Annie o' the Banks o' Dee Part 28

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do not sit near me, Ilda. Oh, would that the grief would but kill me!

The captain of the ship which now lies in the bay has brought me terrible news. I am branded with murder! Accused of slaying my quondam friend and rival in the affections of her about whom I have often spoken to you--Annie Lane."

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

"But--oh, you are not--_could_ not--be guilty! Reginald--my own Reginald!" she cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They have gone."

That was all that d.i.c.kson said.

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

Remember those beautiful lines you have oftentimes heard me sing:

"'G.o.d is our comfort and our strength, In straits a present aid; Therefore although the earth remove, We will not be afraid.'

"And these:

"'He took me from a fearful pit, And from the miry clay; And on a rock he set my feet, Establishing my way.'"

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

d.i.c.kson tried to smile.

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

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

"I have no appet.i.te, d.i.c.kson."

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

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

"Nay, nay," Reginald remonstrated.

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

"Yes."

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

"I shall do all you tell me."

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

"'Give him strong drink, until he wink, That's sinking in despair; And liquor good to fire his blood, That's pressed wi' grief and care.

There let him bouse and deep carouse Wi' b.u.mpers flowing o'er; Till he forgets his loves or debts, An' minds his griefs no more.'"

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

"OH, MERCIFUL FATHER! THEY ARE HERE."

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

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

"That is just what we think, sir, and that is why we stayed in the island with you and Dr Grahame instead of going home in the _Erebus_.

Now, sir," continued the man, "why not employ native labour? We have plenty of tools, and those twenty stalwart blacks that fought so well for us would do anything to help us. Shall I speak to them, captain?"

"Very well, McGregor; you seem to have the knack of giving good advice.

It shall be as you say."

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

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

"Here alone have we any chance, men," said Captain d.i.c.kson cheerily.