Chatterbox, 1906 Part 32

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(_Continued from page 95._)

The children were all eager to hear the story, and a sad one it was.

They had become accustomed to see d.i.c.k half asleep in his armchair in the garden, or before the fire at the Bridge House. They knew him to be almost helpless, for it was only with a.s.sistance he could move, even on his crutches. They had thought very little about his condition, however, except for that feeling of pity which even a child experiences in the presence of suffering. Mrs. Peet's words had roused their interest in her son, and Lady c.o.ke saw an opportunity for deepening the impression she had made. It would be good in many ways for these young people to hear that sad story. It had its lessons, and these she trusted would sink into their young minds; they might make it more possible to feel patient and to show more consideration for Peet, whose irritable temper, she was forced to admit, was very trying to their high spirits.

d.i.c.k, the only child of Peet and his wife, had been a fine handsome lad, with an unusual amount of brains, and with, what is still better, a wonderful capacity for really hard work. He had won all the prizes that he could possibly compete for in the little school at Lynwood, as well as most of the honours in the cricket and football field, for he was quite as good at games as at books. Peet was at that time, and had been ever since his youth, a gardener on the Earl of Lynwood's estate--Lynwood Keep, in Scotland. He had risen through steady work to be head gardener and bailiff. On finding himself possessed of sufficient means to take a wife and settle down, he had married an old love of his, a Cornish girl from the village of Newlyn, and had carried her off to the home he had so proudly prepared for her. A very happy couple they had been, and the birth of d.i.c.k had added a still greater happiness to their already bright life. Peet's temper had not then become what the sore trials and disappointments of his later life had made it. He was contented and prosperous, and the clouds which afterwards darkened his existence had not so much as sent the tiniest little messenger before them to tell of their coming.

As d.i.c.k grew older, and showed of what true, strong metal he was made, his parents' pride in him became greater than they could quite conceal.

A certain amount of envy and ill-will was the natural result. d.i.c.k himself was not in the least conceited. None knew so well as he how hard it was to restrain a naturally hasty temper, to give up the games he loved for the work he did not, to labour as thoroughly at the subjects he disliked or took no interest in as at those he liked. But he had grit enough to determine he would not thus lose the battle of life in the beginning of it, and step by step the habit of overcoming difficulties prevailed.

He rose steadily and surely over the heads of his school-fellows, gaining prize after prize, until there was nothing more to win either in places or rewards.

Having by this time laid by enough to enable him to retire from work, Peet allowed himself to be persuaded by his brother-in-law to take a small cottage at Newlyn. This brother-in-law, captain of a merchant vessel, offered at the same time to give his clever nephew a berth on board his own ship, a barque trading between England and Australia. It would be a good opening for the lad, and offered him a fair prospect of advancement in life, should he choose to stick to the sea afterwards as a profession. If not, no harm would be done. On the contrary, d.i.c.k would have pa.s.sed through some experiences which could not fail to be useful to him, whatever line he might prefer to follow later on.

Much to Lord Lynwood's regret, therefore, Peet resolved to take the advice thus offered him, and, resigning his post at Lynwood, took his family to Newlyn. Delighted as d.i.c.k was at the bright future opening before him, he was as sad at parting with his old friends and companions as they were at losing the most brilliant scholar and athlete the school had ever known. His warm-hearted, unaffected manner had made him a general favourite, in spite of the fact that his ability had not failed to arouse envy and dislike in some.

d.i.c.k took to the sea like a duck to water. He set himself to learn his work and become 'handy' with a zeal that soon made him a smart sailor.

He managed, also, in spite of all he had to do, to carry on his own education by reading whenever he could. There were other apprentices besides himself on board, and he was treated with exactly the same discipline as they, no favouritism being shown or desired. He preferred to share like the others, and there was nothing in his behaviour, or in the treatment he received, which could have led any stranger to suppose he was the skipper's nephew. Nevertheless, his talents soon became evident. He was always the one to whom a difficult job could be safely trusted; and this came out more clearly when he went up for his second mate's certificate, which he gained with so much ease as to raise some jealousy among his fellow-apprentices. This was increased when it became known that d.i.c.k had been offered a berth as fourth officer in a well-known line of steamers.

His usual success followed him in his new career. Hard work, an even temper, and the well-kept resolution to educate himself by steady reading were good preparations for his next examination for a first mate's certificate, for which he went up at the earliest possible opportunity. But, alas! the cloud had already risen in the hitherto sunny skies of his life. He pa.s.sed the examination with his usual success. The certificate was duly signed, and, happy that he could carry it down to his parents, he looked out the train to Penzance. Finding that he had an hour or so to spare, he went to an inn to s.n.a.t.c.h a meal before he started off on his long journey.

He had partaken of many a meal in that same inn. It was close to the Board of Trade offices, and he had met many another merchant sailor in the same dingy rooms, and had discussed the prospects of the service with them gladly. As he entered it on that day, happy and cheerful, with his future looking brilliant and rosy before him, he little imagined how near was the end of all his hopes. Such a small thing had turned the tide! Only that fatal decision to go to the inn to which he had been so often before, and pa.s.s the time till his train started! Others were taking their lunch there, but the number was smaller than usual; perhaps it was yet early for the rush. d.i.c.k sat at a side-table, reading over his certificate as he ate his modest meal.

So far all is clear. After this the account became so confused and contradictory that the actual truth was never known. After a good deal of sifting, the following facts were accepted as the best version of what must have taken place. According to the landlord's tale, most of the guests had left, d.i.c.k and another sailor being either the sole remaining men in the room, or nearly so. They were lunching at the same table, and were apparently good friends. He did not remember that there were any others. He and the waiters happened to be in the pantry for a few minutes; he was sure it was not longer, when they were startled by the sound of a fall, followed by the loud bang of the outer door. On rushing in to find out the cause of the disturbance, they found d.i.c.k lying insensible on the floor, with a severe wound on the back of the head, evidently inflicted by the heavy k.n.o.bbed stick discovered near him. There was no clue as to what had given rise to the quarrel. The wounded man's certificate being on his plate, and open, as if it had just been read, it was imagined that a sudden fit of rage and jealousy must have led his companion to the terrible deed.

The police and the doctor were at once sent for. A thorough search was made for the culprit, but, as no one specially remembered him, he made good his escape. From that day no trace of him was ever discovered, and the whole affair gradually dropped out of recollection.

Meantime, d.i.c.k was taken to the nearest hospital, where for a long time his life was despaired of. Having found the address of his parents, the hospital authorities telegraphed for them, and they were allowed to be with him as much as possible. As may be imagined, grief and terror filled their hearts when the telegram reached them. There was no time to dwell on their sorrow, for d.i.c.k's condition took up all their thoughts.

The report of the doctors filled them with even deeper grief and anxiety. They declared it would have been better for the poor fellow if he had been killed outright. The blow had been so severe that the brain and spine were both injured. Even if he lived for years, he would never again walk; in all probability, he would never again understand or speak properly.

d.i.c.k did get better, however, and, as soon as he was fit, was taken down to Newlyn. Every care and attention were given him with the hope of proving that the doctors were mistaken. But, alas! in vain. It was a long, expensive illness. The little home, so full of comfort and happiness, the pride of Peet's heart--full, as it was too, of d.i.c.k's strange and beautiful things, relics of his voyages--all had to go: sold to meet the bills of the doctors, and to buy things which were needed for the invalid. Brought to a very low ebb by this terrible affliction, and not knowing where all the money was to come from to pay the demands made upon him--too proud to ask help from even his own brother--Peet resolved to go back to work again. He applied to his old master, Lord Lynwood; there being no vacancies at Lynwood, however, the Earl wrote to his aunt, Lady c.o.ke, whose head gardener had died but a short time before, and who, he knew, was looking out for a capable man to replace him.

Such a berth as he found at the Moat House Peet might have searched the world in vain to discover. Lady c.o.ke's sympathy was at once roused on hearing of his sorrows, and from her he accepted kindnesses which would have been an offence from anybody else.

(_Continued on page 110._)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "d.i.c.k lying insensible upon the floor."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "One at a time, they found themselves pinioned."]

STORIES FROM AFRICA.

IV.--A GREAT SEA CAPTAIN.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Once more our tale begins in the city of Lisbon, but now it is on a summer day in the year 1497, when the banks of the Tagus were thronged with those who had come to give G.o.d-speed to the gallant captain Vasco da Gama, sailing to-morrow for 'the Indies.'

This was the age of great sailors and discoverers. Ten years before, Bartolomeo Diaz had rounded the southern point of Africa. 'The Stormy Cape' he called it; the 'Cape of Good Hope,' as his rejoicing countrymen would have it, when he came home with the news. A few years later, Columbus, sailing westward, set up the flag of Spain upon the sh.o.r.es of a new world. And now Manoel, the young King of Portugal, was all on fire to finish what Diaz had begun, and to earn for his country the glory of finding the way round the Cape to India, the mysterious land of which such wonderful tales were told. He could have found no fitter man for the work than the captain who knelt to-day in the little church above the river to pray for success in his perilous undertaking. Absolutely fearless, quick-witted, and prompt in action, delighting in danger and adventure, and indomitable in perseverance, Vasco da Gama was a brave leader of men, and he had himself chosen two companions after his own heart, who were to command the other two ships--his brother, Paolo da Gama, and his friend, Nicolo Coello. On his knees the captain received from King Manoel the cross-marked flag on which he swore fidelity to his sovereign, and then, followed by the cheers and good wishes of all Lisbon, the good ships set sail.

Near the Canary Isles they met with such heavy weather that, for a week, Vasco's ship, the _San Raphael_, was parted from the other two, and his friends had nearly given him up for lost. The ship reappeared, however, battered but safe, and the expedition waited for awhile to repair in the Bay of St. Helena.

It was November when they sailed southward again, and now the Cape of Storms began to prove worthy of its name. Such terrible tempests fell upon the three ships, as they struggled along, with much ado to keep within sight of each other, that the hearts of the crew failed them altogether. The question began to be asked among them whether the report of Diaz had after all been well founded, whether the sea pa.s.sage really existed, or whether the land which bounded the eastern horizon did not go on for ever and ever until the very world's end. But when the crew of the _San Raphael_ begged their captain to abandon the hopeless attempt, his reply was that of the captain in the song--

'"Now I've come so far, I'm not going back," says he.'

By word and example he encouraged the whole crew, now laughing at their fears, now turning their thoughts to the triumphant return with glory for their country, himself sharing the hardest work, and, doubtless, making it quite clear that any man who failed him at the pinch would find scant mercy at his hands. And, at last, the wind dropped. The land was no longer on the eastward, the Cape of Storms had been doubled, and from the decks of the three vessels went up the sounds of praise and thanksgiving that the 'pa.s.sage perilous' was accomplished.

But the crew of the _San Raphael_ needed yet another lesson to make them into such a band as their captain needed for his great adventure.

According to the strange custom of that age, Vasco had on board several convicts, who had been released from prison, where they lay under sentence of death, that he might employ them upon any service of danger for which he was unwilling to risk his better men. A band of criminals who had broken their country's laws and were not likely to be troubled with scruples, must have been a rather dangerous element among a somewhat disaffected crew; and, as the ship sailed northward and again met with rough weather, the convicts on board the _San Raphael_, seeing their opportunity, began to plot treason against the captain. One after another of the crew was won over to a plan which promised a speedy end to the weary, dangerous voyage, and the ringleaders found means to communicate with their friends on board the other two ships, so that all was arranged for a general mutiny.

But there was one member of the expedition, perhaps the smallest and least important person on board, to whom it was given to save the whole undertaking from destruction. One of the conspirators on board the ship _San Miguel_, had a little brother, who had been kindly treated by the captain, Nicolo Coello, and loved him with a boy's hero-worship of a brave man who had been good to him. Perhaps the conspirators thought the lad too insignificant to be dangerous; at any rate, he knew the details of the plot and told the captain of what was planned.

Coello's one thought was how to save his friend and leader. It was too rough for him to board the _San Raphael_; the warning must be shouted above the noise of winds and waves, and yet it must be for Da Gama's ear alone. His only hope was in his friend's quickness of wit, and in the perfect understanding between them. So, from the deck of his own vessel, he shouted to the _San Raphael_ that his men were all for abandoning the expedition, and that he was constrained to agree with them and to pray the captain to give the word for returning. How the brave Coello must have hated to give, even in stratagem, such craven counsel, and how carefully he must have chosen words that might carry the double meaning to his friend.

Coello need not have feared: Da Gama knew his brave colleague too well to imagine that he was really thinking of retreat. Possibly he already suspected something amiss; at any rate, he knew which of his men he could trust, and, with their aid, he discovered the names of the ringleaders. Then, calling the crew together on deck, he announced to them that, acting upon the advice of his friend, the captain of the _San Miguel_, he had decided to give up the expedition and return to Portugal.

'But,' he continued, 'that I may not appear as a traitor before the King, I will myself draw up an account of what we have undergone, and those of most repute among you shall sign it, that all may see that you hold with me in my judgment.'

The mariners agreed readily, and Da Gama, having prepared his statement, sent for the chief men among the crew to his cabin to sign it, managing to include among them the most dangerous of the conspirators. All unsuspecting, down they went, leaving their companions to wonder what had made the captain change his mind. Then came a summons from below, more signatures were wanted, and down to the cabin went another band of picked men.

As they crossed the threshold, one at a time, they found themselves pinioned, and, staring round them in dismay, saw their fellow-mutineers in irons, guarded by the loyal members of the crew. At Da Gama's order all were marshalled on deck, and stood, sullen and powerless, before the captain.

'Where are your instruments?' he asked sternly of the pilot, who was among the prisoners.

Then, as the man pointed to them with his chained hands, he flung them into the sea.

'You will use them no more,' he said; 'henceforth I will myself be pilot to my own ship. If G.o.d sees us worthy He will guide us to our destination, but be sure that I will never return alive to Portugal with my purpose unfulfilled.'

That day's work made Vasco da Gama master once for all of the men who sailed with him. He spared the lives of the conspirators after a captivity long enough to teach them an enduring lesson, so winning their allegiance by mercy as well as severity.

And we may like to remember that a famous colony of our own was first sighted by Europeans on the Christmas Day of that year, 1497, and was given its Christmas name, Natal (the 'birthday' place) by the great Portuguese captain who, in those southern waters,

'Did win a gallant name, And ruled the stormy sea.'

MARY H. DEBENHAM.