Annie o' the Banks o' Dee Part 27

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

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

"As for Annie--she must have given me up for dead long ere now," he said to himself. "Why, it is two years and nine months since I left home.

Yes, something tells me that Annie is married, and married to--to--my old rival the Laird. Do I love Ilda? I dare not ask myself the question. Bar Annie herself, with sweet, baby, innocent face, I have never known a girl that so endeared herself to me as Ilda has done.

And--well, yes, why deny it?--I long to see her."

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

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

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

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

The weather now grew charming. Even the hills grew green again, for the ashes and _debris_ from the fire-hill, as the natives called it, had fertilised the ground. And now, accompanied by Ilda and Matty, who would not be left behind, an expedition started for the valley of gold.

The road would be rough, and so a hammock had been sent for from the camp, and two st.u.r.dy natives attached it to a long bamboo pole. Matty, laughing with delight, was thus borne along, and she averred that it was just like flying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

"SHE THREW HERSELF ON THE SOFA IN AN AGONY OF GRIEF."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A sailor's mistake," laughed d.i.c.kson; "but this is Mr Hall, who was a pa.s.senger; and this is Dr Reginald Grahame. Our vessel's name was the _Wolverine_."

"And she sailed from Glasgow nearly three years ago?"

Captain Cleaver bent eagerly over towards d.i.c.kson as he put the question.

"That is so, sir."

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

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

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

"I can take you, Captain d.i.c.kson, your six men, Mr Hall and the ladies, but I cannot sail with this young fellow." He pointed to Reginald. "It may be mere superst.i.tion on my part," he continued, "but I am an old sailor, you know, and old sailors have whims."

"I cannot see why I should be debarred from a pa.s.sage home," said Reginald.

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

"I do _not_ know, and I command you to speak out."

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

d.i.c.kson and Hall almost started from their seats, but Reginald was quiet, though deathly white.

"And--and," he said, in a husky voice, "whom am I accused of murdering?"

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

"I deny it _in toto_!" cried Reginald.

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

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

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

d.i.c.kson held out his hand, and Reginald grasped it, almost in despair.

"Things look black against you," he said, "but I do _not_ believe you guilty."

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

Reginald clasped his hand to his heart.

"My heart will break!" he said bitterly.