The Perils of Certain English Prisoners

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The Perils of Certain English Prisoners

THE PERILS OF CERTAIN ENGLISH PRISONERS


CHAPTER I--THE ISLAND OF SILVER-STORE


It was in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and forty-four,
that I, Gill Davis to command, His Mark, having then the honour to be a
private in the Royal Marines, stood a-leaning over the bulwarks of the
armed sloop Christopher Columbus, in the South American waters off the
Mosquito shore.

My lady remarks to me, before I go any further, that there is no such
christian-name as Gill, and that her confident opinion is, that the name
given to me in the baptism wherein I was made, &c., was Gilbert.  She is
certain to be right, but I never heard of it.  I was a foundling child,
picked up somewhere or another, and I always understood my christian-name
to be Gill.  It is true that I was called Gills when employed at
Snorridge Bottom betwixt Chatham and Maidstone to frighten birds; but
that had nothing to do with the Baptism wherein I was made, &c., and
wherein a number of things were promised for me by somebody, who let me
alone ever afterwards as to performing any of them, and who, I consider,
must have been the Beadle.  Such name of Gills was entirely owing to my
cheeks, or gills, which at that time of my life were of a raspy
description.

My lady stops me again, before I go any further, by laughing exactly in
her old way and waving the feather of her pen at me.  That action on her
part, calls to my mind as I look at her hand with the rings on it--Well!
I won't!  To be sure it will come in, in its own place.  But it's always
strange to me, noticing the quiet hand, and noticing it (as I have done,
you know, so many times) a-fondling children and grandchildren asleep, to
think that when blood and honour were up--there!  I won't! not at
present!--Scratch it out.

She won't scratch it out, and quite honourable; because we have made an
understanding that everything is to be taken down, and that nothing that
is once taken down shall be scratched out.  I have the great misfortune
not to be able to read and write, and I am speaking my true and faithful
account of those Adventures, and my lady is writing it, word for word.

I say, there I was, a-leaning over the bulwarks of the sloop Christopher
Columbus in the South American waters off the Mosquito shore: a subject
of his Gracious Majesty King George of England, and a private in the
Royal Marines.

In those climates, you don't want to do much.  I was doing nothing.  I
was thinking of the shepherd (my father, I wonder?) on the hillsides by
Snorridge Bottom, with a long staff, and with a rough white coat in all
weathers all the year round, who used to let me lie in a corner of his
hut by night, and who used to let me go about with him and his sheep by
day when I could get nothing else to do, and who used to give me so
little of his victuals and so much of his staff, that I ran away from
him--which was what he wanted all along, I expect--to be knocked about
the world in preference to Snorridge Bottom.  I had been knocked about
the world for nine-and-twenty years in all, when I stood looking along
those bright blue South American Waters.  Looking after the shepherd, I
may say.  Watching him in a half-waking dream, with my eyes half-shut, as
he, and his flock of sheep, and his two dogs, seemed to move away from
the ship's side, far away over the blue water, and go right down into the
sky.

"It's rising out of the water, steady," a voice said close to me.  I had
been thinking on so, that it like woke me with a start, though it was no
stranger voice than the voice of Harry Charker, my own comrade.

"What's rising out of the water, steady?" I asked my comrade.

"What?" says he.  "The Island."

"O!  The Island!" says I, turning my eyes towards it.  "True.  I forgot
the Island."

"Forgot the port you're going to?  That's odd, ain't it?"

"It is odd," says I.

"And odd," he said, slowly considering with himself, "ain't even.  Is it,
Gill?"

He had always a remark just like that to make, and seldom another.  As
soon as he had brought a thing round to what it was not, he was
satisfied.  He was one of the best of men, and, in a certain sort of a
way, one with the least to say for himself.  I qualify it, because,
besides being able to read and write like a Quarter-master, he had always
one most excellent idea in his mind.  That was, Duty.  Upon my soul, I
don't believe, though I admire learning beyond everything, that he could
have got a better idea out of all the books in the world, if he had
learnt them every word, and been the cleverest of scholars.

My comrade and I had been quartered in Jamaica, and from there we had
been drafted off to the British settlement of Belize, lying away West and
North of the Mosquito coast.  At Belize there had been great alarm of one
cruel gang of pirates (there were always more pirates than enough in
those Caribbean Seas), and as they got the better of our English cruisers
by running into out-of-the-way creeks and shallows, and taking the land
when they were hotly pressed, the governor of Belize had received orders
from home to keep a sharp look-out for them along shore.  Now, there was
an armed sloop came once a-year from Port Royal, Jamaica, to the Island,
laden with all manner of necessaries, to eat, and to drink, and to wear,
and to use in various ways; and it was aboard of that sloop which had
touched at Belize, that I was a-standing, leaning over the bulwarks.

The Island was occupied by a very small English colony.  It had been
given the name of Silver-Store.  The reason of its being so called, was,
that the English colony owned and worked a silver-mine over on the
mainland, in Honduras, and used this Island as a safe and convenient
place to store their silver in, until it was annually fetched away by the
sloop.  It was brought down from the mine to the coast on the backs of
mules, attended by friendly Indians and guarded by white men; from thence
it was conveyed over to Silver-Store, when the weather was fair, in the
canoes of that country; from Silver-Store, it was carried to Jamaica by
the armed sloop once a-year, as I have already mentioned; from Jamaica,
it went, of course, all over the world.

How I came to be aboard the armed sloop, is easily told.  Four-and-twenty
marines under command of a lieutenant--that officer's name was
Linderwood--had been told off at Belize, to proceed to Silver-Store, in
aid of boats and seamen stationed there for the chase of the Pirates.  The
Island was considered a good post of observation against the pirates,
both by land and sea; neither the pirate ship nor yet her boats had been
seen by any of us, but they had been so much heard of, that the
reinforcement was sent.  Of that party, I was one.  It included a
corporal and a sergeant.  Charker was corporal, and the sergeant's name
was Drooce.  He was the most tyrannical non-commissioned officer in His
Majesty's service.

The night came on, soon after I had had the foregoing words with Charker.
All the wonderful bright colours went out of the sea and sky in a few
minutes, and all the stars in the Heavens seemed to shine out together,
and to look down at themselves in the sea, over one another's shoulders,
millions deep.  Next morning, we cast anchor off the Island.  There was a
snug harbour within a little reef; there was a sandy beach; there were
cocoa-nut trees with high straight stems, quite bare, and foliage at the
top like plumes of magnificent green feathers; there were all the objects
that are usually seen in those parts, and _I_ am not going to describe
them, having something else to tell about.

Great rejoicings, to be sure, were made on our arrival.  All the flags in
the place were hoisted, all the guns in the place were fired, and all the
people in the place came down to look at us.  One of those Sambo
fellows--they call those natives Sambos, when they are half-negro and
half-Indian--had come off outside the reef, to pilot us in, and remained
on board after we had let go our anchor.  He was called Christian George
King, and was fonder of all hands than anybody else was.  Now, I confess,
for myself, that on that first day, if I had been captain of the
Christopher Columbus, instead of private in the Royal Marines, I should
have kicked Christian George King--who was no more a Christian than he
was a King or a George--over the side, without exactly knowing why,
except that it was the right thing to do.

But, I must likewise confess, that I was not in a particularly pleasant
humour, when I stood under arms that morning, aboard the Christopher
Columbus in the harbour of the Island of Silver-Store.  I had had a hard
life, and the life of the English on the Island seemed too easy and too
gay to please me.  "Here you are," I thought to myself, "good scholars
and good livers; able to read what you like, able to write what you like,
able to eat and drink what you like, and spend what you like, and do what
you like; and much _you_ care for a poor, ignorant Private in the Royal
Marines!  Yet it's hard, too, I think, that you should have all the half-
pence, and I all the kicks; you all the smooth, and I all the rough; you
all the oil, and I all the vinegar."  It was as envious a thing to think
as might be, let alone its being nonsensical; but, I thought it.  I took
it so much amiss, that, when a very beautiful young English lady came
aboard, I grunted to myself, "Ah! _you_ have got a lover, I'll be bound!"
As if there was any new offence to me in that, if she had!

She was sister to the captain of our sloop, who had been in a poor way
for some time, and who was so ill then that he was obliged to be carried
ashore.  She was the child of a military officer, and had come out there
with her sister, who was married to one of the owners of the silver-mine,
and who had three children with her.  It was easy to see that she was the
light and spirit of the Island.  After I had got a good look at her, I
grunted to myself again, in an even worse state of mind than before,
"I'll be damned, if I don't hate him, whoever he is!"

My officer, Lieutenant Linderwood, was as ill as the captain of the
sloop, and was carried ashore, too.  They were both young men of about my
age, who had been delicate in the West India climate.  I even took _that_
in bad part.  I thought I was much fitter for the work than they were,
and that if all of us had our deserts, I should be both of them rolled
into one.  (It may be imagined what sort of an officer of marines I
should have made, without the power of reading a written order.  And as
to any knowledge how to command the sloop--Lord!  I should have sunk her
in a quarter of an hour!)

However, such were my reflections; and when we men were ashore and
dismissed, I strolled about the place along with Charker, making my
observations in a similar spirit.

It was a pretty place: in all its arrangements partly South American and
partly English, and very agreeable to look at on that account, being like
a bit of home that had got chipped off and had floated away to that spot,
accommodating itself to circumstances as it drifted along.  The huts of
the Sambos, to the number of five-and-twenty, perhaps, were down by the
beach to the left of the anchorage.  On the right was a sort of barrack,
with a South American Flag and the Union Jack, flying from the same
staff, where the little English colony could all come together, if they
saw occasion.  It was a walled square of building, with a sort of
pleasure-ground inside, and inside that again a sunken block like a
powder magazine, with a little square trench round it, and steps down to
the door.  Charker and I were looking in at the gate, which was not
guarded; and I had said to Charker, in reference to the bit like a powder
magazine, "That's where they keep the silver you see;" and Charker had
said to me, after thinking it over, "And silver ain't gold.  Is it,
Gill?" when the beautiful young English lady I had been so bilious about,
looked out of a door, or a window--at all events looked out, from under a
bright awning.  She no sooner saw us two in uniform, than she came out so
quickly that she was still putting on her broad Mexican hat of plaited
straw when we saluted.

"Would you like to come in," she said, "and see the place?  It is rather
a curious place."

We thanked the young lady, and said we didn't wish to be troublesome;
but, she said it could be no trouble to an English soldier's daughter, to
show English soldiers how their countrymen and country-women fared, so
far away from England; and consequently we saluted again, and went in.
Then, as we stood in the shade, she showed us (being as affable as
beautiful), how the different families lived in their separate houses,
and how there was a general house for stores, and a general reading-room,
and a general room for music and dancing, and a room for Church; and how
there were other houses on the rising ground called the Signal Hill,
where they lived in the hotter weather.

"Your officer has been carried up there," she said, "and my brother, too,
for the better air.  At present, our few residents are dispersed over
both spots: deducting, that is to say, such of our number as are always
going to, or coming from, or staying at, the Mine."

("_He_ is among one of those parties," I thought, "and I wish somebody
would knock his head off.")

"Some of our married ladies live here," she said, "during at least half
the year, as lonely as widows, with their children."

"Many children here, ma'am?"

"Seventeen.  There are thirteen married ladies, and there are eight like
me."

There were not eight like her--there was not one like her--in the world.
She meant single.

"Which, with about thirty Englishmen of various degrees," said the young
lady, "form the little colony now on the Island.  I don't count the
sailors, for they don't belong to us.  Nor the soldiers," she gave us a
gracious smile when she spoke of the soldiers, "for the same reason."

"Nor the Sambos, ma'am," said I.

"No."

"Under your favour, and with your leave, ma'am," said I, "are they
trustworthy?"

"Perfectly!  We are all very kind to them, and they are very grateful to
us."

"Indeed, ma'am?  Now--Christian George King?--"

"Very much attached to us all.  Would die for us."

She was, as in my uneducated way I have observed, very beautiful women
almost always to be, so composed, that her composure gave great weight to
what she said, and I believed it.

Then, she pointed out to us the building like a powder magazine, and
explained to us in what manner the silver was brought from the mine, and
was brought over from the mainland, and was stored here.  The Christopher
Columbus would have a rich lading, she said, for there had been a great
yield that year, a much richer yield than usual, and there was a chest of
jewels besides the silver.

When we had looked about us, and were getting sheepish, through fearing
we were troublesome, she turned us over to a young woman, English born
but West India bred, who served her as her maid.  This young woman was
the widow of a non-commissioned officer in a regiment of the line.  She
had got married and widowed at St. Vincent, with only a few months
between the two events.  She was a little saucy woman, with a bright pair
of eyes, rather a neat little foot and figure, and rather a neat little
turned-up nose.  The sort of young woman, I considered at the time, who
appeared to invite you to give her a kiss, and who would have slapped
your face if you accepted the invitation.

I couldn't make out her name at first; for, when she gave it in answer to
my inquiry, it sounded like Beltot, which didn't sound right.  But, when
we became better acquainted--which was while Charker and I were drinking
sugar-cane sangaree, which she made in a most excellent manner--I found
that her Christian name was Isabella, which they shortened into Bell, and
that the name of the deceased non-commissioned officer was Tott.  Being
the kind of neat little woman it was natural to make a toy of--I never
saw a woman so like a toy in my life--she had got the plaything name of
Belltott.  In short, she had no other name on the island.  Even Mr.
Commissioner Pordage (and _he_ was a grave one!) formally addressed her
as Mrs. Belltott, but, I shall come to Mr. Commissioner Pordage
presently.

The name of the captain of the sloop was Captain Maryon, and therefore it
was no news to hear from Mrs. Belltott, that his sister, the beautiful
unmarried young English lady, was Miss Maryon.  The novelty was, that her
christian-name was Marion too.  Marion Maryon.  Many a time I have run
off those two names in my thoughts, like a bit of verse.  Oh many, and
many, and many a time!

We saw out all the drink that was produced, like good men and true, and
then took our leaves, and went down to the beach.  The weather was
beautiful; the wind steady, low, and gentle; the island, a picture; the
sea, a picture; the sky, a picture.  In that country there are two rainy
seasons in the year.  One sets in at about our English Midsummer; the
other, about a fortnight after our English Michaelmas.  It was the
beginning of August at that time; the first of these rainy seasons was
well over; and everything was in its most beautiful growth, and had its
loveliest look upon it.

"They enjoy themselves here," I says to Charker, turning surly again.
"This is better than private-soldiering."

We had come down to the beach, to be friendly with the boat's-crew who
were camped and hutted there; and we were approaching towards their
quarters over the sand, when Christian George King comes up from the
landing-place at a wolf's-trot, crying, "Yup, So-Jeer!"--which was that
Sambo Pilot's barbarous way of saying, Hallo, Soldier!  I have stated
myself to be a man of no learning, and, if I entertain prejudices, I hope
allowance may be made.  I will now confess to one.  It may be a right one
or it may be a wrong one; but, I never did like Natives, except in the
form of oysters.

So, when Christian George King, who was individually unpleasant to me
besides, comes a trotting along the sand, clucking, "Yup, So-Jeer!"  I
had a thundering good mind to let fly at him with my right.  I certainly
should have done it, but that it would have exposed me to reprimand.

"Yup, So-Jeer!" says he.  "Bad job."

"What do you mean?" says I.

"Yup, So-Jeer!" says he, "Ship Leakee."

"Ship leaky?" says I.

"Iss," says he, with a nod that looked as if it was jerked out of him by
a most violent hiccup--which is the way with those savages.

I cast my eyes at Charker, and we both heard the pumps going aboard the
sloop, and saw the signal run up, "Come on board; hands wanted from the
shore."  In no time some of the sloop's liberty-men were already running
down to the water's edge, and the party of seamen, under orders against
the Pirates, were putting off to the Columbus in two boats.

"O Christian George King sar berry sorry!" says that Sambo vagabond,
then.  "Christian George King cry, English fashion!"  His English fashion
of crying was to screw his black knuckles into his eyes, howl like a dog,
and roll himself on his back on the sand.  It was trying not to kick him,
but I gave Charker the word, "Double-quick, Harry!" and we got down to
the water's edge, and got on board the sloop.

By some means or other, she had sprung such a leak, that no pumping would
keep her free; and what between the two fears that she would go down in
the harbour, and that, even if she did not, all the supplies she had
brought for the little colony would be destroyed by the sea-water as it
rose in her, there was great confusion.  In the midst of it, Captain
Maryon was heard hailing from the beach.  He had been carried down in his
hammock, and looked very bad; but he insisted on being stood there on his
feet; and I saw him, myself, come off in the boat, sitting upright in the
stern-sheets, as if nothing was wrong with him.

A quick sort of council was held, and Captain Maryon soon resolved that
we must all fall to work to get the cargo out, and that when that was
done, the guns and heavy matters must be got out, and that the sloop must
be hauled ashore, and careened, and the leak stopped.  We were all
mustered (the Pirate-Chace party volunteering), and told off into
parties, with so many hours of spell and so many hours of relief, and we
all went at it with a will.  Christian George King was entered one of the
party in which I worked, at his own request, and he went at it with as
good a will as any of the rest.  He went at it with so much heartiness,
to say the truth, that he rose in my good opinion almost as fast as the
water rose in the ship.  Which was fast enough, and faster.

Mr. Commissioner Pordage kept in a red-and-black japanned box, like a
family lump-sugar box, some document or other, which some Sambo chief or
other had got drunk and spilt some ink over (as well as I could
understand the matter), and by that means had given up lawful possession
of the Island.  Through having hold of this box, Mr. Pordage got his
title of Commissioner.  He was styled Consul too, and spoke of himself as
"Government."

He was a stiff-jointed, high-nosed old gentleman, without an ounce of fat
on him, of a very angry temper and a very yellow complexion.  Mrs.
Commissioner Pordage, making allowance for difference of sex, was much
the same.  Mr. Kitten, a small, youngish, bald, botanical and
mineralogical gentleman, also connected with the mine--but everybody
there was that, more or less--was sometimes called by Mr. Commissioner
Pordage, his Vice-commissioner, and sometimes his Deputy-consul.  Or
sometimes he spoke of Mr. Kitten, merely as being "under Government."

The beach was beginning to be a lively scene with the preparations for
careening the sloop, and with cargo, and spars, and rigging, and water-
casks, dotted about it, and with temporary quarters for the men rising up
there out of such sails and odds and ends as could be best set on one
side to make them, when Mr. Commissioner Pordage comes down in a high
fluster, and asks for Captain Maryon.  The Captain, ill as he was, was
slung in his hammock betwixt two trees, that he might direct; and he
raised his head, and answered for himself.

"Captain Maryon," cries Mr. Commissioner Pordage, "this is not official.
This is not regular."

"Sir," says the Captain, "it hath been arranged with the clerk and
supercargo, that you should be communicated with, and requested to render
any little assistance that may lie in your power.  I am quite certain
that hath been duly done."

"Captain Maryon," replied Mr. Commissioner Pordage, "there hath been no
written correspondence.  No documents have passed, no memoranda have been
made, no minutes have been made, no entries and counter-entries appear in
the official muniments.  This is indecent.  I call upon you, sir, to
desist, until all is regular, or Government will take this up."

"Sir," says Captain Maryon, chafing a little, as he looked out of his
hammock; "between the chances of Government taking this up, and my ship
taking herself down, I much prefer to trust myself to the former."

"You do, sir?" cries Mr. Commissioner Pordage.

"I do, sir," says Captain Maryon, lying down again.

"Then, Mr. Kitten," says the Commissioner, "send up instantly for my
Diplomatic coat."

He was dressed in a linen suit at that moment; but, Mr. Kitten started
off himself and brought down the Diplomatic coat, which was a blue cloth
one, gold-laced, and with a crown on the button.

"Now, Mr. Kitten," says Pordage, "I instruct you, as Vice-commissioner,
and Deputy-consul of this place, to demand of Captain Maryon, of the
sloop Christopher Columbus, whether he drives me to the act of putting
this coat on?"

"Mr. Pordage," says Captain Maryon, looking out of his hammock again, "as
I can hear what you say, I can answer it without troubling the gentleman.
I should be sorry that you should be at the pains of putting on too hot a
coat on my account; but, otherwise, you may put it on hind-side before,
or inside-out, or with your legs in the sleeves, or your head in the
skirts, for any objection that I have to offer to your thoroughly
pleasing yourself."

"Very good, Captain Maryon," says Pordage, in a tremendous passion.  "Very
good, sir.  Be the consequences on your own head!  Mr. Kitten, as it has
come to this, help me on with it."

When he had given that order, he walked off in the coat, and all our
names were taken, and I was afterwards told that Mr. Kitten wrote from
his dictation more than a bushel of large paper on the subject, which
cost more before it was done with, than ever could be calculated, and
which only got done with after all, by being lost.

Our work went on merrily, nevertheless, and the Christopher Columbus,
hauled up, lay helpless on her side like a great fish out of water.  While
she was in that state, there was a feast, or a ball, or an entertainment,
or more properly all three together, given us in honour of the ship, and
the ship's company, and the other visitors.  At that assembly, I believe,
I saw all the inhabitants then upon the Island, without any exception.  I
took no particular notice of more than a few, but I found it very
agreeable in that little corner of the world to see the children, who
were of all ages, and mostly very pretty--as they mostly are.  There was
one handsome elderly lady, with very dark eyes and gray hair, that I
inquired about.  I was told that her name was Mrs. Venning; and her
married daughter, a fair slight thing, was pointed out to me by the name
of Fanny Fisher.  Quite a child she looked, with a little copy of herself
holding to her dress; and her husband, just come back from the mine,
exceeding proud of her.  They were a good-looking set of people on the
whole, but I didn't like them.  I was out of sorts; in conversation with
Charker, I found fault with all of them.  I said of Mrs. Venning, she was
proud; of Mrs. Fisher, she was a delicate little baby-fool.  What did I
think of this one?  Why, he was a fine gentleman.  What did I say to that
one?  Why, she was a fine lady.  What could you expect them to be (I
asked Charker), nursed in that climate, with the tropical night shining
for them, musical instruments playing to them, great trees bending over
them, soft lamps lighting them, fire-flies sparkling in among them,
bright flowers and birds brought into existence to please their eyes,
delicious drinks to be had for the pouring out, delicious fruits to be
got for the picking, and every one dancing and murmuring happily in the
scented air, with the sea breaking low on the reef for a pleasant chorus.

"Fine gentlemen and fine ladies, Harry?" I says to Charker.  "Yes, I
think so!  Dolls!  Dolls!  Not the sort of stuff for wear, that comes of
poor private soldiering in the Royal Marines!"

However, I could not gainsay that they were very hospitable people, and
that they treated us uncommonly well.  Every man of us was at the
entertainment, and Mrs. Belltott had more partners than she could dance
with: though she danced all night, too.  As to Jack (whether of the
Christopher Columbus, or of the Pirate pursuit party, it made no
difference), he danced with his brother Jack, danced with himself, danced
with the moon, the stars, the trees, the prospect, anything.  I didn't
greatly take to the chief-officer of that party, with his bright eyes,
brown face, and easy figure.  I didn't much like his way when he first
happened to come where we were, with Miss Maryon on his arm.  "O, Captain
Carton," she says, "here are two friends of mine!"  He says, "Indeed?
These two Marines?"--meaning Charker and self.  "Yes," says she, "I
showed these two friends of mine when they first came, all the wonders of
Silver-Store."  He gave us a laughing look, and says he, "You are in
luck, men.  I would be disrated and go before the mast to-morrow, to be
shown the way upward again by such a guide.  You are in luck, men."  When
we had saluted, and he and the lady had waltzed away, I said, "You are a
pretty follow, too, to talk of luck.  You may go to the Devil!"

Mr. Commissioner Pordage and Mrs. Commissioner, showed among the company
on that occasion like the King and Queen of a much Greater Britain than
Great Britain.  Only two other circumstances in that jovial night made
much separate impression on me.  One was this.  A man in our draft of
marines, named Tom Packer, a wild unsteady young fellow, but the son of a
respectable shipwright in Portsmouth Yard, and a good scholar who had
been well brought up, comes to me after a spell of dancing, and takes me
aside by the elbow, and says, swearing angrily:

"Gill Davis, I hope I may not be the death of Sergeant Drooce one day!"

Now, I knew Drooce had always borne particularly hard on this man, and I
knew this man to be of a very hot temper: so, I said:

"Tut, nonsense! don't talk so to me!  If there's a man in the corps who
scorns the name of an assassin, that man and Tom Packer are one."

Tom wipes his head, being in a mortal sweat, and says he:

"I hope so, but I can't answer for myself when he lords it over me, as he
has just now done, before a woman.  I tell you what, Gill!  Mark my
words!  It will go hard with Sergeant Drooce, if ever we are in an
engagement together, and he has to look to me to save him.  Let him say a
prayer then, if he knows one, for it's all over with him, and he is on
his Death-bed.  Mark my words!"

I did mark his words, and very soon afterwards, too, as will shortly be
taken down.

The other circumstance that I noticed at that ball, was, the gaiety and
attachment of Christian George King.  The innocent spirits that Sambo
Pilot was in, and the impossibility he found himself under of showing all
the little colony, but especially the ladies and children, how fond he
was of them, how devoted to them, and how faithful to them for life and
death, for present, future, and everlasting, made a great impression on
me.  If ever a man, Sambo or no Sambo, was trustful and trusted, to what
may be called quite an infantine and sweetly beautiful extent, surely, I
thought that morning when I did at last lie down to rest, it was that
Sambo Pilot, Christian George King.

This may account for my dreaming of him.  He stuck in my sleep,
cornerwise, and I couldn't get him out.  He was always flitting about me,
dancing round me, and peeping in over my hammock, though I woke and dozed
off again fifty times.  At last, when I opened my eyes, there he really
was, looking in at the open side of the little dark hut; which was made
of leaves, and had Charker's hammock slung in it as well as mine.

"So-Jeer!" says he, in a sort of a low croak.  "Yup!"

"Hallo!" says I, starting up.  "What?  You _are_ there, are you?"

"Iss," says he.  "Christian George King got news."

"What news has he got?"

"Pirates out!"

I was on my feet in a second.  So was Charker.  We were both aware that
Captain Carton, in command of the boats, constantly watched the mainland
for a secret signal, though, of course, it was not known to such as us
what the signal was.

Christian George King had vanished before we touched the ground.  But,
the word was already passing from hut to hut to turn out quietly, and we
knew that the nimble barbarian had got hold of the truth, or something
near it.

In a space among the trees behind the encampment of us visitors, naval
and military, was a snugly-screened spot, where we kept the stores that
were in use, and did our cookery.  The word was passed to assemble here.
It was very quickly given, and was given (so far as we were concerned) by
Sergeant Drooce, who was as good in a soldier point of view, as he was
bad in a tyrannical one.  We were ordered to drop into this space,
quietly, behind the trees, one by one.  As we assembled here, the seamen
assembled too.  Within ten minutes, as I should estimate, we were all
here, except the usual guard upon the beach.  The beach (we could see it
through the wood) looked as it always had done in the hottest time of the
day.  The guard were in the shadow of the sloop's hull, and nothing was
moving but the sea,--and that moved very faintly.  Work had always been
knocked off at that hour, until the sun grew less fierce, and the sea-
breeze rose; so that its being holiday with us, made no difference, just
then, in the look of the place.  But I may mention that it was a holiday,
and the first we had had since our hard work began.  Last night's ball
had been given, on the leak's being repaired, and the careening done.  The
worst of the work was over, and to-morrow we were to begin to get the
sloop afloat again.

We marines were now drawn up here under arms.  The chace-party were drawn
up separate.  The men of the Columbus were drawn up separate.  The
officers stepped out into the midst of the three parties, and spoke so as
all might hear.  Captain Carton was the officer in command, and he had a
spy-glass in his hand.  His coxswain stood by him with another spy-glass,
and with a slate on which he seemed to have been taking down signals.

"Now, men!" says Captain Carton; "I have to let you know, for your
satisfaction: Firstly, that there are ten pirate-boats, strongly manned
and armed, lying hidden up a creek yonder on the coast, under the
overhanging branches of the dense trees.  Secondly, that they will
certainly come out this night when the moon rises, on a pillaging and
murdering expedition, of which some part of the mainland is the object.
Thirdly--don't cheer, men!--that we will give chace, and, if we can get
at them, rid the world of them, please God!"

Nobody spoke, that I heard, and nobody moved, that I saw.  Yet there was
a kind of ring, as if every man answered and approved with the best blood
that was inside of him.

"Sir," says Captain Maryon, "I beg to volunteer on this service, with my
boats.  My people volunteer, to the ship's boys."

"In His Majesty's name and service," the other answers, touching his hat,
"I accept your aid with pleasure.  Lieutenant Linderwood, how will you
divide your men?"

I was ashamed--I give it out to be written down as large and plain as
possible--I was heart and soul ashamed of my thoughts of those two sick
officers, Captain Maryon and Lieutenant Linderwood, when I saw them, then
and there.  The spirit in those two gentlemen beat down their illness
(and very ill I knew them to be) like Saint George beating down the
Dragon.  Pain and weakness, want of ease and want of rest, had no more
place in their minds than fear itself.  Meaning now to express for my
lady to write down, exactly what I felt then and there, I felt this: "You
two brave fellows that I had been so grudgeful of, I know that if you
were dying you would put it off to get up and do your best, and then you
would be so modest that in lying down again to die, you would hardly say,
'I did it!'"

It did me good.  It really did me good.

But, to go back to where I broke off.  Says Captain Carton to Lieutenant
Linderwood, "Sir, how will you divide your men?  There is not room for
all; and a few men should, in any case, be left here."

There was some debate about it.  At last, it was resolved to leave eight
Marines and four seamen on the Island, besides the sloop's two boys.  And
because it was considered that the friendly Sambos would only want to be
commanded in case of any danger (though none at all was apprehended
there), the officers were in favour of leaving the two non-commissioned
officers, Drooce and Charker.  It was a heavy disappointment to them,
just as my being one of the left was a heavy disappointment to me--then,
but not soon afterwards.  We men drew lots for it, and I drew "Island."
So did Tom Packer.  So of course, did four more of our rank and file.

When this was settled, verbal instructions were given to all hands to
keep the intended expedition secret, in order that the women and children
might not be alarmed, or the expedition put in a difficulty by more
volunteers.  The assembly was to be on that same spot at sunset.  Every
man was to keep up an appearance, meanwhile, of occupying himself in his
usual way.  That is to say, every man excepting four old trusty seamen,
who were appointed, with an officer, to see to the arms and ammunition,
and to muffle the rullocks of the boats, and to make everything as trim
and swift and silent as it could be made.

The Sambo Pilot had been present all the while, in case of his being
wanted, and had said to the officer in command, five hundred times over
if he had said it once, that Christian George King would stay with the So-
Jeers, and take care of the booffer ladies and the booffer childs--booffer
being that native's expression for beautiful.  He was now asked a few
questions concerning the putting off of the boats, and in particular
whether there was any way of embarking at the back of the Island: which
Captain Carton would have half liked to do, and then have dropped round
in its shadow and slanted across to the main.  But, "No," says Christian
George King.  "No, no, no!  Told you so, ten time.  No, no, no!  All
reef, all rock, all swim, all drown!"  Striking out as he said it, like a
swimmer gone mad, and turning over on his back on dry land, and
spluttering himself to death, in a manner that made him quite an
exhibition.

The sun went down, after appearing to be a long time about it, and the
assembly was called.  Every man answered to his name, of course, and was
at his post.  It was not yet black dark, and the roll was only just gone
through, when up comes Mr. Commissioner Pordage with his Diplomatic coat
on.

"Captain Carton," says he, "Sir, what is this?"

"This, Mr. Commissioner" (he was very short with him), "is an expedition
against the Pirates.  It is a secret expedition, so please to keep it a
secret."

"Sir," says Commissioner Pordage, "I trust there is going to be no
unnecessary cruelty committed?"

"Sir," returns the officer, "I trust not."

"That is not enough, sir," cries Commissioner Pordage, getting wroth.
"Captain Carton, I give you notice.  Government requires you to treat the
enemy with great delicacy, consideration, clemency, and forbearance."

"Sir," says Captain Carton, "I am an English officer, commanding English
Men, and I hope I am not likely to disappoint the Government's just
expectations.  But, I presume you know that these villains under their
black flag have despoiled our countrymen of their property, burnt their
homes, barbarously murdered them and their little children, and worse
than murdered their wives and daughters?"

"Perhaps I do, Captain Carton," answers Pordage, waving his hand, with
dignity; "perhaps I do not.  It is not customary, sir, for Government to
commit itself."

"It matters very little, Mr. Pordage, whether or no.  Believing that I
hold my commission by the allowance of God, and not that I have received
it direct from the Devil, I shall certainly use it, with all avoidance of
unnecessary suffering and with all merciful swiftness of execution, to
exterminate these people from the face of the earth.  Let me recommend
you to go home, sir, and to keep out of the night-air."

Never another syllable did that officer say to the Commissioner, but
turned away to his men.  The Commissioner buttoned his Diplomatic coat to
the chin, said, "Mr. Kitten, attend me!" gasped, half choked himself, and
took himself off.

It now fell very dark, indeed.  I have seldom, if ever, seen it darker,
nor yet so dark.  The moon was not due until one in the morning, and it
was but a little after nine when our men lay down where they were
mustered.  It was pretended that they were to take a nap, but everybody
knew that no nap was to be got under the circumstances.  Though all were
very quiet, there was a restlessness among the people; much what I have
seen among the people on a race-course, when the bell has rung for the
saddling for a great race with large stakes on it.

At ten, they put off; only one boat putting off at a time; another
following in five minutes; both then lying on their oars until another
followed.  Ahead of all, paddling his own outlandish little canoe without
a sound, went the Sambo pilot, to take them safely outside the reef.  No
light was shown but once, and that was in the commanding officer's own
hand.  I lighted the dark lantern for him, and he took it from me when he
embarked.  They had blue lights and such like with them, but kept
themselves as dark as Murder.

The expedition got away with wonderful quietness, and Christian George
King soon came back dancing with joy.

"Yup, So-Jeer," says he to myself in a very objectionable kind of
convulsions, "Christian George King sar berry glad.  Pirates all be blown
a-pieces.  Yup!  Yup!"

My reply to that cannibal was, "However glad you may be, hold your noise,
and don't dance jigs and slap your knees about it, for I can't abear to
see you do it."

I was on duty then; we twelve who were left being divided into four
watches of three each, three hours' spell.  I was relieved at twelve.  A
little before that time, I had challenged, and Miss Maryon and Mrs.
Belltott had come in.

"Good Davis," says Miss Maryon, "what is the matter?  Where is my
brother?"

I told her what was the matter, and where her brother was.

"O Heaven help him!" says she, clasping her hands and looking up--she was
close in front of me, and she looked most lovely to be sure; "he is not
sufficiently recovered, not strong enough for such strife!"

"If you had seen him, miss," I told her, "as I saw him when he
volunteered, you would have known that his spirit is strong enough for
any strife.  It will bear his body, miss, to wherever duty calls him.  It
will always bear him to an honourable life, or a brave death."

"Heaven bless you!" says she, touching my arm.  "I know it.  Heaven bless
you!"

Mrs. Belltott surprised me by trembling and saying nothing.  They were
still standing looking towards the sea and listening, after the relief
had come round.  It continuing very dark, I asked to be allowed to take
them back.  Miss Maryon thanked me, and she put her arm in mine, and I
did take them back.  I have now got to make a confession that will appear
singular.  After I had left them, I laid myself down on my face on the
beach, and cried for the first time since I had frightened birds as a boy
at Snorridge Bottom, to think what a poor, ignorant, low-placed, private
soldier I was.

It was only for half a minute or so.  A man can't at all times be quite
master of himself, and it was only for half a minute or so.  Then I up
and went to my hut, and turned into my hammock, and fell asleep with wet
eyelashes, and a sore, sore heart.  Just as I had often done when I was a
child, and had been worse used than usual.

I slept (as a child under those circumstances might) very sound, and yet
very sore at heart all through my sleep.  I was awoke by the words, "He
is a determined man."  I had sprung out of my hammock, and had seized my
firelock, and was standing on the ground, saying the words myself.  "He
is a determined man."  But, the curiosity of my state was, that I seemed
to be repeating them after somebody, and to have been wonderfully
startled by hearing them.

As soon as I came to myself, I went out of the hut, and away to where the
guard was.  Charker challenged:

"Who goes there?"

"A friend."

"Not Gill?" says he, as he shouldered his piece.

"Gill," says I.

"Why, what the deuce do you do out of your hammock?" says he.

"Too hot for sleep," says I; "is all right?"

"Right!" says Charker, "yes, yes; all's right enough here; what should be
wrong here?  It's the boats that we want to know of.  Except for fire-
flies twinkling about, and the lonesome splashes of great creatures as
they drop into the water, there's nothing going on here to ease a man's
mind from the boats."

The moon was above the sea, and had risen, I should say, some half-an-
hour.  As Charker spoke, with his face towards the sea, I, looking
landward, suddenly laid my right hand on his breast, and said, "Don't
move.  Don't turn.  Don't raise your voice!  You never saw a Maltese face
here?"

"No.  What do you mean?" he asks, staring at me.

"Nor yet, an English face, with one eye and a patch across the nose?"

"No.  What ails you?  What do you mean?"

I had seen both, looking at us round the stem of a cocoa-nut tree, where
the moon struck them.  I had seen that Sambo Pilot, with one hand laid on
the stem of the tree, drawing them back into the heavy shadow.  I had
seen their naked cutlasses twinkle and shine, like bits of the moonshine
in the water that had got blown ashore among the trees by the light wind.
I had seen it all, in a moment.  And I saw in a moment (as any man
would), that the signalled move of the pirates on the mainland was a plot
and a feint; that the leak had been made to disable the sloop; that the
boats had been tempted away, to leave the Island unprotected; that the
pirates had landed by some secreted way at the back; and that Christian
George King was a double-dyed traitor, and a most infernal villain.

I considered, still all in one and the same moment, that Charker was a
brave man, but not quick with his head; and that Sergeant Drooce, with a
much better head, was close by.  All I said to Charker was, "I am afraid
we are betrayed.  Turn your back full to the moonlight on the sea, and
cover the stem of the cocoa-nut tree which will then be right before you,
at the height of a man's heart.  Are you right?"

"I am right," says Charker, turning instantly, and falling into the
position with a nerve of iron; "and right ain't left.  Is it, Gill?"

A few seconds brought me to Sergeant Drooce's hut.  He was fast asleep,
and being a heavy sleeper, I had to lay my hand upon him to rouse him.
The instant I touched him he came rolling out of his hammock, and upon me
like a tiger.  And a tiger he was, except that he knew what he was up to,
in his utmost heat, as well as any man.

I had to struggle with him pretty hard to bring him to his senses,
panting all the while (for he gave me a breather), "Sergeant, I am Gill
Davis!  Treachery!  Pirates on the Island!"

The last words brought him round, and he took his hands of.  "I have seen
two of them within this minute," said I.  And so I told him what I had
told Harry Charker.

His soldierly, though tyrannical, head was clear in an instant.  He
didn't waste one word, even of surprise.  "Order the guard," says he, "to
draw off quietly into the Fort."  (They called the enclosure I have
before mentioned, the Fort, though it was not much of that.)  "Then get
you to the Fort as quick as you can, rouse up every soul there, and
fasten the gate.  I will bring in all those who are at the Signal Hill.
If we are surrounded before we can join you, you must make a sally and
cut us out if you can.  The word among our men is, 'Women and children!'"

He burst away, like fire going before the wind over dry reeds.  He roused
up the seven men who were off duty, and had them bursting away with him,
before they know they were not asleep.  I reported orders to Charker, and
ran to the Fort, as I have never run at any other time in all my life:
no, not even in a dream.

The gate was not fast, and had no good fastening: only a double wooden
bar, a poor chain, and a bad lock.  Those, I secured as well as they
could be secured in a few seconds by one pair of hands, and so ran to
that part of the building where Miss Maryon lived.  I called to her
loudly by her name until she answered.  I then called loudly all the
names I knew--Mrs. Macey (Miss Maryon's married sister), Mr. Macey, Mrs.
Venning, Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, even Mr. and Mrs. Pordage.  Then I called
out, "All you gentlemen here, get up and defend the place!  We are caught
in a trap.  Pirates have landed.  We are attacked!"

At the terrible word "Pirates!"--for, those villains had done such deeds
in those seas as never can be told in writing, and can scarcely be so
much as thought of--cries and screams rose up from every part of the
place.  Quickly lights moved about from window to window, and the cries
moved about with them, and men, women, and children came flying down into
the square.  I remarked to myself, even then, what a number of things I
seemed to see at once.  I noticed Mrs. Macey coming towards me, carrying
all her three children together.  I noticed Mr. Pordage in the greatest
terror, in vain trying to get on his Diplomatic coat; and Mr. Kitten
respectfully tying his pocket-handkerchief over Mrs. Pordage's nightcap.
I noticed Mrs. Belltott run out screaming, and shrink upon the ground
near me, and cover her face in her hands, and lie all of a bundle,
shivering.  But, what I noticed with the greatest pleasure was, the
determined eyes with which those men of the Mine that I had thought fine
gentlemen, came round me with what arms they had: to the full as cool and
resolute as I could be, for my life--ay, and for my soul, too, into the
bargain!

The chief person being Mr. Macey, I told him how the three men of the
guard would be at the gate directly, if they were not already there, and
how Sergeant Drooce and the other seven were gone to bring in the
outlying part of the people of Silver-Store.  I next urged him, for the
love of all who were dear to him, to trust no Sambo, and, above all, if
he could got any good chance at Christian George King, not to lose it,
but to put him out of the world.

"I will follow your advice to the letter, Davis," says he; "what next?"

My answer was, "I think, sir, I would recommend you next, to order down
such heavy furniture and lumber as can be moved, and make a barricade
within the gate."

"That's good again," says he: "will you see it done?"

"I'll willingly help to do it," says I, "unless or until my superior,
Sergeant Drooce, gives me other orders."

He shook me by the hand, and having told off some of his companions to
help me, bestirred himself to look to the arms and ammunition.  A proper
quick, brave, steady, ready gentleman!

One of their three little children was deaf and dumb, Miss Maryon had
been from the first with all the children, soothing them, and dressing
them (poor little things, they had been brought out of their beds), and
making them believe that it was a game of play, so that some of them were
now even laughing.  I had been working hard with the others at the
barricade, and had got up a pretty good breastwork within the gate.
Drooce and the seven men had come back, bringing in the people from the
Signal Hill, and had worked along with us: but, I had not so much as
spoken a word to Drooce, nor had Drooce so much as spoken a word to me,
for we were both too busy.  The breastwork was now finished, and I found
Miss Maryon at my side, with a child in her arms.  Her dark hair was
fastened round her head with a band.  She had a quantity of it, and it
looked even richer and more precious, put up hastily out of her way, than
I had seen it look when it was carefully arranged.  She was very pale,
but extraordinarily quiet and still.

"Dear good Davis," said she, "I have been waiting to speak one word to
you."

I turned to her directly.  If I had received a musket-ball in the heart,
and she had stood there, I almost believe I should have turned to her
before I dropped.

"This pretty little creature," said she, kissing the child in her arms,
who was playing with her hair and trying to pull it down, "cannot hear
what we say--can hear nothing.  I trust you so much, and have such great
confidence in you, that I want you to make me a promise."

"What is it, Miss?"

"That if we are defeated, and you are absolutely sure of my being taken,
you will kill me."

"I shall not be alive to do it, Miss.  I shall have died in your defence
before it comes to that.  They must step across my body to lay a hand on
you."

"But, if you are alive, you brave soldier."  How she looked at me!  "And
if you cannot save me from the Pirates, living, you will save me, dead.
Tell me so."

Well!  I told her I would do that at the last, if all else failed.  She
took my hand--my rough, coarse hand--and put it to her lips.  She put it
to the child's lips, and the child kissed it.  I believe I had the
strength of half a dozen men in me, from that moment, until the fight was
over.

All this time, Mr. Commissioner Pordage had been wanting to make a
Proclamation to the Pirates to lay down their arms and go away; and
everybody had been hustling him about and tumbling over him, while he was
calling for pen and ink to write it with.  Mrs. Pordage, too, had some
curious ideas about the British respectability of her nightcap (which had
as many frills to it, growing in layers one inside another, as if it was
a white vegetable of the artichoke sort), and she wouldn't take the
nightcap off, and would be angry when it got crushed by the other ladies
who were handing things about, and, in short, she gave as much trouble as
her husband did.  But, as we were now forming for the defence of the
place, they were both poked out of the way with no ceremony.  The
children and ladies were got into the little trench which surrounded the
silver-house (we were afraid of leaving them in any of the light
buildings, lest they should be set on fire), and we made the best
disposition we could.  There was a pretty good store, in point of amount,
of tolerable swords and cutlasses.  Those were issued.  There were, also,
perhaps a score or so of spare muskets.  Those were brought out.  To my
astonishment, little Mrs. Fisher that I had taken for a doll and a baby,
was not only very active in that service, but volunteered to load the
spare arms.

"For, I understand it well," says she, cheerfully, without a shake in her
voice.

"I am a soldier's daughter and a sailor's sister, and I understand it
too," says Miss Maryon, just in the same way.

Steady and busy behind where I stood, those two beautiful and delicate
young women fell to handling the guns, hammering the flints, looking to
the locks, and quietly directing others to pass up powder and bullets
from hand to hand, as unflinching as the best of tried soldiers.

Sergeant Drooce had brought in word that the pirates were very strong in
numbers--over a hundred was his estimate--and that they were not, even
then, all landed; for, he had seen them in a very good position on the
further side of the Signal Hill, evidently waiting for the rest of their
men to come up.  In the present pause, the first we had had since the
alarm, he was telling this over again to Mr. Macey, when Mr. Macey
suddenly cried our: "The signal!  Nobody has thought of the signal!"

We knew of no signal, so we could not have thought of it.

"What signal may you mean, sir?" says Sergeant Drooce, looking sharp at
him.

"There is a pile of wood upon the Signal Hill.  If it could be
lighted--which never has been done yet--it would be a signal of distress
to the mainland."

Charker cries, directly: "Sergeant Drooce, dispatch me on that duty.  Give
me the two men who were on guard with me to-night, and I'll light the
fire, if it can be done."

"And if it can't, Corporal--" Mr. Macey strikes in.

"Look at these ladies and children, sir!" says Charker.  "I'd sooner
_light myself_, than not try any chance to save them."

We gave him a Hurrah!--it burst from us, come of it what might--and he
got his two men, and was let out at the gate, and crept away.  I had no
sooner come back to my place from being one of the party to handle the
gate, than Miss Maryon said in a low voice behind me:

"Davis, will you look at this powder?  This is not right."

I turned my head.  Christian George King again, and treachery again!  Sea-
water had been conveyed into the magazine, and every grain of powder was
spoiled!

"Stay a moment," said Sergeant Drooce, when I had told him, without
causing a movement in a muscle of his face: "look to your pouch, my lad.
You Tom Packer, look to your pouch, confound you!  Look to your pouches,
all you Marines."

The same artful savage had got at them, somehow or another, and the
cartridges were all unserviceable.  "Hum!" says the Sergeant.  "Look to
your loading, men.  You are right so far?"

Yes; we were right so far.

"Well, my lads, and gentlemen all," says the Sergeant, "this will be a
hand-to-hand affair, and so much the better."

He treated himself to a pinch of snuff, and stood up, square-shouldered
and broad-chested, in the light of the moon--which was now very bright--as
cool as if he was waiting for a play to begin.  He stood quiet, and we
all stood quiet, for a matter of something like half-an-hour.  I took
notice from such whispered talk as there was, how little we that the
silver did not belong to, thought about it, and how much the people that
it did belong to, thought about it.  At the end of the half-hour, it was
reported from the gate that Charker and the two were falling back on us,
pursued by about a dozen.

"Sally!  Gate-party, under Gill Davis," says the Sergeant, "and bring 'em
in!  Like men, now!"

We were not long about it, and we brought them in.  "Don't take me," says
Charker, holding me round the neck, and stumbling down at my feet when
the gate was fast, "don't take me near the ladies or the children, Gill.
They had better not see Death, till it can't be helped.  They'll see it
soon enough."

"Harry!" I answered, holding up his head.  "Comrade!"

He was cut to pieces.  The signal had been secured by the first pirate
party that landed; his hair was all singed off, and his face was
blackened with the running pitch from a torch.

He made no complaint of pain, or of anything.  "Good-bye, old chap," was
all he said, with a smile.  "I've got my death.  And Death ain't life.  Is
it, Gill?"

Having helped to lay his poor body on one side, I went back to my post.
Sergeant Drooce looked at me, with his eyebrows a little lifted.  I
nodded.  "Close up here men, and gentlemen all!" said the Sergeant.  "A
place too many, in the line."

The Pirates were so close upon us at this time, that the foremost of them
were already before the gate.  More and more came up with a great noise,
and shouting loudly.  When we believed from the sound that they were all
there, we gave three English cheers.  The poor little children joined,
and were so fully convinced of our being at play, that they enjoyed the
noise, and were heard clapping their hands in the silence that followed.

Our disposition was this, beginning with the rear.  Mrs. Venning, holding
her daughter's child in her arms, sat on the steps of the little square
trench surrounding the silver-house, encouraging and directing those
women and children as she might have done in the happiest and easiest
time of her life.  Then, there was an armed line, under Mr. Macey, across
the width of the enclosure, facing that way and having their backs
towards the gate, in order that they might watch the walls and prevent
our being taken by surprise.  Then there was a space of eight or ten feet
deep, in which the spare arms were, and in which Miss Maryon and Mrs.
Fisher, their hands and dresses blackened with the spoilt gunpowder,
worked on their knees, tying such things as knives, old bayonets, and
spear-heads, to the muzzles of the useless muskets.  Then, there was a
second armed line, under Sergeant Drooce, also across the width of the
enclosure, but facing to the gate.  Then came the breastwork we had made,
with a zigzag way through it for me and my little party to hold good in
retreating, as long as we could, when we were driven from the gate.  We
all knew that it was impossible to hold the place long, and that our only
hope was in the timely discovery of the plot by the boats, and in their
coming back.

I and my men were now thrown forward to the gate.  From a spy-hole, I
could see the whole crowd of Pirates.  There were Malays among them,
Dutch, Maltese, Greeks, Sambos, Negroes, and Convict Englishmen from the
West India Islands; among the last, him with the one eye and the patch
across the nose.  There were some Portuguese, too, and a few Spaniards.
The captain was a Portuguese; a little man with very large ear-rings
under a very broad hat, and a great bright shawl twisted about his
shoulders.  They were all strongly armed, but like a boarding party, with
pikes, swords, cutlasses, and axes.  I noticed a good many pistols, but
not a gun of any kind among them.  This gave me to understand that they
had considered that a continued roll of musketry might perhaps have been
heard on the mainland; also, that for the reason that fire would be seen
from the mainland they would not set the Fort in flames and roast us
alive; which was one of their favourite ways of carrying on.  I looked
about for Christian George King, and if I had seen him I am much mistaken
if he would not have received my one round of ball-cartridge in his head.
But, no Christian George King was visible.

A sort of a wild Portuguese demon, who seemed either fierce-mad or fierce-
drunk--but, they all seemed one or the other--came forward with the black
flag, and gave it a wave or two.  After that, the Portuguese captain
called out in shrill English, "I say you!  English fools!  Open the gate!
Surrender!"

As we kept close and quiet, he said something to his men which I didn't
understand, and when he had said it, the one-eyed English rascal with the
patch (who had stepped out when he began), said it again in English.  It
was only this.  "Boys of the black flag, this is to be quickly done.  Take
all the prisoners you can.  If they don't yield, kill the children to
make them.  Forward!"  Then, they all came on at the gate, and in another
half-minute were smashing and splitting it in.

We struck at them through the gaps and shivers, and we dropped many of
them, too; but, their very weight would have carried such a gate, if they
had been unarmed.  I soon found Sergeant Drooce at my side, forming us
six remaining marines in line--Tom Packer next to me--and ordering us to
fall back three paces, and, as they broke in, to give them our one little
volley at short distance.  "Then," says he, "receive them behind your
breastwork on the bayonet, and at least let every man of you pin one of
the cursed cockchafers through the body."

We checked them by our fire, slight as it was, and we checked them at the
breastwork.  However, they broke over it like swarms of devils--they
were, really and truly, more devils than men--and then it was hand to
hand, indeed.

We clubbed our muskets and laid about us; even then, those two
ladies--always behind me--were steady and ready with the arms.  I had a
lot of Maltese and Malays upon me, and, but for a broadsword that Miss
Maryon's own hand put in mine, should have got my end from them.  But,
was that all?  No.  I saw a heap of banded dark hair and a white dress
come thrice between me and them, under my own raised right arm, which
each time might have destroyed the wearer of the white dress; and each
time one of the lot went down, struck dead.

Drooce was armed with a broadsword, too, and did such things with it,
that there was a cry, in half-a-dozen languages, of "Kill that sergeant!"
as I knew, by the cry being raised in English, and taken up in other
tongues.  I had received a severe cut across the left arm a few moments
before, and should have known nothing of it, except supposing that
somebody had struck me a smart blow, if I had not felt weak, and seen
myself covered with spouting blood, and, at the same instant of time,
seen Miss Maryon tearing her dress and binding it with Mrs. Fisher's help
round the wound.  They called to Tom Packer, who was scouring by, to stop
and guard me for one minute, while I was bound, or I should bleed to
death in trying to defend myself.  Tom stopped directly, with a good
sabre in his hand.

In that same moment--all things seem to happen in that same moment, at
such a time--half-a-dozen had rushed howling at Sergeant Drooce.  The
Sergeant, stepping back against the wall, stopped one howl for ever with
such a terrible blow, and waited for the rest to come on, with such a
wonderfully unmoved face, that they stopped and looked at him.

"See him now!" cried Tom Packer.  "Now, when I could cut him out!  Gill!
Did I tell you to mark my words?"

I implored Tom Packer in the Lord's name, as well as I could in my
faintness, to go to the Sergeant's aid.

"I hate and detest him," says Tom, moodily wavering.  "Still, he is a
brave man."  Then he calls out, "Sergeant Drooce, Sergeant Drooce!  Tell
me you have driven me too hard, and are sorry for it."

The Sergeant, without turning his eyes from his assailants, which would
have been instant death to him, answers.

"No.  I won't."

"Sergeant Drooce!" cries Tom, in a kind of an agony.  "I have passed my
word that I would never save you from Death, if I could, but would leave
you to die.  Tell me you have driven me too hard and are sorry for it,
and that shall go for nothing."

One of the group laid the Sergeant's bald bare head open.  The Sergeant
laid him dead.

"I tell you," says the Sergeant, breathing a little short, and waiting
for the next attack, "no.  I won't.  If you are not man enough to strike
for a fellow-soldier because he wants help, and because of nothing else,
I'll go into the other world and look for a better man."

Tom swept upon them, and cut him out.  Tom and he fought their way
through another knot of them, and sent them flying, and came over to
where I was beginning again to feel, with inexpressible joy, that I had
got a sword in my hand.

They had hardly come to us, when I heard, above all the other noises, a
tremendous cry of women's voices.  I also saw Miss Maryon, with quite a
new face, suddenly clap her two hands over Mrs. Fisher's eyes.  I looked
towards the silver-house, and saw Mrs. Venning--standing upright on the
top of the steps of the trench, with her gray hair and her dark eyes--hide
her daughter's child behind her, among the folds of her dress, strike a
pirate with her other hand, and fall, shot by his pistol.

The cry arose again, and there was a terrible and confusing rush of the
women into the midst of the struggle.  In another moment, something came
tumbling down upon me that I thought was the wall.  It was a heap of
Sambos who had come over the wall; and of four men who clung to my legs
like serpents, one who clung to my right leg was Christian George King.

"Yup, So-Jeer," says he, "Christian George King sar berry glad So-Jeer a
prisoner.  Christian George King been waiting for So-Jeer sech long time.
Yup, yup!"

What could I do, with five-and-twenty of them on me, but be tied hand and
foot?  So, I was tied hand and foot.  It was all over now--boats not come
back--all lost!  When I was fast bound and was put up against the wall,
the one-eyed English convict came up with the Portuguese Captain, to have
a look at me.

"See!" says he.  "Here's the determined man!  If you had slept sounder,
last night, you'd have slept your soundest last night, my determined
man."

The Portuguese Captain laughed in a cool way, and with the flat of his
cutlass, hit me crosswise, as if I was the bough of a tree that he played
with: first on the face, and then across the chest and the wounded arm.  I
looked him steady in the face without tumbling while he looked at me, I
am happy to say; but, when they went away, I fell, and lay there.

The sun was up, when I was roused and told to come down to the beach and
be embarked.  I was full of aches and pains, and could not at first
remember; but, I remembered quite soon enough.  The killed were lying
about all over the place, and the Pirates were burying their dead, and
taking away their wounded on hastily-made litters, to the back of the
Island.  As for us prisoners, some of their boats had come round to the
usual harbour, to carry us off.  We looked a wretched few, I thought,
when I got down there; still, it was another sign that we had fought
well, and made the enemy suffer.

The Portuguese Captain had all the women already embarked in the boat he
himself commanded, which was just putting off when I got down.  Miss
Maryon sat on one side of him, and gave me a moment's look, as full of
quiet courage, and pity, and confidence, as if it had been an hour long.
On the other side of him was poor little Mrs. Fisher, weeping for her
child and her mother.  I was shoved into the same boat with Drooce and
Packer, and the remainder of our party of marines: of whom we had lost
two privates, besides Charker, my poor, brave comrade.  We all made a
melancholy passage, under the hot sun over to the mainland.  There, we
landed in a solitary place, and were mustered on the sea sand.  Mr. and
Mrs. Macey and their children were amongst us, Mr. and Mrs. Pordage, Mr.
Kitten, Mr. Fisher, and Mrs. Belltott.  We mustered only fourteen men,
fifteen women, and seven children.  Those were all that remained of the
English who had lain down to sleep last night, unsuspecting and happy, on
the Island of Silver-Store.




CHAPTER III {1}--THE RAFTS ON THE RIVER


We contrived to keep afloat all that night, and, the stream running
strong with us, to glide a long way down the river.  But, we found the
night to be a dangerous time for such navigation, on account of the
eddies and rapids, and it was therefore settled next day that in future
we would bring-to at sunset, and encamp on the shore.  As we knew of no
boats that the Pirates possessed, up at the Prison in the Woods, we
settled always to encamp on the opposite side of the stream, so as to
have the breadth of the river between our sleep and them.  Our opinion
was, that if they were acquainted with any near way by land to the mouth
of this river, they would come up it in force, and retake us or kill us,
according as they could; but that if that was not the case, and if the
river ran by none of their secret stations, we might escape.

When I say we settled this or that, I do not mean that we planned
anything with any confidence as to what might happen an hour hence.  So
much had happened in one night, and such great changes had been violently
and suddenly made in the fortunes of many among us, that we had got
better used to uncertainty, in a little while, than I dare say most
people do in the course of their lives.

The difficulties we soon got into, through the off-settings and point-
currents of the stream, made the likelihood of our being drowned,
alone,--to say nothing of our being retaken--as broad and plain as the
sun at noonday to all of us.  But, we all worked hard at managing the
rafts, under the direction of the seamen (of our own skill, I think we
never could have prevented them from oversetting), and we also worked
hard at making good the defects in their first hasty construction--which
the water soon found out.  While we humbly resigned ourselves to going
down, if it was the will of Our Father that was in Heaven, we humbly made
up our minds, that we would all do the best that was in us.

And so we held on, gliding with the stream.  It drove us to this bank,
and it drove us to that bank, and it turned us, and whirled us; but yet
it carried us on.  Sometimes much too slowly; sometimes much too fast,
but yet it carried us on.

My little deaf and dumb boy slumbered a good deal now, and that was the
case with all the children.  They caused very little trouble to any one.
They seemed, in my eyes, to get more like one another, not only in quiet
manner, but in the face, too.  The motion of the raft was usually so much
the same, the scene was usually so much the same, the sound of the soft
wash and ripple of the water was usually so much the same, that they were
made drowsy, as they might have been by the constant playing of one tune.
Even on the grown people, who worked hard and felt anxiety, the same
things produced something of the same effect.  Every day was so like the
other, that I soon lost count of the days, myself, and had to ask Miss
Maryon, for instance, whether this was the third or fourth?  Miss Maryon
had a pocket-book and pencil, and she kept the log; that is to say, she
entered up a clear little journal of the time, and of the distances our
seamen thought we had made, each night.

So, as I say, we kept afloat and glided on.  All day long, and every day,
the water, and the woods, and sky; all day long, and every day, the
constant watching of both sides of the river, and far ahead at every bold
turn and sweep it made, for any signs of Pirate-boats, or
Pirate-dwellings.  So, as I say, we kept afloat and glided on.  The days
melting themselves together to that degree, that I could hardly believe
my ears when I asked "How many now, Miss?" and she answered "Seven."

To be sure, poor Mr. Pordage had, by about now, got his Diplomatic coat
into such a state as never was seen.  What with the mud of the river,
what with the water of the river, what with the sun, and the dews, and
the tearing boughs, and the thickets, it hung about him in discoloured
shreds like a mop.  The sun had touched him a bit.  He had taken to
always polishing one particular button, which just held on to his left
wrist, and to always calling for stationery.  I suppose that man called
for pens, ink, and paper, tape, and scaling-wax, upwards of one thousand
times in four-and-twenty hours.  He had an idea that we should never get
out of that river unless we were written out of it in a formal
Memorandum; and the more we laboured at navigating the rafts, the more he
ordered us not to touch them at our peril, and the more he sat and roared
for stationery.

Mrs. Pordage, similarly, persisted in wearing her nightcap.  I doubt if
any one but ourselves who had seen the progress of that article of dress,
could by this time have told what it was meant for.  It had got so limp
and ragged that she couldn't see out of her eyes for it.  It was so
dirty, that whether it was vegetable matter out of a swamp, or weeds out
of the river, or an old porter's-knot from England, I don't think any new
spectator could have said.  Yet, this unfortunate old woman had a notion
that it was not only vastly genteel, but that it was the correct thing as
to propriety.  And she really did carry herself over the other ladies who
had no nightcaps, and who were forced to tie up their hair how they
could, in a superior manner that was perfectly amazing.

I don't know what she looked like, sitting in that blessed nightcap, on a
log of wood, outside the hut or cabin upon our raft.  She would have
rather resembled a fortune-teller in one of the picture-books that used
to be in the shop windows in my boyhood, except for her stateliness.  But,
Lord bless my heart, the dignity with which she sat and moped, with her
head in that bundle of tatters, was like nothing else in the world!  She
was not on speaking terms with more than three of the ladies.  Some of
them had, what she called, "taken precedence" of her--in getting into, or
out of, that miserable little shelter!--and others had not called to pay
their respects, or something of that kind.  So, there she sat, in her own
state and ceremony, while her husband sat on the same log of wood,
ordering us one and all to let the raft go to the bottom, and to bring
him stationery.

What with this noise on the part of Mr. Commissioner Pordage, and what
with the cries of Sergeant Drooce on the raft astern (which were
sometimes more than Tom Packer could silence), we often made our slow way
down the river, anything but quietly.  Yet, that it was of great
importance that no ears should be able to hear us from the woods on the
banks, could not be doubted.  We were looked for, to a certainty, and we
might be retaken at any moment.  It was an anxious time; it was, indeed,
indeed, an anxious time.

On the seventh night of our voyage on the rafts, we made fast, as usual,
on the opposite side of the river to that from which we had started, in
as dark a place as we could pick out.  Our little encampment was soon
made, and supper was eaten, and the children fell asleep.  The watch was
set, and everything made orderly for the night.  Such a starlight night,
with such blue in the sky, and such black in the places of heavy shade on
the banks of the great stream!

Those two ladies, Miss Maryon and Mrs. Fisher, had always kept near me
since the night of the attack.  Mr. Fisher, who was untiring in the work
of our raft, had said to me:

"My dear little childless wife has grown so attached to you, Davis, and
you are such a gentle fellow, as well as such a determined one;" our
party had adopted that last expression from the one-eyed English pirate,
and I repeat what Mr. Fisher said, only because he said it; "that it
takes a load off my mind to leave her in your charge."

I said to him: "Your lady is in far better charge than mine, Sir, having
Miss Maryon to take care of her; but, you may rely upon it, that I will
guard them both--faithful and true."

Says he: "I do rely upon it, Davis, and I heartily wish all the silver on
our old Island was yours."

That seventh starlight night, as I have said, we made our camp, and got
our supper, and set our watch, and the children fell asleep.  It was
solemn and beautiful in those wild and solitary parts, to see them, every
night before they lay down, kneeling under the bright sky, saying their
little prayers at women's laps.  At that time we men all uncovered, and
mostly kept at a distance.  When the innocent creatures rose up, we
murmured "Amen!" all together.  For, though we had not heard what they
said, we know it must be good for us.

At that time, too, as was only natural, those poor mothers in our
company, whose children had been killed, shed many tears.  I thought the
sight seemed to console them while it made them cry; but, whether I was
right or wrong in that, they wept very much.  On this seventh night, Mrs.
Fisher had cried for her lost darling until she cried herself asleep.  She
was lying on a little couch of leaves and such-like (I made the best
little couch I could for them every night), and Miss Maryon had covered
her, and sat by her, holding her hand.  The stars looked down upon them.
As for me, I guarded them.

"Davis!" says Miss Maryon.  (I am not going to say what a voice she had.
I couldn't if I tried.)

"I am here, Miss."

"The river sounds as if it were swollen to-night."

"We all think, Miss, that we are coming near the sea."

"Do you believe now, we shall escape?"

"I do now, Miss, really believe it."  I had always said I did; but, I had
in my own mind been doubtful.

"How glad you will be, my good Davis, to see England again!"

I have another confession to make that will appear singular.  When she
said these words, something rose in my throat; and the stars I looked
away at, seemed to break into sparkles that fell down my face and burnt
it.

"England is not much to me, Miss, except as a name."

"O, so true an Englishman should not say that!--Are you not well
to-night, Davis?"  Very kindly, and with a quick change.

"Quite well, Miss."

"Are you sure?  Your voice sounds altered in my hearing."

"No, Miss, I am a stronger man than ever.  But, England is nothing to
me."

Miss Maryon sat silent for so long a while, that I believed she had done
speaking to me for one time.  However, she had not; for by-and-by she
said in a distinct clear tone:

"No, good friend; you must not say that England is nothing to you.  It is
to be much to you, yet--everything to you.  You have to take back to
England the good name you have earned here, and the gratitude and
attachment and respect you have won here: and you have to make some good
English girl very happy and proud, by marrying her; and I shall one day
see her, I hope, and make her happier and prouder still, by telling her
what noble services her husband's were in South America, and what a noble
friend he was to me there."

Though she spoke these kind words in a cheering manner, she spoke them
compassionately.  I said nothing.  It will appear to be another strange
confession, that I paced to and fro, within call, all that night, a most
unhappy man, reproaching myself all the night long.  "You are as ignorant
as any man alive; you are as obscure as any man alive; you are as poor as
any man alive; you are no better than the mud under your foot."  That was
the way in which I went on against myself until the morning.

With the day, came the day's labour.  What I should have done--without
the labour, I don't know.  We were afloat again at the usual hour, and
were again making our way down the river.  It was broader, and clearer of
obstructions than it had been, and it seemed to flow faster.  This was
one of Drooce's quiet days; Mr. Pordage, besides being sulky, had almost
lost his voice; and we made good way, and with little noise.

There was always a seaman forward on the raft, keeping a bright look-out.
Suddenly, in the full heat of the day, when the children were slumbering,
and the very trees and reeds appeared to be slumbering, this man--it was
Short--holds up his hand, and cries with great caution: "Avast!  Voices
ahead!"

We held on against the stream as soon as we could bring her up, and the
other raft followed suit.  At first, Mr. Macey, Mr. Fisher, and myself,
could hear nothing; though both the seamen aboard of us agreed that they
could hear voices and oars.  After a little pause, however, we united in
thinking that we _could_ hear the sound of voices, and the dip of oars.
But, you can hear a long way in those countries, and there was a bend of
the river before us, and nothing was to be seen except such waters and
such banks as we were now in the eighth day (and might, for the matter of
our feelings, have been in the eightieth), of having seen with anxious
eyes.

It was soon decided to put a man ashore, who should creep through the
wood, see what was coming, and warn the rafts.  The rafts in the meantime
to keep the middle of the stream.  The man to be put ashore, and not to
swim ashore, as the first thing could be more quickly done than the
second.  The raft conveying him, to get back into mid-stream, and to hold
on along with the other, as well is it could, until signalled by the man.
In case of danger, the man to shift for himself until it should be safe
to take him on board again.  I volunteered to be the man.

We knew that the voices and oars must come up slowly against the stream;
and our seamen knew, by the set of the stream, under which bank they
would come.  I was put ashore accordingly.  The raft got off well, and I
broke into the wood.

Steaming hot it was, and a tearing place to get through.  So much the
better for me, since it was something to contend against and do.  I cut
off the bend of the river, at a great saving of space, came to the
water's edge again, and hid myself, and waited.  I could now hear the dip
of the oars very distinctly; the voices had ceased.

The sound came on in a regular tune, and as I lay hidden, I fancied the
tune so played to be, "Chris'en--George--King!  Chris'en--George--King!
Chris'en--George--King!" over and over again, always the same, with the
pauses always at the same places.  I had likewise time to make up my mind
that if these were the Pirates, I could and would (barring my being shot)
swim off to my raft, in spite of my wound, the moment I had given the
alarm, and hold my old post by Miss Maryon.

"Chris'en--George--King!  Chris'en--George--King!  Chris'en--George--King!"
coming up, now, very near.

I took a look at the branches about me, to see where a shower of bullets
would be most likely to do me least hurt; and I took a look back at the
track I had made in forcing my way in; and now I was wholly prepared and
fully ready for them.

"Chris'en--George--King!  Chris'en--George--King!  Chris'en--George--King!"
Here they are!

Who were they?  The barbarous Pirates, scum of all nations, headed by
such men as the hideous little Portuguese monkey, and the one-eyed
English convict with the gash across his face, that ought to have gashed
his wicked head off?  The worst men in the world picked out from the
worst, to do the cruellest and most atrocious deeds that ever stained it?
The howling, murdering, black-flag waving, mad, and drunken crowd of
devils that had overcome us by numbers and by treachery?  No.  These were
English men in English boats--good blue-jackets and red-coats--marines
that I knew myself, and sailors that knew our seamen!  At the helm of the
first boat, Captain Carton, eager and steady.  At the helm of the second
boat, Captain Maryon, brave and bold.  At the helm of the third boat, an
old seaman, with determination carved into his watchful face, like the
figure-head of a ship.  Every man doubly and trebly armed from head to
foot.  Every man lying-to at his work, with a will that had all his heart
and soul in it.  Every man looking out for any trace of friend or enemy,
and burning to be the first to do good or avenge evil.  Every man with
his face on fire when he saw me, his countryman who had been taken
prisoner, and hailed me with a cheer, as Captain Carton's boat ran in and
took me on board.

I reported, "All escaped, sir!  All well, all safe, all here!"

God bless me--and God bless them--what a cheer!  It turned me weak, as I
was passed on from hand to hand to the stern of the boat: every hand
patting me or grasping me in some way or other, in the moment of my going
by.

"Hold up, my brave fellow," says Captain Carton, clapping me on the
shoulder like a friend, and giving me a flask.  "Put your lips to that,
and they'll be red again.  Now, boys, give way!"

The banks flew by us as if the mightiest stream that ever ran was with
us; and so it was, I am sure, meaning the stream to those men's ardour
and spirit.  The banks flew by us, and we came in sight of the rafts--the
banks flew by us, and we came alongside of the rafts--the banks stopped;
and there was a tumult of laughing and crying, and kissing and shaking of
hands, and catching up of children and setting of them down again, and a
wild hurry of thankfulness and joy that melted every one and softened all
hearts.

I had taken notice, in Captain Carton's boat, that there was a curious
and quite new sort of fitting on board.  It was a kind of a little bower
made of flowers, and it was set up behind the captain, and betwixt him
and the rudder.  Not only was this arbour, so to call it, neatly made of
flowers, but it was ornamented in a singular way.  Some of the men had
taken the ribbons and buckles off their hats, and hung them among the
flowers; others had made festoons and streamers of their handkerchiefs,
and hung them there; others had intermixed such trifles as bits of glass
and shining fragments of lockets and tobacco-boxes with the flowers; so
that altogether it was a very bright and lively object in the sunshine.
But why there, or what for, I did not understand.

Now, as soon as the first bewilderment was over, Captain Carton gave the
order to land for the present.  But this boat of his, with two hands left
in her, immediately put off again when the men were out of her, and kept
off, some yards from the shore.  As she floated there, with the two hands
gently backing water to keep her from going down the stream, this pretty
little arbour attracted many eyes.  None of the boat's crew, however, had
anything to say about it, except that it was the captain's fancy.

The captain--with the women and children clustering round him, and the
men of all ranks grouped outside them, and all listening--stood telling
how the Expedition, deceived by its bad intelligence, had chased the
light Pirate boats all that fatal night, and had still followed in their
wake next day, and had never suspected until many hours too late that the
great Pirate body had drawn off in the darkness when the chase began, and
shot over to the Island.  He stood telling how the Expedition, supposing
the whole array of armed boats to be ahead of it, got tempted into
shallows and went aground; but not without having its revenge upon the
two decoy-boats, both of which it had come up with, overhand, and sent to
the bottom with all on board.  He stood telling how the Expedition,
fearing then that the case stood as it did, got afloat again, by great
exertion, after the loss of four more tides, and returned to the Island,
where they found the sloop scuttled and the treasure gone.  He stood
telling how my officer, Lieutenant Linderwood, was left upon the Island,
with as strong a force as could be got together hurriedly from the
mainland, and how the three boats we saw before us were manned and armed
and had come away, exploring the coast and inlets, in search of any
tidings of us.  He stood telling all this, with his face to the river;
and, as he stood telling it, the little arbour of flowers floated in the
sunshine before all the faces there.

Leaning on Captain Carton's shoulder, between him and Miss Maryon, was
Mrs. Fisher, her head drooping on her arm.  She asked him, without
raising it, when he had told so much, whether he had found her mother?

"Be comforted!  She lies," said the Captain gently, "under the cocoa-nut
trees on the beach."

"And my child, Captain Carton, did you find my child, too?  Does my
darling rest with my mother?"

"No.  Your pretty child sleeps," said the Captain, "under a shade of
flowers."

His voice shook; but there was something in it that struck all the
hearers.  At that moment there sprung from the arbour in his boat a
little creature, clapping her hands and stretching out her arms, and
crying, "Dear papa!  Dear mamma!  I am not killed.  I am saved.  I am
coming to kiss you.  Take me to them, take me to them, good, kind
sailors!"

Nobody who saw that scene has ever forgotten it, I am sure, or ever will
forget it.  The child had kept quite still, where her brave grandmamma
had put her (first whispering in her ear, "Whatever happens to me, do not
stir, my dear!"), and had remained quiet until the fort was deserted; she
had then crept out of the trench, and gone into her mother's house; and
there, alone on the solitary Island, in her mother's room, and asleep on
her mother's bed, the Captain had found her.  Nothing could induce her to
be parted from him after he took her up in his arms, and he had brought
her away with him, and the men had made the bower for her.  To see those
men now, was a sight.  The joy of the women was beautiful; the joy of
those women who had lost their own children, was quite sacred and divine;
but, the ecstasies of Captain Carton's boat's crew, when their pet was
restored to her parents, were wonderful for the tenderness they showed in
the midst of roughness.  As the Captain stood with the child in his arms,
and the child's own little arms now clinging round his neck, now round
her father's, now round her mother's, now round some one who pressed up
to kiss her, the boat's crew shook hands with one another, waved their
hats over their heads, laughed, sang, cried, danced--and all among
themselves, without wanting to interfere with anybody--in a manner never
to be represented.  At last, I saw the coxswain and another, two very
hard-faced men, with grizzled heads, who had been the heartiest of the
hearty all along, close with one another, get each of them the other's
head under his arm, and pommel away at it with his fist as hard as he
could, in his excess of joy.

When we had well rested and refreshed ourselves--and very glad we were to
have some of the heartening things to eat and drink that had come up in
the boats--we recommenced our voyage down the river: rafts, and boats,
and all.  I said to myself, it was a _very_ different kind of voyage now,
from what it had been; and I fell into my proper place and station among
my fellow-soldiers.

But, when we halted for the night, I found that Miss Maryon had spoken to
Captain Carton concerning me.  For, the Captain came straight up to me,
and says he, "My brave fellow, you have been Miss Maryon's body-guard all
along, and you shall remain so.  Nobody shall supersede you in the
distinction and pleasure of protecting that young lady."  I thanked his
honour in the fittest words I could find, and that night I was placed on
my old post of watching the place where she slept.  More than once in the
night, I saw Captain Carton come out into the air, and stroll about
there, to see that all was well.  I have now this other singular
confession to make, that I saw him with a heavy heart.  Yes; I saw him
with a heavy, heavy heart.

In the day-time, I had the like post in Captain Carton's boat.  I had a
special station of my own, behind Miss Maryon, and no hands but hers ever
touched my wound.  (It has been healed these many long years; but, no
other hands have ever touched it.)  Mr. Pordage was kept tolerably quiet
now, with pen and ink, and began to pick up his senses a little.  Seated
in the second boat, he made documents with Mr. Kitten, pretty well all
day; and he generally handed in a Protest about something whenever we
stopped.  The Captain, however, made so very light of these papers, that
it grew into a saying among the men, when one of them wanted a match for
his pipe, "Hand us over a Protest, Jack!"  As to Mrs. Pordage, she still
wore the nightcap, and she now had cut all the ladies on account of her
not having been formally and separately rescued by Captain Carton before
anybody else.  The end of Mr. Pordage, to bring to an end all I know
about him, was, that he got great compliments at home for his conduct on
these trying occasions, and that he died of yellow jaundice, a Governor
and a K.C.B.

Sergeant Drooce had fallen from a high fever into a low one.  Tom
Packer--the only man who could have pulled the Sergeant through it--kept
hospital aboard the old raft, and Mrs. Belltott, as brisk as ever again
(but the spirit of that little woman, when things tried it, was not equal
to appearances), was head-nurse under his directions.  Before we got down
to the Mosquito coast, the joke had been made by one of our men, that we
should see her gazetted Mrs. Tom Packer, _vice_ Belltott exchanged.

When we reached the coast, we got native boats as substitutes for the
rafts; and we rowed along under the land; and in that beautiful climate,
and upon that beautiful water, the blooming days were like enchantment.
Ah!  They were running away, faster than any sea or river, and there was
no tide to bring them back.  We were coming very near the settlement
where the people of Silver-Store were to be left, and from which we
Marines were under orders to return to Belize.

Captain Carton had, in the boat by him, a curious long-barrelled Spanish
gun, and he had said to Miss Maryon one day that it was the best of guns,
and had turned his head to me, and said:

"Gill Davis, load her fresh with a couple of slugs, against a chance of
showing how good she is."

So, I had discharged the gun over the sea, and had loaded her, according
to orders, and there it had lain at the Captain's feet, convenient to the
Captain's hand.

The last day but one of our journey was an uncommonly hot day.  We
started very early; but, there was no cool air on the sea as the day got
on, and by noon the heat was really hard to bear, considering that there
were women and children to bear it.  Now, we happened to open, just at
that time, a very pleasant little cove or bay, where there was a deep
shade from a great growth of trees.  Now, the Captain, therefore, made
the signal to the other boats to follow him in and lie by a while.

The men who were off duty went ashore, and lay down, but were ordered,
for caution's sake, not to stray, and to keep within view.  The others
rested on their oars, and dozed.  Awnings had been made of one thing and
another, in all the boats, and the passengers found it cooler to be under
them in the shade, when there was room enough, than to be in the thick
woods.  So, the passengers were all afloat, and mostly sleeping.  I kept
my post behind Miss Maryon, and she was on Captain Carton's right in the
boat, and Mrs. Fisher sat on her right again.  The Captain had Mrs.
Fisher's daughter on his knee.  He and the two ladies were talking about
the Pirates, and were talking softly; partly, because people do talk
softly under such indolent circumstances, and partly because the little
girl had gone off asleep.

I think I have before given it out for my Lady to write down, that
Captain Carton had a fine bright eye of his own.  All at once, he darted
me a side look, as much as to say, "Steady--don't take on--I see
something!"--and gave the child into her mother's arms.  That eye of his
was so easy to understand, that I obeyed it by not so much as looking
either to the right or to the left out of a corner of my own, or changing
my attitude the least trifle.  The Captain went on talking in the same
mild and easy way; but began--with his arms resting across his knees, and
his head a little hanging forward, as if the heat were rather too much
for him--began to play with the Spanish gun.

"They had laid their plans, you see," says the Captain, taking up the
Spanish gun across his knees, and looking, lazily, at the inlaying on the
stock, "with a great deal of art; and the corrupt or blundering local
authorities were so easily deceived;" he ran his left hand idly along the
barrel, but I saw, with my breath held, that he covered the action of
cocking the gun with his right--"so easily deceived, that they summoned
us out to come into the trap.  But my intention as to future operations--"
In a flash the Spanish gun was at his bright eye, and he fired.

All started up; innumerable echoes repeated the sound of the discharge; a
cloud of bright-coloured birds flew out of the woods screaming; a handful
of leaves were scattered in the place where the shot had struck; a
crackling of branches was heard; and some lithe but heavy creature sprang
into the air, and fell forward, head down, over the muddy bank.

"What is it?" cries Captain Maryon from his boat.  All silent then, but
the echoes rolling away.

"It is a Traitor and a Spy," said Captain Carton, handing me the gun to
load again.  "And I think the other name of the animal is Christian
George King!"

Shot through the heart.  Some of the people ran round to the spot, and
drew him out, with the slime and wet trickling down his face; but his
face itself would never stir any more to the end of time.

"Leave him hanging to that tree," cried Captain Carton; his boat's crew
giving way, and he leaping ashore.  "But first into this wood, every man
in his place.  And boats!  Out of gunshot!"

It was a quick change, well meant and well made, though it ended in
disappointment.  No Pirates were there; no one but the Spy was found.  It
was supposed that the Pirates, unable to retake us, and expecting a great
attack upon them to be the consequence of our escape, had made from the
ruins in the Forest, taken to their ship along with the Treasure, and
left the Spy to pick up what intelligence he could.  In the evening we
went away, and he was left hanging to the tree, all alone, with the red
sun making a kind of a dead sunset on his black face.

Next day, we gained the settlement on the Mosquito coast for which we
were bound.  Having stayed there to refresh seven days, and having been
much commended, and highly spoken of, and finely entertained, we Marines
stood under orders to march from the Town-Gate (it was neither much of a
town nor much of a gate), at five in the morning.

My officer had joined us before then.  When we turned out at the gate,
all the people were there; in the front of them all those who had been
our fellow-prisoners, and all the seamen.

"Davis," says Lieutenant Linderwood.  "Stand out, my friend!"

I stood out from the ranks, and Miss Maryon and Captain Carton came up to
me.

"Dear Davis," says Miss Maryon, while the tears fell fast down her face,
"your grateful friends, in most unwillingly taking leave of you, ask the
favour that, while you bear away with you their affectionate remembrance,
which nothing can ever impair, you will also take this purse of money--far
more valuable to you, we all know, for the deep attachment and
thankfulness with which it is offered, than for its own contents, though
we hope those may prove useful to you, too, in after life."

I got out, in answer, that I thankfully accepted the attachment and
affection, but not the money.  Captain Carton looked at me very
attentively, and stepped back, and moved away.  I made him my bow as he
stepped back, to thank him for being so delicate.

"No, miss," said I, "I think it would break my heart to accept of money.
But, if you could condescend to give to a man so ignorant and common as
myself, any little thing you have worn--such as a bit of ribbon--"

She took a ring from her finger, and put it in my hand.  And she rested
her hand in mine, while she said these words:

"The brave gentlemen of old--but not one of them was braver, or had a
nobler nature than you--took such gifts from ladies, and did all their
good actions for the givers' sakes.  If you will do yours for mine, I
shall think with pride that I continue to have some share in the life of
a gallant and generous man."

For the second time in my life she kissed my hand.  I made so bold, for
the first time, as to kiss hers; and I tied the ring at my breast, and I
fell back to my place.

Then, the horse-litter went out at the gate with Sergeant Drooce in it;
and the horse-litter went out at the gate with Mrs. Belltott in it; and
Lieutenant Linderwood gave the word of command, "Quick march!" and,
cheered and cried for, we went out of the gate too, marching along the
level plain towards the serene blue sky, as if we were marching straight
to Heaven.

When I have added here that the Pirate scheme was blown to shivers, by
the Pirate-ship which had the Treasure on board being so vigorously
attacked by one of His Majesty's cruisers, among the West India Keys, and
being so swiftly boarded and carried, that nobody suspected anything
about the scheme until three-fourths of the Pirates were killed, and the
other fourth were in irons, and the Treasure was recovered; I come to the
last singular confession I have got to make.

It is this.  I well knew what an immense and hopeless distance there was
between me and Miss Maryon; I well knew that I was no fitter company for
her than I was for the angels; I well knew, that she was as high above my
reach as the sky over my head; and yet I loved her.  What put it in my
low heart to be so daring, or whether such a thing ever happened before
or since, as that a man so uninstructed and obscure as myself got his
unhappy thoughts lifted up to such a height, while knowing very well how
presumptuous and impossible to be realised they were, I am unable to say;
still, the suffering to me was just as great as if I had been a
gentleman.  I suffered agony--agony.  I suffered hard, and I suffered
long.  I thought of her last words to me, however, and I never disgraced
them.  If it had not been for those dear words, I think I should have
lost myself in despair and recklessness.

The ring will be found lying on my heart, of course, and will be laid
with me wherever I am laid.  I am getting on in years now, though I am
able and hearty.  I was recommended for promotion, and everything was
done to reward me that could be done; but my total want of all learning
stood in my way, and I found myself so completely out of the road to it
that I could not conquer any learning, though I tried.  I was long in the
service, and I respected it, and was respected in it, and the service is
dear to me at this present hour.

At this present hour, when I give this out to my Lady to be written down,
all my old pain has softened away, and I am as happy as a man can be, at
this present fine old country-house of Admiral Sir George Carton,
Baronet.  It was my Lady Carton who herself sought me out, over a great
many miles of the wide world, and found me in Hospital wounded, and
brought me here.  It is my Lady Carton who writes down my words.  My Lady
was Miss Maryon.  And now, that I conclude what I had to tell, I see my
Lady's honoured gray hair droop over her face, as she leans a little
lower at her desk; and I fervently thank her for being so tender as I see
she is, towards the past pain and trouble of her poor, old, faithful,
humble soldier.




FOOTNOTES


{1}   Dicken's didn't write the second chapter and it is omitted in this
edition.  In it the prisoners are firstly made a ransom of for the
treasure left on the Island and then manage to escape from the Pirates.



***