months since I left home. Yes, something tells me that Annie is married, and married to – to – my old rival the Laird. Do I love Ilda? I dare not ask myself the question. Bar Annie herself, with sweet, baby, innocent face, I have never known a girl that so endeared herself to me as Ilda has done. And – well, yes, why deny it? – I long to see her.”

One day the rain ceased, and the sun shone out bright and clear once more. The torrents from the mountains were dried up, and the river rapidly went down. This was an island of surprises, and when, three days after this, Reginald, accompanied by Hall and Dickson, went over the mountains, they marvelled to find that the incessant downpour of rain had entirely washed the ashes from the valley, and that it was once more smiling green with bud and bourgeon. In a week’s time the flowers would burst forth in all their glory.

The ford was now easily negotiable, and soon they were at the Queen’s palace. Need I say that they received a hearty welcome from her Majesty and Ilda? Nor did it take Matty a minute to ensconce herself on Reginald’s knee.

“Oh,” she whispered, “I’se so glad you’s come back again! Me and Ilda cried ourselves to sleep every, every night, ’cause we think the bad black men kill you.”

Ilda crying for him! Probably praying for him! The thought gave him joy. Then, indeed, she loved him. No wonder that he once again asked himself how it would all end.

The weather now grew charming. Even the hills grew green again, for the ashes and débris from the fire-hill, as the natives called it, had fertilised the ground. And now, accompanied by Ilda and Matty, who would not be left behind, an expedition started for the valley of gold. The road would be rough, and so a hammock had been sent for from the camp, and two sturdy natives attached it to a long bamboo pole. Matty, laughing with delight, was thus borne along, and she averred that it was just like flying.

Alas! the earthquake had been very destructive in Golden Gulch. Our heroes hardly knew it. Indeed, it was a glen no longer, but filled entirely up with fallen rocks, lava, and scoria.

They sighed, and commenced the return journey. But first a visit must be paid to Lone Tree Mountain. For Reginald’s heart lay there.

“From that elevation,” said Reginald, “we shall be able to see the beautiful ocean far and near.”

The tree at last! It was with joy indeed they beheld it. Though damaged by the falling scoria, it was once more green; but the grave in which the gold and pearls lay was covered three feet deep in lava and small stones. The treasure, then, was safe!

They were about to return, when Ilda suddenly grasped Reginald’s arm convulsively.

“Look! look!” she cried, pointing seawards. “The ship! the ship! We are saved! We are saved!”

Chapter Twenty Three.

“She Threw Herself on the Sofa in an Agony of Grief.”

Nearer and nearer drew that ship, and bigger and bigger she seemed to grow, evidently with the intention of landing on the island.

Even with the naked eye they soon could see that her bulwarks were badly battered, and that her fore-topmast had been carried away.

Back they now hurried to leave Ilda and Matty at the palace. Then camp-wards with all speed; and just as they reached the barracks they could hear the rattling of the chains as both anchors were being let go in the bay.

A boat now left the vessel’s side, and our three heroes hurried down to meet it.

The captain was a red-faced, white-haired, hale old man, and one’s very beau-idéal of a sailor. He was invited at once up to the barracks, and rum and ship biscuits placed before him. Then yarns were interchanged, Captain Cleaver being the first to tell the story of his adventures. Very briefly, though, as seafarers mostly do talk.

“Left Rio three months ago, bound for San Francisco. Fine weather for a time, and until we had cleared the Straits. Then – oh, man! may I never see the like again! I’ve been to sea off and on for forty years and five, but never before have I met with such storms. One after another, too; and here we are at last. In the quiet of your bay, I hope to make good some repairs, then hurry on our voyage. And you?” he added.

“Ah,” said Dickson, “we came infinitely worse off than you. Wrecked, and nearly all our brave crew drowned. Six men only saved, with us three, Mr Hall’s daughter and a child. The latter are now with the white Queen of this island. We managed to save our guns and provisions from our unhappy yacht and that was all.”

“Well, you shall all sail to California with me. I’ll make room, for I am but lightly loaded. But I have not yet heard the name of your craft, nor have you introduced me to your companions.”

“A sailor’s mistake,” laughed Dickson; “but this is Mr Hall, who was a passenger; and this is Dr Reginald Grahame. Our vessel’s name was the Wolverine.”

“And she sailed from Glasgow nearly three years ago?”

Captain Cleaver bent eagerly over towards Dickson as he put the question.

“That is so, sir.”

“Why, you are long since supposed to have foundered with all hands, and the insurance has been paid to your owners.”

“Well, that is right; the ship is gone, but we are alive, and our adventures have been very strange and terrible indeed. After dinner I will tell you all. But now,” he added, with a smile, “if you will only take us as far as ’Frisco, we shall find our way to our homes.”

Captain Cleaver’s face was very pale now, and he bit his lips, as he replied:

“I can take you, Captain Dickson, your six men, Mr Hall and the ladies, but I cannot sail with this young fellow.” He pointed to Reginald. “It may be mere superstition on my part,” he continued, “but I am an old sailor, you know, and old sailors have whims.”

“I cannot see why I should be debarred from a passage home,” said Reginald.

“I am a plain man,” said Cleaver, “and I shall certainly speak out, if you pretend you do not know.”

“I do not know, and I command you to speak out.”

“Then I will. In Britain there is a price set upon your head, sir, and you are branded as a murderer!”

Dickson and Hall almost started from their seats, but Reginald was quiet, though deathly white.

“And – and,” he said, in a husky voice, “whom am I accused of murdering?”

“Your quondam friend, sir, and rival in love, the farmer Craig Nicol.”

“I deny it in toto!” cried Reginald.

“Young man, I am not your judge. I can only state facts, and tell you that your knife was found bloodstained and black by the murdered man’s side. The odds are all against you.”

“This is truly terrible!” said Reginald, getting red and white by turns, as he rapidly paced the floor. “What can it mean?”

“Captain Dickson,” he said at last, “do you believe, judging from all you have seen of me, that I could be guilty of so dastardly a deed, or that I could play and romp with the innocent child Matty with, figuratively speaking, blood between my fingers, and darkest guilt at my heart? Can you believe it?”

Dickson held out his hand, and Reginald grasped it, almost in despair.

“Things look black against you,” he said, “but I do not believe you guilty.”

“Nor do I,” said Hall; “but I must take the opportunity of sailing with Captain Cleaver, I and my daughter and little Matty.”

Reginald clasped his hand to his heart.

“My heart will break!” he said bitterly.

In a few days’ time Cleaver’s ship was repaired, and ready for sea. So was Hall, and just two of the men. The other four, as well as Dickson himself, elected to stay. There was still water to be laid in, however, and so the ship was detained for forty-eight hours.

One morning his messmates missed Reginald from his bed. It was cold, and evidently had not been slept in for many hours.

“Well, well,” said Dickson, “perhaps it is best thus, but I doubt not that the poor unhappy fellow has thrown himself over a cliff, and by this time all his sorrows are ended for ay.”

But Reginald had had no such intention. While the stars were yet shining, and the beautiful Southern Cross mirrored in the river’s depth, he found himself by the ford, and soon after sunrise he was at the palace.

Ilda was an early riser and so, too, was wee Matty. Both were surprised but happy to see him. He took the child in his arms, and as he kissed her the tears rose to his eyes, and all was a mist.

“Dear Matty,” he said, “run out, now; I would speak with Ilda alone.”

Half-crying herself, and wondering all the while, Matty retired obediently enough.

“Oh,” cried Ilda earnestly, and drawing her chair close to his, “you are in grief. What can have happened?”

“Do not sit near me, Ilda. Oh, would that the grief would but kill me! The captain of the ship which now lies in the bay has brought me terrible news. I am branded with murder! Accused of slaying my quondam friend and rival in the affections of her about whom I have often spoken to you – Annie Lane.”

Ilda was stricken dumb. She sat dazed and mute, gazing on the face of him she loved above all men on earth.

“But – oh, you are not —could not – be guilty! Reginald – my own Reginald!” she cried.

“Things are terribly black against me, but I will say no more now. Only the body was not found until two days after I sailed, and it is believed that I was a fugitive from justice. That makes matters worse. Ilda, I could have loved you, but, ah! I fear this will be our last interview on earth. Your father is sailing by this ship, and taking you and my little love Matty with him.”

She threw herself in his arms now, and wept till it verily seemed her heart would break. Then he kissed her tenderly, and led her back to her seat.

“Brighter times may come,” he said. “There is ever sunshine behind the clouds. Good-bye, darling, good-bye – and may every blessing fall on your life and make you happy. Say good-bye to the child for me; I dare not see her again.”

She half rose and held out her arms towards him, but he was gone. The door was closed, and she threw herself now on the sofa in an agony of grief.

The ship sailed next day. Reginald could not see her depart. He and one man had gone to the distant hill. They had taken luncheon with them, and the sun had almost set before they returned to camp.

“Have they gone?” was the first question when he entered the barrack-hall.

“They have gone.”

That was all that Dickson said.

“But come, my friend, cheer up. No one here believes you guilty. All are friends around you, and if, as I believe you to be, you are innocent, my advice is this: Pray to the Father; pray without ceasing, and He will bend down His ear and take you out of your troubles. Remember those beautiful lines you have oftentimes heard me sing:

“‘God is our comfort and our strength,    In straits a present aid;Therefore although the earth remove,    We will not be afraid.’

“And these:

“‘He took me from a fearful pit,    And from the miry clay;And on a rock he set my feet,    Establishing my way.’”

“God bless you for your consolation. But at present my grief is all so fresh, and it came upon me like a bolt from the blue. In a few days I may recover. I do not know. I may fail and die. It may be better if I do.”

Dickson tried to smile.

“Nonsense, lad. I tell you all will yet come right, and you will see.”

The men who acted as servants now came in to lay the supper. The table was a rough one indeed, and tablecloth there was none. Yet many a hearty meal they had made off the bare boards.

“I have no appetite, Dickson.”

“Perhaps not; but inasmuch as life is worth living, and especially a young life like yours, eat you must, and we must endeavour to coax it.”

As he spoke he placed a bottle of old rum on the table. He took a little himself, as if to encourage his patient, and then filled out half a tumblerful and pushed it towards Reginald. Reginald took a sip or two, and finally finished it by degrees, but reluctantly. Dickson filled him out more.

“Nay, nay,” Reginald remonstrated.

“Do you see that couch yonder?” said his companion, smiling.

“Yes.”

“Well, as soon as you have had supper, on that you must go to bed, and I will cover you with a light rug. Sleep will revive you, and things to-morrow morning will not look quite so dark and gloomy.”

“I shall do all you tell me.”

“Good boy! but mind, I have even Solomon’s authority for asking you to drink a little. ‘Give,’ he says, ‘strong drink to him Who is ready to perish… Let him drink… and remember his misery no more.’ And our irrepressible bard Burns must needs paraphrase these words in verse:

“‘Give him strong drink, until he wink,    That’s sinking in despair;And liquor good to fire his blood,    That’s pressed wi’ grief and care.There let him bouse and deep carouse    Wi’ bumpers flowing o’er;Till he forgets his loves or debts,    An’ minds his griefs no more.’”

Chapter Twenty Four.

“Oh, Merciful Father! They are here.”

Well, it seemed there was very little chance of poor Reginald (if we dare extend pity to him) forgetting either his loves or the terrible incubus that pressed like a millstone on heart and brain.

Captain Dickson was now doctor instead of Grahame, and the latter was his patient. Two things he knew right well: first, that in three or four months at the least a ship of some kind would arrive, and Reginald be taken prisoner back to England; secondly, that if he could not get him to work, and thus keep his thoughts away from the awful grief, he might sink and die. He determined, therefore, to institute a fresh prospecting party. Perhaps, he told the men, the gold was not so much buried but that they might find their way to it.

“That is just what we think, sir, and that is why we stayed in the island with you and Dr Grahame instead of going home in the Erebus. Now, sir,” continued the man, “why not employ native labour? We have plenty of tools, and those twenty stalwart blacks that fought so well for us would do anything to help us. Shall I speak to them, captain?”

“Very well, McGregor; you seem to have the knack of giving good advice. It shall be as you say.”

After a visit to the Queen, who received them both with great cordiality, and endeavoured all she could to keep up poor Reginald’s heart, they took their departure, and bore up for the hills, accompanied by their black labourers, who were as merry as crickets. Much of the lava, or ashes, had been washed away from the Golden Mount, as they termed it, and they could thus prospect with more ease in the gulch below.

In the most likely part, a place where crushed or powdered quartz abound, work was commenced in downright earnest.

“Here alone have we any chance, men,” said Captain Dickson cheerily.

“Ah, sir,” said McGregor, “you have been at the diggings before, and so have I.”

“You are right, my good fellow; I made my pile in California when little more than a boy. I thought that this fortune was going to last me for ever, and there was no extravagance in New York I did not go in for. Well, my pile just vanished like mist before the morning sun, and I had to take a situation as a man before the mast, and so worked myself up to what I am now, a British master mariner.”

“Well, sir,” said Mac, “you have seen the world, anyhow, and gained experience, and no doubt that your having been yourself a common sailor accounts for much of your kindness to and sympathy for us poor Jacks.”

“Perhaps.”

Mining work was now carried on all day long, and a shaft bored into the mountain side. This was their only chance. Timber was cut down and sawn into beams and supports, and for many weeks everything went on with the regularity of clock-work; but it was not till after a month that fortune favoured the brave. Then small nuggets began to be found, and to these succeeded larger ones; and it was evident to all that a well-lined pocket was found. In this case both the officers and men worked together, and the gold was equally divided between them. They were indeed a little Republic, but right well the men deserved their share, for well and faithfully did they work.