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Ralph Denham's Adventures in Burma: A Tale of the Burmese Jungle

by G. Norway · English · Gutenberg #45774 · 411,654 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Ralph Denham's Adventures in Burma: A Tale of the Burmese Jungle

Author: G. Norway


        
Release date: May 26, 2014 [eBook #45774]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RALPH DENHAM'S ADVENTURES IN BURMA: A TALE OF THE BURMESE JUNGLE ***

                      RALPH DENHAM'S ADVENTURES
                              IN BURMA




[Illustration: A groan burst from the white lips of the men as the
seething ruin that had been their home for so many weeks disappeared
slowly from view (_p. 43_).]




                            RALPH DENHAM'S
                         ADVENTURES IN BURMA

                   _A TALE OF THE BURMESE JUNGLE_


                                 BY
                             G. NORWAY

        AUTHOR OF "TREGARTHEN," "A DANGEROUS CONSPIRATOR,"
                    "LOSS OF JOHN HUMBLE," ETC.


[Illustration: decoration]


                               LONDON
                  SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & CO., LTD.




           PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY PURNELL AND SONS
                     PAULTON, SOMERSET, ENGLAND




CONTENTS


   CHAP.                                     PAGE
      I. RALPH STARTS UPON HIS VOYAGE           7
     II. A GALE                                19
    III. FIRE AT SEA                           33
     IV. THE RAFT                              44
      V. ADRIFT ON THE OCEAN                   52
     VI. THE DENHAMS AT HOME                   60
    VII. MOULMEIN                              69
   VIII. KIRKE ESCAPES                         78
     IX. NEWS FROM RALPH                       87
      X. THE LEOPARD                           96
     XI. WHAT BEFELL KIRKE AFTER HIS ESCAPE   104
    XII. THE KAREN VILLAGE                    113
   XIII. THE MAN-EATER                        122
    XIV. TATTOOING                            132
     XV. THE OLD MEN'S FAITH                  141
    XVI. BIG GAME                             149
   XVII. THE JUNGLE FIRE                      157
  XVIII. THE DACOIT'S HEAD                    166
    XIX. LOST IN THE JUNGLE                   175
     XX. JUNGLE THIEVES                       184
    XXI. THE RAPIDS                           196
   XXII. KIRKE AND DENHAM MEET                204
  XXIII. FIGHT WITH DACOITS                   213
   XXIV. THE DACOITS BURN THE VILLAGE         222
    XXV. DESPERATION                          229
   XXVI. SUNSHINE'S HEROISM                   239
  XXVII. CONCLUSION                           248




                      RALPH DENHAM'S ADVENTURES
                              IN BURMA




CHAPTER I

RALPH STARTS UPON HIS VOYAGE


Mrs. Denham sat in her parlour, a two years old baby boy asleep upon her
lap, and an anxious, mournful expression upon her face. She wore the
dress of a widow,--a dress so new in its folds that it was evidently but
a short time since the Dread Messenger had paused at her threshold to
bear away its master and bread-winner.

The room was a shabby one; the fire but a handful of dusty ashes; rain
fell without in the dreary street; it was growing dusk, and a
soul-depressing cry of "Want chee-e-ep? Do ye want chee-e-eps?" arose
ever and anon, as the ragged Irish chip boy wandered up and down.

It was a street of cheap houses in the suburbs of Liverpool, where the
misery of poor gentility is perhaps more without alloy than in any other
town.

But the door burst open, and a bright-faced, rosy, blue-eyed boy
entered, with the freshness of out-of-doors upon him.

"All alone, mother?" said he. "Where's Agnes? Where are the little ones?
Why, what a scurvy fire you have! let me cheer it up a little."

He began piling lumps of coal upon the embers in a scientific manner, to
which a blaze quickly responded; when he swept up the hearth, and
uttered an exclamation of satisfaction as he bent to kiss his mother's
face.

"It requires a man to make up a fire," said he. "Where are all the
others?"

"Agnes is giving the little ones their tea in the kitchen," replied Mrs.
Denham. "I asked her to keep them out of the way for a while, because I
want to talk to you, Ralph dear."

"All right, mother mine, fire away," said the boy, throwing himself down
on the hearthrug, and resting one arm upon her knee.

"Ralph dear," resumed she, "your uncle Sam has come home; he has been
here this afternoon."

"Uncle Sam? How jolly! When did the _Pelican_ come in, mother? I did not
know that she was even off Holyhead."

"The _Pelican_ was docked last night, dear, upon the evening tide," said
she; "and your uncle has been here a long time this afternoon."

"Was he not very sorry to hear about father?" asked Ralph in a low
voice.

"Yes, dear; but he was prepared for the news by my last letter. He is a
very kind brother; he has been giving my affairs his careful
consideration all the way home, and has already offered some prospect of
help; but this depends upon you, Ralph."

"Upon _me_, mother? I would be so proud to help. You may reckon upon me;
but what can I do?"

"What it is a bitter pill for me to swallow, my boy, yet it would be
such a help that I do not know how to refuse it."

"What is it, mother?"

"It is for you to go out to Burma, dear. When my last letter reached
him, and he knew of your father's hopeless state of health, Uncle Sam
secured for you the chance of a situation in a rice firm in Rangoon. He
says that there would be a salary at once, upon which you could live
with care, and which would soon improve into something much better, and
into a position from which, in a few years, you might help one of your
brothers. It is not in the house of Herford Brothers,--I wish it
were,--but, as he sails for them, he will often see you, and bring us
home news of you. It would not be as if you went to quite a strange
place, where you would know nobody; and, Ralph, it would be an immense
relief even to have your keep off my hands just at present. Dear Agnes
maintains herself by her teaching; Lisa's scholarship provides for her
education; and if you, my darling boy, were not here we might double up
closer and spare another room for a second lodger, which would be a
great help to me. But I do not know how to part with you, Ralph, my
boy,--my dear, dear boy!"

The poor lady bent her face down upon the curly, tousled head at her
knee, and wept sorrowfully.

Ralph passed his arm round her neck in silence, for tumultuous emotion
choked him, and he could not speak at first. There had been a time, not
so long before, when he would have been wild with delight at the thought
of leaving school, going abroad, seeing new countries, being
independent. But recent events had sobered his spirits and made him more
thoughtful.

He pondered the scheme now without excitement or selfish pleasure; he
tried to think whether it would be well for his mother were he to leave
her. It seemed to him that it would be so.

"Mother," said he, "it is not as if Agnes were not older than I. Agnes
is seventeen, and a companion to you, while I am not old enough to take
father's place with Jack and Reggie. They would not attend to me nor
obey me."

"No, dear."

"Then when father was dying he bade me do my best to help you, and I
promised that I would. If this is the best for you, mother, I _must_ do
it."

There was a manly ring in his voice as he said this, echoing so plainly
the sound of the voice that was gone, that his mother almost felt as if
it were her husband speaking to her in her son.

They sat silent for a long time, hand clasped in hand; then the sleeping
child awoke, and recalled Mrs. Denham to her busy life.

"Uncle Sam is coming back to supper, and wants to talk to you about
this," said she.

"I will go out for a walk, to think it all over, if you don't mind,
mother; I will come in again by supper time," said the boy.

"Do, dear; it is not a plan that should be carried out in a hurry," said
she. And Ralph took up his cap and went out.

He strolled aimlessly up one street, down another, his hands in his
pockets and eyes fixed on the ground; then, with sudden determination,
he changed his purposeless steps towards the town, and steadily pursued
his road to meet his uncle.

So rapidly did he walk now, that he reached the lodging to which Captain
Rogers always repaired when on shore just as he was emerging from the
door.

"Halloa, my son!" called out the sailor in Cornish accents, "whither so
fast?"

"I came to meet you, uncle. Mother has been telling me of your plan for
me, and I wanted to talk to you about it while we could be alone."

"Ay, that's right. Men can settle things between themselves better than
when there is a lot of soft-hearted women by, to cry over the Lord knows
what. You are 'most a man now, Ralph. How you have grown since I've been
away! How old are you now?"

"Fifteen, uncle. Fifteen and a half."

"Too old to be lopping about at your mother's apron strings. Old enough
to be of some use and good, are you not?"

"Is this plan of use, uncle? Do you really think it would be good for
mother?"

"Well, sonnie, to speak the plain truth I don't see no other way in
which you are half as likely to keep off her hands. They are full
enough, Ralph, without a great hearty fellow like you to be eating her
out of house and home."

"That is so, uncle."

"I think that the Herfords would give you a free voyage out. I believe
that I could work it so that they would. If they will, you cost her
nothing more from this time. Agnes is a sensible maid, she can look
after your mother better than you can. I will pay her rent for her, and
take Jack to sea with me as soon as he is old enough; and then with a
lodger or two, and the bit of money that she has, she may do fairly
well. Be a man, Ralph, and do your part."

"I will, uncle, God helping me."

"Well said. But now, look here, there must be no chopping and changing;
no crying out that you are homesick, or don't like it, and want to come
back again. If you make up your mind to go, there must be some expense
incurred for your outfit; and I'll not help unless you give me your word
of honour that this shall be _all_ that you mean to cost us. If I launch
you, you must sail away on your own account, and make the best of
matters however they may turn out. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, uncle. Is it necessary to give my answer now, this evening, or may
I sleep upon it?"

"I don't mind your sleeping upon it, as you call it, but I must have
your answer almost at once, because I must see Mr. Herford about your
passage, and your kit must be got ready."

"I will tell you to-morrow, uncle."

"Mind you do. Mr. Herford goes from home at the end of the week, and I
don't know how long he may be away. It would hurry everything up too
closely to wait till he returns, when all the _Pelican's_ cargo will be
in course of loading, and everything else to settle."

Captain Rogers had intended to make the evening pleasant to his sister
and her young folks, but fate was too strong for him on that occasion.
Mrs. Denham's eyes were full of tears, and she kept silence as the only
way to prevent their overflow. Agnes was little better, and the
repressed agitation of their elders checked all the younger ones'
chatter.

He went away early; but Ralph would not talk to any of them even when
his uncle had left them. He went to his room, and spent the night in
thinking, thinking, thinking; trying to make out what his father would
have wished,--what was best for his mother,--where his strongest duty
lay.

At last he took to prayer; and, for the first time in his young life,
really sought help and counsel from his Father in heaven. Such seeking
is never unanswered; he slept, woke up clear in his mind as to what he
ought to do, and told his uncle that he would go.

"You decide rightly," said his uncle. "People cannot very often do just
what they would like best. If I could, I would have got you a start in
life nearer home, so that your mother might keep you to be a comfort to
her; but she will not mind so much when you are once gone, and you will
sooner be of real use to her and to your brothers in this way than in
any other which any of us can command. But, remember, you must take life
as it comes, and work hard for yourself once you are started."

"I will, uncle, God helping me."

"Well said, my boy."

After that, all was hurry to prepare him for this important change in
his life; his mother cried incessantly; his sister Agnes went about with
red eyes, which could scarcely see the stitches that she set in his
clothes; his uncle drove him about hither and thither; there was no time
to think until the adieux were all made, and they had been towed out of
dock.

The _Pelican of the North_ was a barque-rigged, three-masted vessel,
laden with coal for Moulmein; and the day was bright when she dropped
down the river Mersey. The crew were in good spirits, for the weather,
which had been extremely dull and wet for some weeks, cleared up
suddenly on the day of sailing. The chilly wind had veered into a balmy
quarter, the drenching rain ceased, the sun broke out, and all the
little tossing waves seemed to be dancing with joy to see its beams
sparkling upon their crests. Great masses of clouds were driving away,
farther and farther, overhead, losing their heavy grey colour, and fast
becoming soft and snowy white; while the flocks of seagulls, swooping
about upon widespread pinions high in the air, might be imagined to be
fleecy morsels detached from them on their course, so pure and silvery
was their plumage.

Ralph stood by the capstan, looking back to the fort and lighthouse on
the New Brighton Point with mixed feelings.

He had never been farther away from home than this before; he was now
setting off for an unknown life in a new country, among strangers, to
make his own way as best he could.

He was pleased with his independence, with the thought that he was thus
helping his mother; but he had not imagined how love for his home would
tug at his heart-strings. It was not until he had felt his mother's
farewell kiss, and heard her choked voice blessing him for the last
time; it was not until his dearly-loved companion-sister Agnes had
sobbed her good-bye on his shoulder; not till he had put the pretty baby
back into his nurse's arms, and thought what a great boy he would be
before he should, in all probability, see him again,--that he realised
how far away he was going, and going alone.

But Ralph owned plenty of pluck; he meant to be brave, and to get on in
his new career, so he gulped down these thoughts, and turned to brighter
considerations.

His uncle had secured for him a free passage out to Rangoon by entering
him as apprentice upon the ship's books.

This is an arrangement occasionally made, by favour, in merchant ships
not registered for carrying passengers. The so-called apprentice would
hold rather an anomalous position, being expected to do a little light
work, particularly while in port, but messing with the captain at sea.

A hardy lad would have little of which to complain in the light of the
great pecuniary advantage to himself, but it would depend largely upon
his own tact, and also much upon the characters of the regular
apprentices and the mates, as to whether he were, or were not,
thoroughly comfortable upon a long voyage.

Captain Rogers had another passenger upon this occasion, a Mr.
Gilchrist.

Mr. Augustus Herford, the head of the firm of Herford Brothers, to which
the _Pelican of the North_ belonged, was devoted to his garden; and
orchids were his reigning hobby. The craze for these flowers was then
in its infancy, many varieties being unknown at that time which have
since become common. Burma was comparatively little explored, nor were
its forests and jungles haunted by collectors as they have been of late
years.

Mr. Gilchrist was a self-made man, an enthusiast in his profession as
gardener, but more capable than rich. He had educated himself, studied
at Kew, mastered much of the science of horticulture,--but lacked
capital, and wanted to marry. When, therefore, Mr. Augustus Herford
offered him advantageous terms if he would go to Burma and collect
orchids for him, he accepted the commission with eagerness, knowing well
that, if he succeeded, his prosperity upon his return would be assured.

Mr. Herford was rich; he spared no expense over microscopes, books,
collecting boxes, and all the properties for the expedition, and gave
him a free passage out.

The _Pelican of the North_ was bound for Moulmein with coal,--would then
go to Rangoon in ballast, and return laden with rice. She was towed as
far as to the floating lightship; there the steam-tug cast off, and the
voyage was fairly begun.

By that time Mr. Gilchrist was down upon his marrow-bones, most horribly
sick. He was a delicate man, and suffered terribly. Ralph was also ill,
but his uncle encouraged him to struggle against the malady, and the
other apprentices ridiculed him so unmercifully as a land-lubber, that
he made every effort to keep up, and this with good effect, for he was
soon upon his feet again, with a furious appetite even for salt junk and
fat pork.

Then, in his good-nature, feeling heartily for a fellow-sufferer, he
began to wait upon Mr. Gilchrist, nursing him and tending him well.

It would have been better for this gentleman had he possessed the same
strong reasons for exertion as his young companion; he would perhaps
have suffered less. As it was, he was ill for nearly a fortnight; and,
the weather being uncertain, Captain Rogers and the mates were glad to
be relieved from the necessity of attending upon him, having quite
enough to do with sailing the ship.

By degrees Mr. Gilchrist recovered; and, grateful for Ralph's care of
him, he then lent him books, talked to him about them, encouraging him
to learn many things and improve himself.

Captain Rogers was pleased that his nephew should receive such notice
from so clever a man. He had not much education himself outside of his
own business, but was shrewd, and entertained a great respect for what
he called "book learning."

"It is very kind of you, Gilchrist," said he one evening, sitting with
his passenger over their coffee,--"It is very kind of you to
indoctrinate that lad as you are doing. It has been hard upon him to be
cast upon his beam ends so early in life. His father was a well-read
man, and might have given him good schooling had he lived, but my poor
sister could not afford it when she was left with so many of them."

"It is an amusement," replied Mr. Gilchrist. "It helps me to pass the
time pleasantly, I assure you. I like the boy much, he is very
intelligent."

"He is a good sort of fellow," said the captain. "I hope he will get on.
But we must be careful not to set him up too much, so as to make the
other apprentices jealous of him. I have my doubts of that Kirke. I hate
your gentlemen apprentices; they are always more trouble than profit.
That one is not worth his salt."

"Is he a gentleman's son, then?"

"Aye. His father is a friend of my boss; the lad is sent to sea because
they can do nothing with him at home, but I wish they had put him in any
other ship than this one."

"Is it usual for a gentleman to send his son to sea in the merchant
service?" asked Mr. Gilchrist.

"I wish it either were more usual or less," replied the captain. "I hate
having them. It always means stupidity, idleness or scampishness; and,
whichever it may be, they are no good. If a lad cannot keep his own
natural position in life it does not prevent him from having big ideas
of himself after coming down to another; and if he gets into ugly
scrapes as a gentleman, he will get into uglier ones when the restraint
upon him is less."

"You have much experience in boys and men, Rogers."

"Ah! I have--with a certain class of boys and men. Now and then one
finds a lad who can work with his hands when he cannot with his head,
and who tries to do his best; but good seamen need to use their brains
as well as other folks if they are to get on. Such youngsters come to us
too late. Their friends don't send them until they have tried everything
else and failed. The hardships of our life fall five times as heavily
upon them as upon a lad who belongs to a hardier class and has begun
earlier. Kirke is not one of that sort; I misdoubt me but what there
will be trouble with him before this voyage is over."

"Well, the weather seems to have taken up a better humour at last. We
seem to have got out of that circle of squalls through which we have
been making our way."

"Yes," said the captain. "We are coming in for a quieter season, if it
only lasts. I wish the voyage was over, though. My wife took up a
superstitious notion that we should have trouble over it. She had a
dream or something which impressed her with that idea; and though I
laughed at her, I cannot forget it altogether. Do you believe in
warnings and presentiments?"

"I suppose there are few men who could say with truth that they
disbelieve in them entirely, but I have seen so many come to nought that
I do not entertain much faith in them."

"Ah! well," said the captain, finishing his cup, and rising to leave the
cabin, "I suppose I am an old fool to heed such things. I don't see
where mischief is to crop up unless through that lad, and he may turn
out better than I fear. Good-night, Mr. Gilchrist."

"Good-night."




CHAPTER II

A GALE


It was of little use for Captain Rogers to trouble himself in the hope
of avoiding jealousy of Ralph on the part of the other apprentices, for
the feeling was already rife on the part of Kirke.

That ill-conditioned young man despised everyone on board for not being
men of good family, as he himself was, though he was more conscious of
his good birth than careful to prove himself a gentleman by his conduct.
He could not see why he should be made to work, and the son of a
merchant's book-keeper, a lad whose mother let lodgings for her support,
should be cockered up in the captain's cabin, reading and writing at his
ease, practically exempt from hard toil.

Ralph had not enjoyed a tenth part of the educational advantages which
Kirke had thrown away, and was anxious to improve himself now that a
chance of doing so was presented.

Mr. Gilchrist was teaching him mathematics and French, lending him books
upon botany and natural history, especially such as treated of the
country for which he was bound, and also a few volumes of history and
travels. He taught him much by conversation upon these subjects; and
Ralph, feeling that he had one foot planted upon the social ladder,
earnestly desiring to rise higher, flung himself enthusiastically into
these studies as a means for so doing. His uncle did not demand much
manual labour from him; he performed that cheerfully, but saw no reason
why, his allotted task being done, he should occupy his own time in
saving Kirke from doing his share of duty.

There was no great good-feeling between these lads; and Harry Jackson,
the third apprentice, was a weak, ordinary sort of boy, who admired
Kirke for his adventitious graces, and had become completely his tool.

The three boys all slept in part of a deckhouse amidships, a place
divided between the galley and the apprentices' cabin. The ship being an
old one, there were no berths for the youngsters, who slept in hammocks
slung up at night, and taken down in the morning, rolled up, and stowed
away to make room for their meals and accommodation through the day.

Ralph breakfasted with the other two apprentices, their hours being
earlier than those of his uncle's cabin. After this meal, he did what
work was expected from him, and liked to be clean and ready by the time
when Mr. Gilchrist could attend to him in the poop, where chiefly he
spent the remainder of the day.

One morning Ralph awoke suddenly, experiencing a very disagreeable
shock. The time-honoured joke of letting his hammock down at the head
had been played upon him, and Kirke lay comfortably on his own bed
squirting water all over him.

"Have done, Kirke!" he cried angrily. "How would you like to be served
so?"

"Try it on if you dare," retorted Kirke, aiming a stream of water right
into his face. "I only wish you would try it on, just once, and you
would see. Get up! You must swab the decks to-day, I did it yesterday."

"Drop that squirt, I tell you!" roared Ralph, as his shirt was made
dripping wet, and a fresh supply of water was drawn into the tube from
the basin which Kirke held between his knees.

Kirke's only reply was another jet, which streamed down Ralph's back.

Ralph sprang upon his tormentor, and a struggle took place for
possession of the squirt. The tin basin was upset all over the
bedclothes, but Denham flung it away and seized hold of the squirt.

Indignation gave him superior strength, he wrenched the instrument out
of Kirke's hands, and Kirke drove his clenched fist, straight from his
shoulder, into Ralph's face and hit him in the eye.

Fireworks flashed before his vision, and he proceeded to revenge himself
in a fair fight; but Jackson ran screaming out of the cabin upon seeing
Ralph pitch Kirke out of his hammock as a preliminary, and called to the
mate on the watch.

"Mr. Denham is fighting Mr. Kirke," cried he, "and has upset a basin of
water all over him in his hammock."

The mate came in.

"Now, my lads," commanded he, "just you understand that I'll allow no
rowdy work of that sort. Shut up at once, both of you."

It was the voice of authority, and Ralph scorned to tell tales, so he
desisted, pulled a dry shirt out of his chest, and went on deck as soon
as he could.

Being a good-natured lad, his anger had then cooled down, and he began
to swab the deck, thinking that it would act as a peace-offering to give
Kirke the help voluntarily.

Kirke came out slowly and moodily, but did not begin to work on his
part. He stood with his hands in his pockets, a sneer conquering the
lowering gloom on his face.

"I am glad you know your place at last," said he, as Ralph came near
him. "I'll teach you a little more before I have done with you."

Ralph bit his lip to force down an angry reply. He did not want to
quarrel with anyone, as that might give his uncle trouble, but it was as
much as he could do to keep silence.

At this moment the captain himself stepped out.

"Ralph!" shouted he. "Have you seen my three-foot rule? I can't find
it."

"I know where it is," replied he. "I'll fetch it."

"What are you swabbing the deck for?" asked his uncle. "Why are you not
doing your own work, Kirke? I'll have no shirking. Set to at once!
Ralph, I want you in my cabin."

Kirke had no option but to take up the bucket and begin the menial work
which he hated so fiercely.

"Mr. Gilchrist is not well," said the captain. "I hope he is not in for
an attack of dysentery, but he is certainly very poorly. I have
persuaded him to lie still, and I wish you would put yourself tidy and
come and attend to him. Go to the storehouse and get out some brandy for
him. Here are the keys. I am wanted on deck to see about twenty things
all at once."

Ralph hastened to obey. The ship was victualled upon teetotal
principles, but a little spirit was kept for cases of emergency or
illness. None had been used hitherto upon this voyage, and the decanters
were empty.

Ralph opened the locker where the bottles were stored, took out some
brandy, filled one of the little decanters which stood in a silver case,
and hurried with it to the invalid's cabin, leaving everything open in
the storeroom, for the moment, from his haste to relieve his friend.

Mr. Gilchrist was very unwell indeed. He said that he was subject to
these attacks at times; he did not believe that this was dysentery, he
had taken a chill and should be better soon.

Ralph procured some hot water and prepared the cordial for him, but he
was sick at once after taking it; he shivered violently, his teeth
chattering in his head. This frightened his young nurse very much, for
they were now in latitudes where the heat was great; no doctor was on
board, and he knew little about illness.

However, the patient was better after a time, the sickness ceased, the
headache was lessened, a gentle perspiration broke out, and he fell
asleep.

Ralph ventured to steal softly away, and went to lock up the spirit
bottles in the storeroom. There he found, to his surprise, that not only
the one which he had opened was quite empty, but one of brandy and one
of rum were missing.

He called his uncle, who, holding strong opinions upon the subject of
temperance, was very angry. He made a strict investigation into the
matter, but failed to discover the culprit. The bottles were
gone--vanished; nobody would confess to knowing anything about them.

Captain Rogers was very uneasy in his secret mind, for appearances were
against Ralph. No one else had been trusted with the keys, and the
spirit could not have gone without hands. He knew very little personally
about his nephew, being so much at sea himself. He only saw him at long
intervals, and in the presence of others; he seemed a steady boy then,
and Rogers liked him, but this was the first chance he had met with upon
which he could have gone wrong, in this manner, to his uncle's
knowledge. With this doubt about him, the captain spoke very sharply to
Ralph as to his carelessness in leaving the locker open.

Mr. Gilchrist took Ralph's part. He said that he must have smelt the
liquor upon the boy's breath had he drunk it, but the captain knew that
about Ralph's family history which he did not choose to talk about.

Ralph called himself a strict teetotaler, which the captain was not; but
the elder Denham had been a drunkard, and had died from the consequence
of his excesses. Had the madness broken out in his son? Did he inherit
it in his blood? Had it taken that worst of all forms--secret drinking?
He knew what his sister had suffered from her husband's conduct; was the
same thing to begin all over again in the person of her son?

For two days the captain was miserable from this unspoken fear. Ralph
had all the appearance of truth and honesty; Mr. Gilchrist was strongly
in favour of his innocence; but the mate remarked that nobody but Mr.
Denham had been trusted with the keys of the locker, not even the cook
or the cook's mate, who, between them, discharged the functions of
steward.

For two wretched, suspicious, anxious days did this doubt cark at the
captain's heart. Then was little Harry Jackson found drunk--drunk as a
lord--late one evening when off his watch.

Fresh investigations were set on foot, and it appeared that Kirke had
given the boy some liquor as a bribe for silence regarding his own
potations, of which Jackson could not fail to know as they shared the
same cabin. Denham had not slept there since Mr. Gilchrist's illness,
for he was still unwell, though better; and Ralph had begged to be
allowed a bed upon the floor of his cabin, so as to attend upon him if
necessary through the night.

Taking advantage of his absence, Kirke had been enjoying himself, after
his own fashion, with the stolen spirits, and inducing Harry to join him
so as to ensure his silence.

The elder lad's head could already stand copious libations, but that of
the younger one could not, and the very means adopted to secure safety
led to detection.

The captain, deeply annoyed with himself for suspecting his own nephew,
highly wrathful for the trouble thus caused to him, punished Kirke all
the more severely, to give him, as he said, "a lesson which he would not
forget in a hurry." Ralph tried to beg him off, but his uncle was in a
rage and refused to listen to him.

Kirke might have had all the blood of all the Howards running in his
veins so great was his anger at his punishment, and he vowed to himself
to abscond from the ship as soon as it touched shore, nor ever to run
the risk of such ignominy again.

Things were very uncomfortable after this event for Denham. His
annoyance while it was pending had been great, it had made him
positively unhappy. He felt himself to blame for carelessness in leaving
the locker open; he was indignant that the real culprit should cast the
onus upon him, knowing him to be perfectly innocent; and he thought that
his uncle should have trusted him better. At least he should have spared
his own nephew from the charge of dishonesty.

He could not be as friendly as before with either Kirke or Jackson, and
felt very lonely.

Mr. Gilchrist continued to be very unwell, unable to talk to him as
usual. He had to pursue his studies without help; difficulties beset
him; and the other apprentices made themselves extremely disagreeable,
keeping up a constant system of petty persecution which rendered life in
their cabin almost unendurable, yet of which he scorned to complain to
the captain, each separate annoyance being so trivial.

Besides this, the wind increased in strength, and so severe a gale from
the westward set in that the _Pelican_ had to scud before it under bare
poles.

For two days there was cause for considerable anxiety, then the mercury
rose, a calm clear night succeeded, followed by a bright sunny morning.

"I hope the gale is over," said Ralph, coming into the deckhouse and
greeting the other lads cheerfully.

"I daresay you do," growled Kirke. "Counter-jumpers and land-lubbers
funk a capful of wind mightily."

"I think we have had rather more than a capful these last two days,"
replied Ralph, ignoring the insulting language.

"You manage to shirk all the trouble it causes, anyway. I don't see that
you need complain," said Kirke with a sneer.

Ralph was silent. He finished his breakfast quickly and went out.

The men were letting all the reefs out of the topsails, and getting the
top-gallant yards across, in hopes of a fine day in which to make the
most of the favourable gale.

It was a bright, bustling scene, and Ralph was amused by looking on.

The old carpenter stood by him. This man and the sailmaker both came
from the same country village in Cornwall where Captain Rogers and
Ralph's mother had been born. They always sailed with the captain, if
possible, from clannish attachment to him; and loved a chat with Ralph
from the same feeling.

"Nice day, Wills," said the boy.

"'Ees, zur, but it won't last," said the carpenter.

    "'Lamb's wool skies, and filley's tails,
    Make lofty ships carry low sails,'"

and he pointed to the drifting clouds.

"That is it, is it?" said Ralph. "Are we not having rather a bad voyage,
Wills? Do ships always have so much bad weather as we are meeting with?"

"No, zur, but uz sailed on a Vriday."

"What could that have to do with it, Wills? Why should that bring bad
luck?"

"Can't zay, zur, but it du."

"You Cornishmen are always superstitious, aren't you?"

"Doan't knaw, your honour, as we'm more so than others. 'Tis no use to
fly in the face of Providence ef He've given we the gumption to zee
more'n other volks."

"Did you ever see the Flying Dutchman in these latitudes, Wills?"

"No, zur, I can't zay as I have zeed 'un, but 'tain't given to every
chield to do so. I've zeed Jack Harry's Lights, though, and we wor
wrecked then, too."

"Where was that?" asked Ralph with interest.

"Close to home, it wor. We heerd the bells of the old church-tower
a-calling the volks to evening service all the time we was clinging to
the maintop, and the gear flying in ribbons about our faces, a-lashing
uz like whips, and all of uz as worn't fast tied to the mast swept away
by the sea that awful Sunday night. Jim Pascoe wor lashed aside of me,
and 'Sam,' zays he, 'I wonder whether my old mawther be a-praying for me
at this minute, up to church.' It didn't save he even ef she wor, for a
big sea rose up, and came thundering down on uz, and he got the full
heft of it right upon him, so that it beat the last spunk of life out of
him then and there. There wor but six of uz, out of twenty-one, brought
ashore that time alive; and there wor but life, and that wor all, among
some of we."

"How dreadful!" cried Ralph. "What did you think about while you stood
there all that time?"

"I doan't knaw as I did think much, at all. Zemmed as ef all thought
wor beat out of uz. But they there seamen as wor drownded then answer to
their names still on a stormy night when the wind blows strong from the
west upon thiccee rocks."

"Answer to their names?"

"Ay. You may hear the roll called out, and they men answer 'Here' as
plain as you can wish, at midnight, in the heft of a storm."

"Do you really believe that? Did you ever hear it, Wills?"

"Well I can't zay as ever I actually heerd 'un call them, but I knaws
they as has; and why for no', Maister Ralph. Perhaps 'ee'll believe I,
and find that I speak truth, when I tell 'ee this voyage is doomed to be
unfortunate because we set sail on a Vriday. I telled captain it would
be, but he wouldn't wait for Sunday though I did beg and pray 'un to do
so."

"I can't see what difference two days could make. It would not have
saved us the weather we had two days since, nor will it make any
difference in whatever may come two days hence."

"Theer's a-many things as 'ee be too young to onnerstand yet, Maister
Denham."

"But 'ee did ought to pay heed to 'un, maister," put in Osborn, "because
'ee be Cornish the same as we."

"I have never been in Cornwall, though, Osborn."

"No, I du knaw thiccee, more's the pity," replied the man. "But uz du
mind your ma, when hur wor a mighty pretty little maid, a-dancing and
a-singing about 'long shore, and a-chattering so gay. Uz du all come
from the same place, zur, and we'm proud to knaw 'ee, and to have 'ee on
board, ef it be but for the trip. 'Tis one and all to home, 'ee knaweth,
zur."

"Yes," laughed Ralph. "I am proud enough of my Cornish blood, and would
like to know more of the good old county, though I fear it will be long
before I shall have the chance. You know I am going to Rangoon, to push
my way and try to help my mother. She does not dance nor sing much in
these days. She has a lot of trouble."

"So we've heerd, zur. Poor little Miss Amy, we be main sorry to think of
it. Ef Wills or me can ever be of any service to 'ee, zur, 'ee must look
out for uz when the _Pelican_ comes to Rangoon. We shall always stick to
cap'n, zur, as we've done for many a day. Uz b'ain't likely to leave 'un
to be sarved by any old trade picked up out of the slums."

"That is well; and if I can help either of you at any time, you may
depend upon me. It is a bargain between us," said Ralph, laughing.

The appearance of fine weather was delusive, for the bright sunshine
changed within a few hours to fog and rain. The wind sprang up again,
and the captain was forced to order the mainsail to be hauled in, the
topsails close reefed, and the top-gallant yards struck.

The mercury fell, the gale increased in force, and the sea ran extremely
high. There was a sharp frost in the night, with snow, and the storm was
as furious as ever next morning.

The hatches had to be battened down, and it was dreadful for Mr.
Gilchrist and Ralph, wholly inexperienced in nautical matters, unable to
see or understand what was going on, or what degree of danger there was,
to hear the raging of the elements, while they were in the dark with
nothing to distract their thoughts.

There they were, Mr. Gilchrist in his berth, coughing incessantly, and
Ralph sitting beside him, listening to the tramp of hurried feet and the
shouting voices overhead. The great sea would strike the poor labouring
vessel with a force that caused it to shudder in every straining timber;
it would seem to be tossed on high, and then plunge into fathomless
deeps, as if sinking to the very bottom of the sea. Tons of water came,
ever and anon, rushing overhead. Did this mean that their last hour had
arrived? Were they to be drowned in this awful darkness, like rats in a
hole? Were they never to see God's light of day again, or look once more
over the fair expanse of sea and sky?

They grasped each other's hands at these times, for touch was the only
comfort which companionship could give. They could not talk,--awe
paralysed speech.

Then the volumes of water seemed to drain off in descending streams
through the scupper-holes, and voices would be heard again, and a few
sentences of prayer would break from Mr. Gilchrist's lips.

This lasted for two days, awful days for these poor prisoners; but the
wind was in their favour, and blew them on their way, though a little
too far southwards, and it moderated in course of time.

The captain had the dead-lights removed, the hatches raised, and came
down to see how his passengers had fared.

"I never could have believed that light and air would be so welcome,"
said Ralph; "and it is but a Scotch mist yet, no pleasant sunshine."

"No," replied the captain, "but you will soon have enough of sunshine
now. Perhaps you may even have too much of it one of these days. We have
lost poor little Jackson," continued he, turning to Mr. Gilchrist.

"What! the boy apprentice?" asked he.

"Ay, poor child! Washed overboard in the night, and one of the seamen
yesterday morning. We could not help either of them, the sea was
running so high. Would you like to come up for a bit and see the waves
for yourself now?"

But Mr. Gilchrist declined. He dreaded bringing on one of his paroxysms
of cough more than the closeness and confinement of the cabin; but
Ralph, shocked by his uncle's announcement, was eager to go on deck.

He was not used to death, and it was very awful to him to think that,
while he sat in comparative safety below, yet fearing for his own death
every moment, this boy, so much younger than himself, had passed
suddenly through a watery grave to the portals of that unknown world
where he must meet his God.

Where was he now? What could he be doing? He seemed as unfit for a
spiritual life as anyone whom Ralph had ever met. A mere troublesome
naughty boy, of the most ordinary type; rough, dirty, hungry,--a boy who
could laugh at a coarse joke, use bad words, shirk his work whenever he
had the chance, and who did nothing except idle play in his leisure
time.

What could he be doing among white-robed angels, among the spirits of
good men made perfect, among cherubim and seraphim, with their pure
eyes, around the Father's throne? Yet had God taken him.

The mysteries of life and death came home, in a vivid light, to Ralph's
soul, as he stood holding on to a rope, and gazing down on that boiling
sea, whence he dreaded, every moment, to see his young companion's white
face looking up at him.

Kirke came by, and Denham's good heart prompted him to turn round and
offer him his hand. Little Jackson had run after Kirke like a dog,
admired, followed, idolised him, and Ralph thought he must be as much
impressed as himself by this awful event.

So he put out his hand, saying--

"Oh, Kirke, I am so sorry to hear about Jackson!"

"Bother you and your sorrow! I wish it had been you," replied Kirke
rudely.

Ralph turned away in silence. He, too, almost wished it had been
himself, not that he felt more fit to go, but that the heartlessness of
this fellow struck a chill to his heart.

But Kirke was not so heedless of the event as he tried to seem, nor so
wholly ungrateful for Ralph's sympathy as he chose to appear. This was
the first blow which had struck home to him, and in his pride and sullen
humour he was trying to resist its softening influence. Not for the
world would he have displayed any better feeling at that time, though it
was not altogether absent from his heart.




CHAPTER III

FIRE AT SEA


After this painful episode was over, amidst a succession of calms,
varied by light south-west breezes, changing gradually more and more to
the east, the _Pelican of the North_ crossed the line, and proceeded
upon her way in pleasant weather.

Ralph would have enjoyed this time much but for the pest of cockroaches
which now swarmed over them and their belongings. These disgusting
insects were of two sorts, one of which had always been troublesome from
the first, but were now supplemented by a second, not seen much except
by night, but which crawled about then in such immense numbers, through
the hours of darkness, as to do great damage. They ran over the cabin
floors, up the walls, were shaken out in showers from the rigging when a
sail was unfurled; they honeycombed the biscuit, they were found in the
boots and shoes, and made life a burden to young Denham, who entertained
a particular aversion to creeping insects.

"How I wish we could find anything which would rid us of these beastly
things?" sighed he one day to Mr. Gilchrist, when the vermin had been
seized with a literary fureur, and eaten out the ink from some notes
which he had been at considerable pains to compile from a book of
natural history. "Last night I thought we must have some spiritualist
on board, or ghosts, or something uncanny. I was wakened up by the noise
as if everything in the cabin had taken to dancing about in a frolic,
till I discovered it was nothing but thousands of these horrid creatures
crawling and rustling about. Some nights I verily believe that they will
eat us up bodily."

Mr. Gilchrist laughed.

"Never mind," said he, "we shall be in cooler latitudes soon, and they
will become more torpid, and go back to their holes again. We are
nearing the Cape."

"Shall we touch at the Cape? Shall we see the Table Mountain, sir, do
you think?"

"I rather fancy not. From what the captain said the other day, I believe
that there are currents there which are apt to be trying to a
heavily-laden ship such as ours. Squalls are very prevalent in rounding
the Cape, and I think he will give it a wide berth. We do not need
water, nor have we any particular reason for delaying the voyage by
putting in at Cape Town."

"We must be near land, I should think, for there are so many birds about
now. Some of them are birds that I never saw before."

"Albatrosses to wit? You do not want to shoot one, do you, and share the
fate of the Ancient Mariner?"

"No, not quite that, though if everyone who had done so were to be
exposed to a similar fate there would be a good many phantom ships
careering about the high-seas. Lots of the ships that come into
Liverpool have their skins, or their bills, or something on board. I
have an albatross' bill at home that a sailor gave me. I have a lot of
things fastened up about the walls of my room. It is easy to get foreign
curiosities in Liverpool, but I left all mine as a legacy to my sister
Agnes, and promised to look out for more when I got to Rangoon, and met
with any chance of sending them home to her."

"It will be a good plan. If you have any ready in time I will take them
back for you, and call to see your mother to tell her how you are
getting on, what sort of lodgings you have, and all about you."

"That will be very kind, sir. In that case I will try to shoot one of
those birds, for they are quite new to me. They are of a blue colour in
part, with a black streak across the top of the wings."

"Those are blue petrels, I believe; birds which are only found in
southern seas. We will try to preserve the skins of one or two with
carbolic powder, though I fear that your friends the cockroaches will
get at them."

"Ugh! Don't call them my friends! You should have seen the third mate,
Mr. Kershaw, teasing the cook yesterday. Cook came up in the evening for
a breath of air, and was leaning over the side looking down at the 'sea
on fire' as they call it--it was splendid late last night. Mr. Kershaw
came up to him and looked at him very earnestly, first on one side and
then on the other, as if he saw something queer about him. Cook began to
squirm about uncomfortably.

"'What is it, Mr. Kershaw?' asked he. 'Is there anything wrong about
me?'

"'Oh no, my good fellow, no,' said the mate. 'It only struck me that
cockroaches are a peculiar kind of pets, but it is every man's own
business if he chooses to let them sleep in the folds of his shirt. Do
you always keep them there?'

"'Where, where?' called out the cook, all in a hurry. 'Cockroaches on my
shirt? Where?'

"He was trying to see over his shoulder in an impossible kind of way; he
put his hands up to his neck and down to his waist at the back; he
shuddered, and shook himself, but could not find them; and it was not
likely that he could, for there were none there to be found.

"Mr. Kershaw was pretending to help him, poking at him up and down his
back.

"'Oh, I thought I had them then!--there, under your arm,--no, down your
leg. Dear me! how very active they are. What remarkably fine specimens!
They seem to be quite tame; how much you must know about them to live
with them like this, quite in the style of a happy family. They really
seem to love you. I should not like to keep them about myself though, in
this manner. Do you _always_ have them upon your own person, my friend?'

"At last the cook twigged the joke, for we were all laughing so, but he
was quite cross about it, and flung away muttering something about
fools, and wishing to knock Mr. Kershaw's head off for him."

Ralph could not help laughing again at the remembrance of the scene, and
Mr. Gilchrist joined in his merriment.

But soon there was no more time for jokes or laughter, stern reality
claimed all their attention.

Mr. Gilchrist was sitting one day upon a lounging-chair, beneath the
shade of an awning, when the captain approached him with anxiety plainly
imprinted on his face.

"How now, Rogers?" said he; "your face is as long as from here to
there!"

"And with good reason too," replied the captain; "I fear that a terrible
calamity has come upon us."

"Why, my good fellow, what can be going to happen now?" cried Gilchrist,
alarmed in his turn.

"Fire," said Rogers laconically, but with grave emphasis.

"Fire!" exclaimed both Gilchrist and Ralph at the same instant, staring
around them in perplexity upon the placid sea, the sunny sky, the
swelling sails, the pennon idly fluttering on the breeze. "Fire! Where?
How?"

For all answer the captain pointed to a few slender spiral coils of
smoke, issuing from the seams of the deck where the caulking had worn
away.

Mr. Gilchrist looked aghast.

"Do you mean the cargo?" he asked fearfully.

"Even so," said the captain. "It may be only heating from water reaching
it during the storm. We are going to open the hatches and see if we can
put it out, but I fear that the mischief was done when we loaded the
coal. It was such wet weather while we were taking it on board.
Gilchrist," said he, lowering his voice, "if there is anything
particularly valuable among your things, put it up in small compass, and
be ready for the worst in case we have to take to the boats."

"Do you anticipate such a thing?"

"It is always well to be prepared."

Mr. Gilchrist had many things--books, maps, scientific instruments,
collecting cases, a costly binocular microscope with all its appliances,
and other articles, nothing having been spared for his equipment; but in
the shock of this surprise he forgot them all, and, springing from his
chair, hurried to the scene of action.

The whole crew gathered hastily around to know the worst, and gazed with
blanched faces at each other as the hatches were carefully raised.

A universal cry of horror escaped them, when such a cloud of steam and
smoke, with so sulphureous a stench, rushed out, upon vent being given
to the hold, that they were driven back gasping for air.

"Good Heavens!" cried Mr. Gilchrist, "there are two thousand tons of
coal down there! The Lord have mercy upon us!"

"How far are we from land?" asked Ralph.

"I do not know. I suppose that it depends greatly on the wind for
calculating the length of time it will take us to reach it. I believe
the captain hoped to make Moulmein in about a week or ten days more."

"Where is that hose?" thundered the captain. "Bring it here at once.
Douche the hold well. Mellish, we must try to jettison the cargo, and
make room for water enough to reach down the hold."

"Right you are, sir!" cried the first mate. "Who volunteers?"

The hardiest men among the crew pressed forward. Two parties were
quickly told off, one to relieve the other. The men flew to the pumps
and hose; all was excitement and hurry--not a soul of them flinched.

"Here, give me hold of a bucket," cried Mr. Gilchrist, taking his place
in a line of men hauling up sea-water to supplement the volumes from the
hose.

Ralph rushed to assist at the pumps. Streams of water poured down the
hold; volumes of steam arose, hissing, through the hatchways. It was
long before the bravest of the men could descend, no one could have
breathed in such an atmosphere; and when two leapt into the chasm at
last, they had immediately to be drawn up again, fainting, scorched,
choked with the sulphureous fumes.

They were laid on the deck, buckets of water dashed upon them, and they
came, gasping, to themselves.

"'Tis of no use, mates," said they. "The mouth of hell itself could be
no fiercer."

It was indeed like looking down the crater of a volcano to glance into
that awful depth--the fire had got complete hold of the coal.

"We must take to the boats, sir," said Mellish.

"Not yet," replied the captain. "We have no security yet from that
cyclone,--did boats fall into its clutches, there is no chance for them.
We may skirt it in the barque by God's providence; it blows from the
west'ard quarter, and its tail may help us towards the mainland quicker
than boats would take us. Batten down the hatches, but leave the hose
room for entrance, and keep up the water as much as we can. Provision
the boats, and have everything ready to man them quickly when all hope
is over; but we stick to the old girl to the last gasp."

There were two large boats, both capable of holding ten or twelve men;
two smaller ones, which could accommodate six or eight each; and the
captain's gig, usually manned by a similar number.

It would require the whole five to receive all the crew, for it
consisted of twenty seamen, an apprentice, Ralph, a cook, sailmaker,
carpenter, boatswain, three mates and the captain,--thirty souls besides
Mr. Gilchrist. Even with all the five boats there would be but little
space to save much of their possessions, but there was the less demand
for this as the men, taking fright at the state of the cargo, refused to
go below even for their own kits. Indeed, the stench of sulphur, and
rapid spread of the smother, justified them in their fears.

The cook's galley and the storehouses were on deck, the latter in the
poop, close by the captain's cabin, and the former amidships; it was
therefore easy to store the boats with a sufficiency of provision and
water, and Captain Rogers proceeded to tell off the men for each.

He himself must be the last to leave the ship; and equally, of course,
must Mr. Gilchrist be considered among the first. He must go in the
first boat, commanded by Mellish; eight seamen, Kirke, and the carpenter
would form its complement. But Mr. Gilchrist refused.

"No," said he. "I am an interloper here, it is right that I should come
last, and leave these poor fellows to have first chance of their lives.
Put a married man in my place, there is no one dependent upon me at
home."

"Nay," said Captain Rogers, "you are my charge, I must see you safe
first."

"My good fellow," replied Mr. Gilchrist with determination, "do not
waste time in arguing; I go with you."

"And I too, uncle," said Ralph. "Do not ask me to part from you."

"For you, boy," replied the captain, "right and good, you are as my own,
and ought to take risks with me; but for you, Gilchrist, think better of
it."

"Now, Rogers," said Mr. Gilchrist, "why waste time? Don't you know when
a man has made up his mind?"

There was indeed a general perception that time was short, the men
worked with all their might, and the boats were stored rapidly. The
three mates and the boatswain were each to command one; the coxswains
were selected from the best of the seamen, and every man was given his
place, to which he was at once to repair upon a given signal.

Was it wise to wait longer before embarking in them? A dead calm had
fallen, an ominous stillness pervaded the atmosphere, no breeze, not the
faintest sigh, was there to swell the sails, and a brassy sky in the
west received the sinking sun.

And the little coils of smoke grew larger, they writhed up from crack
and cranny like snakes, and span and twisted, puffed and swelled, with
horrible sportiveness.

The men worked in silence, casting fearful glances on this side and
that, as they trod those decks which formed so slight a protection for
them from the fiery chasm beneath. They gathered in groups as the night
fell with the rapidity of those latitudes, but they did not talk.

In the quiet they could hear little slippings of the coal, little
reports now and then, and they fancied that a sullen roar might be
distinguished, now gathering volume, then dying away.

The night was very dark,--was it the looming storm or the furnace
beneath them which made the air so oppressive and close? Nothing could
be done without light, and the suspense was horrible. Every now and then
the captain, holding a lantern low, swept the decks, examining to see
whether the smoke had increased or lessened. There appeared to be but
little difference, but such change as there was lay in the direction of
increase.

Thicker and thicker grew the gloom, blacker and blacker the night,
heavier and heavier the sultry air. Then a faint moaning was heard among
the shrouds, a hissing on the surface of the water, and the cyclone
broke upon them with a cry as of demons rejoicing over their prey.

The vessel gave a shudder like a living creature, then bounded forwards,
heeling over from force of the wind in the most perilous manner; every
cord straining, every sail swollen to its utmost tension.

It was but the edge of the cyclone, but even that gave them enough to
do. The sea boiled around them; great waves tossed the devoted ship on
their crests, and buried it in their trough, driving it onward with fury
all but unmanageable.

Then rose up a wall of water above their heads, it dashed down upon the
decks, and rushed out from the scuppers in foaming streams; and in the
next instant the mainsail was torn from its holdings, the mast gave way
with an awful rending and crash, and beat about to this side and that,
to the peril of all around.

"The boats! the boats!" shrieked the men.

"Take to the boats!" shouted Rogers.

They sprang to the davits to loosen the boats, and the howling wind took
the gear in its teeth and wrenched its supports from their hold,
whirling the two first boats away as if they had been feathers.

Floods of water poured over the decks, making their way plentifully down
into the hold through a thousand clefts opened by the straining timbers,
and the steam rose in thicker and hotter clouds as they washed away.

Then a lull came,--were they out of the line of the cyclone?

"Cut the ropes of the starboard boats," cried the captain. "We can hold
out no longer. 'Tis life or death."

Again was the effort made,--again did failure greet the devoted men; the
smaller boat was swamped at once. Better fortune served them over the
others; the large one and the captain's gig were lowered safely, and the
men crowded into them with headlong speed, many throwing themselves into
the seething water in their haste, some to be hauled on board by their
comrades, and more than one to be swept out of sight for ever.

Hardly could the united efforts of the captain, mates, and Mr. Gilchrist
control the panic: they stood, silent and firm, with set teeth and
blanched faces, as the seamen crushed past them and dropped over the
side, only endeavouring to withhold them so as to give each his fair
chance of escape. Minutes were like hours; the crowd lessened,--cries
and shouts for haste rose up from the thronged boats. Captain Rogers
turned, caught Ralph by the arm and swung him over the side; Mr.
Gilchrist slipped down a rope and was hauled in; Mellish leapt; the
captain stood alone, the last of all.

He looked hurriedly around--all were gone, his duty done, and he too
threw himself into the gig.

So hampered were the rowers by the mass of living creatures crushed
into so small a space, that they could hardly manage their oars; the
boats were weighted down to the water's edge, and had not the storm
spent its fury in that last awful burst, all hope of living in such a
sea would have been futile.

But the hand of Providence was over them; they shook down into something
like order, and rowed away from the doomed ship with all the expedition
they could raise; and not one moment too soon; for, hardly were they at
a safe distance, when, with an awful roar,--a splitting and crashing of
timbers,--an explosion like the crack of doom itself,--the deck was
forced upwards, its planks tossed high in air, as if they were chips, by
the pillar of white steam that rose exultingly into the sky; great
tongues of flame shot rapidly up through it, crimson and orange among
rolling volumes of smoke; and the rising sun paled before the glowing
fiery mass that reddened the waters far and wide ere it sank into their
bosom, leaving its débris of burnt and blackened wastry floating idly on
its surface.

A groan burst from the white lips of the men as the seething ruin that
had been their home for so many weeks disappeared slowly from their
gaze.




CHAPTER IV

THE RAFT


What were the occupants of the boats to do? What would become of them?
Twenty-six men in boats only meant to accommodate eighteen at most, and
these with but little food or water, no change of clothes, few comforts
of any kind, an insufficiency even of necessaries,--and they were within
the tropics.

The sun rose up in fierce majesty, and blazed down upon them like fire
itself. Some had no hats, and suffered terribly from this cause. The sea
was like molten metal heaving close around them; the crowd impeded all
proper use of the oars or sailing gear. Of this last the captain's gig
had none.

The men looked at each other with haggard eyes, despair in their faces.
It would require but a slight touch to make them abandon themselves to
hopelessness, losing heart altogether, and becoming demoralised.

They must be induced to do something, to strike a blow for their own
salvation, or all would be lost.

Rogers was the right man in the right place here. Out broke his cheerful
voice--

"Three cheers for the last of the old _Pelican_, my boys! She dies
gloriously after all. No ship-breaker's yard for the gallant old girl!"

He led the cheers, which were echoed but faintly.

"'Tis well," pursued he; "'tis a crowning mercy that we are in the
current which sets into the Barogna Flats. It will bear us along softly
and well, barring any more cyclones, but it is not likely that we shall
have another of those wild customers now. It has swept over for the
time, anyhow."

"Will you not make for Diamond Island, sir?" asked Mellish, the first
mate.

"By all means," said the captain, "if we are able to _make for_
anything. But, my good fellow," dropping his voice, "we must take our
chance of getting _anywhere_. In this crowd we cannot hold out long,
neither can we pick and choose our course. We can practically only
drift, and keep up our hearts."

"We are nearly sure to be met by some ship going into Rangoon," said
Mellish, speaking with more certainty than he felt.

"There is a light on the Krishna Shoal, if we could reach that," said
Kershaw, the third mate. "I was in Rangoon on my first voyage, and
remember it; a thing like the devil on three sticks instead of two."

A laugh followed this description of the lighthouse which all the old
salts knew.

"Ay, my lad," said the captain cheerily, "we'll make for your
three-legged devil, and let him take the hindmost."

"Zur," said old Wills, touching his forelock, "there'm a lot of spars
and timbers afloat, would it not be best to try and draw enough in to
make a catamaran, like az we used to be teached to make for a pinch when
I wor in the navy?"

"A catamaran!" exclaimed young Kershaw. "Why, man, what good would that
be so far to sea? You may see them by the dozen off shore, but how do
you propose to make one here?"

"From timber-heads and greenhorn, zur," replied the old fellow very
demurely.

"Do you think you can?" asked Rogers, who was thinking too intently to
have noticed this byplay. "The boats are of such different sizes."

"'Twon't be a fust-class affair, your honour," replied Wills. "Not az if
we had her blessed Majesty's resources to hand; but Osborn here, he du
knaw what I mean so well az any, and I daresay there's others too."

"Ay!" cried two or three.

"'Twould give more elbow-room d'ye zee, zur."

"It would," said the captain; "but you could not do it unless the boats
were nearer of a size, I am convinced."

"Maybe not, sir," said Mr. Mellish, "but there seem to be a lot of casks
among the wreckage. If we could haul in half a dozen oil hogsheads, and
put them three of a side, we might contrive what would relieve both
boats considerably. Then we might leave the big boat to keep that
company, and push ahead with the gig to fetch help."

"Right you be, zur," said Wills.

There was a coil of rope in the large boat, they made a running noose in
it, and endeavoured to fling it over some of the coveted casks; but the
difficulty was enormous, partly from want of room in which to work, and
partly from the danger that floating wreckage might swamp their boat,
and so destroy their only chance of life.

Some spars and staves were collected, suitable to the purpose, but the
sea was much agitated from the recent cyclone, and the difficulty of
approaching the hogsheads was apparently insurmountable. The things
might have been alive and spiteful, so persistently did they elude every
wile.

Just when the men, utterly disheartened, were inclined to abandon the
effort as hopeless, the noose caught, apparently more by haphazard than
by skill, and a hogshead of oil was drawn alongside.

In their excitement the men nearly upset the boat, and Rogers had to
repress them sternly.

"Have a care, men, have a care! look at the sharks all about us. You
don't want to fatten them, do ye?"

"Broach that cask," cried one among them. "Let the ile out, 'twill calm
the sea."

"Ay!" said Rogers, "let it out."

Another hogshead was brought in now, and, strange to say, the oil being
emptied did make the water smoother as far as it reached around them.

While the men in one boat redoubled their efforts to obtain more of
these casks, old Wills and his mate Osborn connected the two empty ones
by a spar laid across and firmly affixed to each end. They did this at
the imminent risk of their lives, for it was necessary to get upon the
spar, in a kneeling position, so as to secure the ropes firmly, and any
slip into the sea would probably have been followed by a rush of white
light to the spot, and the disappearance of the man, or at least of one
of his members.

Those in the boats watched anxiously the while, crying out now and then,
"'Ware shark!"

As these alarms were half of them false ones, the old fellows became too
well accustomed to them for more than a passing glance from their work,
which became safer for them as the casks were firmly fastened.

In the meantime a third cask was obtained, but it seemed all but
impossible to attach a fourth. There was one within approachable
distance, but it bobbed a little farther off with each effort to cast
the noose over it. Seeing the impunity which had attended the efforts of
Wills and Osborn, a man called Whittingham, a strong active young
daredevil, got upon the spar, and made his careful way out to its far
end, rope in hand, coiled up, ready for a cast.

He worked himself astride the spar with considerable difficulty, for the
thing was up in the air at one moment, so that the lookers-on expected
to see him flung backwards into the sea; then down the length would
plunge, as if about to bury itself in some great green cavern, into
which he must go headlong.

It was like riding a kicking horse, but the hardy fellow kept his hold,
reached the hogshead farthest from the boat, flung the coil, and it fell
short though actually touching the cask.

Reclaiming the length of cord, Whittingham, in defiance of all prudence,
flung himself into the boiling sea and swam towards the coveted object.

"Come back, man! Come back!" shouted the captain.

"A shark! A shark!" roared the sailors.

Whittingham paid no heed, he reached the cask and got the rope around
it. He had a cord passed round his waist, and prepared to be hauled back
by it, when his awful shriek rent the air, and a groan burst from the
white lips of his comrades.

A huge shark had rushed swiftly up, and taken the poor fellow's legs off
at his middle. The sea was crimsoned with his blood, as his head was
seen turned, with an agonised expression, at sight of the certain death
come upon him. In another minute the tension of the strong hands
relaxed, and the man's upper half also disappeared from sight.

Ralph hid his face, trembling with horror.

But the men knew well that this was the fate which awaited them all did
the boats capsize before rescue arrived, and they redoubled their
efforts to help themselves.

The fatal cask was drawn in, reddened still with the lifeblood of poor
Whittingham, which had splashed all over it, and it enabled Wills and
his assistants to construct a sort of oblong frame, supported at each
corner by the buoyant empty vessels. Pieces of wood were laid athwart,
the short way of the raft, which became safer with each fresh plank as
it was affixed.

The chief difficulty was to obtain the wherewithal for making these
planks and timbers secure. There was but very little rope, and only such
nails as clung to the riven timbers, with a few which Wills, like all
carpenters, happened to have in his pocket. The spars and planks were
irregular in length and thickness, neither was it possible to rig up
even a cord run around the raft, or any manner of bulwark wherewith to
increase its safety.

It could not be navigated by any means, but it could be towed at the
stern of the larger boat, and serve to reduce the crush of people there,
so as give free scope either to step the mast and sail her, or for the
men to use their oars.

Both boats being thus relieved, the captain's gig would then row away,
with a light complement of men, and try to make Diamond Island, upon
which a pilot station was well known to exist; or the Krishna Shoal,
where it was probable that help might be either obtained or signalled
for by those in the lightship.

With help of the current this was possible, provided the weather
remained calm.

The question now arose as to who should be transferred to the raft,--who
could best be spared from the boats.

Mellish must remain in command of the large boat, with Kershaw. The
second mate must go with the captain. The four officers must be thus
divided to ensure a head in case of accident to either one among them.

The crew of the captain's gig must also be retained. They were picked
men, and the most likely to hold out in case of long-continued exertion
or another gale of wind.

"Uncle," said Ralph, "I will go on the raft. I cannot help in the boat,
I do not know enough, but I can make room for a better man."

"You are right, my boy," said the captain a little huskily. "You are a
plucky chap, and your mother shall hear of this if any of us live."

"I go on the raft, equally of course," said Mr. Gilchrist firmly.

"Let we go, maister," proposed Wills, usually spokesman for himself and
Osborn. "Uz will keep an eye on the young 'un, ef it be only because
he'm Miss Amy's chield."

The captain grasped the old fellow's hand in silence, and two of the
ordinary seamen, of less use than the A.B.'s, were added to the little
gimcrack craft's crew.

The biscuit was apportioned out to each as far as it went, and the gig
parted company from its fellows. When nearly out of sight, the men
lifted their oars in the air as a farewell greeting, and the fast
gathering shades of night engulfed them.

Their companions, both in the boat and on the raft, watched their
disappearance in silence. They were exhausted with the emotions of the
last few days, and the heavy work of the last twenty-four hours. Little
could be done through the night but wait for the dawn. They set a watch,
and each tried to get some rest in turn.

There had been a question as to whether Kirke should not have gone on
the raft. It would have been fitter for him to have done so than for Mr.
Gilchrist, who, always delicate, had recently been so ill. He was a
guest, if not a passenger, and should have had the best place.

He had, however, settled the question for himself, allowing no demur,
and the men were grateful to him for so doing. Most of them were married
men, with young children or other helpless ones dependent upon them. The
safety of the raft was bound up in the safety of the boat. If anything
happened to swamp the boat, the raft was doomed to share the same fate;
whereas, were the raft lost, those in the boat still had a chance. Those
who could work the oars and sails best were the right men to remain in
it.

But Kirke was not one of these; neither his strength nor his knowledge
made him as useful as an O. S. would have been, but he claimed his place
in the boat as an officer, and there was no time for debate. Captain
Rogers let it pass,--perhaps he had his own private reasons for so
doing.

The men owned no reasons, public or private, for keeping this much
disliked young man among them; they would far rather have had Ralph of
the two; and thought that Mr. Gilchrist should have been kept in the
best place.

They murmured; they made remarks to each other aimed at the selfish
apprentice, and which he perfectly understood; while Kershaw openly
taunted him with selfishness and cowardice.

Kirke maintained a dogged silence, but his brow became more lowering,
and his mouth more set in a kind of vicious sullenness every moment.

So night fell.




CHAPTER V

ADRIFT ON THE OCEAN


Night fell over the shipwrecked men, a strange one for the denizens of
the raft.

There, at least, was peace, and a hearty determination to make the best
of their position.

They had some sailcloth and a boat cloak. The men arranged the packages,
which had been turned out to disencumber the boat, so as to make a
tolerably comfortable back; they laid down a couple of planks close
together, rolled up the sailcloth into a kind of cushion above them, and
placed Mr. Gilchrist upon it, wrapped in the cloak.

That gentleman would gladly have shared these accommodations among some
of them, but the men would not hear of it.

"Lord love you, zur," said Osborn, "there's enough for one, but two
wouldn't zay thank'ee for a part. We'm used to roughing it. 'Tis fine
and cool after all the heat and pother to-day."

Ralph, upon whom his friend urged his wishes more strongly, only
laughed. He seated himself upon one leg on a packing-case, the other
foot dangling; he crossed his arms on the head of the biscuit-barrel
against which Mr. Gilchrist leaned, half-sitting, and, burying his face
upon them, said he should sleep like a top there, for he was so tired he
could not keep his eyes open.

The sailors squatted down, finding such ease as was possible, and quiet
fell over all. The night was a dark one, and very still; there was not a
breath of wind to fill the sail in the boat, half the men there were
getting what repose they could, and the others trusted more to the
current than to their oars through the darkness. Silence had fallen upon
all there as well as on the raft.

But Mr. Gilchrist could not sleep. He was a nervous, excitable man, and
the new and excessively perilous position in which he found himself
precluded all possibility of sleep. His senses seemed rather to be
preternaturally acute, and he could not even close his eyes.

The lapping of the sea against the raft, the occasional gleam of
something swiftly passing, and which he believed to be a shark
accompanying the crazy little craft,--for what purpose he shuddered to
think,--the occasional sounds which reached him from the boat, all kept
him awake.

He lay, half-reclining, with his face towards the boat, which was full
in his view. He could faintly see the oars dipping into the water,
keeping way on the boat, and Kershaw's slim figure holding the tiller
ropes. Presently he saw the one set of men relieved by the other, he
smiled to observe the mate's long arms tossed out, evidently
accompanying a portentous yawn, and then he was replaced by a shorter,
broader back, which Mr. Gilchrist knew must belong to Kirke.

A sort of half-doze succeeded for a short time, then Ralph changed his
position, which startled him into wakefulness once more, and
discontented tones reached him from the boat.

"What are you about? Steer straight. You will tip us all over. What's
the fellow doing?"

"Dropped my cap overboard. I was not going to lose it. Shut up!"

A few more murmurs, then all was still again; but, was he mistaken? did
his eyes, unaccustomed to judge of objects in the darkness, deceive him,
or were they farther from the boat than before?

He peered anxiously into the gloom, and felt certain that the motion of
the raft was changed. There was less ripple against its prow.

"Wills," said he softly to the old carpenter, who lay full length within
reach of his hand,--"Wills, there is something wrong."

The man was on the alert instantaneously.

"Zur?" he asked.

"I fear we have parted the towline," said Mr Gilchrist.

Wills cautiously moved to where the rope had been fastened--it hung
loose, there was no tension upon it, and he hauled it in hand over hand.

"My God!" he cried, "we are lost!"

They shouted to the men in the boat, but the distance was widening every
moment between them. Kirke did not seem to hear, to understand. The men
clamoured, the first mate arose, took the helm, and tried to turn her
head so as to row back, but the darkness was greater than ever. Those in
the raft could no longer distinguish the boat, what chance therefore
existed of those in the boat seeing the raft, which lay so much lower in
the water?

They raised a shout, hoping to direct their friends by means of sound,
but that hope failed them. They kept it up till they were exhausted,
till a long line of faint light illumined the east, till daylight leapt
out of the sea and all was bright about them. A little breeze sprang up
with the dawn, the water had not yet quite calmed down from the
disturbance caused by the tornado; they looked north, south, east, and
west, but saw the boat nowhere.

They were alone upon the sea, with but a plank between them and death;
with no means of helping themselves, with only enough food for one day,
and the sharks swimming around them in sure certainty of their meal
sooner or later.

One of the seamen took hold of the end of the towline, and held it up
for the rest to see.

It had been severed with a knife! It had not been so rotten as to give
of its own accord from the strain put upon it; it had not frayed itself,
or broken at any weak spot, it _had been cut_.

They had been cast adrift by their own companions, of malice prepense.

"God forgive him!" ejaculated Mr. Gilchrist.

"Who?" gasped Ralph.

"The unhappy wretch who did this."

Ralph made no further remark; there was but one among the boat's crew
who was malicious enough to be even suspected of such a crime, and the
boy could not bear to think it of him. But that _somebody_ had severed
the rope, was beyond doubt.

The fierce sun blazed down upon the waste of water, there was nothing to
be done but to sit still and bear it. Their limbs were cramped from
their inability to change their positions, there was no help for that.
Raging headache came on; there was a small tin pail, and Wills tried to
dip up sea-water and cast it over Mr. Gilchrist's fevered brow. With the
first movement such a rush of sharks was made to the place as caused
them all to shudder. What had they expected that they snapped so eagerly
at the pail?

The men were hungry, but thirst overpowered hunger, and they must
economise their little stock of biscuit and water. For how many days
would it avail to keep life in them were they not picked up?

About noon, as well as they could judge, Wills served out a biscuit
each, and about a half-pint of water.

Ralph sickened at thought of eating, and laid the biscuit down.

"That won't do, Ralph," said Mr. Gilchrist. "You must take what means
are in your power to keep your life, it is your plain duty. Your life is
not your own, you are only placed in charge of it, and will have to
render up an account of your stewardship. How can you tell for what your
Master wants you? He may be preparing you by this terrible trial for the
work He created you to do."

"Lord, zur, 'ee du spit it out like a buke," said Osborn admiringly.
"Eat it now, Maister Ralph, do 'ee now, like a good chield."

Ralph was fain to smile, and took up the biscuit again, feeling less
sick when he had swallowed it.

At nightfall another was given round, and a few mouthfuls more water;
then the long hours of darkness fell again upon them, only more
endurable in that they were cooler. They knew that but one more meal
remained, the pangs of starvation must then be theirs. It was no wonder
that they had not much to say to each other, although none slept.

They were in the track of ships going to Rangoon, that was their only
hope; but so low were they in the water, so impossible was it to raise a
signal in any manner, that even in broad daylight fifty ships might pass
within sight of them and never perceive their extremity. But there were
no ships to be seen, nothing to break the skyline, nothing of any sort
_upon_ that wide expanse of heaving water but themselves, while--the
sharks--the sharks were _beneath_ its surface.

Towards morning, when the light breeze brought something of coolness and
refreshment even to them, a little oblivion, a temporary
half-forgetfulness of all around came over most of them, deepening into
real sleep with some.

Ralph slept, and dreamed happily. He thought he saw his mother and
sisters walking together. He did not think it strange that they should
be walking on the sea; they were talking earnestly to each other, when
his youngest sister, a pretty flaxen-headed child of three years old,
popped a rosy face out of the waves at their feet, and bubbled over into
such merry laughter that he laughed too, and woke himself.

"Why, Ralph!" exclaimed Mr. Gilchrist, aroused by so unexpected a sound.

"Christ Jesus!" shrieked Wills at the same moment, awakened also.
"Christ Jesus! What is here?"

His yell was echoed by all the others, for a huge black mass reared
itself almost above their heads, and was bearing down upon them.

With the desperation of men at their last gasp they shrieked out, "Hoi,
hoi! Hallo! Hallo!"

Their voices seemed to make no noise, they raised them impotently to
their own ears; but that was only the fancy of despair, they had a
proper volume of sound in reality. They were heard, answered with an
English cheer; English faces rushed to look over the top of that great
thing; English voices clamoured; chains rattled; word of command was
given; paddles splashed; a boat was lowered; men dropped into it over
the side; a few strokes brought it to them; and they were taken on
board, among exclamations of wonder and welcome.

So stiff and spent were they that they had almost to be lifted into the
boat, and were assisted up from it into the steamer which had rescued
them; but movement eased them, and the joyous excitement of all around
helped to restore them.

Crew, firemen, officers, passengers, swarmed around them, to
congratulate them, to shake them by the hand, to clap them upon the
back. Hot coffee was brought as if by magic, and proved a wonderful
restorer; wine, food, fruit, were lavished upon them; dry, comfortable
clothes and beds were ready for their repose.

Oh, how exquisite to feel the cool, clean linen around them, to bathe
their scorched, blistered faces in fair water, to remove the dirt of
days' accumulation, to be revived with food so delicious to their
palates, to feel the sweetest sleep stealing over them as they laid
their heads down in security once more!

Until they had been fed, clothed, and rested, they were unable to give
or understand information as to their whereabouts; but so completely had
they lost their bearings, so utterly miscalculated the strength of the
current, that though they had hoped to make Diamond Island, they had
really passed that place, and missed all indications as to the entrance
of the Rangoon river.

The Krishna Shoal had been passed unseen, the Barogna Flats unheeded.
They had never perceived the lighthouse, or been aware that they were
near it, but were drifting aimlessly about just beyond that place.

The steamer was taking passengers from Rangoon to Moulmein, where they
were landed in the course of the next day, and carried straight into
hospital in high fever.

The seamen were tough fellows, and soon recovered. Mr. Gilchrist, though
considered so delicate a man, also suffered less than Ralph, who, having
kept up so bravely through the whole of their trials, now proved to have
received a severe shock to his constitution. His brain was violently
affected, and delirium was most distressing and persistent.

For some days the doctors feared whether he would ever recover his
reason even were his life spared to him; and, when the fever left him,
his prostration was great.

Youth and natural good health conquered at last, and he recovered. Then
he learnt that the news of their rescue had been sent to Rangoon, and
joyfully received by his uncle and shipmates. Rogers had made the pilot
station on Diamond Island, and been helped into Rangoon, where he was
cordially received by the friends of his owners, and business
connections.

The _Pelican of the North_ had been insured, though the cargo was not.
The Liverpool firm of Herford Brothers was a wealthy and liberal one,
Rogers and the other officers were to return home in another of its
ships then unloading in Rangoon; the seamen could obtain berths in any
homeward-bound vessel.

But there was bad news for Ralph. The firm of rice merchants to which he
was going had failed, and his hope of a situation in it doomed to
disappointment.

For some time the fate of the boat remained uncertain.




CHAPTER VI

THE DENHAMS AT HOME


While the _Pelican of the North_ was making this disastrous voyage,
troubles had fallen thick and plenty upon the Denhams at home.

With Ralph's departure Mrs. Denham had felt herself able to take a
second lodger. Mr. Benson, head book-keeper in the firm of Messrs.
Herford Brothers, for whom Captain Rogers sailed, had lodged with her
for some years. He was a quiet retiring man, an old bachelor, who gave
very little trouble, being regular in his habits, which were simple. He
occupied the breakfast-room, in front of the house, downstairs, and a
bedroom, also in front, at the top of the house.

There was a good-sized room in the front of the house, above the
breakfast-room, originally meant for a drawing-room, and a bedroom
behind it. Mrs. Denham had occupied the latter herself, hitherto, and
made a nursery of the larger apartment. These she now proposed to let;
she and all the children doubling up at night in two very moderate-sized
bedrooms at the top of the house, and only retaining one parlour, the
large dining-room on the groundfloor.

To make the new set of apartments sufficiently comfortable to
accommodate a lodger, the best furniture from all her own part of the
house was collected in them; they were repapered, repainted, and new
carpets and curtains bought.

Captain Rogers had made his sister a present of money to assist her in
these arrangements, but the greatest economy was necessary to make it
cover these unavoidable expenses, and those of Ralph's outfit.

Jack and Reggie stained the floors brown; Agnes and her mother toiled
over the upholstery and little adornments; all looked very nice when
finished; but, beneath the surface, things were not comfortable. The
family was too much cramped for room. A lodger was quickly found, but
the work of the house was greatly increased; and the tempers of both
Jack and Lisa were difficult, and caused much unpleasantness.

Mrs. Denham was glad that it was a lady who took the rooms, for she
would not have liked either of her pretty daughters to help in waiting
upon a gentleman except Mr. Benson, whom they knew so well; and, as her
profits would not allow the keeping of a second servant, it was
indispensable that they should do so.

She superintended the cooking herself, as the maid-of-all-work was but a
cheap willing drudge, unequal to the preparation of any but the simplest
dishes.

Mr. Benson only dined at home on Sundays, but supper was wanted for him,
or chops with a late tea. The new inmate, Miss Mason, an elderly single
lady, took all her meals in the house, dined in the middle of the day,
and liked her food daintily served. It made heavy work, though comfort
in the family household was sacrificed.

Agnes had a situation as daily governess. She went to her pupils after
breakfast, dined with them, walked with them, and did not return till
nearly five o'clock, except on Saturdays, when she came back earlier.

Lisa was at school. She was clever and ambitious, eager to pass
examinations so as to rise in the world. She was fourteen, and her
studies took up all her time.

Jack came next to her in age; but there was a gap in the family, where
one had died between him and Reggie; and a wider one, where two had died
between Reggie and little Cicely, who was but three years old. The baby
was nearly two, a very delicate child, a great anxiety to his mother.

Agnes came in one evening in October. It had been a pouring wet day, and
was already growing dark, for she had a long walk to and from her
pupils' residence.

"My dear," said her mother, who sat by a mere handful of fire, with the
baby whining on her lap,--"My dear, how wet you are! You will take
cold."

"It is only outside wet, mother," said she brightly; "I will change my
shoes and stockings, and soon be dry."

"I am so sorry to ask it, dear," continued Mrs. Denham, "but Mr. Benson
has sent up an office boy to say that he is bringing a gentleman home
with him, and could he have dinner at seven instead of tea. I had a dish
of rissoles for him, which will not be enough, but there is nothing else
in the house. Would you mind stepping as far as the shops, and bringing
in something which we could get ready in time?"

"Oh no, I can run along very quickly, mamma. What shall I bring? A fowl
to roast? That could be cooked best, I suppose; and a few sausages. Any
vegetables?"

"Yes, please dear, and some coffee; he will like a cup of coffee after
dinner. And some tinned soup; there is no time to make any, and Monday
is such a bad day on which to get fish. Will you mind bringing it all
back with you, for Maria is trying to finish the washing, and the
shop-people are so tiresome about sending to this distance?"

"No, mamma, I'll bring it all home."

"And a little something for dessert, Agnes."

"Could you not open some of that ginger which uncle brought home? I'll
bring some nice biscuits."

"A good thought, dear."

Agnes stepped along as quickly as she could, but these errands took her
a long time. The nearest poulterer had no fowls left, and the next one
lived quite a mile off. The omnibuses did not help her, because only a
short part of her way lay along the main road; and her gown, which she
thought safely pinned up beneath her cloak, came loose, hung down behind
in a festoon, which held the rain and beat around her ankles at every
step which she took. Contending with a heavy umbrella through blustering
wind and driving rain, laden with a cumbersome basket, it was of no use
to pick her way, or try to keep herself dry, so she splashed through all
the mud and puddles, and returned home, drenched, cold and wretched.

Hurrying up to put herself into dry clothes, she found Lisa in their
bedroom, with books and papers all round her.

"Oh, Agnes, don't put your wet gloves down there! That is my German
paper, just written. How wet you are! Where have you been? I have wanted
you so badly, just to hear me say these syntax rules. And do tell me
what is the passive form of"--

"Don't keep me now, Lisa, I am in such a hurry. Mamma wants me. Could
you not take baby for an hour? Mr. Benson has somebody coming to dinner,
and nothing is ready. There is Miss Mason's tea to be got too, and Maria
not dressed, and baby poorly. Mamma is driven every way at once."

"I can't take baby, I have heaps of lessons to do. I should lose my
place if they are not done. How can you ask me, Agnes?"

"Well, I must run down, don't hinder me."

"You might just stop one minute to hear me these rules."

"I really can't, Lisa."

"Ill-natured thing," began Lisa fretfully, but Agnes could not stay to
hear her.

Downstairs was chaos. The washtubs and wet clothes were everywhere; the
two boys clamouring for their evening meal, and stumping about in their
dirty boots; Miss Mason was ringing for coals; Mrs. Denham had sent
Maria up to dress, and was trying to prepare the fowl with the baby in
her lap.

"Jack," cried Agnes, "you might just take up some coals to Miss Mason,
to help us."

"I'm not a footboy," said Jack ill-naturedly. "Where's Maria?"

"We are particularly busy; do help," pleaded Agnes.

"Help yourself," said Jack rudely.

"I am helping all I can," replied Agnes.

"Jack," said Mrs. Denham, "do what your sister asks."

Jack did not exactly disobey his mother, but flounced off to fetch the
coal-scuttle as sulkily as he could, and filled it with a tremendous
clatter.

"Here, Reggie, you lazy beggar, you can carry it up; you are doing
nothing."

Reggie took up the scuttle, which, being too heavy for him, upset upon
the stairs, all the coals falling down with an appalling noise and
dreadful mess.

"I'm so sorry," said he, looking frightened.

"Butter fingers!" cried Jack contemptuously.

Agnes set herself to sweep the stairs and hall clean, drove the boys
into the parlour and shut the door on them; then hurried to set Miss
Mason's tea-tray, and send it up by Maria, who now appeared in her tidy
apron and cap. Then she laid the cloth in Mr. Benson's room, and ran
down to help her mother.

"My dear," exclaimed Mrs. Denham in dismay, "I forgot all about a
pudding, and I don't know what we can do!"

"I brought some tarts in, mamma; and I thought we could toss up a sweet
omelette while they are having their soup and meat."

"But eggs?" said Mrs. Denham in despair.

"I bought six pennyworth."

"What should I do without you, love?" sighed her mother.

By dint of great exertion the little dinner was cooked, and served to
Mr. Benson's satisfaction. He, manlike, had not the slightest idea of
the difficulties which had beset his obliging landlady; or that, though
the hunger of Lisa and the boys had been assuaged with thick bread and
butter in the intervals of work, Mrs. Denham and Agnes had not been able
to spare time for food, and were sinking for want of it at nine o'clock.

"You must have a nice cup of coffee now, mamma," said Agnes. "I made
enough when I sent it up to the gentlemen. And here is a bit of fowl
which I slipped into the oven to keep hot."

"You must take some too, Agnes."

"I'll have mine when I come down. Cicely has never been put to bed, she
is asleep on the parlour floor."

She set her mother down by the kitchen fire to take her supper, and
carried off the baby, now asleep, as well as the little girl.

Coming down from putting them to bed, she remembered that Miss Mason's
tea-tray had never been removed, and stepped in to take it down.

"I am so sorry," said she, "that you should have been neglected, Miss
Mason. Mr. Benson has company, and gave us very short notice of what he
wanted, so we have been rather busy."

"My dear," said the kind-hearted Miss Mason, "you look fit to drop."

"I'm rather tired," said Agnes; "but I am going to have some supper
now."

But before she sat down to it a telegram from the office was brought in.

"Something's wrong, miss," said Maria, seeking Agnes. "Mr. Benson, he
guv' a sort of a screech when he read it,--nasty thing,--and he says,
says he, 'Send Miss Denham to me,' says he. I can't think why folks ever
go sending them ugly yellow telegrams about, frightening people."

Agnes did not listen to this tirade, she never imagined that a telegram
for Mr. Benson could affect her. Strangely enough she did not think of
Ralph, she was so tired, and her evening had been so full of pressing
trivialities.

But upon her entering Mr. Benson's room, that gentleman came towards
her, telegram in hand, looking so full of sorrowful compassion that a
cold thrill ran through her at once.

"What is it, sir?" she faltered.

"My dear young lady, there is some very sad news come. I want you to
help me in breaking it to your poor mother. I am deeply grieved to tell
you that the _Pelican of the North_ has been burnt at sea."

"Oh, Mr. Benson! And Ralph?"

Her white lips could hardly utter the words.

"The crew and passengers left her safely, but the boat in which Ralph
was is missing."

Agnes swayed, turned deathly sick, felt as if she were going blind,
caught hold of the nearest support, missed it, and sank upon the floor
insensible.

Neither Mr. Benson nor his friend had ever seen a girl faint before,
and were terribly frightened. They tore the bell down in their
agitation; they called for help in tones which brought everyone around
them in consternation; nobody had their wits at command except Miss
Mason.

"Go downstairs, Lisa," she commanded. "Take away the boys. Maria, go
downstairs; Miss Denham has only fainted, her mother and I are enough to
help her."

She assisted Mrs. Denham to lay the poor girl flat, to loosen her dress
and sprinkle her face with water, as she spoke. She fetched salts; and
when consciousness returned, she directed the gentlemen to carry her up
to her own bed.

None of them, for the moment, thought of asking what had caused the
swoon. Mrs. Denham naturally considered it the result of over-exertion,
and the wetting which Agnes had undergone; she was much concerned, but
not alarmed.

Miss Mason, not knowing of these predisposing causes, and seeing the
telegram in Mr. Benson's hand, guessed more. She was also much struck
with the lack of comfort in the scantily-furnished bedroom, crowded with
two beds, and littered with Lisa's books in every direction.

Leaving her mother to undress Agnes, she went downstairs with the
gentlemen, and, entering Mr. Benson's parlour, she closed the door and
asked--

"What caused this sudden faintness, Mr. Benson? Had that telegram
anything to do with it?"

"Indeed, I am sorry to say that it had, ma'am," and Mr. Benson handed it
to the old lady.

"Humph!" said she. "If you had any sense you would have sent for me, not
that poor girl."

"I'm awfully sorry," stammered out Mr. Benson, while his friend could
hardly repress a smile at witnessing the autocrat of "Herford Brothers,"
before whom twenty clerks trembled when he frowned, being scolded and
scorned by a neat little woman in a shabby silk gown and white curls.

There was wine on the table.

"Before you half kill the mother, as well as the daughter, you had
better bring her down here and give her a glass of that sherry if it is
decent wine," proceeded Miss Mason.

"It is, ma'am,--it is very fair sherry," said the crestfallen Mr.
Benson. "You don't think that she will faint too, do you?"

Miss Mason's only answer was, "I will fetch her myself," and she walked
off.

Mrs. Denham did not faint, but it was a most distressing scene, and Miss
Mason took command of the whole family.




CHAPTER VII

MOULMEIN


Ralph was sitting, languid and feeble, in a long chair in front of the
hospital, where he had lain ill for some weeks.

The hospital was a mile or two inland from Moulmein; a comfortable
place, but Ralph was weary of it. Everything had a parched, burnt-up
appearance; the little pagodas, to be seen on the surrounding hills,
were all alike; the punkah was working, yet there seemed to be no air to
breathe; nothing suggested freshness, or gave him a start towards
recovery.

A grove of palm trees rose majestically on one hand, interspersed with
tamarinds, and trees of strange form covered with brilliant flowers.

Along the road came a girl in native dress, carrying a huge basket of
roses, on her way to sell them in the bazaar. She had the flowers of a
white, purple-striped orchid nestled coquettishly in the coils of her
hair; and was smoking a huge green cheroot.

Then a long procession of yellow-robed "phoongyees," or monks, came by;
each clasping his lacquered begging-bowl, and staring before him into
vacancy, with rapt concentration of thought.

An open carriage appeared. "Come along, Denham," cried Mr. Gilchrist
from it, "the doctor orders a drive for you, and we will go out to the
Battery Point, to see whether there is not a breath of air to be met
with there."

"It will be very nice if there is," said Ralph; "this place is like a
furnace. Is it always as hot as this here, Mr. Gilchrist?"

"Not always. The rains are at hand; after that it will be cooler."

They drove out to the Point, watching the native boats, light,
square-sailed, fitted with thatched houses, rowed with great difficulty
against the stream, by men standing, instead of sitting, to row.

They looked out over Washing Head Island, with its pagoda mounting guard
over the Holy Well, whence, it is said, is drawn the water in which the
king once a year cleanses his sacred head.

It was a pleasant evening, and Ralph felt its refreshment.

"I am very anxious," he said presently,--"I am very anxious to get quite
well; for, unless I can get something to do, it will be 'up a tree' for
me. I don't know how I am to pay all the expenses I am costing now, or
to get a new outfit, or earn my living at all. I lie and fret dreadfully
about this."

"You have not been yet in a fit state to bear much talking," replied Mr.
Gilchrist, "or I would have relieved your mind. Your uncle wrote to me
before he sailed for home, desiring me to let you want for nothing.
Herford Brothers are disposed to be very liberal; and the captain's
possessions, at least, were insured. Compensation will, I believe, be
made to you; and there is little doubt but what this will take the form
of a clerkship in the Rangoon house--a much better thing than the place
you have lost. Your luck will be great if you get a berth in that house,
for it is quite the first in the trade. But, Ralph, this must await
letters from England. I also must await the replies from home, for all
my scientific apparatus must be replaced there, and sent out to me; in
the meantime the Rangoon house makes itself responsible for our
expenses."

"It is very liberal of the Messrs. Herford," said Ralph. "I have no
claim whatever on them."

"That I dispute," replied his friend. "You did your share of work for
your passage, and did it so well and willingly that it quite entitled
you to a claim upon them, for they made the agreement to let you go on
those terms. You have suffered nobly; never a complaint whatever the
hardships, for which you never bargained. You have lost everything you
possess in their ship; and, besides all this, what can we not say of
your attention to me, nursing me day and night, as you have done so
kindly, and which was certainly not in the letter of your agreement. I
am not ungrateful, my boy."

"You have been so kind to me, sir, teaching me, and all that. One would
have been a brute to do less."

"Well, that is your way of putting it; mine is not exactly the same.
But, Ralph, I am feeling better than I have done for years. This climate
suits me, and will, I hope, suit you now that you have taken the turn. I
will tell you what my plan is for you. I want you to go with me upon my
orchid-hunting expedition. It will give your brain a rest, and set you
up after this illness. The best time for the plants will come on when
the rains are over, and the season be at its coolest. I mean to get what
appliances I can here, and make a short expedition into the jungle
around this place; then sending what I can collect to Rangoon to be
shipped home. And by that time, having received better appliances from
England, also having learnt to speak the language a little better,--we
must study _that_, Ralph,--I shall make my way to Rangoon around the
head of the bay; searching the various likely habitations for rare
plants, at different elevations and in different kinds of soil. The
weather will then be growing very hot, but we shall be seasoned to it. I
hope thus to obtain an extremely valuable collection,--perhaps of
insects as well as of flowers,--for we shall be collecting in every
variety of weather and locality. Mr. Augustus Herford will not grudge
money to this end; he gave me, virtually, _carte blanche_ to make what
arrangements I found desirable when I got here; and if we do well,
_there_ is your claim upon him."

"I should like it of all things," cried Ralph, with sparkling eyes.

"Well, you must be my assistant; and, as we shall need hands as well as
heads, I have spoken to the rest of our poor raft's crew, and we have
determined to keep together, hoping that our bad luck there will follow
us no further. We feel that we all showed pluck enough over that affair
to be able to trust each other in the future."

"I am sure, sir, that I would trust you anywhere, and should look upon
it as a very jolly thing to go with you. I like the men, too; we should
be ever such a comfortable party of us. But, Mr. Gilchrist, I don't see
that we had _all_ bad luck with that raft. I am sure it was very good
luck that it never upset. Those sharks swimming about us, like silent
death waiting for us, have bothered me dreadfully since I was ill. And
it was very good luck to be picked up when we were. Has anything been
heard of the boat, sir?"

"Not yet, but the very absence of news is some hope. No wreck of it has
been seen, no vestige at all. Ralph, when I think that we were cut
adrift on purpose, from malice, I think sometimes it may be as well if
that boat's crew never turns up."

"Oh, don't say so, don't say so! It was the doing of one only, and he
might have been half mad at the time. Perhaps--most probably--he has
been very sorry since."

"You are a good fellow, Denham, but it would never do to put more lives
at the mercy of a person who could have doomed six unoffending people to
all but certain death to gratify his own wicked spite. What the
Commissioner may do were he to appear here, I cannot say. If they do
turn up, I wish it might be anywhere else than here. I do not want to
appear against him, yet it would be my duty to do so. The Commissioner
is aware of the fact, and the severed line is in his keeping. If I had
not spoken of it, old Wills and Osborn would have done so. They are very
faithful to 'Miss Amy's chield,' Ralph. But see, there is the steamer
from the Andamans in the offing."

A long slender line of grey smoke was plainly visible upon the horizon,
becoming more distinct each minute; and all the European officers and
gentlemen in the place were congregating, in their white garments, upon
the quay to see the vessel come in. Amusement was not too plentiful for
such people in Moulmein in those days; an arrival of any sort was
interesting.

Mr. Gilchrist left the carriage to take Ralph home, and sauntered down
to join the groups that were forming. Ralph was glad to be alone for a
time, he was fatigued by the conversation, and much excited by the
thought of making this expedition with his friends. The prospect was
delightful to him, and on reaching home he resumed his former seat,
thinking of all he might see, until thought became dreamy, and
dreaminess sleep.

He was aroused by a familiar cheery voice.

"Hurrah! There he is! He has only left half of himself in the bay!"

It was Kershaw. Ralph sprang up to seize him by both hands in eager
welcome.

"Oh, Kershaw! How glad I am, how very, very glad to see you again! How
were you saved?"

"The steamer for the Andamans, with passengers from Rangoon, picked us
up, and carried us straight on there. It had some sort of big bug on
board who could not be hindered on his way for such a trifle as the
announcement of our safety, and we have been brought back here as fast
as our own news could have flown. So, like the clown in the circus,
'Here we are again.' But, Denham, I'll go back to the Andamans, if they
expect us _all_ to practise Banting here. What have you done to
yourself? You are as thin as a whipping-post, and your face is all
eyes."

"Oh, I've been ill! but I shall pick up fast enough now. People are so
kind to us. It is a very good world, after all, that we live in,
Kershaw, in spite of what some folks say."

    "'It is a very good world that we live in,
    To lend, or to spend, or to give in;
    But to beg or to borrow, or get a man's own,
    'Tis the very worst world that ever was known,'"

sang Kershaw.

"Oh, most wise and sapient third mate," cried Ralph, "you are easily
hoisted with your own petard! If folks lend, spend, and give, do not
other folks receive?"

"Let me be among the other folks then. I have lost all the locks of hair
of all the young ladies,--the dear creatures who adored me. There's a
loss, Denham! Black, brown, golden, grey,--they have all gone to
disagree with the sharks."

"Ugh! don't talk of sharks, they haunt me in my dreams yet."

"They use them for policemen in the Andamans. Fact!--the blue ones,
because of the colour like the uniform, you know. They loaf about, round
and round, just like bobbies on their beat; and if any poor devil of a
prisoner tries to escape, and swim to the mainland,--hey, presto! they
nip him up, and have him in a tight place in no time!"

"Your experience of life has been enlarged since I saw you, evidently."

"Yes, sir; nothing like foreign travel for enlarging the mind and
perfecting the manners. Perfecting even the most charming natural
manners, sir," said the mate, drawing himself up, and saluting with one
finger.

It was good for Ralph to have this atmosphere of boyish nonsense
restored to him. Between its bright influence, and the relief of finding
his friends alive and well, he improved wonderfully fast.

All the officers and men of the _Pelican_ came to see him, and all
appeared to be drawn more closely together from remembrance of the
hardships through which they had struggled. There was but one exception,
that of Kirke, and why he did not form one of that friendly group must
be explained later.

The friends went to walk in the bazaar, amused to see the shops, or
booths, so simply arranged by throwing upwards the side of the house,
and propping it up with a pole; and the odd conglomeration of articles
exposed for sale beneath this primitive awning.

Here, in a hole simply dug in the ground before the houses, were Burmese
women cooking rice in the joints of the bamboo.

There were others selling "pickled tea," and other abominations, by
means of weights fashioned after the semblance of the sacred duck.

Silver trinkets, lacquer ware, earthen jars and pots of native
manufacture, were oddly mixed up with the commonest glass and
earthenware from Staffordshire and St. Helens; stuffs of Oriental make
and pattern lay beside Manchester coloured handkerchiefs and Madras
muslin jackets; images of Guadama wore a suspiciously Brummagem air, and
might be seen--though never sold--side by side with lamps of native
pottery with distinctly classical shape, in the establishment of some
Chinaman, over whose booth the picture of his patron saint presided.
Mats, baskets, cylinders of gold, ornamented more or less, and worn by
the ladies as earrings poked through the universal hole in the ear, were
on every side,--together with Peak and Frean's biscuits and Bryant and
May's matches,--looking oddly out of place.

The people who bought and sold were as mixed a lot, and as queer to the
unsophisticated boy's eyes, as the goods in which they trafficked.

Burmese men and lads, whose close-fitting blue-patterned garments turned
out to be their own skins tattooed; women, their abundant tresses
dressed with exquisite roses or orchids, but displaying one leg bare to
the knee beneath their gracefully-draped "tameins"; children, even
babies in arms, smoking cheroots; bullock-carts, saffron-robed priests,
officials; half-naked children everywhere, under everybody's feet; gongs
sounding, bells tinkling, laughter echoing, strange calls and cries and
speech on all sides,--formed a never-ending entertainment for Ralph, who
had not previously seen more of the world than the rather dull and
prosaic streets of mercantile Liverpool. All was new to him, all
amusing, nothing more so than the idleness and merry temper of the
natives, coming so suddenly upon him after so stern an early struggle
with the grave realities of civilised life.

The rains were now over, and the pious Burmese, with great tenderness
for the little fishes left behind in many pools, collected them in jars,
and carried them in procession down to the river, that they might be
thus carefully restored to their native element.

The fish would doubtless have proved to be as grateful for this humanity
as the fish was to the queen in the old fairy story, did it not happen
that they were nearly all dead before they reached the water.

Their would-be saviours then ate them, and all ends were secured. Piety
and hunger were equally satisfied, and both "nats" and men pleased.




CHAPTER VIII

KIRKE ESCAPES


Kirke's jealousy of Ralph Denham had dated from the earliest
commencement of their ill-fated voyage; and Ralph had not been as
way-wise as an older person might have wished him to be in avoiding
occasions for arousing it. His own dislike to Kirke's character; his
scarcely concealed contempt of him for throwing away the chances in life
which he himself longed so ardently to possess; the notice taken of him
by Mr. Gilchrist, and of which he was so proud,--all tended to inflame
Kirke's ill-will towards him.

Ralph had tried, unavailingly but persistently, to draw little Jackson
from his influence, and Jackson's services were useful to Kirke.

The two old Cornish seamen kept aloof from the elder apprentice, and did
many little things for their countryman, as they regarded Denham; and
Kershaw, just a trifle older and higher in the service than Kirke, took
to Denham, laughed and joked with him, sought his society, and made of
him a companion.

Kirke felt his seclusion, and resented it upon Denham. Such feelings
feed upon themselves, and grow apace.

Little Jackson's sudden death was a shock; and, somewhat softened at
heart, though too proud to confess to the fact, Kirke would have been
glad of comfort and sympathy Ralph had no idea of this, but, repulsed
on his first evidence of kindly feeling, made no further attempt at
consolation; and Kirke, in his loneliness, raged the more bitterly in
secret because Denham had not found out that he wanted him.

So one thing acted and reacted upon another, and culminated upon the
unhappy night in the boats.

Envying Ralph's pluck and heroism, admiring him for it; emulous of their
comrades' appreciation of his gallant daring, he yet could not bring
himself to imitate it, for he felt so afraid to die,--he dreaded so
terribly what came after death, which he considered certain upon that
raft.

He knew that he was not fit to die,--his whole ill-spent life rose up,
in one instant, with awful clearness before his mental vision, and he
dared not face its consequences. He believed in spite of himself, and
his faith brought him nothing but fear.

He hung back, and then resented the plainly-expressed scorn of Kershaw
and the sailors. Mellish, with the authority of captain delegated to
him, stopped their taunts with a high hand, but was powerless to alter
the expression of contempt upon their faces. Accustomed through all his
early life to the surface respect paid to him as a gentleman's son, he
could not bear the lack of deference now displayed by the men whom he
regarded as his inferiors; and, when the watch was changed, and Kershaw
yielded to him the tiller, saying, "Here, take the ropes, I suppose you
aren't afraid of _them_," the climax was reached.

Half-frenzied with pride, anger, jealousy and fear, he drew out his
knife, severed the rope without thought of anyone but his rival, saw in
one flash that he had practically murdered six helpless and inoffensive
fellow-creatures, and remorse seized him for a prey instantaneously.

No one in the boat suspected him, it was supposed that the rope was
weak or rotten, and gave of itself from the strain upon it. A shark
might have bitten it; no one knew what had happened exactly. Kirke, in
horror at his own deed, called upon the others in the boat to turn her
head, to row back, to search for the raft.

His agitation, the frantic energy with which he worked, redeemed him
somewhat in his shipmates' eyes, but may have caused him to steer
unequally, injudiciously, wide of his mark. However it happened, they
could find no trace of the raft, and, though they did for a time hear
the voices of the castaways raised on the breeze, the direction of the
wind made their whereabouts uncertain, and the sound gradually ceased
altogether.

Did that mean that they were gone? Drowned? Fled before God's
judgment-seat, to be for ever witnesses against him? God knew that he
did not mean this! But would He pardon?--could He pardon?

Still did the unhappy wretch maintain a sullen silence as to his deed.
He could not confess, and those around him were kinder to him than
usual, perceiving his sorrow, but ignorant as to its source.

Next day they were picked up by the steamer, and carried on to the
Andamans. Everyone at Port Blair was kind to them, but the word "murder"
seemed to be on the air.

"What! are you a convict?" someone would ask of butler, washerwoman,
syce, coxswain or coolie. "What are you in for?"

"Murder, Thakin" (Englishman, sir), would be the calm reply, with a
polite gesture and fascinating smile.

The convicts seemed to think no more of such a crime than of crushing
heaps of cockroaches. Oh, that he could be equally dense!

They were detained at Port Blair but a very short time, when they once
more embarked for Moulmein. Upon nearing the port, the first figure
which he descried among the groups on shore was that of Mr. Gilchrist.
He stared as if he had seen a ghost,--but it was an avenging spectre.
Within the first five minutes of their landing, Mr. Gilchrist accused
him of the crime of cutting the raft adrift; all shrank from him with
detestation, no one stood forth to say "I do not believe the charge."

Wills and Osborn confirmed Mr. Gilchrist's accusation; the two ordinary
seamen, Price and Simpson, gave testimony against him; even Ralph, upon
whose forgiving nature he fastened hope, said, "Oh, Kirke, how could you
have done such a thing!"

He was put into the police guardroom, and a watch set over him.

What could be done to him he had no idea, and imagination played strange
pranks with his fears. Should he be sent back to England, in irons, to
be tried there, where his father would be broken-hearted, his sisters
disgraced; where all would appear in the papers; and, whatever the
event, he could never hold up his head again?

Would they send him back to the Andamans, to herd with those half-savage
convicts, mutineers from Delhi, the scum of Rangoon?

Would they shoot him, or hang him, or flog him?

Image after image of terror succeeded each other, while the guard
gossipped, laughed, and dozed. These men were careless of their charge.
Where should a European go if he did escape? They paid little heed to
him, and he began to perceive that escape was possible.

Where he should go troubled him not; how he should live, how travel,
without knowledge or help, in an unknown country where his European face
would make him a marked man. He had some vague misty idea of ruby mines;
and, in his ignorance, supposed these to be scattered about all over
the country. That rubies were to be picked up by anyone, as nuggets had
been streamed out of the sand in Ballarat by the earliest adventurers,
was a fixed notion of his. He would make his way to such a place, lose
his identity among the rough miners, find some splendid jewels, make his
way to some other port a rich man, and return to England to lead a
better life.

Opportunity presented itself at last. It was the feast of the
"Tawadehutha," the most joyous of all the Burmese festivals.

Feasting and merriment lasted for three days, and holiday was observed
everywhere. Even the Commissioner was forced to keep business in
abeyance, and leave Kirke in his easy durance; perhaps the more
willingly as, his offence being so unusual a one, and his family known
to be so respectable in England, that gentleman himself was in
perplexity as to what course he ought to pursue.

So in the guardroom the offender remained, under the care of the Burmese
guard, who cared nothing for his crime, though they were afraid of
displeasing the Commissioner.

It was hard upon them that they should not be allowed to take part in
the jollity which they would have enjoyed so greatly, and their black
scowls and grumbling tones were comprehended by Kirke, although their
actual words were not understood.

The festival was a religious one, and the _raison d'être_ was that of
presenting gifts to the various pagodas, of which there are so many in
all parts of Burma.

It is regarded as a highly meritorious thing to build a pagoda, although
the erection is practically of no use. It is not a church, or temple, in
which religious services of prayer or praise are held, or any charitable
work carried on. Their very structure forbids that, for they are solid
blocks of masonry, upon which graceful cupolas and spires are erected,
painted, gilt, and decorated with many bells. These bells are gifts, and
are sometimes very costly, formed from pure gold or silver, and set with
jewels.

It is good for the soul to present these gifts; but any repairs done to
the building as it suffers from age or weather, counts to the merit of
the original constructor alone. Therefore, when any rich Burmese wishes
to make his salvation secure, he builds a new pagoda, large or small,
all by himself,--he does not care for another person's eternal welfare.
Let every man look out for himself in the kingdom of the "nats."

But gifts are another matter, _they_ are offered to the priests, and
make plenty of show both in this world and the next; so the pagoda
festival is a particularly brilliant affair, and a very picturesque one.

Long processions streamed through the street, attended by boys and girls
dancing, and bearing in their midst long bamboo poles decorated with
spires covered with tinsel paper, gilt balls, and all manner of toys,
which gave them the air of gigantic Christmas trees.

Some bore aloft pasteboard images of "nats," or beatified spirits, who
bring good luck to men, acting as guardian angels. Some carried huge,
frightful representations of "beloos," or demons, who must be
alternately conciliated and treated with every indignity to frighten
them away.

Kirke's guard rushed out to exclaim at each fresh group that trooped
past the guardhouse. Many an "Ameh!" was ejaculated, and this one was
admired, that one despised;--now great delight was manifested, then
contempt expressed in voluble jabber, and with no reference to their
prisoner.

He cared for none of these exhibitions, so childish in his eyes--which
were fatigued by the glare and noise.

White umbrellas, decorated with frills of paper lace; gold umbrellas;
long bamboos, gilt or silvered; the constant stream of gay moving
figures; the flash of tinsel in the sun; the beating of drums, carried
in carts whose wheels creaked and groaned in unison; the clashing of
bells great and small; the songs and cries of the thousands of
people,--all wearied and oppressed his brain almost beyond endurance.
The screams of delight which the guard constantly uttered, ran through
his ears with great distress; and then the climax arrived, in the sight
of a huge "silver tree," attended by prancing hobby-horses, and from the
trembling boughs of which hundreds of rupees hung quivering, each
wrapped in coloured tinsel paper, and followed by the inhabitants of the
whole country village which had furnished it, and who danced like mad
around it to the music (?) of their own voices.

Kirke could bear no more; hoping to be left alone for a little while, he
produced such silver as he had in his pocket, and presented it to the
guard, who seized it with delighted gratitude, and rushed out in vast
excitement to expend it in pickled tea, leh-pet, cheroots, and
sweetmeats of strange fashion.

They offered some on their return to their benefactor, all their sour
looks changed into smiles, but he shook his head and motioned to them to
leave him alone.

Surprised and compassionate, they seated themselves on their haunches
outside the door in the verandah, and gabbled and feasted happily while
watching the constantly passing crowds.

A pasteboard cow is drawn by oxen in the midst of richly and gaudily
dressed people; a cart bearing a huge gilded pot in which the milk
sacred to Guadama is to be cooked; a gorgeously-attired maiden, laden
with jewels, represents the milkmaid; still more and more crowds yet;
more drums, more bells, more songs, more cries, more colour and noise
and flashing lights, more beloos, more nats, more hobby-horses.

Night fell, and the revel was still maintained. Torches and fires cast a
strange and lurid light over the motley scene.

What is this terrible figure advancing? A huge snow-white serpent, a
hundred feet long, fierce fiery red eyes glaring from out the voluminous
coils of its luminous body, as it writhes on its slow onward course in
pursuance of a great rolling ball of light.

The Burmese excitement could stand no more. Springing from their heels,
they rushed down from the verandah to greet the apparition with dance
and shout like the rest. They ran, shrieking with admiration, along with
the multitude, and Kirke was left alone.

It was an opportunity not to be missed. All Moulmein and the country
side about it were in the streets, his figure would be unnoticed among
the rest; he arose hastily, and ran out from the guardhouse into the
town, where the brilliancy of lights in some parts made the obscurity
deeper than ever in others.

No one observed him, no one spoke to him; he hastened along at his
greatest speed, at first mixing with the people, then choosing the
quieter places, fearing lest any English should see him and recognise
him. Everyone was, however, attracted by the gay sights around; the
English residents were chiefly in their own bungalows, watching the
processions from their own verandahs, and distributing gifts as the
various groups paused before each house to display themselves. No one
thought of him, and he stole along in the darkness out into the vast
misty unknown country beyond the town, unperceived.

When the processions had all reached the great pagoda; when the mystery
play was over; when the old legend of Guadama being nourished by the
sacred milk was acted out; when all were tired, the lights out, the
crowds dispersed, the fun over,--the guards bethought them of their
trust, and returned to take it up again.

In dismay unutterable they found their bird was flown, nor could he be
found anywhere. In great alarm they made up the best story they could
for the Commissioner's ears; and, to their wonder, found him strangely
lenient to their misdemeanour. In truth, the great man was thus relieved
from a dilemma; he pretended as much wrath as the carelessness of the
guard deserved, but was almost grateful to them in his heart.

A search was instituted for the prisoner; but not very vigorously
prosecuted, and soon abandoned when no signs of him could be
discovered.




CHAPTER IX

NEWS FROM RALPH


"Oh, that I had never allowed him to go!" wailed Mrs. Denham, the
morning after the alarming telegram arrived, rocking herself to and fro
in her misery, tears streaming down her face. "My dear, dear boy! He
went to help me, and this is the end of it. The best, the dearest, the
most unselfish boy in the world! How can I bear it! how can I bear it!"

But Agnes, when she recovered, showed much sense and strength of mind.

"Mother," said she, "it only says that the boat is missing, it does not
say it is lost. Those seas are full of vessels, please God some ship has
picked them up, and dear Ralph is safe yet. Do not despair, God is
good."

"You are my only comfort, Agnes," sobbed Mrs. Denham; "but, oh, if I had
only refused to let him go!"

"Agnes is right," said the sensible Miss Mason. "Your son did his duty
in taking the chance offered to him, and God is merciful. You must trust
to Him, Mrs. Denham. Agnes, my dear, you are not fit to go to your
pupils to-day. I have written a note, and Jack can take it before he
goes to school."

"No, thank you, ma'am," said Agnes. "Mrs. Dallas is particular. I am
quite well enough this morning; the walk will do me good. I mean to be
brave, and keep up heart."

She smiled, but it was a wan smile.

"Perhaps you are right," replied the little old lady, with secret
admiration of the girl's resolution. "Duty and work are a real help in
trouble."

Miss Mason became a firm friend to Agnes from that time. She was a
lonely woman. Death had lately robbed her of all who were near and dear
to her; it had lessened her means, and taken her home from her; but she
had an affectionate heart, into which she took her young acquaintance
from that time, and found an unexpected source of happiness in so doing.

Many were the little ways of relieving the strain upon Agnes which she
found. She allowed Lisa to bring her school-work into her parlour for
preparation; and the quiet harbour of refuge proved to be an immense
boon, and lessened the constant irritation of the girl's temper.

She often took Cicely to walk with her; she taught her to read, and
quite took her off her mother's hands.

In another week, a second telegram assured the family of Ralph's safe
arrival at Moulmein; but all particulars had to be sent by post, and
before they arrived all the children were down with measles.

Lisa and the baby were excessively ill. Lisa's lungs were much affected,
she had been growing very fast, and the time of year was against her;
while the complaint seemed to bring out latent mischief in the baby's
constitution: spinal disease asserted itself, and the medical man
pronounced that, if he lived, he must be a hopeless cripple.

Agnes, who had taken the measles in the first instance from her pupils,
was left with a cough which every east wind aggravated, and she became
thin and pale.

The assurance of Ralph's safety was a great cordial, but the letters
which arrived by post, in due course of time, brought with them renewed
anxiety. They related only the bare facts of the escape from the ship,
and that of Ralph's severe illness.

Captain Rogers had sailed from Rangoon so quickly as to have missed Mr.
Gilchrist's account of particulars, addressed to him there and reposted
to him in Liverpool. Thus, though he himself arrived very soon after his
own letter to the firm, he knew little or nothing further.

The Messrs. Herford wished him to go out again as soon as possible. They
had every confidence in him, attributing no blame whatever to him for
the loss of his ship; but an official inquiry into the circumstances was
inevitable, and all the appliances for Gilchrist's orchid hunting had to
be renewed, besides the usual business of loading his new ship. He ran
down to Cornwall to see his wife, and was obliged to be in London about
the business, so could scarcely spare time to see his sister.

As soon, however, as Mr. Gilchrist's letter arrived, a copy of it was
sent to Mrs. Denham; and the same post brought one to her saying that
her son was out of danger, and relating details of his recovery.

These letters did more than relieve the terrible suspense of Mrs. Denham
and her family, they aroused the deepest interest in the minds of all in
the office of Messrs. Herford Brothers.

Mr. Augustus Herford, talking over the matter with the captain,
complimented him highly upon the conduct of his nephew.

"He must be a lad worth helping," said he; "and the mother, for whose
sake he has plunged into so much danger, shall not be forgotten. What
other family has she, Rogers?"

"Two more sons, sir, younger, and whose education is difficult to
accomplish,--a crippled infant, who must always be a burden,--and three
daughters."

"Six young children!" exclaimed Mr. Herford. "Poor soul, poor soul!"

He was a rich and liberal man, and acted upon his impulse. A situation
was offered to Ralph in the house at Rangoon, where he might rise more
rapidly than in England. Reginald was put into Christ's Hospital; and
Jack should be apprenticed to his uncle as soon as he was fourteen. This
would not be for nearly a year; but Reginald went soon, which relieved
the crowd in the house,--and Ralph's heroism, the illness at home, and
the dreadful suspense as to his brothers fate, had exerted a very
favourable influence over the boy's character.

He saw how Ralph was respected and admired; he witnessed how much he was
beloved and missed at home, and determined to win the same regard if
possible. At anyrate, he would not disgrace his brother. The hope of
soon entering upon a manly career added to his improvement; his last few
months at home should be useful in leaving a good impression behind him,
and little annoyances which would so soon be over were more easily
borne.

Ralph would have been more surprised than anyone had he realised how
widespread the consequences of his own simple adherence to duty had
become, or how his own dear ones benefited through it.

Time passed on, the invalids improved in health; spring advanced, and a
letter arrived from Ralph himself, saying little of his troubles, but
full of the kindness he had received, and the pleasure with which he was
anticipating his journey with Mr. Gilchrist.

"Kershaw, my friend, is on his way home," he wrote in conclusion. "He
has promised to call and see you, dear mother. I have sent a few trifles
for you from the bazaar here, and he will tell you much which I am
hardly strong enough yet to write about."

It was not long after receipt of this letter before a tall,
good-looking, sunburnt, and extremely grave young man called one
evening. He proved to be Ralph's friend, the mate Kershaw, and he was
received with effusion. Tea was just ready, and he was at once invited
to remain to partake of it.

Miss Mason was fetched down, and questions about the dear absent one
poured out upon him. He replied to everyone with the most demure
politeness, but it was not long before Agnes, as well as some of the
others, observed a twinkle in the bright eyes, not exactly in accordance
with the gravity of his manner. Also some of his calm observations were,
to say the least of them, startling.

There was home-made saffron-cake on the table, and Mrs. Denham offered
him the plate.

"Ah!" said he, "no wonder that Denham is a little dissatisfied with
Burmese cookery, when he gets such cake as this at home."

"I am glad that you like it, for it is a kind of cake which we Cornish
people particularly affect. Do you happen to have Cornish connections,
Mr. Kershaw?"

"No, madam, I am of Irish extraction."

"Irish!" cried Lisa. "I should so like to visit Ireland. I want to see
Fingal's Cave and the Giant's Causeway."

"I suppose you know, Miss Lisa, that the Causeway is supposed not to be
a freak of nature but of man's manufacture."

"No, I never heard that," said Lisa. "What ground is there for supposing
such a thing?"

"There are so many sham rocks in Ireland," said he sadly.

"Stuff!" said Lisa rudely. The others laughed.

"I suppose you heard that Ralph is to go up into the jungle, orchid
hunting, with Mr. Gilchrist?" said Mrs. Denham.

"Yes; it will be a most interesting expedition. I could have wished to
have joined it, only it was necessary to come home and pass my
examination for master. Without my master's certificate I cannot take a
berth as first mate, you know. Otherwise I should have liked to have
gone with them, natural history is my great forte,--particularly Burmese
natural history. I should have liked to have seen the Kain-no-ree, which
inhabit lonely parts of the jungle."

"What sort of creature is that?" asked Jack.

"It is the missing link between birds and men, which Mr. Darwin failed
to discover. It has the body of a bird, and the face of a man, and can
talk away like anything."

"What a strange creature! I never heard of such a thing before. Are they
pretty?"

"No, rather queer old birds, but conscientious. They have tongues which
never told a lie. Then the links between the monkeys and the orchids are
as much a question of degree, only upon one side, as those between
monkeys and natives on the other."

"I believe," said Miss Mason quietly, "that we occasionally see the
latter peculiarity at home. I have observed it in sailors."

Mr. Kershaw looked up at her. "Present company always excepted, of
course," said he.

"Oh, certainly so! particularly when the company present is of Irish
extraction," she replied.

"Miss Denham," appealed the young man, in injured innocence, "this lady
is very severe upon me. Will you not take my part?"

"But, Mr. Kershaw, you did take even me in for a minute. How can I
believe you again?"

"Even you? Was it so? I cry, _Peccavi_. _Even_ you."

"And now you are laughing at me."

"I? I would not laugh for the world, not even at you."

"I wish I could be even with you, Mr. Kershaw."

"And I wish that I could be evened to you, Miss Denham."

All laughed there; then Mr. Kershaw's accounts of Burma began again, in
a curious medley of truth and fiction difficult to separate.

"The Burmese are a very strictly religious sort of folks. They kick off
their shoes to pray, and sit upon their heels. They must not take life,
not even kill their fleas or their black-beetles; yet they are the most
determined murderers on the face of the earth. There is no country in
which human life is less considered where offence has been offered."

"But does the English Government allow this?" asked Mrs. Denham.

"Well, madam, the murderers make such good and cheap servants, you see.
Of course they must not kill the English."

"I do not know how to believe you, Mr. Kershaw."

"Other ladies have the same difficulty at times, ma'am, but I may assure
you that it is a fact. English people are perfectly safe from them.
Other customs are peculiar. Whenever they wish for a wet day, they send
a white elephant out to take his walks abroad, and the rain is sure to
come."

"Now, Mr. Kershaw!"

"It is quite true, madam. It would be done more frequently were there
more white elephants, but there are very few, and it does not answer to
whitewash them. Unfortunately it is one of those cases where the
converse of a fact does not work in an opposite manner. There would not
be six months of rain at a stretch if sending out a black elephant would
stop it."

"I daresay not," remarked Miss Mason drily. "Will you take some honey,
Mr. Kershaw?"

"No, I thank you, ma'am. Burma has cured me from a boyish taste for
honey. They embalm their dead with honey there; and, after a time, tap
the mummies, in a spirit of true economy, and sell the honey in the
bazaars to Englishmen unsuspecting of guile. Such honey is said to be
peculiarly nourishing,--to eat it from the tomb of your fathers is to
taste all the sweetness of friendship with your venerated ancestors. It
is a poetical idea."

"Mr. Kershaw! How can you talk so? Have you no pleasanter or really
beautiful things about which to tell us?"

"The most beautiful idea of which I have heard there, is the notion that
people's souls are like butterflies, and that when you dream of an
absent friend, it is really because your butterfly and his have escaped,
for a time, from their prison-houses, and meet in dreamland for a chat."

"Oh," sighed Agnes, "I wish that my brother's butterfly would escape
this very night, and tell me what he is doing at this moment!"

"Don't wish that, Agnes dear," said Miss Mason. "Should he be in pain or
difficulty, and you could not help him, it would be better for you not
to know of it."

"How can you say so!" cried Agnes. "I should always know when he is
happy, and if troubles came I could give him my sympathy."

"Suppose you give it to me, Miss Denham, to keep for him. I would take
great care of it."

[Illustration: They were examining his clothes with grins of delight
               (_p. 193_).]

"I fear that you would put it away so carefully that you would not know
where to find it at need," said Agnes.

So they chatted on, now in joke, now in earnest, and an atmosphere of
youthful brightness came into the house with the sailor and dispersed
much of its gloom.

He often called to spend a few hours with them, for he had few friends
in Liverpool, and liked all the family. To Jack he became very useful;
and Mrs. Denham grew to regard him almost in the light of another son.




CHAPTER X

THE LEOPARD


It was a great relief to Ralph, as well as to some others, when he
learned that Kirke had escaped; but the men were very wrathful, and Mr.
Gilchrist both dissatisfied that he should have avoided punishment, and
more than anxious as to his safety. What, he thought, could such a young
man do in the jungle, or among the half-civilised Burmese natives,
without being able to speak their language at all, or help himself in
any way.

All the weeks which he himself had spent in Moulmein, and during which
he had worked hard to master the language, only resulted in enabling him
to make himself imperfectly understood.

Ralph, indeed, succeeded better, though by ear rather than from book
lore. With the happy effrontery of boyhood, he made the most astounding
shots at Burmese; and, though the Burman lads laughed at his mistakes
till they were fain to roll upon the ground from merriment, they,
somehow, appeared to comprehend his meaning.

But nothing availed to make the two old Cornishmen speak anything but
their own tongue.

Kirke had received no lessons, gained no experience, what could he do?

"My good sir," said the Chief Commissioner, to whom Mr. Gilchrist
imparted his doubts--"My good sir, the lad is certain to be discovered,
and brought back here. He is a marked man among the Burmese, and they
will not feed him for nothing. A reward will cause him to be brought in
before long."

"Drat him!" said Wills. "Good-for-nothing never comes to harm. I hope
they there black fellows will read him a good lesson."

None of them were aware that the apprentice had with him a considerable
sum of money in English sovereigns, and time passed on, during which
nothing was heard about him.

Meanwhile, the mates and seamen proceeded to join their captain in
Rangoon; Price and Simpson, the two sailors who had also been upon the
raft, electing to go with their shipmates when they had once more met
with them. Wills and Osborn adhered to their agreement to join Mr.
Gilchrist's party; and that gentleman willingly parted with the others,
considering that Indian coolies, Tamil or Telegu natives, would be of
more use to him.

It was time to start upon the expedition now, and preparations were soon
made. The Rangoon branch of Herford Brothers' house of business franked
all expenses; and a bullock-gharrie, or native cart, was purchased,
furnished with an awning to protect the travellers from sun and rain,
and drawn by a couple of stout buffaloes.

Light baskets and other means for packing orchids were prepared; and
stores of various kinds were added, as coffee, tinned meats and
biscuits; but they hoped to obtain some provisions as they went through
Burmese villages.

The gharrie was packed, the buffaloes harnessed, and the travellers were
taking their seats, when suddenly a distant roar was heard.

"Hark!" cried the coolie in charge of the animals, holding up his
finger.

The sound distinctly approached, and shouting some unintelligible
words, the fellow goaded the buffaloes into as rapid movement as
possible, hurrying the whole concern back into its original shelter in
the compound.

The reason was quickly made apparent, for black clouds drove up from the
weather-quarter, and sheets of rain descended upon the hot baked earth,
which, unable to absorb anything like the deluge, allowed it to run off,
in every direction, in plentiful streams.

It did not last long. Before two hours were over the ground showed but
slight traces of damp, the gharrie was brought out again, and the party
set off down the Mapoon road, following the course of the stream upon
the way to Amherst.

"What did the fellow tie that bunch of plantains up to the front of the
gharrie for?" asked Ralph. "We don't want fruit all covered with dust
and flies."

"That is not fruit for us," replied Mr. Gilchrist, laughing. "That is an
offering for any spirit whom we may chance to meet wandering about. It
might be unfortunate if we should offend such gentry."

"Is it to warn them of our approach that they let our wheels make such a
creaking? Cannot we oil them, or something, to stop it? And must we be
deafened by those ugly square bells tied to the buffaloes' throats?"

"I believe that it will be best to try and put up with the customs of
the country in which we find ourselves, Ralph; at least until we are
quite certain that altering them to please ourselves may not be giving
the natives unnecessary offence. We shall soon become used to such
trifles as that. See, we are approaching the great timber works."

Huge trunks of teak, and other valuable trees suitable for ship
building, were floated down as rafts from the dense forests up the
river, and here cut into suitable form and size for being transported to
England.

It was wonderful to observe the skill and judgment displayed by the
elephants employed in moving these immense hulks from the river-banks up
to the spot where machinery awaited them. They were no less skilful in
perceiving the best way for pushing, lifting, or driving the timber,
than wary in avoiding the machinery if obliged to pass near it. Ralph
was immensely diverted to observe how each animal, in making his way by
the place where a circular saw was at work, invariably moved his own
tail to the farther side, so as to preserve his cherished appendage
scathless from injury. He was told that at one time many elephants had
their tails cut off by accident here, until they learnt caution to this
extent.

So much interested and amused were the travellers by all which they saw
in this place, that they proceeded no farther that day, it having been
late when they started; but the next morning saw them early on their
route; and that day, leaving the high roads, they plunged into forest
paths, and began to make their way through the jungle in earnest.

They proposed driving to a small Karen village to which a native had
offered to guide them, and which was situated in a locality where many
orchids were reported to grow.

The native hired to show them the way promised that they should arrive
there in "the boiling of two pots of rice." This was understood to be in
about half an hour, but the little journey really occupied thrice that
length of time, for rain again poured down in a perfect sheet, and the
bullocks could hardly make their way through it.

All were glad when they arrived, and were able to procure shelter. The
houses were raised upon high posts, comfortably built of wood, and
thatched. Whether this elevation was intended to preserve the family
from the damp, or from wild animals, they could not discover. Mr.
Gilchrist thought the form of erection partook of each reason.

The lower part had a verandah around it, and was floored a little above
the ground with bamboos. The gharrie was accommodated in a portion of
this lower place, and arranged for the travellers' accommodation at
night.

The women of the house prepared them some rice while this was being
done, and served it, with fish upon a separate platter.

The rain was over for the time when they were rested and refreshed, so
they started for an expedition into the jungle, with which the village
was closely surrounded.

They soon found plenty of orchids, and became so much interested in the
selection of the rarest specimens, that the light failed them, and they
could scarcely "distinguish the veins in a man's hand," which their
Burmese guide seemed to consider a felicitous method of describing the
hour.

They remounted the gharrie, and were proceeding on their way with the
slow deliberation which formed the bullocks' greatest speed, when Ralph
perceived a huge, dark mass of something lying right across their path,
with two points of living fire gleaming sullenly from it.

It was an enormous leopard, taking its rest, but with watchful eyes.

The bullocks, perceiving the danger in the same moment as the men, made
a sudden lurch to one side, nearly upsetting the gharrie, and causing
the wheels on one side to sink into a mud-hole, half filled with water
from the recent rain.

They stuck fast in this, and the terrified beasts could not drag them
out. They plunged, snorted, and laboured desperately; while the
beautiful sleek brute rose, stretched himself, and prepared to spring.

Ralph thought his last hour had arrived, but firearms were at hand.

Mr. Gilchrist snatched up a loaded gun, fired, but with too uncertain an
aim, for he could not control the trembling of his nerves at this first
and sudden sight of so terrible an animal in his native jungle.

The driver of the gharrie, with a howl, abandoned his seat in front, and
crept into the recesses within to hide. The leopard made his spring, and
fastened upon the nearest bullock. Ralph uttered a cry as desperate as
that of the native, and discharged a pistol full at the creature.

So close upon them as he was, it was impossible to miss hitting it
somewhere; the bullet entered its shoulder, and a trickle of blood bore
witness to the fact.

The pistol was a revolver, and Ralph shot again and again, for all the
chambers were loaded; but his hand shook, and several bullets went wide
of the mark, though he hit the leopard in the ear and in the side.

The creature abandoned its work of mangling the poor bullock, when it
suffered the first shot, raised its proud head and looked the boy full
in the face; crouched again, and, lashing its tail with fury, was on the
point of leaping straight into the waggon, when, his arm steadied by the
emergency, Mr. Gilchrist discharged his second barrel in its face, and
shot it straight through the head.

Osborn at the same moment, having withheld his shot until it was certain
to take effect, hit it in the neck, and the animal rolled over in its
dying agonies.

The Burmese bullock-driver now emerged from his retirement, very
glorious over the defeat of the enemy; he danced round it with joy, and
lauded "_our_ courage," "_our_ success," "_our_ bravery," until old
Wills was obliged literally to spit out his contempt.

"Shut up!" he growled. "Hold your ridiculous jaw! Much good you were,
you coward! Next time we will throw you out for the cat to set his
talons in those absurd blue breeches of yourn. Better you than our poor
buffalo. Here, hand me that knife, and let me put the poor wretch out of
its sufferings."

For the buffalo was not dead, though paralysed by the leopard's teeth
and claws in its spine, at the back of its throat. It turned a pathetic
eye upon its friends, as it asking for help, but there was nothing to be
done but to put it out of its misery.

Ralph shuddered, and felt very sick; Mr. Gilchrist also was faint when
the pressure of excitement passed away, and Wills made both of them take
some cordial to steady their nerves.

Osborn meantime lit their lamps, and set some flaring torches into the
ground, preparatory to skinning the leopard, which was a splendid beast.

Ralph collected wood, and built up a fire with some difficulty, as the
rain was coming down again almost like a waterspout. However, it stopped
after a while, the boy was lavish with his kerosene oil, poured over the
damp branches, and a bonfire rewarded his exertions, drying their
garments, illuminating the wild scene, and enabling him to boil some
coffee, of which they all gladly partook, with biscuits and other
comestibles from their tinned stores.

It was late before the leopard was safely and carefully skinned. The
buffalo was not worth the trouble, being too much mangled, but the men
cut off its head, as the skull and horns were worth preserving. It would
soon be reduced to bare bones if left to the mercy of the white ants. To
preserve the fine hide of the leopard from them was a greater
difficulty.

The party camped down in their gharrie, with fires set around them, for
the short night, when all was done; and proceeded in the cool of the
morning to the Karen village. Here they were received with great delight
when the driver announced the event of the night. The villagers
immediately started to bring in the carcase of the leopard upon hurdles.
Part of its flesh was dried and pounded, to be used as medicine; but
they feasted upon the remains of the bullock; and tried hard, both by
fair means and foul, to induce Mr. Gilchrist to part with the leopard's
claws, to be used as charms, but he refused all overtures of this kind.

In spite of this, the poor people were very kind to our friends, and
they made up their minds to remain there for a few days until they could
find a suitable buffalo wherewith to replace their loss, which did not
seem to be easy in this place, the people being very poor.




CHAPTER XI

WHAT BEFELL KIRKE AFTER HIS ESCAPE


Kirke had hurried away from Moulmein as fast as he could walk. He knew
that he must make his way northward but there all his knowledge ceased.

He had plenty of English gold with him, for he carried his money in a
belt round his waist, and thus had saved it when he lost all else in his
haste to leave the burning ship.

But though he had gold, he had nothing else, nor could he speak a word
of the language.

So great was his desperation, however, that he cared nothing for this.
He walked on and on, till he arrived at a small village, where, though
it was in the middle of the night, the people were all out and about
still.

Some girls were squatting behind a lamp blazing in an earthen vessel
raised upon three pieces of bamboo. They were smoking--like everyone
else--and selling sweetmeats and rice.

Kirke made signs that he wished to buy some, and offered a George IV.
coin.

The girls stared at him and his money, jabbered together, and shook
their heads. He did not understand them; but, supposing that they made
some mistake as to the value of the coin, not recognising it as gold,
produced another piece. He was naturally reckless of money, and now
wanted food, and silver change with which to proceed on his way.

The girls laughed, nodded, took the second coin, which had the Queen's
head on it, and gave him Indian silver change in profusion for it,
besides rice in a red bowl, fruit, and sweetmeats, for which they
reserved a small amount; but they would not have the coin with the man's
head.

Kirke could not comprehend their objection to it, which really was their
idea that only "woman coins" fructify and increase, but he was satisfied
with the result of his shopping, and proceeded on his way.

His road seemed to lie between a chain of villages; and, fearful of
being overtaken upon it, where he would be so easily recognised and
caught, he turned off towards the coast again, soon coming to a stream,
across which a man in a canoe took him.

The sun was now high, and he tried to find a place where he might lie
down and sleep. With some difficulty he made the boatman understand what
he wanted, and take him to a hut, where they spread a mat for him with a
rug, and he took a long rest.

He could purchase nothing except rice and fruit upon awaking, but the
owner of the hut offered oil and salt with the former, and some
unutterable abomination of putrid fish, which he called "ngapé," and
which he seemed surprised to find rejected with disgust.

When the heat of the day was over, his host offered milk and more rice,
from which Kirke made a second meal. He would have liked stronger
liquor, but could not make himself understood. He then obtained a seat
in a native bullock-cart, neither knowing nor caring where it was going,
so that it was still northwards, and not to any English station.

So he wandered for some days, aimlessly and drearily, with no object
before him, no one to speak to, no settled plan of action. By degrees he
became used to this existence; youth restored his energies, he became
less afraid of pursuit, learnt a few Burmese words, and liked this life
so full of new sights and sounds. He came to a large river, the course
of which he followed upwards for several days, for the rapids in it
caused all the people to shake their heads when he tried to get ferried
across.

He succeeded at last, and congratulated himself now upon being safe, but
here his luck deserted him.

He found that there was gold to be got in this place; and from the
contemptuous air with which the people turned over his coin, and the few
flat flakes which they showed him in return, chiefly worn as amulets, he
gathered that their gold was considered much purer than his, but he did
not seem able to find any of it for himself.

The people also evidently endeavoured to dissuade him from wandering
about alone, making him understand that there was danger from wild
beasts in so doing. This was a hindrance which had never before occurred
to him, but was a very sufficient obstacle.

The weather was extremely sultry now, and there had been several violent
thunderstorms. The place was mountainous, and the valleys between the
hills grew very wet. To his surprise the ground never seemed to dry up;
though after a tremendous storm, when the sun blazed out again, it
positively steamed, as a pot of water might steam over a fire.

The storms became more frequent, the deluges of rain heavier and more
constant, the valleys fuller and fuller of water. All wandering was at
an end perforce, except in canoes. The people expressed no surprise,
they appeared to be prepared for such a state of things. They all had
boats of some kind or other; old and young, men and women, were
evidently familiar with their management. The huts were raised upon
piles, in some places twelve feet high; even their bullocks and other
live stock were stabled aloft, and the stench from their close
accommodation was all but insufferable.

The children fished through holes in the floors of the huts; every foul
refuse was simply upset through them; all objects were damp and
ill-smelling.

The poor people were very hospitable and kind. They gave Kirke of their
best, charging him incredibly small sums for his keep. There was no
getting away until the floods abated, but life under such unhealthy
conditions was what none but a native could withstand; and in spite of
incessantly smoking, as they did, Kirke had not been two months in the
village where the rains had surprised him, before he was down in a
raging fever.

There he lay, in that secluded Burmese village, struggling between life
and death for a long time. His constitution had been severely tried by
his early excesses, and had he not passed some months upon enforced
abstinence from alcohol on board the poor _Pelican of the North_, so
that he had, in some measure, been restored to a more healthy state of
body, it is doubtful whether it would have been possible for him to have
fought through the terrible fever, which had been induced by hardship
and exposure to malaria.

His chief chance of life lay in the continuance of the impossibility of
obtaining stimulants where he was. The Burmese are a water drinking
race; and although they do distil a pernicious fiery liquor from rice,
it is not much used, or easily procured, in such out-of-the-way places
as those into which he had wandered.

Medical science is very imperfectly understood among this people; and
when his host fetched a native doctor for the sick stranger, he brought
with him such strange-looking compounds in gaily-painted joints of
bamboo canes, that Kirke could not bring himself to trust them any more
than the charms, in which the village Galen evidently possessed more
faith himself. Perhaps this was well for him, but he was brought to the
verge of the grave before the constantly recurring attacks of ague and
fever gradually subsided. And oh, how lonely he felt as he lay on his
bed of sickness now!

God seemed to have forsaken him; left him to his own stubborn, hard
heart, and allowed him to take his own way.

But not in reality. Lonely, suffering, weak, with no one to speak to,
none to care for him, none to help him, his hour had come at last.
Broken in spirit, he repented his evil courses, he sought his God in
prayer, and his Father did not despise his humble and contrite heart.

Exhausted by the struggle through the morning's rigor which attended his
complaint, he lay prone one day, in what was half sleep, half
unconsciousness, on his mat.

A pleasant breeze had sprung up, which rustled the branches of the
trees, and wafted towards him the scent of flowers, overpowering that of
rotting vegetation which always seemed to pervade everything. It brought
with it also the gentle tinkle of bells from a pagoda upon a rising
ground in this valley. In his half awake state, he fancied he smelt the
Gloire de Dijon roses that grew round the drawing-room bay window in his
father's rectory, and heard the church bells ringing afar off, calling
the villagers to the Sabbath service.

He remembered how, as a little child, he had been led by his gentle
mother's hand through the pleasant garden and shrubbery, to the gate
which opened thence into the churchyard heaped with grassy mounds. Among
them was a little white marble cross, over the grave of his baby sister
who had died. His mother stayed her feet at this place, and laid before
it the pure white rosebud which she had plucked as they went over the
lawn. A tear ran down her cheek as she did so.

"Jamie," said she, "little Leonora would have been five years old to-day
if God had spared her to us. Oh, my dear little girl, my dear little
lost one!"

His father had come up to them. "Not lost, wifey," said he,--"not lost,
but gone before."

Why did he recall all this now, when he had never thought about the
scene for so long. His mother had gone before too, ten years ago. He had
despised his father's simple piety because he was not intellectual. He
had scoffed at his attempts to teach him, scorned his affectionate
nature, neglected him for pleasures and friends which had brought him to
this.

What had he done with his stronger mind, his superior talents? His
father was beloved, respected, a welcome visitor beside many a dying
sinner's bed. He himself was a fugitive, an outcast, alone in the world.

Pondering these thoughts, he fell asleep, for he was very weak. His
slumber was not lengthy, nor did he seem to have dreamed through it; but
he started up from it suddenly, as at the call of a trumpet voice,
shouting with triumph--

"Not lost, but found!"

Bewildered, confused, this voice seemed to him real. What did it mean?

All at once the barriers of pride gave way; there was no one to see him,
and he turned his face to the wall, weeping bitterly.

A softer, better mood succeeded, and a stronger feeling of peace than he
had felt for long. He determined to remain in this place until he was
quite well; and did so, his health gradually returning to him.

Kirke's illness, and long residence among them, had been to these people
as good as a wreck to the Cornish seaside population of old,--it had
brought unusual prosperity to them. Small as their charges had appeared
to him, they were really four times as high as the true value of the
goods supplied to him had been to them. The simple villager was no
simpleton when matters of trade and finance were in question; and, if
they prayed at all, their petitions to Guadama, for years afterwards,
would have been that the Lord of the White Elephant would be pleased to
send them another sick stranger.

He had paid royally for the medicines in those red and yellow bamboo
bottles, which the doctor had carried away again as full as he brought
them. He had paid handsomely for the rice, the ngapé, the pickled tea
which he could not eat, and over which his entertainers had enjoyed a
high old time while their guest's butterfly soul was wandering about the
world, at sport with other butterfly spirits, leaving its lawful owner
unconscious upon his mat.

They were now reaping an abundant harvest, doubtless a part of the luck
which their hospitality to the stranger had brought to them, and they
were rich. They did not want to be rid of their invalid,--not they. No
hospitality was more genuine than theirs.

If they could only conceal their riches from the knowledge of the dacoit
chief,--who commanded his band of scoundrels from a neighbouring village
among the hills at a little distance,--they might, should their treasure
of a sick man recover,--and after all his money was spent, not
before,--conduct him to the nearest English military station, and be
paid all over again by the innocent white-faced Thakins there for their
kindness to their countryman.

So the virtuous Burman sang and laughed over his work, in his simple
_gaité du coeur_; and gathered the jungle flowers and fruit which cost
him nothing at all, but which the Thakin would doubtless be so grateful
to them for bringing to him.

And Kirke lay pondering as to what course he must pursue when he should
recover.

In the first instance he must write to his father, confess his sense of
the sins which he had committed, and ask pardon for his conduct.

But, after that, what? Would it be necessary to give himself up to
English justice, and to permit the law to take its way with him for his
attempt to lose the raft? That would be a very bitter pill to him,--must
it be swallowed? At anyrate, moving was impossible at present, though he
was recovering fast; that question must wait, but he could write to his
father and keep the letter by him, waiting for some chance of sending
it. He would be more at peace with himself were the confession made on
paper, even were no one ever to read it. He would feel more in earnest
as to his repentance.

Many days were spent over that letter, and it was a very pathetic one
when finished, for it was simple and manly in its tone. In it he
confessed his sorrow for his past life, and his hope that he might be
spared to redeem it, in some measure, by his future career. "If I can,"
he wrote, "I would wish to get something to do here, rather than return
home. I would like to prove to you that I can and will work hard at some
honest employment before asking you to receive me into your presence
again. I am recovering from a severe attack of jungle fever, and I
cannot say where I shall go, or what I must do when I can move; but if
you forgive me, please write to the Herfords' house in Rangoon, from
whence I will endeavour to obtain letters as soon as may be. I hope that
God will give me a fresh chance; but if I die, will you try to believe
that I am truly sorry for the past."

He wrote and rewrote this letter, now fearing that it did not express
enough humility and contrition, then dreading lest it should seem
servile; but he completed it at last, and laid it carefully aside.




CHAPTER XII

THE KAREN VILLAGE


Whilst detained in the Karen village, Mr. Gilchrist and Ralph were
invited to the christening feast given by the principal man in the
place.

They were surprised one morning by a visit from five young ladies,
dressed in their best silk "tameins" of rich pattern, with white muslin
jackets drawn on above them, and very gay silk handkerchiefs thrown
loosely over their shoulders.

They were bedizened with a quantity of jewels, roses nestled in their
splendid black hair, cheroots were in their mouths, and each carried a
handsome lacquered tray, heaped with little parcels done up in gilt
paper.

They advanced to the verandah, where the gentlemen were sitting--very
much to their own comfort--in free and easy costume suitable to the
intense heat. Ralph coloured scarlet, conscious of his shirt sleeves,
bare feet thrust into slippers, and generally loosened attire; but, the
girls having come upon them suddenly, nothing could be done except a
frantic effort to button his shirt at the throat, which resulted in
dropping the stud, and seeing it maliciously roll out of reach.

"Never heed them, maister," whispered Wills, who was in attendance.
"They'm used to wuss, you may take your davy. Ef 'ee don't take no
notice, they maids won't nother."

An overpowering desire to laugh took possession of the boy at this, the
more impossible to control as all the girls advanced giggling and
smiling at each other.

Mr. Gilchrist was vexed. "Behave yourself, Ralph," said he sternly, very
anxious to maintain his dignity.

He rose, took off his hat with a flourish, and bowed low. Ralph tried to
imitate him; and one of the girls became spokeswoman for the rest.

"My little sister's head is washed to-morrow, at sky shutting-in time,"
said she. "Will the royal selfs lords be good enough to join the feast?"

"We shall be pleased to do so, Mah----?" replied Mr. Gilchrist
interrogatively.

"Mah Ngway Khine" (Miss Silver Spring), said she, understanding
perfectly that he meant to ask her name. The other girls all laughed,
and each gave her own name, pointing each to her own face to indicate
that this meant herself. Miss Pretty, Miss Naughty, Miss Loveable, Miss
Beyond Compare.

Mr. Gilchrist bowed to each; then, pointing to Ralph, introduced
themselves.

"Moung Ralph Denham,--Moung Alexander Bruce Gilchrist."

The girls thought this an excellent joke, and laughed heartily, trying
to pronounce the names as hopelessly as ever Wills himself had failed in
mastering Burmese.

Mr. Gilchrist then handed to each girl a cigar from the box lying beside
him, which seemed to give great pleasure.

"I am going," said Miss Silver Spring, after that. "Be pleased to eat
this pickled tea," and she handed to each one of the little packets upon
her tray. The party then went gaily off to give their invitations
further.

"Ralph," said Mr. Gilchrist, "we must see what we can find for presents
to our hosts to-morrow. We had better visit the bazaar."

"Lord, zur," quoth Osborn, "they du knaw the cost of all the old trade
there better nor we. They can get all that whenever they want. Give 'em
sommut what they doan't zee every day."

"But what have we to give of that sort, Osborn?"

"English money, zur,--more particularly ef 'ee will stand goold. English
things at after. 'Ee've got tin canisters painted up smart, haven't 'ee,
with coffee and thiccee like in 'em; and pots, with picturs a-top of the
lids, with potted meat?"

Mr. Gilchrist thought this good advice, he purchased some gay silk
handkerchiefs of native make in the bazaar, a silver betel-box or two;
looked out the newest sovereign in his possession for the infant,
polished it up till it glittered finely; and then searched his stores.

There was not much of the ornamental among them; nor was he willing to
part with a great deal of his potted meat; for he could buy so little
animal food of other descriptions in these country parts, where the
people objected even to selling them live poultry for their own eating,
or even eggs for them to cook.

The Burmese will devour raw the eggs of any creature, fowls, turtles,
crocodiles, or iguanas,--but they will cook none.

A little fish was to be got at times, but in such small quantities as to
be very unsatisfying; nor was milk to be procured, as the people neither
kept cows nor used milk themselves.

Our friends were growing very tired of vegetable diet, and were obliged
to trust to their own stores for everything else.

However, a tin canister of coffee, decorated with gay paper, was
selected; and a pair of earthenware pots full of potted meat, on one of
which was a representation, in bright colours, of Jack Sprat and his
wife, sitting on either side of a table, with the joint of roast beef on
the platter between them; while the other displayed the time-honoured
portraits of Uncle Toby and the widow.

Happy in the hope that pleasure was to be the meed of these gifts, Mr.
Gilchrist and Ralph dressed themselves in clean white suits, and set off
for the entertainment at the hour specified.

The baby was a very small one, only about a fortnight old. Ralph thought
it looked like a little goblin changeling, with its dark skin, lean
body, and twinkling black eyes; but it was displayed with great pride.

"A very--very--nice little girl," pronounced the bachelor Scotsman, with
sudden inspiration succeeding his utter ignorance as to what he ought to
say.

"Very like his father, ma'am," said Ralph with great solemnity. "Has it
any teeth yet?"

Wills, marching behind his masters, with the presents arranged among
flowers upon a tray, burst into a great guffaw at this moment, and tried
to cover his misdemeanour by a most unnatural cough. Mr. Gilchrist
looked daggers at him over his shoulder.

"'Ee should have stopped at half-way, Maister Ralph," whispered Osborn,
on the broad grin.

"Don't Burmese babies get teeth?" inquired Ralph innocently. "I am sure
that I have heard dozens of old women ask my mother that question when
they used to come and see our babies at home. I thought I was all right
there."

"This little maid be too young, zur," said the sailor, who had his own
quiver full at home.

"Oh! that's it, is it?" cried Ralph.

Perhaps he had not been understood, for none of the Burmans appeared to
be surprised; but they were all much taken up with the pride of the
company of these distinguished foreigners at their feast.

The father related to them that the child was born on a Thursday, so she
would prove to be of a mild, gentle disposition; also that Thursday was
the day represented by the elephant without tusks; and he pointed to
some red and yellow waxen effigies of this animal, prepared for
offerings to be presented on his daughter's behalf upon the steps of the
nearest pagoda.

The astrologer, an old phoongyee, had cast the infant's horoscope, which
was a most favourable one.

Mr. Gilchrist listened to all this with gravity, and then presented
their offerings, laying the bright sovereign upon the baby's breast.

This evidently gave great delight; as did the packet of choice cigars to
the father, the silken kerchiefs to the elder daughters, the betel-boxes
and sweetmeats to the sons and younger children; but something was
noticeably wrong about the jars of potted meat brought for the mother,
nor could the Englishmen understand what was the matter.

That offence was taken was evident; and Mr. Gilchrist, seeing one of the
pots hurried out of sight, begged, in much distress, to be told what he
had done wrong, assuring the head of the house that no offence was
intended; he had hoped that the English jars might, when empty, be
useful to the lady for holding betel nut.

After some difficulty, it appeared that Uncle Toby's attitude, with
regard to the fair widow, was not considered proper.

"No Burmese gentleman would smell his wife's cheek in public," explained
the phoongyee, scandalised; but willing to overlook the ignorance of
foreigners who made such handsome presents.

To "smell a lady's cheek" is Burmese for kissing her; and Mr. Gilchrist,
a most punctilious man in his deference to all the fair sex, coloured
highly, as he explained that the gentleman in the picture was only
removing from the lady's eye a bit of some extraneous matter which had
blown into it.

This being perfectly understood, harmony was once more established.

Miss Silver Spring and her sisters handed round cheroots; all seated
themselves, and began to discuss a suitable name for the child; while
the nurse washed the little one's head in a decoction of the pods and
bark of the soap acacia tree; which was afterwards carried to each guest
in turn, with an invitation to lave his hands in the same lather.

Many were the names suggested for the child; some being discarded as not
beginning with the same letter of the alphabet as that of the day of the
week upon which it had been born. Others met with disfavour from
different reasons. But at last, with an evident desire to honour Mr.
Gilchrist, and make up for the misunderstanding which had taken place,
he was entreated to propose a name--an English name.

"Madam," said he, "I think there is no name ever borne by an English
lady so sweet as that of Lily."

He took a beautiful lily from among the flowers heaped on every side,
and laid it in the tiny hand, which closed upon it. All regarded this as
a favourable omen,--the child's butterfly spirit had accepted the
flower, and Lily must be her name.

More cheroots--more betel for chewing--more fruit--more sweetmeats--then
a grand feast--after that a pwé, or theatrical play. Money was given to
the nurse, to the phoongyee, and all went merry as a wedding bell.

Ralph soon made friends with the boys of this village, a set of merry
fellows, who taught him to play at ball in their way, and were much
impressed by his accounts of the games played in England. He showed them
how to play at hockey, and delighted in their skittles, played with the
great flat seeds of a jungle creeper.

Wills instructed the blacksmith in the art of making quoits, to the
throwing of which both men and boys took very kindly, and many a merry
hour was thus passed among them.

Osborn whistled melodiously, and considered himself a dab at singing
"The Death of Nelson," "The Bay of Biscay," and other sea-songs, with
which he often favoured his new friends; and Mr. Gilchrist, who was
musical, gave them songs of a different type.

Ralph knew one air, and one only, which he sang for ever, and which the
Burmese boys soon caught up from him, so that it became quite popular.
It was--

    "I'll hang my harp on a willow tree,
    I'll off to the wars again," etc.

On the Sunday evenings, Mr. Gilchrist gathered his own party around him,
and conducted the evening service, which amazed the villagers greatly.
They would gather around the worshippers in a ring, listening, and
trying to join in when they sang the evening hymn, or "Abide with Me,"
but never interrupted the prayers.

Mr. Gilchrist was particular in giving alms to the begging monks every
morning, and the phoongyee became fond of talking to him, and asking
about his religion, relating to him pious sentences and precepts which
often contained great beauty. He, on his side, liked to hear the
Englishman repeat the beatitudes, the Lord's Prayer, and various texts,
which he could understand, but evidently linked on to the sayings of the
lord Guadama in some strange fashion.

Mr. Gilchrist often wished that he possessed more teaching power; but he
was a wise man, and thought it best to offer a little, chiefly of simple
Bible words and broad principles, which might sink in if repeated
frequently, rather than attempt what he did not feel qualified to
explain thoroughly. He likened himself to Apollos watering the good seed
extracted from the Christian's safe storehouse--the Word of God. He
would give the increase in His own time and way.

So they lived for several weeks among these poor simple people, in great
harmony; collecting many rare and valuable plants, some insects, and
much experience in the language.

When the people learnt what was wanted, they would go themselves into
places of which they knew, sometimes at great distances, and bring them
plants; for which liberal payment was always offered, but in many cases
the flowers were insisted upon as gifts,--expressions of goodwill.

After waiting for some time, and despairing at last of finding a
suitable buffalo with which to pursue their journey farther, Mr.
Gilchrist made up his mind to return to Moulmein by the route he had
come. His store of provisions was much lessened, he had very little
left, and his gharrie was pretty well laden with jungle spoils.

Teak shingles, with orchids nailed upon them, were fastened all round
the head of the vehicle--or what the sailors insisted upon terming "the
prow." The bamboos which supported the awning were festooned with slight
baskets, in which were planted other specimens. It was hopeless to think
of preserving their skins, feathers, or insects from the ants and
beetles without better appliances than they had at command there, for
all which they had brought of carbolic soap, Keating's powder, and
camphor, was used up. So they made presents of all the tins and jars
which remained, bid their friends farewell, and set off upon their
return journey, accompanied for the first stage by many men and boys
upon forest ponies, and followed by lamentations from a crowd of women
and girls who went no farther than the village boundary.




CHAPTER XIII

THE MAN-EATER


During the orchid hunter's stay in this village, the whole party had
improved their skill as marksmen. The difficulty of procuring any animal
food except by their own exertions, and the excellence of the wild
pea-fowl, jungle-fowl, and deer, made Ralph, in particular, very keen
after them; and, with the delight of a boy who had never before had the
command of firearms, he missed no chance of familiarising himself with
their use.

Mr. Gilchrist could give him no instruction in the art, but old Wills
knew more, and was persuaded that it was necessary for some among the
party to be fair shots, as otherwise their lives might be in terrible
danger one day upon these wild adventurous journeys.

He therefore encouraged Ralph to seek sport upon every occasion, and the
lad was fast becoming practised in the art, which pleased him much.

Although the village people would not kill for their own food, they
entertained no objection whatever to profit by the peril into which, in
their estimation, these strangers brought their own salvation; and fresh
meat was much nicer than the half-rotten flesh, and that of animals
which had died of disease, upon which they would greedily feed, and
which entail upon them leprosy and other dreadful disorders. They
gratefully accepted all the Englishmen's benefactions therefore, and
Denham went out shooting nearly every day.

The fame of the liberal-handed Englishmen, and their absurd fancy for
out-of-the-way plants from the jungle, had spread during their stay in
this village, and on the day before Mr. Gilchrist had determined to
start upon his return to Moulmein, a man arrived from a remote hamlet,
bringing with him an orchid of such beauty and rarity as to throw him
into a state of the greatest excitement.

"Denham," he said, "we must secure a good supply of this at any cost; it
is a perfectly new one. To send this home will be to secure my fame, and
be the ground-work of my fortunes. It is worth all that we have got
before put together, but the fellow has mangled it terribly in bringing
it as he has done. I must find the place where it grows, and take the
specimens properly myself, or they would never reach England alive."

"All right, sir," said Ralph; "I'm game."

They made their preparations with all possible speed, retaining the
Karen who had brought the plant for the purpose of conducting them to
the spot where it grew.

This man declared that it would be impossible to take the
bullock-gharrie with them under any circumstances; the jungle tracks
were too much overgrown and tangled to admit of so large a vehicle
making its way through them. Ponies were therefore hired for the
purpose, little vicious creatures, which were used to scrambling and to
the hilly country for which they were bound. One of these carried such
equipments as Mr. Gilchrist considered necessary.

"I wish," said he sighing, as he added a couple of guns to the other
preparations,--"I wish that I could have foreseen, in my youth, that I
should ever be likely to find myself wandering about in places so wild
as these in which we are now. I would have made myself a good shot in
time. As it is, I fear, Denham, that we must trust Providence not to
let our lives depend upon the accuracy of our aim at any time."

"We are improving, sir," said Denham. "We cannot call ourselves crack
sportsmen, I suppose, but I don't feel as much at sea as I used to do,
and we have managed to bring in a good deal of game lately."

"You and Wills have, not I," replied Mr. Gilchrist.

"We've got it, at anyrate," said the boy.

Osborn was to remain behind with the driver of the bullock-gharrie. He
did not mind being left alone among the natives now, for he felt as if
he knew them all, and was among friends.

The others were soon ready to start, and pursued their way among giant
trees and matted underwood, through marshy spots, ankle deep in water,
and over stony ground where little rivulets of water streamed among
broken rocks. The damp hollows steamed with moisture, heavy clouds hung
low over the jagged hilltops. Now they had to cleave their way through
walls of climbing plants that cast out great tendrils, or branches;
taking root in crevices and crannies, to start afresh into luxuriant
life. Then they emerged upon some long defile where exquisite trees were
budding out into every shade of green among dark cliffs and boulders; or
upon some forest glade where flowers of gorgeous hue clung to the trunks
of palm and peepul tree, clothing them in purple majesty, or hanging
curtains of crimson, orange, golden yellow or snowy white, across the
misty vista.

Birds of radiant hues flitted from bough to bough, chattering and
screaming; occasionally a deer might be seen, or a small sambhur,
standing to gaze at the intruders, then bounding away into shady
solitudes where he felt secure.

Once a creature of the wild cat species was observed slinking along
among the undergrowth; and many lizards were feeding upon white ants and
other insects in the coarse grass.

They were approaching the hamlet, when, in some soft ground near to a
pool of water, their guide uttered a horrified exclamation as he stooped
to examine the pug of some animal very freshly made in the mud.

"What beast's footmarks are those?" asked Ralph.

"Big tiger, paya," replied the man. "He has been here last night."

"Do you consider that there is any danger of our meeting it in the
jungle?"

"Well, paya, they wander very far sometimes in the night, but these
marks are fresh. It is not long since he was here."

"I suppose," said Denham, "that if we do not disturb him, either in
eating or sleeping, he would take no notice of us? If we 'nothing say to
him, he'll nothing say to me,' eh?"

"Perhaps not, paya," said the man, "but there is no knowing. He may be
hungry, we must be very careful."

"Pleasant," murmured Mr. Gilchrist.

"All in the day's work, sir," said Ralph cheerfully. "Hi,
there!--orchids, orchids!"

"And the very ones we want!" cried Mr. Gilchrist, so delighted that he
forgot the tiger forthwith.

It was not a particularly good specimen of the orchid, but the native
said that there was plenty of it, as well as of other varieties, in the
jungle around; they would not have to go far for them.

"There is a lot of what they call tiger-grass here, zur," said Wills;
"will it be safe when we know that there is one of those gentry near at
hand?"

"It may be miles away now," replied Mr. Gilchrist. "We may have passed
near to him, or to another, as we have come through the jungle already.
Don't let us die several deaths in fearing one."

"Just as you please, zur," said the old man.

"Are the guns loaded?"

"Ay, zur, all right."

"Keep a wary lookout then; but if we were to come across the creature,
ten to one it would rather slink away than attack us."

"It won't do that," said the Karen; "this is a man-eater."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Gilchrist quickly, turning upon the
native.

"Man-eater tiger, paya,--tiger that roams about alone, and eats nothing
but human flesh. There was one about the village a little while ago, but
we thought it had gone, for we have not seen it lately. It has eaten
five or six men that I know of. It is an old beast, very large, very
fierce, and very cunning. Nobody can kill it."

This description fired Denham's ambition at once--he longed to kill that
tiger. What a feather in his cap could he but contrive to do so! He was
just about to exclaim in his eagerness, when Mr. Gilchrist expressed an
opposite desire, so he thought it best to hold his tongue.

"I hope we shall not come across it," said the more pacific elder man.
"Do your best to keep us out of its way. How shall you know whether it
is the man-eater if we should be so unlucky as to fall across it?"

"Man-eater dark coloured, paya. Mangy about its head, fur worn off in
patches,--man flesh bad for him, not agree, you know."

"I have heard something about that before," said Mr. Gilchrist. "I
believe that it is a question as to whether the creature is diseased
from improper food, or whether it be too old to chase its natural prey
as nimbly as would be necessary to secure enough, so is driven to
entrap men, who are more unwary. But, see, there is a very choice clump
of the orchids, let us set to work."

They were busily engaged in selecting orchids, when a rare and beautiful
butterfly came sailing along on widespread painted wings, and Denham,
who collected these insects with ardour, gave chase. He followed it
somewhat deeper into the jungle, unheeding of the distance from his
party to which it was leading him; but Wills cast an uneasy eye in the
direction which he had taken, and presently moved to follow him.

Just as he had done so, he saw the boy's light figure come tearing back
at headlong speed.

"The tiger! the tiger!" he cried. "It is there, it was asleep, but
lifted its head and looked towards where I was, as I stepped among some
branches. It could not see me, for there was a big tree between us; I
saw part of its back and tail first, then hid myself and peeped. Give me
a gun, Wills, quick! Come along."

"Massa paya will be breakfast for tiger if he go along like that," said
the Karen. "He must climb a tree, and watch till it pass him. Keep
quiet, no get excited, keep steady hand."

The man knew what he was about, it was not the first time that he had
assisted upon a similar occasion. He selected a tree, up which Mr.
Gilchrist climbed; then posted Ralph in another at a short distance,
commanding a somewhat open glade, into which a track from the jungle
led, and passed out of it again towards a large pool of water.

Wills joined the Karen and the coolies, who proposed, in two parties, to
move from opposite directions round by a detour, and try to drive the
animal down this path, where each gentleman might have a chance of
shooting it from the safe elevation of his tree.

They had pistols, and moved off to right and left as quietly as possible
at first, but as soon as they had attained to suitable positions, they
began to fire into the jungle, to utter loud cries, to throw stones
among the bushes, and do all in their power to disturb the animal, and
to perplex him as to whence the assault proceeded.

They did not succeed in catching any glimpse of the beast, however; and
but for Ralph's certainty that he had seen it, would have doubted
whether there had not been some mistake. The Karen climbed a tree, which
gave him a sort of bird's-eye view of the surrounding jungle, but if the
tiger were there it was well concealed. He descended the tree, and
recommenced beating round the circle agreed upon.

Hardly had he done so, when one of the two coolies with him suddenly
caught hold of him, and pointed with his long skinny arm in silent
excitement.

A crackling of twigs might be heard, a long line of tawny yellow colour
seen gliding among the scrub, and, as an open place intervened, a
magnificent creature appeared, half concealed as it slunk along, its
head depressed till it was in one line with its body, and its tail
drooping at the other end.

It walked a little lame, and presently lay down and licked one of its
paws, which seemed to be sore.

The beaters held their breath, and it did not seem to be aware of their
vicinity; the air, such as there was of it, leading their scent away
from them; but the other party was drawing nearer, and the tiger
evidently was more alive to danger approaching from that side, for it
lifted its head, pricked up its ears, and listened. Then it resumed its
trot in the direction of the pool; and the beaters, allowing it to gain
a little way ahead, recommenced to drive it forwards by every means in
their power.

The other party was drawing near to them, also acting on the offensive,
and the tiger increased its pace, though evidently inconvenienced by the
injury to its paw.

Both parties now coalesced; and, forming a wedge-shaped cohort, followed
upon the animal's track, driving it forward by all sorts of annoyance.

The distance was not great, it soon reached the tree in which Ralph was
perched, eagerly looking out for it, with his gun commanding the path
upon which it was heard crashing heavily along. The fierce, striped
face, and angry eyes, emerged from the jungle; one cruel, strong paw
protruded, the beast looked warily round, then emerged wholly, and
proceeded on its way.

Ralph waited till he considered his aim secure,--he covered the
creature's head, nerved his arm--fired!--and nearly fell out of the tree
from the terror induced by the awe-inspiring, wrathful howl of pain
which resounded through the air. He had hit the tiger, certainly wounded
it, but by no means had he administered its death-blow. It paused,
staggered, and bounded forwards.

Mr. Gilchrist fired hastily and injudiciously, missed his aim, and the
tiger abandoned its former intention of making for the water, and,
hurriedly turning to the right, was lost sight of once more among the
scrub.

Ralph and Mr. Gilchrist set themselves to reload their guns with all
speed; and as they did so, the beaters came up.

"This is unlucky," said the Karen. "It has gone off to the bed of a
stream among the rocks, in a defile there. It will have a den or lair
among the caves there, from which we should find it almost impossible to
dislodge it; but it is wounded certainly, and was lame before; it may
stop to drink at the stream before seeking its hiding-place. See, here
is blood, it is hard hit, let us make haste."

Only pausing to complete the reloading of their weapons, the whole party
proceeded _en masse_ upon the trail. The path was difficult, for a
stream carried off the rains from a height at a short distance, and
brought stones of a considerable size with it after a heavy downpour,
emptying itself into the large pool or lake before mentioned.

There was not much water in the bed of the stream yet, but sufficient to
make the stones slippery, and fill many hollows between them with
half-liquid mud. It was not easy to proceed with caution, yet never had
caution been more desirable. Silently, slipping, scrambling, holding
their guns aloft, reaching a helping hand from one to another, they
proceeded for a couple of hundred yards; then caught sight of the
magnificent brute, extended at full length upon its stomach beside a
basin-shaped pool, lapping eagerly, yet crimsoning the limpid water with
its blood the while.

Ralph sprang upon a rock which commanded his prey, fired again, hit the
tiger in the neck, behind the ear, and it rolled over, faintly kicking
for a minute, then becoming still in death.

They could hardly believe, at first, that the danger was over,--Ralph
himself least of all. Mr. Gilchrist fired again at the animal as it lay,
to make its death quite certain; and, after all, approached it
cautiously. It then appeared that Ralph's first shot had taken effect in
its shoulder, the bone of which was splintered, and from the wound a
quantity of blood had flowed. But the poor creature had previously
injured its foot, in the cushion beneath which a large thorn had become
embedded, and caused a gathering, or abscess, to form. This was the
reason why it had been lame, for it must have been very painful to tread
upon it. Without this accident it might not have been so easy a prey,
for it was a huge fellow, measuring nine feet from tip to tail.

Wills set himself to skin it immediately, and they camped out for the
night, as it was far too late to return to the village then, but the
ovation with which they were greeted next morning was very great.

The villagers had become superstitious with regard to this tiger, and
could not sufficiently praise their deliverers.




CHAPTER XIV

TATTOOING


The spoils from this expedition now amounted to such a quantity that it
was desirable that the explorers should return to Moulmein, and ship
them off to England.

They had the skins of many deer, sambhurs, wild cats, and various
smaller animals, as well as those of the leopard and tiger. There were
many orchids, some beautiful butterflies, and the skins of rare birds;
curios had been picked up in the native villages, and specimens of the
ornamental woods which grew in the forests.

Ralph had a famous supply of gay feathers, and other articles, for his
mother and sister; and sundry small things which he knew would give
pleasure to them and the younger children, though he had no money
wherewith to purchase articles of much use or value.

Their load was more cumbersome than heavy, but it filled up the
bullock-gharrie so completely that they determined to stop nowhere on
the road. They would return as fast as possible to Moulmein.

They jogged along therefore very cheerily, talking over their
adventures, and planning what they would do upon their longer journey.

"How odd it seems," said Ralph, "to think that this time last year I was
only going about the town in Liverpool, backwards and forwards to
school, and never thinking about all the strange sights I was to see so
soon. And now, it seems as if I had always known these places. Things I
never knew of then, surprise me now no longer. This tattooing, for
instance. How queer I thought it at first, and now I never think about
it."

He pointed, as he spoke, to a Burman who passed them, gorgeously
tattooed.

"Tattooing is not uncommon among seamen in England," said Mr. Gilchrist.
"Is it, Wills?"

"No, no, zur, it b'ain't. 'Tis a very useful thing too, to hev' a mark

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