O'er Many Lands, on Many Seas Part 17

"Just as we were at the very brink of this precipice, and within twenty yards of where the enemy lay, a bough snapped with a loud report, and next moment they were all up and on the alert.

"There was no need for further concealment; we speedily showed ourselves, poured a volley into their bewildered ranks, and before they could recover from their surprise we were on them with our muskets, which we used as clubs.

"They were nearly three to one. They fought like fiends. So did we, and the battle for a time was desperate. They were beaten at last, and the few who remained alive ran shrieking away towards the rocks. We cared but little how they fared.

"Our mate and another man were wounded, but not severely, and in two days' time we were able to resume our journey.

"Providence was kind to us. We came upon a broad old war-road that led through the forest and jungles and plains towards the setting sun, and in one week more we were overjoyed to find ourselves standing on a hill-side overlooking a verdant plain, with a river and a town, and beyond it the blue sea itself, studded with the ships of many nations.

"And those who climb the hills in Greenland in spring-time to catch the first rays of the returning sun, were not more joyful than we were now.

We laughed and shouted, and I believe the tears rolled down over our cheeks.

"But we did not forget to kneel down there, and, with our faces on the ground, thank in silence the kind Father who had led us through so many troubles and dangers. And now, Nie, the storm is gone. We must thank these good people for their kind hospitality, and start."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

"Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad.

The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike.

No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm; So hallow'd and so gracious is the time."

Shakespeare.

It was Christmas Eve. It was going to be an old old-fashioned Christmas, too, there was no mistake about that. And to-night the snow lay fully two feet deep on the lawn in front of Rowan Tree Villa. The sky was overspread with ma.s.ses of darkest cloud that were being continually driven onward on the wings of a fierce north wind, seldom permitting even one solitary star to peep out. The storm roared through the leafless elm trees, and shrieked and moaned among the giant poplars.

It was indeed a wild and wintry night.

Ah! but it didn't prevent my old and faithful Ben from making his appearance, though what with his long white beard, his snow-clad coat, and his round, rosy, laughing face, when I went myself to open the hall door to him, I really took him for King Christmas himself.

But half an hour afterwards, when the crimson curtains were closely drawn, when the table was laden with good cheer, the two great Newfoundlands sleeping on the ample hearthrug, old Polly asleep on her perch, the cat singing on the footstool, and the kettle on the hob, with Ben at one side of the fire, his pipe in full blast, and myself at the other, you would have admitted we looked just as snug and jolly as there was any occasion to be.

"Well, Nie, lad," said Ben, "this is what I call the quintessence of comfort. Heave round with a yarn."

"Just the thing," said I; "but what shall it be?"

"Well, we're cosy enough here, that's certain, Nie, and as contrasts are pleasant sometimes, why, let's hear of some doings of yours in the ice and snow."

"So let it be, Ben; I will tell you of a Christmas I once spent in the Arctic Ocean."

"Not a very jolly one, I suppose," Ben replied.

"Not so dull as you might imagine, I can tell you. Ours was a brave brig, as strong as iron and oak could make us. It seemed to me that there were no icebergs big enough to hurt us. We had spent the summer whaling in Baffin's Bay. The sport we had, so far as birds and bears and seals and foxes were concerned, was as good as anyone could have wished; while the wild grandeur of the scenery, and the very desolation of some of it, are painted on the tablets of my memory, and will remain for ever. But we had not the fortune to kill a single whale.

"Then winter came on us all at once, and we found ourselves frozen in, in one of the dreariest packs of ice it has ever been my lot to lie in.

The days got shorter and shorter, till the sun at last went down to rise no more for months. We had the glorious aurora, though, and moonlight and stars, but sometimes for weeks together snows fell and storms raged, and we were enveloped in total darkness and a silence deep and awful as that of the very vaults of death. We managed, despite the weather, to give Christmas a welcome, and were gay enough for a time. Perhaps it was our very gaiety at this season that caused us to be so gloomy and disheartened afterwards.

"Sickness came, the black death almost decimated our crew, and when, in the cold bleak spring-time, the sun returned, and the ice opened and allowed us to stagger southwards, though the whales were plentiful, there were not men enough to man the boats, and hardly enough to set the sails.

"I had been an invalid; indeed, I had barely escaped with life, and it would be long ere I was fit again for the wild roving existence and wild sports in which my soul was so much bound up.

"'Come with me, sir,' said our captain when we reached New York at last.

'I'm going south for the good of my health, and I have cousins near San Francisco, and it is right welcome we both shall be.'

"'Are they ladies?' I asked.

"'Ay, and dear good sisterly girls at that,' he answered.

"My savage nature rather rebelled against the society of ladies, Ben; bears and wolves were more in my line. But I could not offend my kind friend, so consented to go.

"'We'll take it easy,' he said, 'and have a look at the land as we go south.'

"We did take it easy. We visited all the lovely and enchanting scenery of the Adirondacks, then went slowly south and west; we lingered for weeks in the Yellowstone Park. It was summer, all the woods and forests were astir with life, the prairies gay with gorgeous flowers; there was joy all around us; we drank in health in every breath we breathed.

"I felt myself no longer an invalid when we arrived at the home of my captain's cousins, an old-fashioned log mansion, with verandahs and porticoes around which gigantic creepers flower-laden trailed and twined, and cooled the sun's rays that sifted through their leaves, ere they entered the beautifully-furnished rooms. There were wide, gra.s.sy, park-like lawns, terraces, and fountains, and everything that wealth could bestow or luxury suggest adorned this lovely spot. The owner was a retired planter. His servants were still slaves, but the master was kindness itself to even the meanest of them.

"I would now fain have resumed my old life, and gone with rod or gun in hand to the forest, the mountain, and stream. But I was not to be permitted to do so. I must still consider myself an invalid. Such were the orders of my captain's cousins. So I became a willing captive, and did all that the dear kind-hearted girls told me.

"And, indeed, sitting under the shade of a cool and leafy orange-tree, the air perfumed with its delightful scent, with Let.i.tia quietly sewing beside me, and Miriam reading 'The Lady of the Lake,' was as good a way, Ben, of pa.s.sing a drowsy summer's afternoon as any I ever tried."

"Didn't you fall in love?" asked Ben slyly.

"Don't ask any questions," I replied. "Stir the fire, my boy; just hear how the wind is roaring, and the hail rattling against the panes."

"Ugh!" said Ben, with a little shudder as he applied the poker to the blazing coals. "Well, go on, Nie."

"When I got still a little stronger, we, the captain's cousins and I, used to go for long rambles to the hills and woods, and sometimes south to a picnic or dance.

"There are giants in the forests of California, Ben. Once, I remember, our ball-room was the stump of an old tree, the lofty pines its walls, and the blue sky its roof.

"As I happened one day to let out rather inadvertently that I was, virtually speaking, a homeless man, a wanderer over the wide, wide world, my good host said bluntly, but kindly:

"'Then, my dear sir, you are a prisoner here for the next six months.

Come, I won't take a word of denial.'

"Well, I had to give in, if only for the simple reason that both the girls added their influence to that of their father; I promised to stay, and didn't repent it.

"Though I say it myself, Ben, I was soon a favourite with all the slaves about the old estate. I daresay I had my favourites among them; it is only natural. One of these was Shoe-Sally, another was Shoe-Sally's little brother Tom. They were both characters in their way, and both oddities. Shoe-Sally was quite a personage about the old mansion. She seemed to do anything and everything, and to be here, there, and everywhere all at the same time. Shoe-Sally also knew everything, or appeared to do so, and she was just as black and shiny as the shoes she polished. Sally was bound up in a little brother of hers called Tom.

"'Leetle tiny Tom,' she told me one day, 'is so cleber, sah. He read de good Book all same's one parson, sah. Make parson hisself one o' dem days. Sure he will, sah.'

"But Tom had a deadly enemy in the person of Joliffe the overseer, a perfect brute of a fellow, with slouching gait and murderous eye. How his master retained him so long I don't know, but he had been overseer for more than ten years, I was told. Well, he might have been useful in some ways, but he was terribly cruel. He did not dare to let his master see him with a whip in his hand, but he had a short thick one in his pocket with which he flogged the poor slaves most unmercifully.

"Once Shoe-Sally came running to me; I was playing with a little pet dog belonging to Tom:

"'Oh! for mussy sake, come quick, sah!' she shrieked; 'Ma.s.sa Joliffe he done whip my pooh brudder most to death.'

"I followed her quickly enough, and I never want to see again what I saw then. Joliffe had stripped the poor black boy, tied him up in the stable, and was lashing him across the face and shoulders. He had injured one eye badly, and the blood was flowing everywhere about.

"'You cowardly savage!' I roared.

"Ben, I have a hard fist. That wretch's head was under my arm in a moment, and I simply punched it till I was tired, then I threw him into the stall and let him have a bucket of water over him by way of a reviver. Joliffe's face was a sight to see for some weeks. I told my host what I had done, and the verdict was, 'Serve Joliffe right!'