Chapter II: Part 2

But apart from his musical talents some of the ladies aft took a great fancy for our saucy self-contained boy. There was a mystery about him, too, which was fascinating to many. Nor, when asked, did he hesitate to say that he was travelling under an assumed name.

"But why should you run away from home, Charlie?" asked one lady, "so bright a lad as you?"

"Only just to see a little life, dear lady," said the boy. "Perhaps there is something radically wrong with my idiosyncracy, you know, but I assure you I'm not running away an account of any evil I have done. I'm not cut-purse and I never held up a coach nor even a motor-car."

"You are very young, Charlie!"

"A man," he replied, "is just as old as he feels, so I must be quite twenty."

"I had the best Italian masters," he replied to another lady, who was praising his musical talents. "My father talks several languages."

"And your mother, Charlie."

"Mother talked many more languages than father. But mother is with the saints in Heaven, madam." This with a sigh.

"And in Heaven," he added, "they talk Latin, I suppose, or a kind of refined Volapuk."

* * * * *

How very quickly the days flew by in the _Paramaribo_, the "old Pram," as the sailors unceremoniously called her. But the life to Kep was all so new and delightful.

The voyage came to an end at last, and at Jamaica a really pleasant old lady, as Kep called her in his own mind, resolved to carry the boy away inland. Well, as he did not object to see a little of the beautiful interior, he readily consented.

What a tropical paradise it was she brought him to! And life amidst the sublimity of such mountain scenery, under a tropical sky, and with such magnificence of flowers around him, was to Kep with his ardent temperament and his love of romance and poetry like a foretaste of Heaven.

The house itself was larger than his father's, as white as the snows of Ben Nevis, wherever a glimpse could be caught of its walls, through the wealth of climbing flowers that surrounded it and clustered over its verandas.

The gardens were gorgeous, and Kep laughed with delight to see the bright-winged birds dashing through and through the white spray of the fountains, that played here and there on the sward.

The lady had a quiet and gentle husband who seemed to be her loving slave, so fond was he of her. She had children too, boys and girls, dark-eyed like himself and browned-skinned as Ethiops.

"Live here always, and for ever," said little Zuleika to him one day, "and be our brother."

But there was restlessness in the boy's heart before he had been among these enchanted hills and dells a fortnight.

"No, Zulee," he said. "I must away and soon," and then he told the child all about his sister and his own English home, all that she could understand.

"But take Zulee with you, home to your home, and your sister shall be Zulee's sister."

"Well," said Kep, returning her innocent embrace, "I must leave Zulee and come back for her some day--perhaps."

Kep was really burning to get away to sea in some capacity or another, so promising to return and bid his new friends all adieu, as soon as he had got a ship, our Kep journeyed back once more to Jamaica.

He had spent such a happy time, and they had been so good to him--but then everybody was.

"Heigho!" the boy sighed. "Heaven must be such a nice place, just because when you do make friends you keep them, and there are no more cruel partings."

Kep found apartments in a tiny cactus-surrounded cottage, not far from the busy parts of the city, yet cool and quiet--a little oasis in a somewhat objectionable desert.

He counted his cash again, and found to his surprise that it could not last for ever.

He must find work, and that work must be on board some sailing ship or steamer.

Now, strangely enough, he did not find this so easy to do as he had imagined. No one appeared to want a really talented boy on board ship, and his repeated rebuffs began to tell on him. He grew just a trifle less buoyant and hopeful.

How different were the shippy parts of the city into which trading skippers dived here in search of wretched crews from those of his own dear England.

There were "houffs" here, partly brandy shops, partly cafes, where these same skippers were wont to call. And rough seamen frequented these in search of a job--seamen ever so rough, gallows rogues of all nations, apparently. And into these Kep had often to go and sit at some vile little table sipping his black coffee and waiting.

These places reeked with the scum of all kinds of sea-bred rascality. Reeked with sin and language so horrible that Kep was often terrified as he sat in his half dark corner waiting for that something that was sure to turn up some day, he told himself, but drink besotted men would swagger in with knives in their belts that Kep felt sure had been used in many a horrid melee. Then men would play dominoes with others of the same calibre, drinking the while, and using terrible imprecations. Or they would quarrel and fight or, if extra friendly, indulge in the _aguardiente_, until they reeled and got kicked into corners there to lie and snore, awaking only to call for more of their fiery potations.

Kep never took his money to such places, preferring to leave it at his little cottage. This was the house of two Creoles, but they were kindness personified to their brave little lodger, so he had no fear of dishonesty.

When Kep wrote to his sister now, he did not tell her a word about his anxiety and hardships, which would have grieved her, so all his letters breathed the poetry and romance of the beautiful island into which Fate had thrown him.

The boy was sitting one afternoon in a somewhat dark corner of a dingy cafe, making his cup last as long as possible before calling for another, when there entered and sat down at the long table about half a dozen men. One who appeared to be chief called for coffee and brandy.

The men whom the skipper, for such he turned out to be, was endeavouring to engage as seamen, were a mixed lot, and as villainous-looking as any Kep had yet seen in this particular cafe. Badly dressed, hulking fellows, with a cast of the butcher in every one of them. The boy felt sure these men would do anything or commit any crime for money. But the skipper experienced great difficulty in bargaining with them. One was an immense hulk of a negro, who spoke English after a fashion. Of the other five one only was a Britisher, and easily dealt with. It was different with the big Turk, the Italian, and the two Spaniards.

"I fear it is no go," grunted the skipper, himself an American. "Garcon!"

"Oui, m'sieu."

"Have you anyone in your place that can translate me the garble these chaps are talking? Can pay for an interpreter?"

Kep had been hustled into a corner by this tall skipper and was only waiting for a chance to escape.

As the garcon was unable to solve the difficulty and get the skipper out of the clove-hitch, the boy tapped him modestly on the shoulder.

He turned at once and gave Kep a little more room.

"Strike me lucky!" he said, "if I knowed there war any crittur there."

Kep smiled conciliatively.

"I know all that these men are saying," he said.

"Well, fire away, younk, and I pay you smartly."

"I don't want pay. I'm looking for a ship like the rest of them, and if you can help me, I'll be glad to do anything I can for you."

"You're true blue? Nothing of this sort?"

As he spoke he adroitly picked his red silk handkerchief from his own pocket and nimbly palmed it.

Kep laughed rightly merrily.

"Oh, no, I'm not a thief," he said.

"Waal, then, just look jerky, and tell these beggars all I ask you to."

So jerky did Kep look and act that in two minutes' time the men were engaged.

"And that," said the skipper, "makes up my complement, and when they've signed articles, we'll sail."

"Bothered!" he added, "if I don't think you'd do, boy, to help our steward and cook. You look a play-acting kind of a chap, can ye do anything likely to amoose us."

"I can pipe if the men want to dance on a Saturday night, or when you're heaving the capstan."

"Pipe? Waal, I'd like to hear yer."

Out came the little piccolo, and in half a minute Kep commanded the whole situation. Drunken sailors crawled out of their corners to dance, sailors' sweethearts all kinds and colours joined in, and even the doorway was blocked by dusky faces listening.

It was a mad five minutes.

"Hurrah!" cried the skipper, beating the table with his brown fist. "Strike me lucky if ever I heard its equal! Why, siree, the pied piper of Hamelin wouldn't be in it with you. Give us yer flipper, younk. Will you sign on?"

"Yes, you are going to queer places evidently. I'll sign on. I'll see life."

Something like a cloud shadow darkened the skipper's face for just an instant.

"You'll maybe see death, too, lad. But there, you look a good plucked one. Come, we'll march these beggars on board, else they'll get drunk and bilk us."

They had a long way to row, but at last found themselves alongside a tall dark taper-masted barque. Though the paint was washed off her sides a bit, she looked good and sea-worthy, and Kep liked the golden hue of her copper bottom as she heeled over now and then to the swell.

The skipper invited Kep down to the cabin, which was large and roomy with doors off it, leading into staterooms at each side and the spirit-room abaft. It was comfortably, though not luxuriously furnished, and the great black tom-cat asleep in the captain's easychair gave an air of extra cosiness to the place.

"Have a drink? No? Better not. Had Nat Stainer, and that's me, never touched, tasted nor handled, he'd have been a Commodore in the United States Navy by this time."

Kep was sent on shore, promising to be off early in the morning.

He paid his bill, and bade his hostess a kindly good-bye, and at two bells next forenoon watch, his boat was rasping against the sides of the _Macbeth_.

A Jacob's ladder was thrown him carelessly, and up he scrambled and stood once more on deck.

General confusion reigned throughout, but probably not more than we usually find on ships of this kind about to leave for a long voyage. But this confusion was worse confused, owing to many of the crew being unacquainted with the language in which orders were given, for the second mate who had charge of this watch was a Finn.

To him Kep reported himself, saluting as he did so. All he received in return was a kind of grunt.

"We don't care much for man-o'-war prattle here," he said. "Go and find something, do. Translate my orders to these grub-eaters."

After doing so for a whole hour, Kep, who was willing and cheerful, bolted down the after companion to the pantry, where he found the steward, a little black-haired young man, with a pleasant face. He was an Austrian, or Swiss, at any rate he talked good French, and for this Kep was thankful.

He had not much to say at first, and the boy was unwilling to force the conversation. Presently, however, he wheeled round on Kep, rubbing hard at a spoon as he did so.

"I think you weel like dis sheep?" he said.

"I don't know yet," returned Kep. "I hope so. Do you?" He spoke in French now. The steward shook his head.

"Glad," he said, "you talk French; we will be companions, comrades. But I am so poor, I must sail in anything. See here."

He took two strides farther forward as he spoke and picked up an electric lantern.

"Follow me. The Capitan has not yet come off, and we sail this evening." He led the way into the saloon, and through it to the spirit-room door, which he opened with a bright and shining key. He now let the lantern's glare fall on the deck inside. It was splatched and spotted with black, so were the bulkheads.

"Claret?" said Kep.

"Blood," said the little steward. "They fought in there. Now come this way." He threw open the door of the Captain's stateroom and kicked away a grass mat. Ominous stains again. "Just there," he continued, "the first mate died. Shot down he was by the master."

"Murder?" And Kep shuddered a little.

"Who can say, the mate had a knife, the Capitan was quicker, he had a revolver."

Kep was undoubtedly brave, yet for some seconds he seemed to be turned into stone.

"Was there an inquest, an enquiry?"

"No, we were far at sea. The mate was buried two hours afterwards _sans ceremonie_. The blood kept dropping through the blanket we had sewn him in, and the stains will never leave the stairs."

"But surely such things call aloud for----"

"Hush! hush!" cried Dolphin (his name was Adolphus), "we speak not so here. And list, that is the Capitan's voice, he is just coming over the side."

Dolphin hurried to the pantry and was singing cheerfully at his work when the Captain came down below.

He nearly run Kep down, being sun-blind for a time. "Hullo, little piper, I can feel it is you. Can't see much, though. Dolphin, knock the head off a bottle of fizz. We'll be out o' here by five."

"I say," he continued after swallowing a smoking tumblerful of the champagne. "I say, Dolphin, mum's the stuff I'm drinking, ain't it?"

"It is, sir."

"Waal, mum's the word you've got to remember when talking to any new hand, else----"

The rest of the sentence was hissed into the steward's ear, and the little man turned a shade paler.

There was some sort of mystery and horror about this ship that crept coldly round our Kep's heart. He had half a mind to ask to be put on shore, but that would have been cowardly. He did not even like the barque's name--_Macbeth_. There was something ominous about it, and the word rhymes with death.

"You are to be told off to do all sorts of odd jobs," said Dolphin, soon after this, "but I think you'll be principally the Capitan's servant and interpreter."

"I'll be glad to be busy," said Kep.

The anchor was got up, and sail set, and with much noise, and terrible shouting. Then she slid away towards the open sea, but the first watch had well begun before the cargo, heavy barrels and boxes, was stowed away even temporarily. Should it come on to blow a bit during the night this cargo would shift, and there would be more noise than ever.

Adolphus and Kep had a wretched little state-room next to the pantry. Hardly six feet square was it, with a ventilator in the door and one scuttle which could only be carried open in calm weather.

There was the evil odour of cockroaches here too, and as soon as the light was put out they rustled and ran all over the beds in a way which was not at all pleasant for our hero.

But Kep was tired and was soon in the land of dreams.

He was up at four bells, and went on deck bare-footed--the men were washing decks--to plash about and see the red sun rise over hills of rolling water.

*CHAPTER V*

*THE SHIP "MACBETH."--HORRIBLE MUTINY*

Wind some points abaft the beam, the _Macbeth_ on the starboard tack, and heeling prettily over to it, doing about ten knots.

On such a morning as this, in these warm and sparkling seas, on which showers of diamonds seemed to be falling, with the light blue overhead and the darker below, who could help being joyful.

In their curious and mixed "garble" the men laughed and joked, and even sang as they sluiced the water about and plied their scrubbers.

Now and then half a watch, obedient to the mate's command, would take a pull at the traces, "Lee-hoe-ing" as they did so, as musically as the song of the sea-birds, until the shout "Belay!" fell on their ears.

By sunset of that first day every man was acquainted with his quarters, so to speak, and the crew had settled down. The skipper, first and second mates, and bo's'n lived in the saloon, the older and best men, chips, the cooper, and so forth were in the half-deck, and forward, below or above deck, as suited them, the rest of the crew bunked.

Despite the terrible tale which Dolphin had told him, the tragedy of last voyage, Kep thought he was bound to be happy. At the same time he had already made up his mind that he would try to find another vessel when they reached Sidney. So he waited at table, he helped cook and steward, and he piped or played to the men in the evening, as well as being interpreter to the crew. He found that none of the officers or crew, except Dolphin, had been in her last voyage; I suppose the skipper made sure of that.

The men had all nicknames which seemed to grow upon them, or be suggested by their general appearance. There was one low-built squat fellow his comrades called "Kruger." A black man of gigantic strength "Slogger." From the first Kep was half afraid of this fellow. His great bare black feet and ankles, his immense naked neck and tattoed chest, his brutal figure-head and daring looks, all were repulsive. And he was so black that when in the sunshine he scratched one forearm, he left white streaks on it. But he was a good seaman. There was only one worse-looking man in the ship, though he was white. This was "Bloody Tom." Then there was "Long-shanks," expressive enough; "Spider-legs," the "Turk," and so on and so forth.

These I have named were the men that really dominated the rest of the crew, and whom, some time after this, Kep had good reason to remember.

They all of them, notwithstanding their looks, were good to Kep. This almost goes without saying, for away forward, after sundown, he could spin yarns that kept them laughing by the hour.

The Turk turned out a decent kind of hulk, and Kep would tell even him droll stories in his own tongue.

One day this man, while alone with Kep in the ship's waist, asked the boy to feel the keenness of a huge knife he carried.

"If anything ever happens," he told the boy, "I'll be your friend."

This Turk was called the "Prophet." Why, Kep could not tell.

The _Macbeth_ was partly in ballast, but she landed a good deal of stuff at Rio and took in much more heavy cargo. No man on board, except the captain, knew what this cargo was. It consisted chiefly of huge, square, very heavy boxes.

Some thought it must be specie, but the Turk declared it was sand.

But why sand? We shall soon see. The ship was now stretching away down the South Atlantic, and in good time for such a slow and heavy sailer she doubled Cape Horn, and now bore north and west. Dolphin said he had no faith in the skipper, and that he merely told this story of their being bound for the Cape as a blind. He was going to do something bad. Dolphin was sure of this.

Dolphin told Kep one night after they had retired, told him in French and in whispers, that when the skipper was on deck the day before, and it was "all hands shorten sail," he had found papers in the old man's stateroom which proved that the _Macbeth_ was a coffin ship, and that he and the first mate had agreed for a large sum of money to scuttle and sink her first chance. There was to be no bloodshed if possible. The men were to take to the boats when not far off a certain island, and would be picked up by another vessel sent on purpose by the same company.

The _Macbeth_, of course, with her supposed cargo of considerable value, was heavily insured.

It might not be supposed that in the year of our Lord 1906, the date of this tale, such things could be possible; but list, my lads. Though this story is predated, the facts actually occurred only a few years ago. And what happened in 1901 may well occur in 1906. As you are not reading fiction altogether, I like to paint the sea and sea-life in as bright colours as I can, but ah! while there is a romance about it, which is beautiful and glorious, the sea also hath its perils and its grim tragedies; and we are bound sometimes to look at the dark side.

Kep did not sleep a deal that night. He lay long awake thinking, and when slumber did at last seal his eyelids, it brought with it dreams that had more terror in them than even his waking thoughts.

The ship anyhow had not only proved herself a leaky and unseaworthy tub, the rattle of the pumping engine being heard in every watch, but the crew speedily became a discontented one. The skipper and first mate were only pleasant towards evening, while in their "cups." By day they behaved, often enough, like very fiends to the men. Rope's-ending was a daily matter of occurrence; men, lashed to the lower rigging, especially the young ones, were often heard shrieking in their agony.

One poor fellow was booted off the poop by the captain himself, and though his leg was smashed, he was clapped in irons for what was called mutinous conduct.

Adolphus now set himself to watch the captain and mate, who of a night used to be very much together in the chief state-room.

The steward about ten o'clock would beg leave to retire.

"Put the brandy and glasses in my room, then, and you may go, Dolphin," would be the usual reply.

But as soon as the saloon was in darkness and he could hear the sounds of carousal in the state-room, Dolphin crept on hands and knees towards the sanctum. The two conspirators one night had the chart between them.

"It is down here, just off these islands, we are to do the job," the former was saying.

He placed a finger on the chart as he spoke; and, raising himself gently--for death would have speedily followed discovery--the steward drew aside the curtain till he could see the very spot the finger indicated.

The mate started. "I declare I saw the curtain move, sir."

"The motion of the ship, you donkey."

"But I declare I saw a white face peep in."

"Here--here--drink this quickly, or you'll have those 'D.T.'s' again."

Adolphus had slipped speedily back, and he declared to Kep that should he live till doomsday he would not forget the expression on that evil mate's face.

The ship was steered south and away now, and every day the weather got colder and colder. Adolphus had been long at sea, and probably knew as much about plain-sailing as the mate himself, and every time he had a chance he studied the chart, the compass, and the mate's reckoning slate.

"It cannot be long now," he told Kep one evening; "the wind is going down. We'll be becalmed to-morrow, mark my words, not far from the spot where the deed is to be done--the ship scuttled."

He was right, and next morning there was almost a complete calm. A round heaving swell, however, was coming in from the south-east, and the vessel rolled and pitched in a very uncomfortable fashion. The third mate came down below to report that she was making more water than ever.

"Strained herself, I suppose," growled the skipper. "She's only a bally old clothes'-basket at best. Waal, put more hands to the spare pumps and keep the engine going."

The third mate went on deck, and almost immediately after there was a hail from the mast-head.

"Land on the port bow!"

A long, low, cloud-like streak, with here and there a conical hill, that is all the men saw, and probably only the captain and mate knew what that land really was.

There was a gloom over the ship this forenoon that not even the bright sunshine could dispel. Now and then the land was obscured as if by rising clouds or fog.

Hardly a sound to be heard save that of the pumps at work. Never a word of command. The idle men in groups here and there about the fo'c'sle or ship's waist, but all silent and moody, though they cast wondering glances aft occasionally to where on the poop the skipper was walking up and down with the mate.

The quiet to-day seemed ominous. Nature herself appeared to be waiting and waiting for something to happen.

The skipper paused in his walk to leisurely fill his pipe, casting now and then furtive glances at the mate.

"God! sir," cried the latter at last, "don't look at me like that. See, sir, we--that is you and I--are both shareholders in this ship. If our plan succeeds we will win the stakes, but if I thought you meant to play me false, by heavens! I'd scupper you on the spot. You say it is all square between us? Then--don't eye me again like that."

"It is all right, mate, and you know it. There! don't be a fool. Go below and have some rum to straighten you out a bit."

"I've had too much. I'll be seeing things soon."

"Hillo! Dolphin. What do you want?"

"I came to know if I should draw enough grog to splice the main-brace."

"Do as you please. Go to the devil if you like."

The steward said no more. Leaving the two together, he hurried below, and entered the skipper's state-room. The spirit-room door was already open, and Kep was waiting for the men's grog. Dolphin opened a drawer, the keys of which had been left in it, and quickly and quietly possessed himself of a pair of revolvers and several ugly-looking knives. These he put in the pantry, and, returning, secured a hammer and chisel which were under the little chart-table.

That was all. The skipper came below and looked at him somewhat suspiciously.

"Been making your bed, sir. Shall you want some 'fizz'?"

"Yes. Ah! you know my little ways and weaknesses."

"I do," said Dolphin to himself.

The grog was served out, and, as usual, Kep piped to the crew while they ate their dinners. And so the afternoon wore on till within an hour of sunset.

Dolphin was forward again with a huge can containing double allowance of rum.

"Saturday night, gentlemen, and the captain says it is his birthday, and you are to drink his health."

Kep served out the double dose. Dolphin was talking down in the galley, talking seriously, but somewhat excitedly, with Kruger, Slogger, and the Turk.

"There must be no blood. We'll do things better than that. I'll give the signal."

Good luck or the devil seemed to be playing into Dolphin's hands, for just as he entered the saloon again he noticed the door of the skipper's state-room being silently shut. Both he and the mate were in there. Like a tiger on its prey, he sprang silently aft, and next moment the door was locked--the conspirators were prisoners.

They had heard the click of the lock, however, and at once began shaking the door.

"What in thunder does this mean?" roared the mate. "Dolphin, you devil, I'll have your life's blood."

"Listen!" replied Dolphin calmly; "if you remain quiet you will be safe; if not, I cannot be accountable for your lives."

The men by this time were fully alive to the horror of the situation.

The ship was slowly sinking. By either mate or master or by both she had been scuttled, and now these men were prisoners. They must get out the boats and leave her and those devils to their doom. Why work the pumps a moment longer?

There were many discontented voices, but evil took the lead, and Slogger, the terrible-looking negro, took command--the black would rule the white as an evil spirit ruled all.

"Aft, men; aft!" he shouted. "Let us up with the boats, get provisions and arms, and down with the men who would prevent us."

The brute bared his arm and flourished a knife as he spoke.

The Turk had run towards the saloon just as the mischief began to brew.

"You won't be safe, friend boy," he cried to poor Kep. Then he hurried the lad into his little cabin and locked the door.

He met the leader and mutineers as they were making aft.

"No blood," he cried. "Shed no blood."

The black man dashed him to the deck. Not stunned though, it would take a deal to quiet so powerful a Turk, he was on his feet in a moment; knives glittered, and the two were in deadly embrace. Both fell, but only one rose, and a rivulet of blood was straggling towards a scupper hole. The black man was triumphant.

It was the spirit-room that was first stormed, and soon the rum began to do its deadly work. Kep trembled in his den to hear the singing, shouting, and stamping. But there were wiser men on deck, and very quickly and even orderly the boats were hoisted to the davits and loaded. Some of the cases were opened, and found to contain sand, not specie.

I do not wish to redden my pages by describing the fearful scenes that followed, when the mutineers in the saloon quarrelled and fought.

Sounds of thuds and blows and shrieks and groans! It must indeed have been a terrible pandemonium.

After this, silence for a time. A consultation was evidently being held on deck. It was followed by a rush of feet down into the saloon again, and Kep could hear that the captain's stateroom was being opened--could hear the captain's voice, too, appealing for mercy.

Mercy from mutineers! He was being dragged on deck. A wild scream and a splash alongside--that was the mercy.

But for the mate a more ghastly doom was reserved. Dead men tell no tales, but a derelict ship may. The _Macbeth_ might not sink soon enough. She might float till sunrise and be found by the islanders, the very islanders on whose shores the mutineers were to land with a lie on their lips.

The mate, then, was gagged and bound and laid on the state-room deck. Not far from him was placed a barrel of gunpowder, and in this a lighted candle was stuck. When it tilted or fell, or when it burned down say in two hours' time, the gunpowder would explode and the mate, who had kicked the poor young sailor off the poop, would go to his doom, and the ship be blown to pieces.

A whole hour went past, such a silent, such a nightmare hour, and Kep knew he was alone in a sinking ship with the dead.

Poor boy! he could do nothing there but weep and pray.

But he started up presently; there was a scuffling, rasping noise overhead, and coming nearer and nearer to the companion. Now he could hear a groan, then some one staggered or half fell down the companion.

The key was turned in Kep's cabin-door, and next moment he was free.

"Thank Allah! I could not come before." It was the voice of the poor faithful Turk.

He never spoke more. He lay there dead and still in the passage.

*CHAPTER VI*

*THE HURRICANE--CRUSOES IN GREAT SNAKE ISLAND.*

Kep stepped lightly over the body of his friend, and found his way into the saloon. He sat down there, burying his face in his hands, and thanking God for something he hardly knew what.

Then the glimmer of the candle alight in the skipper's state-room attracted his attention. It was shining through the partially open doorway, and on tiptoe fearfully he approached it.

He saw at a glance what had happened and what had been intended.

Steadily now, slowly, almost mechanically he lifted out the guttering candle.

A little flat red crust had formed on the top of the wick, and this fell off just as he entered the saloon again.

Then the poor lad fainted.

Daylight was streaming in through the skylight when Kep re-opened his eyes, and found Dolphin himself bending over him.

"Oh, it is all so terrible!" were the first words Kep uttered when Dolphin helped him on deck, and the fresh air revived him.

"There is hope though," said the steward.

"Hope?"

"Yes, hope, friend, hope. They had locked me in forward, but I forced my way out and came aft. I thought you dead, so passed you by and entered the store-room. The mutineers had rifled this, and in doing so severed a rope and saved the ship."

"I do not understand?"

"No; but I will tell you. It was, of course, by mere accident that the rope was severed, and the men could not have known what they had done; but that rope communicates with a sea-valve in the bilge--a hellish contrivance. I got down to the hold with the electric light, and when I pulled that rope the water was at once agitated as if by a huge spring beneath; when I let slack all was quiet again.

"And now, Kep, there are no living responsible beings on this ship but ourselves. For the mate----"

"Ah! yes; he is dead, is he not?"

"No; he was simply bound and gagged, but now, oh, horror, he is a gibbering maniac. He had been watching that candle getting shorter and shorter, knowing well what must follow. Is it any wonder he went mad?"

For long weeks Kep and the steward drifted to and fro with wind or tide in the derelict ship. They had managed to get up the dead from the charnel-house saloon, and, one by one, they were thrown overboard.

But over the Turk, who seemed peacefully sleeping, Kep shed many tears, and he was the only one they sewed up in a hammock and ballasted so that it might sink speedily down to the bottom, beyond the reach of the blue sharks with which this region abounds.

Then the mate. Well, they had cast off the ropes, for though he jabbered, he was quiet. He had apparently lost all memory, and it was sad to see him smile as he wandered about the deck touching things and trying to speak.

But on the third day he died, and was at once thrown overboard.

Strange it is, reader, that though the saying "Murder will out" does not often come true on shore, at sea it is nearly always so, and murders and mutinies on the high seas have been discovered in the most miraculous ways.

Well Dolphin, or Adolphus, as we had best now call him, in order to get the odour of that ghastly ship out of our thoughts, had taken the bearings of the land near to which the tragedy had occurred, as well as--from the mate's own slate--its latitude and longitude.

After a time, the weather being clear and fine, Adolphus and Kep managed to set a jib and a bit of square canvas also, and glad enough they were to find that she obeyed her helm.

So they took trick and trick at the wheel, and all day long were for ever on the watch for a sail.

But they had somehow drifted far out of ocean highways, and it was weeks before they could possibly get near one again, for they were doing little more than three knots an hour.

In their spare time they did all they could to clean ship, but the terrible stench still hung around the after cabin or saloon, and so they concluded to bunk aft. This was more cheerful, and Kep found heart enough to play on his marvellous piccolo again.

He called himself Captain Vanderdecken, and so baptized the ship the _Flying Dutchman_.

"Ah," he would say, "I fear, Adolph, we will never round the Cape."

* * * * *

One day the sky grew thick and dark to windward and the barometer went down and down, the mercury column sinking cup-shaped, and rapidly. Something was coming.

And something did come too, with a vengeance. Cold, bitterly cold; so cold that Adolphus had to blow on his hands at the wheel; dark, too, though it was but mid-day, and hail, which was accompanied by a storm of thunder and lightning, lay on the deck inches deep.

But the strength of the two of them could not command that wheel when the tempest began to blow and roar in earnest. Their bits of sails were soon torn into rattling rags, and they themselves, drenched and worn out, sought refuge below.

Would she founder?

They expected her to almost at any moment, but the _Macbeth_ was heavily ballasted and broad in beam; she tumbled and rolled like a log or a dead porpoise, but staggered on or was driven on. They had managed to batten down fore and aft, and perhaps that saved her, for overcome by fatigue both slept at last, and when Kep, who was first awake, managed to get up on deck, he saw that his _Flying Dutchman_ was sadly battered; bulwarks like sheep hurdles and yards fallen; but he saw something else that astonished him still more, for around the wreck were high rocks and cliffs, with bushes on top, and upon and among these rocks the ship was hard and fast, but on a very even keel.

It did not take him long to awaken Adolphus.

"Adolph," he shouted, as he let himself down the ladder. "Come on deck. Come at once. Here is a sight! Here is a plight!"

Adolph was quickly by his side.

"Well," he said, after a glance about him, "this is really better than foundering, Kep."

"Yes," admitted Kep, "we are still above the crust; but what are we going to do? What----"

"What--indeed. There are so many 'what's' about it, that I don't know which what to ask first. You've never seen a tidal wave, Kep?"

"Aren't all waves tidal?"

"Well, I don't know. The tides are caused by the suction of the sun and moon, a German philosopher told me once. Especially the moon; and I think it was suction he said. Never mind. Sometimes a black spot grows suddenly up in the sun--that is the sun-mouth perhaps. Then he takes a bigger suck than usual, and this raises up tornadoes and whirlwinds and big, big tidal waves down below in the world here."

"I understand."

"Well, then, here is just what has happened. A huge, great tidal wave has been raised during the hurricane, and has rushed in up here into a kind of dry dock. It has gone now, and such another wave may not come again for a hundred years."

"You are much wiser than I thought, Adolph."

"No doubt, Kep; but no ordinary tide can touch us or poop us here, so we are not so badly off. We have provisions enough to last us for a year and more."

"But we are a kind of Crusoes, aren't we, comrade?"

"Kind of ----. Yes, true."

"And there will be a bit of fun in being Crusoes, won't there?"

"No doubts of that."

"And mayn't there be some savages on this island, if it be an island? Mayn't there?"

"There may be."

"And that would mean some danger, wouldn't it, Adolph?"

"Yes--yes--yes. But really, from the way you talk, Kep, one would think you really wanted savages and danger too."

"Oh, if we are to be Crusoes, I should like everything ship-shape, and even the mark of the naked foot in the sand."

"I suppose, Kep, you could manage to get up the cliffs?"

"Dear me, yes, Adolphus," answered Kep somewhat proudly; "my sister Madge and I were awfully good cragsmen. Oh, shouldn't I like if Madge and Bounder were here."

"Well, Madge isn't here, and you can't write home if you wished to. So content you."

"But goodness knows, Adolph, there are scores and scores of empty bottles on board. Suppose we write scores and scores of letters and send them adrift in the scores and scores of bottles?"

"What would be the use?"

"Oh, some would be picked up, and then a ship would be sent to take us off."

"Off? Do you know where we are, latitude and longitude and all that? If not, how could you tell them where to come to?"

Kep scratched his wise head. "I daresay that is the drawback," he said.

"We'll just have to wait till the ship comes, Kep, as patiently as a penguin on a rock."

"But the ship is sure to come, ain't it?"

"I reckon it will, some day."

"And we'll take turns at lighting fires on the rocks, and make a broom and hoist it. I think, Adolph, we can look forward to some real good fun."

"I wouldn't be too sure. But, I say, let us go below now, and I'll cook a nice comfortable bit of breakfast, and then we'll go on shore and spy out the land."

"That's it--spy out the land. We'll take our guns and creep from bush to bush like real wild Cuscorora Indians, and if we meet a savage we will say, 'O golly, foh true!' and he'll say 'Ugh!'"

"Well, here are some nice red herrings and hard biscuits, and preserved eggs and coffee."

"Any butter, waiter?" Kep was lively now.

"Yes, sir; butter, sir. Can't quite recommend it though. Has been to sea, sir, three times before."

These two shipwrecked mariners threw over a Jacob's ladder and descended one at a time. Adolph went first, but found he had to jump fully eight feet to the rock below.

"Hold on, Kep," he cried. "Don't you jump, else you will never get up again. Haul up the Jacob and lash a rope to it; we can shin up that."

The lad slung their rifles, and they found it easy enough to get up the rocks, though they were inhabited by malicious-looking snakes, who had come out to sun themselves.

Now, as I like to adhere most strictly to the truth, it is my duty to inform the reader that from a Crusoe point of view this island was a trifle disappointing.

First and foremost, it was only about two miles wide by three long, one bare and inhospitable-looking hill in the centre, which, from its conical shape and table-top, had doubtless been at one time, volcanic.

With the exception of this hill, all the rest of the land was covered with dense thick scrub and alive with snakes.

But there was a little lake of remarkably cool water, that was no doubt fed by springs from the higher and more hilly land they could see lying like clouds upon the horizon.

There was very little sand at the foot of the cliffs, so the mark of the savage's foot was not likely to be traced.

No inhabitants; nothing much to speak of in the fauna line, bar a species of rock rabbit and the snakes. Birds on the rocks though, and in some parts of the woods flowers of rare beauty.

"I'm disheartened, Adolph," said Kep.

"Yes; you look so."

Then the boy brightened up.

"I say, Adolph, my ancient mariner. Yonder is land, isn't there?"

"That is land. Bigger islands, I reckon, than ours."

"Well, it might be that Crusoes might come from there. And if there were too many we could retire to our ship and give them fits from over the bulwarks. I'm just spoiling for some fun, Adolph. Here, I know what I'll do. You saw that big grey snake that darted into a hole in yonder hillock? Well, just see if I can't entice him out again."

Out came the boy's piccolo. Down he sat, and began to play some melodies from _Faust_.

No effect.

"You'd better," said Adolph, "switch on Wagner."

Kep did, and the effect seemed magical. Not one, but three of these grey horrors appeared, and their horrid though graceful movements showed that for the time they were really fascinated.

"Come back on board," cried Adolph, "else I shall dream of these all night long."

I'm not sorry, however, that Kep did not find the Isle of Snakes altogether to his taste, because this is not a Crusoe story. Suffice it to say, after a few weeks they found the dead and awful monotony of the place almost unbearable. Moreover, there were but few books to read, no sport to speak of, and positively nothing to do.

But weeks and weeks passed by, and still came no sail in sight. They kept fires burning as much as they could, but neither the pillar of fire by night nor the pillar of smoke by day attracted anything.

Several times they thought they saw ships in the far distance, but looking at them through a telescope these turned out to be either floating sea-birds or the dorsal fins of some solitary basking shark, with birds perching on his back.

"Why," said Kep one day, "it is three whole months since we were cast away on this dreary shore, and never one single vessel has come near us. I tell you what it is, Dolphin, I am very weary of it all. Being a Crusoe is not half such good fun as I thought it would be."

"And I, too," said Adolph, "am weary."

"Tired of shooting those big tasteless rabbit-things; tired even of catching fish, though they are nice to eat, and so are rock oysters."

"But I say, Kep, I have a plan."

"Oh, have you? How delightful!"

"Well, you know we have had many a wild storm since we settled here, and you remember how the ship shook with the wind only last week."

"I won't forget that."

"No; and there is a bit of a list on her. She has heeled over a little to starboard."

"Yes."

"And the next storm that comes from the same direction will blow her over."

"Yes."

"Yes; and there where will we be, Kep?"

"Why, we'll be--we'll be blown over."

"You don't know the real danger, Kep. She won't simply heel over on her beam ends; she will go clean and clear over this cliff where the tidal wave drydocked her so neatly, and ten to one we will never get out again. We should be buried alive."

"Oh, I should hate being buried alive. Couldn't we find a cave somewhere among the cliffs here, and shift our camp, in case of an accident."

"But," said Adolph, "I have found one already. Yesterday, when you were fishing from a boulder; only, you know----"

"What, only?"

"There will be the snakes to contend with."

"Yes; that is it, and they're thicker than the rock-rabbits. Do you think," he added, "I could lure them away somewhere with my little flute, and murder them?"

"Well, you might try; only don't let them get too familiar with you, else they'll follow you everywhere, and get into your bed at night."

"We can do our best, anyhow, Adolph. A fire in the cave to begin with would start them. Whatever men dare they can do. And there is nothing charms these snakes like Wagner."

"Umph! Wagner never charmed me, Kep."

"It's all a matter of idiosyncracy, comrade. It wouldn't do if we all went in for Bach or Beethoven nor even for 'Annie Laurie.' But now let us go on shore and see that cave of yours. A change is what we both need."

*CHAPTER VII*

*SUNKEN GOLD--JACK'S CAREER IN SIDNEY*

"The cave seems first class," cried Kep, looking round him delightedly. "We shall be troglodytes now, Adolphus."

"What are they? some kind of frog aren't they?"

"No, people who live in caves, although frogs might be troglodytes, and sometimes are."

They now set to work at once. Though, to begin with, Kep tried Wagner just outside the cave. No snakes came out to dance, but behind them they heard a hissing noise, and found about half a score of the terrible reptiles had come from other rocks to be entertained. So that plan wouldn't work.

The cave was about half-way up the cliff, so, withered wood being very plentiful, a lot was gathered, and a big fire lighted in the centre of the floor of the place, Kep and Adolph taking good care to get outside when it began to crackle and burn.

But they stood by with fowling pieces, and as the reptiles came hurrying out, they took pot-shots, and killed quite a heap of them.

The ants of the shore picked the bones of these bare in two hours' time.

When the fire was out, and the cave swept, they set about getting things on shore, principally hammocks, provisions, a small cooking stove, boxes of candles, and in fact everything usually needed to make life enjoyable in tents.

They slept on board that night, and it took all next day to finish furnishing.

They slung hammocks and passed next night in the cave. But I cannot say that, after the light was put out, Kep felt particularly comfortable. He had an eerie creepie-creepie feeling, and more than once ere morning felt sure that serpents were crawling over him. Towards morning he put down his hand and touched something cold and round, He started with a shriek, and next moment heard the thud of something falling on the floor.

He had brought an electric telescope-shaped flashlight with him, and placed it in the hammock, and early in the morning--he hadn't slept again--he looked down, and saw it lying on the soft floor. So that was Kep's poisonous serpent.

Only the place seemed so hideously associated with these scaly horrors, that both Adolph and he made up their minds to use it only by day, and continue for a time to bunk aboard at night, taking all risks.

But they slept soundly. The ship had never moved.

It was Kep's turn next day to be struck with a new idea. He believed it possible, he said, to get out the one remaining boat, and pass her, by means of the davits over the side. Luckily, the latter had been left by the hurricane in good working order.

Kep was very strong and hard for his age, and Adolphus was a man. Yet it took many hours to overcome the difficulties they had to encounter. Things had been terribly jammed and knocked about, but at last the boat hung straight, and clear right over the rocks and then they began cautiously to lower away.

It was found, after all, that the ropes or guys running through the blocks were not long enough. The boat hung twixt heaven and earth, like Mahomed's coffin.

There was nothing for it but to haul up again, and belay.

But further operations were stayed by fatigue and hunger, so they went on shore to dine in the cave.

Adolphus was cook, and there was some splendid fish to-day, to broil or roast over a clear fire, and they had found some plantains in a grove on the other side of the island. Of course there was very little romance about Adolph just at present, there never is when one is cooking in either cave or camp. But the day was so dreamily beautiful that the glamour of old ocean held Kep spell-bound. There was brightness and music everywhere; the brightness of sun on wave, the azure blue of the cloudless sky, the wild music of seabirds, and the music of the sea itself, breaking listlessly, drowsily on the rocks.

The boy seated himself high on a boulder, that was shaped for all the world like an arm-chair, and the white-winged gulls swept nearer and nearer as he played "Low and sweet, Sweet and low."

A song of Bret Harte's came into his mind as he watched the birds. Only a simple thing. As simple and sweet as the soul of the bard himself.

Sauntering hither on listless wings,
Careless vagabond of the sea,
Little thou heed'st the surf that sings,
The bar that thunders, the shale that rings.

Little thou hast, old friend, that's new,
Storms and wrecks are old things to thee,
Sick am I of those changes too;
Little to care for, little to rue,
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

Lazily rocking on ocean's breast,
Something in common old friend have we;
Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest,
I to the waters look for rest,
I on the shore, thou on the sea.