Chapter XIV: Brother José’s Story, and Davie Drake’s Little Joke

Two years have past and gone since that memorable day when the long-lost _Zingara_ sailed into Fisherton Bay.

As far as Barclay, Davie, and Antonio are concerned, they have been eventful years.

Both our heroes have passed their examinations, and have been to India with Antonio, he himself acting as captain of the _Zingara_, and Davie and Barclay as mates.

But during the time the ship lay at Calcutta, Antonio was absent for two long months.

Two years, then, are past and gone, and the _Zingara_ is once more on the eve of starting from Fisherton Bay.

But not for a long voyage, for--whisper, reader--this is a bridal tour.

The _Zingara_ will cruise only during the sweet summer months along the shores of Spain, where a stay of some weeks will be made, that Antonio and his brother, so long a prisoner in the dungeon of the murdering priests of G----, may visit their proudest acquaintances of the days of auld lang syne.

Yes, the brother is on board. Tall and spare is he, his hair as white as snow, but his complexion fair and young, while his voice is ever tender and quiet, and his smile a sad and chastened one. Oh, no one but himself can tell of the long years of suffering he has passed through.

Who else are on board?

Well, I must not hesitate to answer this question. Let the passengers muster by open list, as we say in the Navy, and present themselves according to age.

Mrs., or Madame Garcia, Antonio and José’s mother. She is cheerful though old, cheerful and active, and not a day more aged-looking than the long-suffering José her son, whom she idolizes.

Parson Grahame comes next, looking resigned and happy. Maud, his dear little daughter, has been dead for years, but he knows she is in a better land. If you were to unwittingly ask him about Maudie, he would simply reply--

“Oh, didn’t you know? God took dear wee Maud home.”

Dr. Parker might have been here. Alas! he is dead too.

Mrs. Stuart is too delicate, or fears the sea; but Phœbe is here, and very happy and pleased she looks.

Poor old plain-faced Norton the fisherman is sitting aft yonder, smoking his not over-aristocratic pipe. Pandoo has just brought him a light, and Pandoo and he have waxed very friendly. At this moment he is telling the handsome Indian that “there be a many changes in this world o’ sin and sorrer, but it’ll all come right up-bye.”

Now comes Antonio and his bride, Sister Leona, sister now no longer.

And last, but not least, surely the youngest, handsomest, and happiest couple ever seen on board ship--Barclay Stuart and Teenie, now _all_ his own; and Parson Grahame married those two couples only this morning.

But the anchor is up, a delightful land breeze fills the sails, and away flies the _Zingara_ on the wings of the wind. The flag is dipped again and again to the cheers of the good folks of Fisherton that crowd the pier and shore to throw blessings, rice, and old shoes on the water.

The blessings, let us hope, will take effect, the sea-gulls eat the rice, and the old shoes will sink.

* * * * *

Pandoo is still steward, but there is a good cook, and both young ladies have maids.

That first day’s dinner was a happy one, and when seated on chairs in the moonlight, on the upper deck, Antonio told more of the wonderful adventures of the _Zingara_ than Parson Grahame yet had heard.

“But now,” said Davie Drake, “don’t forget your promise, sir, to tell us how you managed to free your brother from the power of those bloody-handed thugs and priests.”

* * * * *

Antonio sat still for a minute or two, as if deep in thought. Then he played a few sad notes on the guitar. This, he used to say, always calmed his mind and toned his nervous system.

“Brother,” he said at last, “let you and I tell the story together.”

José’s hand and Antonio’s met in a brotherly clasp.

“Will you begin?”

“Let me be brief, then,” said José; “my voice is still feeble from long confinement.

“We were younger then, Antonio, young, and perhaps a little wild. But after the city of L---- was recaptured, you and I, who were volunteers, did a little looting, as did the soldiers and their officers also.

“You will remember that dark night when a friendly native offered to conduct us to a blood-stained temple, from which he told us the priests had fled, and that the eyes in the idols were diamonds of the purest water; that, moreover, they were charms, and had the power of keeping off disease, and rendering the owner proof against death by violence?”

“Yes, and I shall never forget that fearful night, José.”

“Well, Antonio, we gained access to the temple, and I had broken one idol, and taken out the glittering diamond that served as an eye in the forehead. I gave it to you till I went in search of another.

“I sent you,” continued José, “outside to watch.”

“And I never saw you more; and when the guide rushed out, he said he had seen you fall stabbed to the heart.”

“I was stabbed, Antonio, but it was only through the arm.

“I was then stripped to the skin, but no diamond being found on me, I was condemned to be lashed, and confined in a loathsome dungeon, with barely rags enough to cover my lacerated and bleeding body.

“Centipeds and gecko lizards I could see about me in scores by the dim light that came from the narrow slit in the wall. There were scorpions too, and other loathsome, slimy things. Antonio, I will not harrow the feelings of these gentle ladies by describing all I suffered. God kept me alive, and now I hope to devote the years that may be left me to His service.”

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” said Antonio, “when the _Zingara_ returned, after her terrible adventures in the brown weedy Sea of Sargasso, my pearls and other things realised for me quite a large fortune. I sold all, for too well I knew the value money would be in enabling me to discover the hiding-place of my dear brother here, and delivering him from the hands of the priests.

“First I endeavoured to get the assistance of the British Parliament. The few members I interviewed received me kindly, but were afraid they could do nothing to assist me.

“I determined, therefore, to act for myself, so when I got to India I repaired to L----.

“I am a fairly good actor, and no part suits me better than that of a Hindoo priest.

“I became one to all intents and purposes. From an Indian potentate, friendly to the British, and to whom I had done some services in the Mutiny times, I received an introduction to Hindoo priests at L----. Heaven forgive me for my deceit, but I carried it out so well, that I found favour everywhere, and was received even into the inner sanctuaries of the priests.

“At last I became a guest of the very men who had imprisoned my brother. This might have been called my third move, or third act, in the dangerous drama I was engaged in.

“My fourth was a more daring, but it was successful, for I bribed my brother’s very jailer.

“About a week after this came the fifth and last act.

“Rhadda, the jailer, was to have ten thousand rupees and a free passage to Britain if he succeeded in smuggling my dear brother here beyond the gates of the temple, and coming, with me and him, to the British consul’s house.

“He agreed. Such a sum seemed a fortune to him.

“Now the temple was far away in a wood in the suburbs, and to make successful pursuit impossible I had hired three fleet horses, and they would be in waiting at a certain rendezvous, where I with my brother and Rhadda would meet them at a particular hour late at night.

“But I had something else to do before this took place. I was to eat food with the priests that night, and drink so-called ‘holy wine.’ It was arrack pure and simple.

“However, I must devise a means of leaving their company so as not to excite suspicion.

“The ‘holy wine’ was never taken out till all the servants had salaamed and retired for the night.”

Here Antonio smiled grimly.

“I made that ‘holy wine’ still more holy that evening,” he said; “and scarcely had the priests partaken twice of it, ere they sank to sleep on their divans or mats, or even beneath the table.

* * * * *

“So far everything was satisfactory.

“But the servants constituted the danger. They slept on mats behind the doors or in the long corridors, so I determined to escape by the open window.

“I borrowed--well, perhaps it was theft--I stole, then, a long dark camels’-hair cloak to hide my white dress, and exchanged my turban for a little straw skull-cap.

“Next minute I was in the open air. And, José, were you not astonished when your jailer came in and told you your brother had come, and that you were free?”

“I fainted dead away,” said José. “But Rhadda was strong. He threw me across his shoulder, and soon I was in the open air. Oh, the gush of life and joy I felt now! But Rhadda carried me beyond the temple walls, and there--but you must finish the story, brother.”

“Yes, I was at the rendezvous first.

“‘Great heavens!’ I exclaimed, ‘the horses have not come. All, all will be lost.’

“I saw Rhadda bearing you along.

“But just at that moment the sound of great gongs was heard all over the temple. These gongs were like wild beasts roaring for vengeance. I was missed and my treatment of the priests was discovered.

“In a few minutes it would have been too late!

“Already shouting was heard within the walls.

“We were doomed to the torture and to death. The bush could not hide us long. But we were about to seek its friendly shelter, when to my intense joy the horses hove in sight, five in all, in charge of two natives.

“How the sight gladdened my heart!

“‘On, Rhadda, on,’ I cried, ‘and mount, José. I will follow.’

“Next moment, with sabres flashing in the starlight, two horsemen swept round the corner.

“My revolver broke the silence. Two men rolled to the ground, two riderless horses dashed away into the night and the darkness.

“Next minute we were mounted and off.

“We never drew bridle till we reached the house of the consul, and there we had protection and freedom.

“Rhadda had his ten thousand rupees, and was seen safely on board a passenger steamer. I believe he is in England at this present moment.”

* * * * *

There is little more to tell the reader.

After the long delightful cruise down the Mediterranean, the _Zingara_ and her people returned, and a right hearty welcome they all received from the good people of Fisherton.

Antonio Garcia did as he had always said he would. He retired from a sea life and built himself a beautiful house among the woods, and here he dwells with his wife, his old mother, and José.

There are beautiful gardens around it, and these are José’s chief delight.

Antonio goes daily to his study in the old windmill, and the wild sea-birds seem to love him more than ever. Their screaming delights his ears, and brings him back dreams of days long past and gone.

Often he sleeps here all night, his faithful servant Pandoo seeing to his every wish and want. Then the wind howthering around the old windmill makes him think he is at sea once again, so his slumbers are sweet when the wind blows high.

Davie Drake is commander of an Atlantic liner or ocean greyhound.

Barclay Stuart is skipper of the trading ship _Zingara_, in which he had seen so many wild and strange adventures.

With Teenie by his side, then, like a true seaman he sails the wide world over.

But ever when he returns from a voyage his first visit is to Fisherton, to stay for a time with his mother and Phœbe, and visit Antonio and his wife every evening as certain as sunset.

* * * * *

One summer’s day, while Antonio and his wife were in the beautiful and romantic upper room of the old windmill, there came soaring round and round among the other gulls one bird that appeared more timid than the others.

It alighted at last, however, and Antonio caught it gently.

He was about to let it fly away again when something attracted his attention.

“O dear Leona,” he cried, “come here quickly. See, see the little quill.”

Leona speedily snipped it off from the bird’s leg with her scissors.

She looked at it, and her colour came and went.

“It is undoubtedly,” she said, “one of the birds we despatched from the Sea of Sargasso.”

“It really seems so,” said Antonio. “It is sealed with red wax, too. Is it not truly marvellous?”

“Yes, indeed, dear.”

“But open it, Leona; open it.”

Leona snipped off one end, and shook out a tiny rolled scrap of paper.

“DEAR ANTONIO,” it read, “excuse a joke. But thinking to astonish you, I captured one of your half tame sea-gulls, and now I send him home. We are two hundred miles from land. Hope he’ll get back all right. All’s well.--Your bad boy,

“DAVIE DRAKE.”

THE END

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. Edinburgh & London

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Mullet.

[2] In a villa garden near Bombay Dr. Dimmock and myself found a tailor-bird’s nest built between two broad leaves neatly sewn together. Perhaps we looked too long at the pretty eggs to please the parent birds. Anyhow, during the night the birds managed to build another nest farther in through the shrubbery, and thither they had conveyed the eggs. Was this an instance of instinct or reason? Reason, I believe.

[3] Captain Riou, who fell in this battle, was called the gallant and good by Lord Nelson in his despatches home to the Admiralty.

[4] Cross pieces of wood and strings to prevent the dishes sliding off.

[5] Both music and words of this bold song are generally ascribed to Henry Russell. The latter wrote the music; a young Scottish poet, M‘Lean, wrote the stirring words.

[6] “Grimalkin,” _Scottice_ = a cat.

[7] “Old man.” The skipper of a merchantman is usually called so, whatever his age.

[8] This is not the real name.

[9] Alligator.

[10] A species of poplar whose leaves are ever trembling; said, in Scotland, to be the tree on which our Saviour was crucified. Hence the quivering.