"The Missing Ship" (continued 6)

“‘What have you been about, you rascal?’ I exclaimed, though I don’t suppose he understood the question. He pointed to the door of a cabin from which smoke was issuing. I burst it open, and found a match lighted, leading to a suspicious-looking cask in the corner. I, as you may suppose, pulled it out in pretty quick time; and, throwing it into the middle of the main cabin, sang out for buckets of water. A couple were quickly handed down, and the fire was extinguished. In another moment, however, we should all have been blown into the air. The Frenchman, who proved to be the mate of the vessel, was severely burnt, but little compassion was felt for him. We secured him, and two other men, who were caught by the legs as they were leaping overboard.

“Our men had begun to fire at the boats which had shoved off, but I ordered them to desist, as the Frenchmen had hauled down their flag, and were perfectly right in trying to make their escape.

“As soon as the garrison of the fort saw that we had possession of the vessels, they opened fire at us with one of their guns. On this, Mr Foley ordered me to cut the cable of my prize, and make sail out of harm’s way, as the wind was sufficiently off shore to enable us to do so. He at the same time, I saw, was setting the canvas of the ship he had taken.

“The Buckingham and Champion having now only the fort to attend to, poured in so hot a fire on it that the gun which was annoying us was dismounted before we had been under way more than four or five minutes. So we again brought up and turned our guns at the fort, which was gradually crumbling away before the iron shower thrown into it. As the Frenchmen still kept up a hot fire from four or five guns, which considerably annoyed the Buckingham, Captain Tyrrell ordered the boats away to storm the fort and put an end to the conflict. I immediately jumped into my boat, leaving the prize at anchor to take care of herself, and joined the others, which were pulling to the shore on that side of the fort where the chief breach had been effected, and where none of the remaining guns could reach us and out of range of musket-shot. Captain Tyrrell himself, I found, was heading the party. We mustered altogether upwards of a hundred and fifty men, about forty of whom belonged to our ship, with Mr Foley and other officers. The marines quickly formed, flanked by our blue jackets, armed with muskets, cutlasses, and pistols. The instant the last man leaped on shore, the order to advance was given, and up the hill we went at double quick march, in spite of a shower of musket balls which came whizzing about our ears. The Frenchmen endeavoured to slew round some of their guns to fire down on us, but before the muzzles were run through the embrasures, we were climbing over the parapet in a somewhat helter-skelter fashion, and, headed by the gallant captain of the Buckingham, leaping down into the fort. So rapid had been our advance that the soldiers had no time to reload their pieces, and as our cutlasses flashed in their faces, they hurled them at us and took to flight, endeavouring to make their way out at a gate on the land side, where, in their hurry, they got jammed together and stopped by part of the crews of the two privateers, who were coming in to their assistance. Fortunately for them, their commandant, after exchanging a few passes with Captain Tyrrell, had been disarmed and made prisoner; and he, seeing that if followed by our men they would be cut to pieces, shouted out to them to come back and submit as he had done. Still they pushed on, and in their struggles to get out, toppled over each other till a dozen or more lay sprawling on the ground. They would there have been destroyed had not Captain Tyrrell humanely called off his people. Of the whole of our party, not a man had been killed, and a few only were wounded. The fort exhibited a woeful picture of ruin—nearly a score of men lay dead close to the guns, while we saw other corpses scattered about in different parts of the fort. The buildings which served as habitations for the garrison were shattered to pieces, the embrasures knocked into one, the guns dismounted and their carriages broken, the flagstaff shot in two—indeed, it seemed a wonder that the Frenchmen could have held out so long.

“We could see from the ramparts a good-sized town on the banks of a river, some way from the shore, sheltered by groves of palms and other trees—a very attractive, pleasant-looking place. Finding themselves masters of the fort, our men gave three cheers; then the cry arose that they should go down and attack the town and pillage it. When the captain heard this, he shouted out to the men, ‘My fine fellows, I hear what you say, and I hope you will not longer think of doing that same. You will agree that it is beneath us to make a number of poor people miserable by destroying their houses and such comforts of life as they possess. Remember, you are Englishmen, and should scorn to injure people who, though they are called our enemies, have not lifted even a finger against us. Let them remain in quiet; they will bless you, and wish you well.’

“This considerate speech had a good effect. The men cheered, and said they had no wish to hurt the mounseers. The captain, allowing the commandant to follow his people, who had made their escape, then set us to work to demolish the fort. The guns which appeared serviceable were spiked, and then rolled down the hill into the sea, and mines were dug in different parts of the fort, in which all the powder we found in the magazine was stowed. A train was then laid to each mine, and we were ordered to march down to the boats. Captain Tyrrell, who had superintended all the operations himself, was the last to leave; he lighted the train, and then followed us. We hadn’t got many yards from the beach when a loud report was heard, and up went a part of the fort, quickly followed by the other portions, like the joints in a cracker; and when the smoke and dust cleared off, the whole spot where the fort had stood was a heap of ruins. It would take the Frenchmen a good many weeks to repair the damage, if they should ever think it worth while to make the attempt.

“The wind was so light that we were unable to get out of the bay; in the evening we saw a boat coming off to us with a flag of truce. She contained two of the principal inhabitants of the town, who brought with them a cargo of fowls, and vegetables, and fruit, which they begged the captain to accept as a mark of their gratitude for his having spared their town. They added that another would shortly follow for the corvette. Captain Tyrrell made a suitable speech, accepting their present. The other boats soon arrived with the promised supply for us, and as we took leave in the most friendly manner of the people who brought it, no one would have supposed the sort of work we had been engaged in during the morning.

“A land breeze enabled us to get to sea that evening, when soon afterwards we parted company with the Buckingham, we shaping a course back to Jamaica. We were all very jolly on board, for we had plenty of provisions, and had unexpectedly come in for a nice little lump of prize-money.

“I must tell you that Peter had become a great favourite on board, and of this he himself seemed well aware, though he wisely never presumed on it. I had, as I told you, been curious to find out how he was so well acquainted with the haunts of the pirates. At last, one day, I asked him, when I happened to be alone in the berth and he had come to get something out of a locker.

“‘Me tell you, Massa Tracy, for me now know berry well you my friend,’ he answered.

“‘You’re right, Peter,’ I replied, ‘and you may be sure that from nothing you say will you criminate yourself.’

“‘Me only tell de truth on de honour of gentleman;’ and Peter put his hand on his heart as he had seen the Frenchmen do.

“‘Heave ahead, Peter,’ I said, ‘or your yarn may be out short.’

“‘Berry well, Massa Tracy,’ said Peter. ‘It happen dis way. I was ’board a French ship, Les deux Amis, bound from Bordeaux to Port au Prince, when just as we ’bout twenty league to de eastward ob San Domingo, keeping a look-out dat no English cruiser pick us up, we see one evening, just as de sun go down, a big ship from de nor’ard standing for us. De cappen say she French—de mate say she Spanish—some ob de men say she Dutch—oders strife she English—I not know what to tink. De cappen say, “Best make all sail and stand ’way.” So we did; but de bell just strike two in de fust watch, when we see her ranging up alongside. Den de cappen order de guns to be fired; but before de matches lighted, de stranger she aboard us. In a few minutes forty savage-looking fellows came springing on to our deck, pistolling some and cutting down oders of de crew. I see at once what going to happen—if I stay on board de brig, I be killed wid de rest—so I make a leap and gain de fore-rigging ob de stranger. Running for’ard, I leap down de hatchway and stow myself away in a berth. Eben dere I hear de dreadful cries and shrieks ob de crew as dey put to death by de pirates—for such I guess be de gentry into hands whose we hab fallen. I know by de sounds I hear as I lie quaking in de berth dat dey were removing de cargo ob de prize on board dere own ship. It was nearly daylight before dey hab taken out all de cargo dey wish to secure; den dey cast off, and directly afterwards I hear several shot fired. I know dat sooner or later I must show myself, as de watch who hab been working all night would be coming below to turn in; so I creep on deck, and make my way aft to where a man I tink must be de cappen was standing. No one stop me, for dey all too busy or too sleepy to notice me. I take off my hat and make him a polite bow, and ask in English if he want a cabin-steward, as I ready to serve him. “And if you like sea-pie, cappen, I cook one such as nobody can beat, let me tell you dat,” I say. “I head cook.”’

“‘You’re an impudent rascal, whoever you are,’ he reply, ‘but perhaps, for once in a way, you speak the truth.’

“‘Do, cappen, just try me to-morrow, or next day, or when you get de materials to put in de pie,’ I say.

“‘I’ll think about that, my man,’ he answer, licking him lips. And den I know I all safe. ‘He not kill me if he tink I make good sea-pie,’ I say to myself; ‘for black fellow sometimes more cunning dan white buccra—he! he! he!’ Peter chuckled. ‘Where do you come from?’ he ask.

“‘I tell him I carried off and made to serve on board de French ship, and dat I glad to escape from her. Dis not quite true, but I guess it make him more ready to save my life.’

“‘Well,’ he say, ‘I happen to want a steward, and if you prove to be what you say you are, and can cook as well as you boast that you can, I’ll take you into my service; but if not, it will be the worse for you.’

“‘He den ask sharply, “What do you take this ship for, boy?”’

“‘Of course, sar, English man-o’-war,’ I answer—though I know berry well dat not true.

“‘You haven’t quite hit it, but you’ll be much better off than if she was,’ he say, tinking me simple lad who no do any mischief. He den shout out to de crew on deck, and tell dem not to harm me. Just den, as I look ober de side, I catch a glimpse of de brig which we were leaving settling down, and in anoder minute de water close ober de mast-heads. Den I tink I act berry wise in getting on board de pirate. De cappen den send me down into de cabin to look after de tings dere and put it in order, saying dat his oder steward been killed in an action a few days before. We were now, I found, steering to de nor’-west. Two or tree days after dis we take anoder prize, which was robbed ob eberyting ob value on board, and was den treated same as Les deux Amis had been. I was very glad to get off wid my life, but I berry much wish myself out of de ship again, and determined to make my ’scape as soon as I hab opportunity.

“‘De cappen each day ask me when I going to make de sea-pie. I always say, “When I get de fowls, and de turkeys, and de ham, and de oder tings to put in it. But I make you some lobscouse in de mean time,” I say. And so I did; and he and de mates say dey nebber taste such good lobscouse in dere lives. “Ah! not equal to de sea-pie I make some day or oder,” I answer; for I know as long as I promise de sea-pie dey not kill me. I only hope in de mean time no man-o’-war get hold ob us; if she did, I should be hung up wid de rest, and de judges not believe I come on board ’cause oderwise I drown, and stay only to make a sea-pie. We soon get near an island, which I guess was one ob de Bahamas from de way de ship was steered, now in one direction, now in anoder, between rocks and sandbanks. De cappen ask me if I know where we were. I say, “I suppose we somewhere on de Spanish Main.”’

“All right,” he answer; “maybe you’re not much of a navigator?”

“‘Poor nigger like me know berry little ’cept how to make sea-pie,’ I say. He den order me to go below, and soon afterwards I hear de roar ob de breakers, and I know we’d got near the shore. Den de ship sail on and I guess we’d got into a harbour; but she did not come to an anchor, but sail on and on. Den, looking up through the skylight, I see de boughs ob de green trees oberhead, and a high cliff which seem about to topple down on de deck ob de ship. Still we sail on and on, till at last I hear de anchor let go and de cable run out, and when I come on deck I find de ship in a wide lagoon wid several oder vessels and some large boats, and a village ob huts and sheds under de trees on de shore. I now know dat I was in one ob de old buccaneer hiding-places, and I guess dat de vessels I see were dose de pirates had capture and carry off. When the sails were furled I go up to the cappen and ask if he wish me to go on shore to buy some poultry and vegetables and oder tings I might require for de sea-pie.

“‘No, no; you stay on board,’ he answered. ‘I’ll send off for materials, and we shall then see what you can do.’

“‘I pretend to be well pleased, and tell him all de tings I want. Dat evening plenty of provisions came on board. Dere were—let me see—butter-birds and whistling ducks, snipe, red-tailed pigeons, turkeys, clucking hens, parrots, and plantation coots; dere was beef and pork and venison, and papaw fruit, squash, and plantains, calavansas, bananas, yams, Indian pepper, ginger, and all sorts ob oder tings. I pick out what I know make de best pie, putting in plenty of pepper—for dat, I guess, would suit de taste ob de genelmen—and den I cover the whole ober wid thick crust. It take de night and the next day to bake, and when it am ready de cappen and his officers, and some friends from de shore, dey all say dat dey nebber eat any pie like it; and I laugh, and say, “I make better one anoder day.” Dey all eat till dey could eat no more, and den drink to wash it down till one and all am so drunk dat dey couldn’t lift up dere heads. When I see dis, I say to myself, “Now’s the best time for me to try and be off;” and I put a piece ob de pie into a basket, and a calabash of water, and going on deck I see a small canoe made fast to de side. I drop it under de stern, and den go back into the cabin. Ebery one ob dem am still fast asleep; so I lowered de basket into de canoe from one ob de after-ports, and slip down myself widout making any noise. Cutting de painter, I let de canoe drift away before the breeze, which blew down the lagoon. I hab watch during de day one or two boats coming in, so I know the entrance, and as soon as I get to a distance from de vessels I paddle away as fast as I could. I might hab a long distance to go before daylight, but as it was only just dark dere would be plenty ob time. I expected ebery moment to be ober-hauled by de sentries on de shore, but no one was dere, or, at all events, dey not see me. On I go till I get under de cliffs which I see when de ship come in—den I know I in de right passage. Dere was a current, too, by which I judge dat de tide was ebbing. Next I find myself between low banks, for de whole country towards de sea am flat. At last I hear de waves breaking on de shore—not very loud, though; dat makes me hope dat de water smooth. I soon reach de entrance ob de creek, and safely pass de bar. I determine to paddle to de southward; I hab water and provisions to last me for a week or more, and before dat time I hope to get aboard an English or French vessel—it matter berry little to me. When morning break I look out astern, but could see no boat or vessel, and I hope I not pursued; as I was well out ob sight ob land, even if I was, de pirates would hab a difficult job to find me. De sea remain smooth, or my canoe, which was only intended for de lagoon, would hab been swamped. When my pie nearly gone and what remain was scarcely eatable, I see a vessel standing to de westward. De wind was light, and by paddling hard I might reach her. I did paddle, for I no hab a drop ob water in my calabash, and if I miss her I might die ob thirst. On she come, and de breeze freshen. I was coming from de north—she was crossing my course; I shriek and shout—already she nearly pass me; I stand up in my canoe and wave my paddle—den again I sit down and pull away like mad. Again I stand up and shout wid all my might and wave my paddle. I praise God, dey see me; de vessel round to, and in a few minutes I alongside. De cappen ask me where I come from. I tell him I escape from some pirates who would hab cut my throat if I hadn’t known how to make sea-pie, and dat I make one for him as soon as I get opportunity. He laugh, and say dat he believe my story, and dat he gib me a trial. He nebber do so, however, ’cause you capture his vessel before I get de necessary materials.—And now, Massa Tracy, you know my history.’

“From the account Peter gave me, I strongly suspected that the vessel which had captured him was the one which attacked the Ouzel Galley, and I wished that we might have an opportunity of looking for her. The captain was, Peter had told me, an Englishman, as were many of the people with him; but there were others of all nations, as well as mulattoes, Sambos, and blacks. The descendants of the buccaneers still inhabit many of the keys on the Bahama bank, and probably the white population living on shore were some of those people, who keep up the customs and habits of their ancestors. I must try and learn more from Peter on the subject, and ascertain exactly where he was picked up by the Flora. If so, calculating the distance he had come in the canoe, we might be able to discover the hiding-place of the pirates. We have been some time getting back to Port Royal, and as the Narcissus is just sailing for England, I must close this to send by her. We received some bad news on our arrival; the blacks are actually in rebellion and have committed all sorts of mischief, murdering the whites and all who oppose them in every direction. We’re ordered off to the north coast. Mr Foley was very anxious to go there, but he is now in a great state of agitation lest any harm should have befallen our friends; and well he may be—indeed, I can’t help feeling very anxious myself. Still, I don’t want you to be frightened, Norah, and I hope all will go well, and that we shall find when we get there that the blacks have not attacked Mr Twigg’s house. With best love to father, and kind regards to Mrs Massey and Owen, if he has arrived, as I make no doubt he will have long ago—

“I remain—

“Your affectionate brother—

“Gerald Tracy.”

Chapter Thirteen.

Norah’s and Captain Tracy’s anxiety at non-arrival of the Ouzel Galley—Her owners give her up as lost—The underwriters refuse payment of insurance—The matter submitted to arbitration—Captain Tracy invited to Dublin—He is still convinced that the Ouzel Galley will appear—The arbitrators meet at a dinner to discuss the subject and agree to await events—Captain Tracy returns home—Reported loss of the Champion—Captain Tracy resolves to go in search of the Ouzel Galley and Champion—Norah gets leave to go with him—The Research purchased—Captain O’Brien goes to Bristol to obtain hands—A stranger brings a message from a dying shipmate—A message from O.M.—Ferris, Twigg, and Cash supply funds—Captain O’Brien returns, and sails on board the Research.

Interesting as Gerald’s letter was to Norah and her father, it caused them the greatest possible anxiety. Owen had sailed some considerable time before it was written, and he had not yet arrived! Poor Norah scarcely dared ask herself what had happened. Had the Ouzel Galley been overtaken by the hurricane? Gerald at the same time appeared certain that she had escaped it, and if she had, by what cause was she delayed? Had she been captured by the enemy? That was too probable; but, then, Owen would surely have found means of sending a letter to England describing the event. Captain Tracy immediately wrote to the house in Dublin, but they had heard nothing of the ship.

“Oh, father!” exclaimed Norah at length, in a tone which showed her alarm, “can he have fallen into the hands of those terrible pirates of whom Gerald speaks?”

“The Ouzel Galley was too well manned, and, I may venture to say, would have been too well handled and fought, to yield to a rascally buccaneering craft,” answered Captain Tracy. “No, no, Norah, don’t let that thought trouble you; she may have been dismasted in a gale of wind—no skill can at all times prevent such an accident—or she may have met with long calms in the tropics and contrary winds afterwards. Wait a bit, cushla machree, and she’ll come in some fine morning when we least expect her.”

Still the old captain himself was sadly troubled about the matter. Norah could with difficulty keep up her spirits, though she tried to do so for her father’s sake and for that of Mrs Massey, to whom she endeavoured not to communicate her own alarm; but the poor mother had begun to feel as anxious as she was, and every time Norah went to see her, her first utterance was, “No news of Owen yet?” Then she would sigh, and the tears would trickle down her pale cheeks. The captain paid daily visits to Waterford, carefully examining the public papers to ascertain if anything had been heard of the Ouzel Galley; but week after week and month after month went by, yet nothing was heard of her. Captain Tracy again wrote to Ferris, Twigg, and Cash; in their answer they said that, having waited so long a time without hearing of her, they considered her lost, and were about to apply to the underwriters to pay over the amount of her insurance. Captain Tracy, who, though holding the firm in great respect, was nevertheless always free and outspoken, replied that he did not consider the vessel as lost, and that she might even now some day appear. He had expressed himself in a similar manner to one of the underwriters, who was then at Waterford; and when the firm applied for payment, that gentleman declined acceding to their demand till they could produce evidence of the loss of the vessel. Ferris, Twigg, and Cash became indignant, and talked of instituting law proceedings. On this, Mr Thompson, one of the underwriters, entreated them to desist, and proposed that the matter should be placed in the hands of arbitrators. Mr Twigg and Mr Cash agreed accordingly to postpone proceedings till they could hear from their principal partner, Mr Ferris, who was still in Jamaica; and finally consented, subject to his approval, to submit the matter to arbitration.

“Then let us forthwith proceed to select a dozen good men and true between us—you shall choose six and we’ll choose six, and we’ll bind ourselves to abide by the decision to which they may come,” said Mr Thompson. As it was considered in Ireland, as well as across the Channel, that a good dinner enjoyed by sensible people produces good feeling and good fellowship, it was agreed by the contending parties that they should invite the twelve arbitrators and lay the matter of the supposed loss of the Ouzel Galley before them on that occasion. As Captain Tracy was rightly considered to be able to offer an enlightened opinion on the subject, he was requested to come up to Dublin to afford them all the information he possessed. Though he hated the land journey, and looked upon it as a more dangerous adventure than he would a voyage round the world, he could not refuse to comply with their request. He therefore arranged to leave Norah with Mrs Massey, to whom, though her own heart was well-nigh broken, she could afford comfort and sympathy during his absence. Packing up his valise, girding his sword to his side, and sticking a brace of pistols in his belt under his cloak, he set off by the stage, fully expecting to have to fight his way through half a score of highwaymen and footpads at the least. Still, thinking it possible that the Ouzel Galley might arrive, he sent a boat down the harbour the evening before his departure, which returned only just as he was about to start with the information that no Ouzel Galley was in sight.

Notwithstanding his expectation of being attacked by Rapparees or other robbers, he reached Dublin in safety, and was welcomed by Mr Twigg, who took him to his own house that they might discuss together the subject in hand.

“A sad affair this, the loss of our good ship. We expected to realise a fine percentage by her cargo, and now we not only lose that, but our friends refuse to pay the insurance,” observed the merchant. “You surely, Captain Tracy, must be convinced that she went down in the hurricane, or has been captured and destroyed by the enemy.”

“I am not at all convinced of either one or the other,” answered Captain Tracy, bluntly. “She was, or, I may venture to say, she is, as stout-built a ship ever floated, and I hold to the opinion that she would not have foundered while any other craft could keep above water. I hear, indeed, that two or three vessels which were caught in that same hurricane, though severely damaged, got at last safely into port. Mr Ferris wrote word, as you are aware, sir, that, after a thorough examination of the coast, no signs were discovered of her having been driven on shore, as all the vessels wrecked were identified and she was not among them. If she had been captured by the enemy, her master, Owen Massey, would have found means to communicate with us and let us know that he and his people were prisoners. By a letter from my son, I hear that there are still some picarooning villains infesting those seas, but they generally attack smaller fry than the Ouzel Galley. She was, as you are aware, well armed and well manned, and I can answer for it that Owen Massey would not have been taken by surprise, and would have beaten off in a fair fight any such craft, as he would any privateer of equal or, I may venture to say, of considerably superior force. His orders were to avoid fighting if he could do so with due regard to his safety—and I never knew him disobey orders from the time he first came to sea with me.”

“Then, from what you say, Captain Tracy, your opinion is opposed to the interests of the firm,” observed Mr Twigg, in a tone which showed that he was somewhat annoyed.

“I express the opinion I hold, sir, and you never found Gerald Tracy say or do anything contrary to the interests of his employers,” answered the captain firmly. “What you want to obtain, sir, is a rightful decision; and my belief and hope is that, if the insurance money were paid to you, you would have to refund it.”

“You only say what is true, captain, and you will pardon me for my remark,” exclaimed the merchant, who was really an upright and generous-hearted man. “Nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to see the Ouzel Galley coming in under charge of her young master, with or without her cargo, however much thereby Ferris, Twigg, and Cash might be out of pocket. We’ll now go and join our friends—and I beg you to believe that nothing you may say will alter the respect in which I hold you.”

The matter on which the party had been assembled was soon discussed. Some were of opinion that the Ouzel Galley had been lost; others, that she had been captured; while several held with Captain Tracy that she was still afloat, perhaps dismasted or waterlogged, but that she would in time find her way home. One fact was certain, that she had not yet made her appearance, and that nothing had been heard of her since she was seen off Bellevue on the morning of the hurricane. The important point decided was that the two parties should on no account go to law, and that they should wait a further decision till efforts had been made to discover the fate of the missing ship, should she not in the mean time return to port. Mr Ferris was informed that she had not yet arrived, and was requested to take all the steps he could devise for discovering what had become of her. Among others, he was to apply to the admiral to ascertain if any British cruisers had seen or heard of such a vessel in distress, while notice was to be sent on board every merchantman begging the master to make inquiries concerning her, or to afford any information he might already have obtained.

Captain Tracy, having concluded all the business he had to transact in Dublin, went back to Waterford. What a blessed thing is hope! Poor Norah and the widow were still supported by the expectation of the Ouzel Galley’s return, even although every one else in Waterford believed that she was long since at the bottom of the ocean. Day after day and week after week went by, and still the Ouzel Galley did not appear. Norah’s cheek was becoming thinner and paler, and the widow’s heart sadder and sadder. It seemed hard indeed to lose her only child; but she trusted in God. She knew that He orders all for the best, and not once did she allow her heart to entertain rebellious thoughts against His love and mercy. Anxiously did the captain and Norah look out for letters from Jamaica; they hoped that Gerald would send them information. At all events, it would be a satisfaction to hear from him; but since his last long letter, none arrived. News was received from other sources of a fearful insurrection in the island, but Norah got no letters from Ellen, and hearing that numerous white people had fallen victims, she began seriously to fear that her friend might be among them. The captain wrote to Dublin, but the house there had not heard from Mr Ferris. At length another report came which added much to their anxiety, and if found to be true must plunge them into deep grief. It was to the effect that his Majesty’s ship Champion, having sailed from Jamaica on a cruise, had not since been heard of.

“She’ll turn up,” exclaimed the captain, when he brought home the intelligence, which it would be useless to attempt concealing from Norah. The news appeared in print in the public papers, and an opinion was expressed that she had not been captured by the enemy, it being thought more likely that she had been capsized in a squall and gone down, or run during a dark night on one of the numerous reefs in the seas she was navigating and been dashed to pieces before any of her people could escape.

“I won’t believe it, any more than I’ll believe that the Ouzel Galley is lost,” exclaimed the captain. “Don’t give way, Norah. These newspapers tell lies; they’re published for no other object. I shouldn’t be surprised if we hear that the Champion has never been missing, and that the admiral has sent her on some particular service; probably the next packet from Jamaica will give us an account of her return to Port Royal.”

Still poor Norah could not restrain her tears. “I don’t believe that she’s lost, Norah. Don’t, now!” repeated her father. The captain, indeed, did his best to comfort her, but it was a hard matter for him; especially as he himself, notwithstanding his bold assertions, knew how likely it was that the sloop of war had really been lost. His honest heart was racked with grief as he thought that the days of his gallant young son had been cut short. Fresh despatches arrived from Jamaica, detailing the capture of several of the enemy’s ships, the return to port of various British cruisers, and the arrival of merchantmen; but not a word was said about the Champion. Further despatches arrived, which appeared in the public prints. A short paragraph alone mentioned that all hope of her safety had been given up, while another spoke somewhat pityingly of the vain notion entertained by a former commander of a well-known Jamaica trader, the Ouzel Galley, that that vessel was still in existence. “Indeed,” it continued, “go certain it is that she must be lost, that the masters and pilots of the vessels trading in those seas have ceased to make inquiries about her.”

“I hold to my opinion, notwithstanding,” exclaimed the captain; “if others refuse to help in looking for the good ship, I’ll go myself. There’s an old proverb that the man who wants a thing goes for it himself, and I’ll not believe that either Owen or Gerald are lost till I’ve had a thorough hunt for them. I’ve cash enough of my own to fit out a stout vessel, and to arm and man her too. I intended it for you, Norah, and Gerald, but there’ll be sufficient left for what you may want, my poor child, even if it comes to the worst; and you must stay at home and take care of Widow Massey—you’ve need to comfort each other.”

“No, father, if you go I will go; and go I hope you will,” said Norah. “Would that you had ten times as much fortune to fit out as many vessels to search round the shores of the whole Atlantic. And, father, you’ll take me with you? I must go; I should die with anxiety were I to remain behind. In the voyage I took with you I learnt all about a sea life. I know the various dangers I may have to go through, but I don’t fear them; I am ready to endure whatever perils you may be exposed to, and I’ll not flinch from them.”

Thus Norah argued with her father.

“But Mrs Massey—what will she do without you?” he asked.

“She would not detain me. Am not I going to assist in the search for her son, as well as in that for Gerald?” answered Norah. “Were I Owen Massey’s younger brother, she would not hesitate to send me; she will not do so now. She has too long lived a life of solitude to object to being left for a few short months, especially when she can hope that Owen may be found.”

Norah had gained her point. The old captain was really thankful to have her society, and so often had he braved the dangers of the sea that he no longer feared them for his daughter. Firm as the captain was in his opinion, few others agreed with him; and when it was known that he was looking out for a ship, most of his acquaintance pitied him, and whispered that the loss of his son had turned his head. Still, nothing any one could say changed his resolution; indeed, there was something grand in his very obstinacy, and worthy of admiration. The only person who stuck to him was Captain O’Brien.

“If I were a younger man, faith, I’d be after going out as mate,” exclaimed the brave old captain. “Whether the lads are alive or dead, the point will be settled, and I am fain to believe that they are still alive. If I can’t go myself, I’ll prove my faith in the undertaking by subscribing five hundred pounds towards it. The sooner you get the ship fitted out and put to sea, the better it will be for my friend Norah—of that I’m very sure.”

Though the two old captains were thus of one mind, no one else agreed with them. The house of Ferris, Twigg, and Cash would have nothing to do with the matter; they were not inclined to send good money after bad, and unless they could gain some information, however slight, that the Ouzel Galley was really in existence, they should consider it folly to send another vessel to look for her. They would not even help in searching for a fitting vessel. Captain Tracy, however, heard of one which had been brought into Cork harbour as a prize, and, accompanied by his friend O’Brien, he went over to have a look at her. She was just the vessel they wanted; she was ship-rigged, carried twenty guns, and was quite new, having been only a few weeks out of port when she was captured. She was of great beam, and would carry four or six more guns, if necessary. The purchase was soon completed; and the two captains, having engaged a few hands to navigate her, brought her round to Waterford, where she could be fitted out under their own eyes. One of the points to be settled was her name. Captain O’Brien, bowing to Norah, proposed that she should be called Love’s Messenger; but to this Norah objected, and it was finally settled that she should be called the Research. The captain had devoted Gerald’s prize-money, and the whole sum he had at his own disposal, and the amount contributed by Captain O’Brien; but still a sum was required for ammunition, stores, and the wages of the crew. Captain Tracy was in a dilemma; he might obtain a cargo for the vessel, but then he would have to wait for a convoy, as no insurance could otherwise be effected on her, and that would cause a delay. Rather than suffer this, he resolved to sell his patrimony, though very unwilling to do so. Captain O’Brien, who had formerly traded to Bristol, had gone over to that port to look out for efficient officers and any good men he could find to form part of the crew; the remainder could be obtained at Waterford.

Captain Tracy was setting off one morning, resolved to make the final arrangements with his lawyer for the disposal of his property, when just as he left his house he was accosted by a man, whose ragged dress, shoeless feet, and thin cheeks showed that he was suffering from the extreme of poverty. Captain Tracy’s well-practised eye convinced him at once, before the man had spoken, that he was a sailor, and believing that he came to beg, he put his hand into his pocket to relieve his necessities, when the man, touching his battered hat, addressed him, “Plase, yer honour, are you Captain Tracy?”

“I am. What is it you want with me?” asked the captain.

“Shure, I’m glad to hear it, for I’ve been looking for yer honour for many a day,” answered the man, “as I’ve made a vow, if you were still in the land of the living, to give you a message from a dying shipmate, and my mind couldn’t rest aisy till I’d done it.”

“What’s the message, my friend? Is it a long or a short one?” asked the captain, eyeing the man steadily, to judge whether he was speaking with sincerity or uttering a falsehood. “What ship did you belong to, my friend?”

“The Fair Rosamond, yer honour, homeward-bound from Port Royal. We met with misfortunes from the time of sailing. We had Yellow Jack aboard us; then a course of foul wind, and when about a hundred leagues from the chops of the Channel, we were dismasted in a heavy gale; and at last, after driving about for many a day till we ran short of water and provisions, we were cast on the coast of Connemara, and only I and three others got to shore—the captain and the rest of the hands who were left alive, for Heaven hadn’t spared many of them, were washed away and drowned. I was like to have died too, but some country people took care of me, and I pulled through; and then, remembering my vow, I set off without a shiner in my pocket to give the message to yer honour.”

“Come in, my friend,” said the captain, by this time convinced that the man was speaking the truth, and becoming anxious to hear what he had got to say. The stranger looked at his ragged garments and hesitated when the captain invited him into the parlour, where Norah was seated, and bade him take a chair; however, plucking up courage, he did as he was desired. Captain Tracy having briefly told Norah what he had just heard, turned to the seaman.

“You have not yet given me your name,” he said.

“It’s Larry Cregan, yer honour. You may trust to what I say, for I wouldn’t desave yer honour, that I wouldn’t,” answered the man.

“Well, Larry, let me hear all about this message,” said the captain, “for you haven’t given me a hint yet what it is.”

“Well, thin, yer honour, it’s nothing but the truth I’ll spake,” began Larry. “We had well-nigh half our crew pressed out of the Fair Rosamond, and had to make up our number with such hands as the captain could get without being over particular. Among them was a countryman of mine—Tim Reardon, he called himself. He looked mighty sickly when he came aboard, and we hadn’t been many days at sea before he grew worse. He wasn’t fit for work; but we were short-handed, and he had to stick to his duty. And says I to myself, ‘Tim Reardon isn’t long for this life, and so I’ll do my best to help him;’ and when he was aloft or whatever he had to do, I always kept near him, and helped him many a time when he hadn’t strength to pull and haul by himself. This won his heart and made him wish, as he said, to do me a good turn; but that wasn’t ever likely to be in his power. He grew worse and worse, and at last could no longer crawl upon deck. I used to sit by him when it was my watch below, and spake such words to comfort him as I could think of. One day, howsomdever, he says to me, ‘Larry, I’ve got something on my conscience, and something else in my pocket which I want you to take charge of.’

“‘Anything to serve ye, Tim,’ says I.

“‘I’ve been an outrageous wicked fellow all my life, and have done all sorts of bad things,’ says Tim. ‘I’ve consorted with pirates, and have seen many a robbery and cruel murther committed—but I won’t talk of that now. I can’t do much good, I’m afraid, but what I can I wish to do, what I’d made up my mind some time ago, when I was well-nigh dying and should have slipped my cable if it hadn’t been for the care I received from a countryman, who took pity on me and nursed me as if I’d been his brother. As I got better he told me to cheer up, as he felt sure I should live. “Now, Tim,” says he, “if you ever get to Old Ireland, I want you to find out Captain Tracy, who lives near to Waterford, and tell him that I am alive, and, please Heaven, will one day get back to see him and his daughter. I can’t tell him whereabouts to look for me, for the best of reasons, that I don’t know where I am—nor have I any chance of making my escape; but you, Tim, may some day get free, and promise me, if you do, that you will take this message to Captain Tracy, and say that hope keeps me alive.”’

“‘But maybe Captain Tracy won’t believe me?’ says I. ‘If he doesn’t, his daughter will; and to make sure, take this bit of paper and show it them,’ he replied. He wrote two letters on it; it was but a scrap, but it was the only piece he had. I put it in my ’baccy-box to keep it safe. Not two days after that I managed to make my escape, and, getting back to Jamaica, looked out for a homeward-bound vessel. As luck would have it, I shipped aboard the Fair Rosamond; and now, as death is hauling away at the tow-line, and I have no chance of fulfilling my promise, if you wish to do me a service and keep my soul quiet, you’ll promise to take the message to Captain Tracy and the bit of paper in my ’baccy-box; I’ll leave that to you, and everything else I’ve got on board.

“I promised Tim that I’d do as he wished, and that if I failed he might haunt me, if he’d a mind to do so, till my dying day. Tim has come more than once in my dhrames to remind me, and I’ve been aiger ever since to do his bidding.”

“And where’s the bit of paper?” asked Captain Tracy eagerly.

“Here it is, yer honour,” answered the seaman, pulling a battered old tobacco-box out of his pocket, from which he produced a yellow scrap of paper, on which was written, apparently with the end of a burnt stick, the letters O.M. Norah had been too much excited even to speak. She gazed at the paper.

“Yes—these letters were, I am sure, written by Owen. I knew that he was alive; I was certain of it!” she exclaimed, her bosom palpitating as she spoke with the varied emotions which agitated her. “Oh, father, look at them! They must have been written by Owen; he had no time or means for writing more, and he was sure we should recognise them if they were ever brought to us.”

The captain took the paper and examined it. “Yes, I truly believe that these letters were inscribed by Owen Massey. Had he attempted to write more, he knew that the whole would probably be obliterated before it could reach us, so he did the wise and thoughtful thing,” he said. “I praise Heaven that he is alive. I was sure from the first that the Ouzel Galley did not go down in the hurricane, and this proves it; though what has become of her, or where Owen is imprisoned, is more than I can make out—for imprisoned I take it that he is, and strictly guarded too, or he’d have long since found his way home.”

“The more reason, then, that we should go in search for him,” exclaimed Norah. “Oh, father, let us sail as soon as possible.”

“Captain O’Brien will soon be back from Bristol, and nothing need longer delay us, except the want of funds,” said the captain, “and they must first be raised. But with the assurance that Owen is still alive—and I think the account we have heard affords that—I believe that my friends Ferris, Twigg, and Cash will no longer hesitate to advance the required amount. For, though we have no evidence that the Ouzel Galley has escaped destruction, my belief is that she is safe, as well as her master, although we are at present almost as much in the dark as ever as to where she is. Had Tim Reardon survived, we should, I have no doubt, been able to obtain much valuable information to guide us; but as he is dead, we must trust to what we can hereafter gain. We’ll hear, however, what further our friend the seaman can tell us. Perhaps, after he has had some food, he may remember more of what Tim said to him.”

“I’m mighty hungry, yer honour—it’s the truth,” said Larry, looking up; on which Norah hastened to get some cold meat and bread, not forgetting a noggin of whisky, at which Larry’s eyes glistened. The captain allowed him to eat in silence, and he proved how hungry he must have been by the quickness with which he devoured the viands placed before him. Another examination elicited little further information, however, from the seaman; his messmate had never mentioned the circumstances under which he had met the person who had given him the paper with the initials O.M. on it. He remembered only that he had once spoken of a fine ship of which O.M. had been master, and which he had not long ago seen, although he either did not know her name or was bound not to divulge it. It was evident, indeed, that the unfortunate Tim Reardon was under some fearful oath which he was afraid to break, and that he had always spoken with the greatest caution, lest he might in any way commit himself.

“Many would call yours a cock-and-bull story,” observed Captain Tracy, “but I believe you, Larry, and you may have the satisfaction of knowing that you have fulfilled your promise to your dying messmate. Though you ask for no reward, I’ll do what I can to repay you for the information you have given me; and now you’ve had some rest and food, if you’ll come in with me to Waterford, I’ll give you a fresh rig out, and you can cast away the rags you’ve got on your back.”

“Faith, yer honour, I’m in luck thin. I’m ready to walk a dozen miles or more,” exclaimed Larry, jumping up; and, giving a bow with his battered hat and a scrape of the foot, he added, “The top of the morning to you, young lady, and a thousand thanks. It’s put fresh life into my heart. Shure, I hope the gentleman you’ve been inquiring after will come back alive some bright day.”

Followed by Larry, the captain hurried into Waterford, where, having got the seaman rigged out from top to toe in a new suit of clothing, he repaired to Ferris, Twigg, and Cash’s office. He there wrote a letter to the firm in Dublin, giving an account of the information he had just received, and urging them to advance the sum required to enable the Research to proceed on her voyage. Soon after he had despatched the letter, Captain O’Brien arrived, bringing with him two mates and eight good men.

“And now, old friend,” he said, “as I’ve neither wife nor daughter at home to pipe their eyes at the thoughts of my going, and old Molly, my housekeeper, however unhappy she may be at first, will soon be reconciled to my absence, I’ve made up my mind to offer myself as a passenger, to help look after Mistress Norah, in case anything should happen to you. Will you take me?”

“With all my heart,” answered Captain Tracy. “I shall be glad of your society on my own account, and still more for Norah’s sake; for, though I feel as strong and hearty as I did a dozen years ago, yet it may be Heaven’s will to call me, and it would be a comfort to my heart to think that Norah was left with a friend to protect her till Owen Massey should appear to claim her as his own.”

“That matter is settled then, and I’ll just have my traps packed up and give directions to old Molly to take care of the house till my return,” said Captain O’Brien. “Having done that, I’ll be quickly aboard to take charge till you appear, as I’ve already sent the mates and the men I brought over on board to keep them out of harm’s way. I’ve also given notice that a few prime hands are wanted, and I hope to pick up two or three old shipmates in whom I can place perfect confidence.”

As the two old captains left the office they met Larry Cregan, looking a very different being to what he had done a few hours before.

“Plase, yer honour,” he said, touching his hat, “I’ve been told that a few hands are wanted for the Research, and though I’m not worth much at present, after I’ve put some good beef and pork on my bones I shall turn out as good a hand as any of them.”

“I’ll take you at your word, Larry,” said Captain Tracy, “and you may go aboard as soon as you like.”

“Shure, it’s the safest place for me, yer honour,” said Larry, “and maybe I’d otherwise be taking in too much of the potheen, just for joy with thinking that I’d delivered my message and was free of my oath.”

Captain Tracy accordingly gave Larry an order to be received on board as one of the crew, while he himself returned homeward, to make further arrangements and to wait for a reply to the letter he had despatched to Ferris, Twigg, and Cash. He and Norah paid Mrs Massey a farewell visit. Norah had already carefully told her the information which had been so curiously gained.

“I cannot help you to search for my son,” said the widow, “but, though unable to leave my home, I can pray unceasingly that Heaven will protect you in your mission, and reward you for your love and devotion.”

Captain Tracy had expressed his earnest desire to sail without delay, and greatly to his satisfaction, much sooner than he expected, he received a letter, sent by a special messenger, from his friends, agreeing to his request and placing the required funds at his disposal. They also consented to ship a certain amount of goods on board the Research, and no sooner was this known than several other merchants in Waterford agreed to add to her cargo. When it was known that Captain Tracy was going out in command of the Research, and that Captain O’Brien was to accompany him, as many good men as were required offered to ship on board her, and her crew was thus speedily completed. Great interest was excited when the object of the voyage became generally known, and multitudes collected on the quays, cheering right heartily as, her warps being cast off, sail was made and the Research glided away down the river. The two captains agreed that no ship they had ever commanded was better found, better armed, or better manned than she was. A fine northerly breeze earned her out of the harbour, and, all sail being made, she took her departure from the land, and steered a course for the West Indies.

Chapter Fourteen.

The scenery of Jamaica—Proceedings at Bellevue—A description of the slaves on the estate—An expedition proposed—Arrival of Major Malcolm and Lieutenant Belt—A morning ride—A picnic—Visit to a remarkable cavern—Curious objects within—The guide’s terror at seeing shadows in the distance—Archie’s narrow escape—Warnings—Return homewards—Meet Martin bringing alarming intelligence.

Among the numberless lovely islands which dot the ocean, few surpass Jamaica in beauty and magnificence of scenery, or are adorned with a richer vegetation. Grand as are the views the island presents to the voyager who approaches it on the southern shore, they are fully equalled by those of its northern coast. At a short distance from the beach the island rises into hills of gentle ascent, generally separated from each other by wide valleys, amid which numerous streams find their way to the ocean. The hills, mostly rounded, are covered with groves of beautiful trees, many of them loaded with rich fruits and flowers scented with the most delicious odours. Here is seen the pimento, remarkable for its beauty and fragrance, the dark green of its foliage finely contrasting with the bright tints of the grass beneath; while in every direction are fruit trees of various hues, the orange, pineapple, or tamarind, many bearing at the same time blossoms, unripe fruit, and others fit for plucking. In the lower grounds are fertile and level savannahs, plains waving with cane-fields, displaying a luxuriance of vegetation, the verdure of spring blended with the mellow exuberance of autumn. In the distance, running down the centre of the island, rise the Blue Mountains, their tops dimly seen through the fleecy clouds, the greater portion of the range being covered with impenetrable forests, their sides often broken into inaccessible cliffs and abrupt precipices. These forests and cliffs have afforded for several centuries an asylum and fortress to fugitive blacks, who have there set pursuit at defiance, the game and wild fruits the woods supply enabling them to find subsistence without the necessity of descending into the lower regions to obtain food. Rocks and mountains, woodlands and plains, everywhere beautifully blending, form conspicuous features in the landscape of Jamaica. Dotted over the country are the pens, or farms, of the planters—their residences extensive, though not often more than one story in height, with gardens surrounding them, the works, boiling-houses, and other buildings generally concealed from view by thick woods; while beyond are the cane-fields and the dark, low huts of the negroes, standing together in the form of a village, far more picturesque at a distance than when closely approached. But the woods are the pride and beauty of the country; there the palm, the cocoa-nut, the mountain cabbage, and the plantain are often associated with the tamarind and orange, the oleander and African rose growing in rich luxuriance, the scarlet cordium of a glowing red, the jasmine and grenadilla vine forming verdant bowers, the lilac with tufted plumes, the portlandia with white and silky leaves, together with an infinite variety of flower and fruit bearing shrubs.

Such was the scenery surrounding Bellevue House, at which Ellen Ferris and her father had now spent some weeks with the worthy attorney, Mr Twigg, and his wife and family. Although there were rumours that the blacks in distant districts were disaffected, it was difficult to trace whence the reports originated, and it was generally believed that they were without foundation. The Jumby dance which Archie Sandys had witnessed some time before was considered a suspicious circumstance by Mr Ferris; but the overseer assured him that the blacks on the estate were all peaceably disposed, and that the assembly at the hut under the cotton-tree was merely for the performance of some rite of their barbarous religion, and should not cause the slightest uneasiness.

“I will keep an eye on what goes forward, and if I hear of any more meetings of the sort, I will take good care to learn their object,” said the overseer. “You must let the blacks amuse themselves in their own way, provided it does not interfere with work.”

To Ellen, the blacks appeared happy and contented. She had no opportunity, indeed, of looking very deeply into the state of the matter. If the lash was used, she did not hear the cries of the victims, nor see the marks on their backs. She heard that if they were sick they were taken care of in an hospital, or rather in some huts appropriated to that object, and that they were attended by the medical man who had charge of that and two or three neighbouring estates. He occasionally visited at the house, and appeared to be a good-natured, merry individual, who told amusing stories about the negroes and their wonderful ignorance. The negroes of whom she saw most were the domestic slaves, who seemed attached to their masters, and were always willing and obedient, and, being well fed, looked sleek and contented. The most interesting was Martha, the black nurse of Mrs Twigg’s children. Her devoted affection for her charges was remarkable; she seemed to have no care or thought for anything besides them, and though she occasionally joined in the village festivities among her own people, she invariably came back full of anxiety lest any harm should have happened to them during her absence. She was treated by her mistress with great kindness and consideration, and perfect confidence was placed in her. The old grey-headed butler, Martin, was also on a more familiar footing with his master than any white servant of the same position in an English household would have been; while all the other domestic slaves, or boys as they were generally called, were merry fellows, always laughing and joking, though holding old Martin in great respect—their garments consisting of a checked shirt, white trousers, and white jacket, though their feet were shoeless, and they generally dispensed with hats. They looked neat and clean, and had no reason to complain of want of physical comfort. Probably, in other cases where the master was ill-tempered, they would have been liable to punishment, deserved or undeserved.

“But what about the agricultural labourers?” asked Ellen Sandys, who was ever, when he could be so with propriety, by her side—she looking upon him as a well-mannered, intelligent schoolboy; so that Lieutenant Foley would have experienced no jealous feelings had he seen them together.

“Well, they, I suppose, are in their way as happy and contented as they need be,” answered Archie. “The field slaves, as we call them, who live out in the huts there, are divided into gangs. The first is composed of the stronger men and women, who work together, the women being able to do almost as much as the men. Their business is to clear the land, dig and plant the cane-fields, and in crop-time cut the canes and attend to the mill-house, where the canes are crushed and the sugar and molasses manufactured. The second gang is composed chiefly of the bigger boys and girls and more weakly women, who are unable to do the harder work, and the older men who have lost their strength. They have to weed the canes and attend to other lighter duties. The third gang consists of the young children, who are employed chiefly in weeding the gardens, collecting fodder or food for the pigs, and similar easy tasks. The men drivers are employed in looking after the first two gangs, and are allowed to carry whips to hold over them in terror, even if not often used. The gang of children is confided to the charge of an old woman, who carries a long switch; and with her it is no mere emblem of authority, for she employs it pretty frequently on the backs of the urchins. You have seen Mammy Quasheba, and I dare say she appears to you to be a very amiable old dame, for she takes care only to tickle her little charges when you or Mrs Twigg are in sight.”

“But do the drivers often make use of those dreadful whips?” asked Ellen.

“On our estate they certainly do not; but on others, seldom or never visited by the proprietors, the only notion they have of maintaining order is the lash,” answered Archie. “The unfortunate black is unmercifully flogged for the slightest offence, or for apparent idleness. You ask how many hours they work. Generally before daybreak they are aroused by the head driver, who comes into the village blowing a horn, and if they fail to turn out immediately, they become intimately acquainted with his whip. They work for three hours, and are then allowed half an hour for breakfast, during which they manage to stow way an enormous quantity of vegetable food. They then labour on till noon, when they have two whole hours, either to take their dinner, to sleep, or to work in their own provision grounds and attend to their pigs and poultry. From two till dark they resume their labours, when they generally knock off and return home, except in crop-time, when it is important to get the canes cut and carried as rapidly as possible, and the boiling-house requires a number of hands. However, they become fat and sleek during that period, as they may suck as much of the cane as they like, and do not look upon the task as especially laborious. As a number of artisans are required on the estate, such as carpenters, blacksmiths, masons, and coopers, the more intelligent lads are selected and sent as apprentices to learn those trades; though they get pretty hardly treated at times, they afterwards possess considerable advantages over the untrained blacks, and often contrive to save enough money to buy their freedom. Altogether, I don’t think the negroes of Jamaica can be said to be much worse off than the peasantry in many parts of the old country; they may in some respects be even better off than the Irish peasantry.”

“But yet the poorest Irishman would not readily change places with them,” remarked Ellen, “and I am afraid, from what I hear, that they are totally neglected as to their religious and moral condition.”

“As to that, their mental powers are too low to receive religious instruction, and their habits too confirmed to be improved; and so, provided they can be maintained in health and perform the required amount of labour, few proprietors or overseers trouble themselves much about anything else,” answered Archie. “Some, however, have tried to improve them, and have supported ministers and missionaries among them; but I don’t know with what success.”

“Oh, I wish that something could be done for the blacks on this estate!” said Ellen. “It is dreadful to think that they should be allowed by their so-called Christian masters to remain on in their heathen darkness.”

“It is very kind in you to interest yourself in the poor blacks, and I am afraid not many white people trouble their heads about them,” said Archie. “But I came, Miss Ferris, to propose an excursion to an interesting place in this neighbourhood which you should see before you go away—and I fear that your stay is not likely to be prolonged;” and Archie looked unutterable things, and heaved a sigh which Ellen did not observe.

“What are its peculiarities, and where is it?” she asked. “I should certainly like to visit any place worth seeing.”

“It is a wonderful cave, about twelve or fifteen miles to the eastward of this,” answered Archie. “I have never been there myself, as I have not had a whole holiday to enable me to make the trip, nor companions with whom I could enjoy it; but if you could persuade Mr Ferris and Mr and Mrs Twigg to go, I am sure they will be repaid for the fatigue of the journey. By starting early in the morning we can return by nightfall, as there is a carriage road all the way, or what is called one in Jamaica; but perhaps you are a horsewoman, and if so, the whole distance might be performed before the sun has attained an overpowering heat.”

Ellen was delighted; her only regret was that, the Champion not having appeared, Lieutenant Foley could not be of the party. Mr Ferris, when she told him of the proposal, expressed his readiness to go; and Mr and Mrs Twigg, though they had lived so long in the island, never having seen the cavern, were also willing to join the expedition.

“We must let the Pembertons know,” said Mrs Twigg. “The other day Fanny Pemberton told me that she was especially wishing to visit the cave. She and her brother are sure to come.”

“Pray ask them,” exclaimed Ellen. “She is a dear, nice girl; and if she is fond of riding, she will be ready to accompany me.”

“The sooner, then, we start the better,” said Mr Ferris, “or business of some sort may prevent us, and we must not prolong our stay here.”

“Then I propose we start to-morrow morning,” said Mr Twigg. “There’s nothing like fixing an early day, as an ardent lover would say, and we couldn’t well choose an earlier. We’ll order the buggies and horses to be at the door on the first sound of the slave-driver’s born, so that we may enjoy the full freshness of the morning.”

Mrs Twigg forthwith despatched a messenger with a note to Walton Hall, Mr Pemberton’s estate, which was situated about four miles inland from Bellevue, asking Miss Pemberton and her brother to come over at once, that they might be ready to start at daybreak.

The proposed expedition formed the subject of conversation for the rest of the evening, Archie Sandys being especially pleased that his suggestion had been so readily adopted. He and two other young book-keepers were to form members of the party. The family had collected for an early supper, when horses’ hoofs were heard approaching the house; and it being announced that several gentlemen were coming, Mr Twigg, followed by half a dozen blacks, hurried out to meet them. He speedily returned, accompanied by two strangers in military uniforms, whom he introduced as Major Malcolm and Lieutenant Belt. The officers bowed to the ladies and shook hands with the gentlemen, and at once felt themselves at home.

“Supper will be ready in about ten minutes; in the mean time, will you go to your rooms and make yourselves comfortable after your ride,” said Mr Twigg.

“What, did you expect us?” exclaimed the major.

“We always expect guests,” answered Mr Twigg, laughing—“at all events, we are always ready for them. Let me show you the way, gentlemen; your valises are already there.”

On their return, Major Malcolm, a fine, soldierly looking man who had apparently seen much service, explained that he and Lieutenant Belt were on their way to Montego Bay, having to inspect several small fortresses along the coast. “We pushed on, however,” he continued, “rather faster than was prudent, and knocked up our horses so that they require a day’s rest before proceeding further; and we must therefore impose ourselves on you as guests, unless you turn us out.”

“My dear sir, you and your men and horses are perfectly welcome to remain as long as you please,” answered Mr Twigg; “and so you would be if you’d brought your whole regiment, though we might, in that case, have found some difficulty in housing you.”

Of course Major Malcolm and the lieutenant heard of the proposed expedition. Mr Ferris suggested that it could be put off, but the major begged that that should on no account be done, and that if steeds could be found for him and Lieutenant Belt, they might accompany the party.

“With great pleasure, my dear sir; we can mount you without difficulty,” said Mr Twigg; and turning round, he gave the order to old Martin, who was standing behind his chair. Supper was still proceeding when Miss Pemberton and her brother Jack arrived and were heartily welcomed. She was a Creole, but with far more life and animation than the generality of her fair countrywomen; still, her cheek, pure as alabaster, was colourless; but her figure was good, and her features remarkably handsome. Altogether, she fully merited the encomiums Ellen had passed on her. She had been sent to school in England, and was thoroughly well educated and accomplished. Her brother Jack had had the same advantage, though he spoke, unless when excited, with the usual Creole drawl. From the few remarks he made—for he was not much addicted to talking—he was, however, not destitute of spirit; and, among his other good qualities, he evidently looked upon his lovely sister with the most devoted admiration. The two young people promised to be a pleasant addition to the party.

The family retired earlier than usual, that they might be ready to start at the hour fixed on. The gallant major and the young subaltern were escorted to their room by Mr Twigg.

“I little expected to find two such houris in this out-of-the-way spot,” observed the major, as he was throwing off his uniform.

“Nor did I,” exclaimed the lieutenant. “It is difficult to decide which of the two is the most charming, but I am most inclined to lose my heart to the young lady with the roses in her cheeks. She hasn’t been long in this burning clime, I suspect, or they would have faded ere this.”

“We shall not be rivals, then,” observed the major, standing up in his shirt and trousers, and striking out with his doubled fists, as was his wont before turning in. “I prefer the last arrival, with the classical features and cheeks as pure as the lily—a fit model for Juno. If I were to be long in her society, I should fall desperately in love with her; but I am not likely to commit such a folly, and take care that you don’t, Belt. We shall know more about them to-morrow, and perchance we shall discover that their charms are not so overpowering as we fancy. I have often found it to be the case on a second interview.”

“I expect to be more enthralled than ever,” remarked the lieutenant. “However, I have seldom found it difficult to break my fetters; so, major, you needn’t trouble yourself on my account.”

“We shall see by to-morrow evening,” said the major. After a few more remarks in a similar strain, the two officers, both old campaigners, threw themselves on their beds, and were soon fast asleep.

They were aroused by a black servant, who, bringing in some large ewers of cold water, lighted their lamps and announced that the horses would soon be at the door. On descending to the hall they found the two young ladies in their riding-habits, whip in hand, ready to mount. Mrs Twigg and her husband and the other gentlemen soon made their appearance, and the servants brought round trays with cups of hot chocolate and bottles of liqueur.

“You must fortify yourselves, gentlemen,” said Mr Twigg. “Let me recommend this curaçoa; it is a good preventive against any ill effects from the morning air.”

While the major was engaged in sipping his chocolate, the young ladies had gone out, and the two officers, greatly to their vexation, found that Archie Sandys had performed the office they had expected to have undertaken, and had assisted Ellen and Fanny to mount. The horses provided for the officers were next brought forward.

“Here is your horse, major,” said Mr Twigg, pointing to a fine-looking animal; “and, Lieutenant Belt, I hope you will not find yours inferior.”

The two officers mounted, and had every reason to be satisfied with their steeds. Archie Sandys assumed the leadership of the party, and as they moved forward he managed to place himself by the side of Ellen. The carriages started almost immediately afterwards. Major Malcolm very quickly found an opportunity of riding up to Miss Pemberton, a position he seemed in no way disposed to abdicate. The young lieutenant in vain attempted to gain an equally favourable place by the side of Ellen, for Archie kept his post pertinaciously, determined not to be out-manoeuvred, and the road was not of a width to allow of three abreast. The rest of the gentlemen followed, talking and joking merrily.

The road led between hedges of prickly-pear, eight or ten feet in height, and often of considerable width, the broad leaves so closely overlapping each other that they formed a dense mass through which the light failed to penetrate, bright scarlet flowers and purple fruit ornamenting the massive wall. Here and there cocoa-nut trees sprang up from the inner side like oaks or elms in an English hedgerow, most of them loaded with fruit; while occasionally a cabbage palm or the palmetto royal towered above them, surpassing its neighbours in graceful beauty, its straight trunk rising without a branch to the height of a hundred feet or more, crowned by a waving plume, in the centre of which appeared a tender green shoot. Through the openings to the right appeared plantations of sugar-cane, and occasionally fields of Indian corn—the magnificent yellow cobs, with long, wavy beards, hanging from their vigorous stalks.

“Did you taste the cabbage palm the other day at dinner?” asked Archie.

“Yes, I thought it very nice,” answered the young lady, rather surprised at the question.

“Do you know where it came from?” asked Archie.

“From a cabbage garden, I suppose,” answered Ellen, laughing.

“No, from the top of one of those lofty trees,” answered Archie. “That is to say, it was at the top, but to obtain it the tree had to be cut down.”

“What a cruel sacrifice! I should not have eaten it with any satisfaction had I known that,” exclaimed Ellen.

“We soon get indifferent to such matters in this country,” said Archie. “See how many of them there are in all directions.”

“I am afraid that you will become indifferent in other matters,” observed Ellen—“to those slave-whips, for instance, though you say they are only used in cases of necessity. When the drivers are judges as to whether that necessity is lawful, the poor slaves are likely to feel the lash very frequently, I suspect.”

“It is found from experience that they cannot otherwise be kept in order,” answered Archie. “I confess that at first I shuddered as I saw the whip used.”

“Do the blacks never rebel against such treatment?” asked Ellen.

“They have at times,” replied Archie. “In the year ’37 there was an outbreak, and there have been others at different periods; but they were put down in so rigorous a fashion that the negroes are not likely again, I fancy, to make the attempt.”

“I trust not,” said Ellen, “for it would be a fearful thing were these tens of thousands of blacks, discovering their strength, to rise on their masters and attempt to revenge the wrongs they have suffered.”

The conversation between Ellen and her devoted attendant was, it must be confessed, of a very unsentimental character; indeed, she would very quickly have put a stop to anything that had been otherwise, although the romantic scenery through which they were passing might, under other circumstances, have exercised its influence over her. Not a breath of wind as yet disturbed the calm, pure atmosphere; the ocean appeared like a sheet of glass; the blue sky overhead was undimmed by a cloud; the mountain-tops seen to the right rose above the mass of green, their outline distinctly marked, though at a considerable distance. The only sounds which reached them were the lowing of cattle and the signal horns of the drivers summoning the negroes to their work. In a short time the light increased, the sun rose above the ocean, and a gentle breeze waved the topmost boughs of the trees, breaking the sea below on the left into tiny wavelets. Now the road led round a hill, with a steep precipice on the left reaching down to the water, and high cliffs to the right covered with shrubs and creepers of every hue. As it was seen ahead, it appeared as if there was barely room for more than one horse to pass, and that no carriage could possibly get along without risk of falling over the precipice; but as they proceeded it widened out, and Archie, notwithstanding Ellen’s cautions, insisted on still keeping his place, riding between her and the edge of the precipice.

“Pray keep behind me, or ride on in front, Mr Sandys,” she exclaimed. “You would horrify me exceedingly were you to fall over the edge; and to save you from running the risk, I am compelled, you see, to ride so close to the cliff that I run the chance of having my hat torn off by the boughs above, or getting my shoulder struck by a projecting rock.”

Still Archie begged to ride on as he was doing. “Were your horse to shy, Miss Ferris,” he remarked, “I might be the means of saving you, and I would run every risk for the sake of doing that.”

Ellen laughed. “I am very ungrateful,” she said, “but I cannot allow you to be placed in any danger on my account: you make me feel uncomfortable, if not nervous, and I am almost inclined to be angry with you for your disobedience.”

Archie at length rode on, though very unwillingly, and the hill being passed the road now struck more inland, sometimes leading over slight elevations, and at others along the levels for some distance, when the steeds, trained to a Spanish amble suitable for a tropical climate, got quickly over the ground. The groves of tall trees threw a shade across the road which prevented the heat from being overpowering. Before the sun had attained its full strength a rocky hill rose before them with a wood at its base; here they found a tent already pitched, and a fire at a little distance from it. A number of black servants, who, it appeared, had been sent on before, were busily engaged in cooking breakfast.

“De tent for de missee,” said a black, Quambo by name, who acted as under-butler to old Martin, coming forward. “Dey rest dere till de carriages come if dey like.”

The gentlemen threw themselves from their horses, eager to assist Ellen and Miss Pemberton to dismount, the lieutenant rushing forward and offering his hand to the former, who accepted it with a smile which sent a pang of jealousy through poor Archie’s breast, the gallant major helping Fanny from her horse. While the young ladies took advantage of the tent to rest—for the ride had been much longer than they had been accustomed to take, and they felt somewhat tired—the gentlemen, lighting their cigars, strolled through the thick wood towards the entrance of the cavern. On their way they passed a large lagoon of stagnant water, surrounded by trees, every branch and leaf reflected on its mirror-like surface with a peculiar clearness. They could discover only two holes, which looked like the upper parts of arched doorways. Between them, in the face of the rock, was a niche in which a statue might have been placed, while just below it was a basin or hollow in the rock, which appeared to have been formed by art for the purpose of holding water.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if the Spaniards had made a sort of chapel here when they had possession of the country,” observed Lieutenant Belt. “See, that niche looks as if a figure of the Virgin Mary, for instance, had been placed there. This basin was evidently made to hold what they call holy water. They had probably made an attempt to convert the Indians by introducing their worship, but finding them obdurate and unable to comprehend its mysteries, put them to death as a punishment. From an account I read the other day, the island, when first discovered by Columbus, was thickly populated; but in the course of a few years, after the Spaniards took possession, the greater number of the natives had been murdered or expended in some other way.”

The rest of the party agreed with him. As they were all getting hungry, they returned to the camp, where, in a space which had been cleared by the servants, a tablecloth had been spread, and was already covered with viands, cushions and mats being placed around on which the ladies could recline. The carriage party soon arrived, and Mr Twigg, in his cheery voice, summoned his guests to breakfast, which consisted of numberless West Indian delicacies. In spite of the good appetites their ride had given them, most of the party were too eager to explore the cavern to pay them that attention they undoubtedly deserved. After the gentlemen had smoked their cigars, and the ladies had put on costumes more suitable for the object in view than their riding-habits, headed by Mr Twigg the party set forth, Major Malcolm escorting Miss Pemberton, and Ellen being attended by Archie and Lieutenant Belt, who was determined no longer to be cut out. Mr Ferris had taken charge of Mrs Twigg, who confessed that had not the girls required her as a chaperone, she would rather have remained at home.

“Martha, indeed, particularly wanted me not to come,” she remarked. “She seemed unusually put out about something or other. Whether she fancied that the children were not as well as usual, or for some other cause, I could not guess; but they appeared to me to be so perfectly happy that I did not think it necessary to listen to her. She urged, however, that we should come back before dark, and Mr Twigg agreed that it would be important to get by the cliffs before sunset; after that, the ride is so easy, and we know it so well that there can be no danger.”

This was said as they were proceeding through the wood. Mr Ferris agreed that it would certainly be advisable not to delay their departure after they had explored the cavern and taken luncheon, and that it would be better to endure the heat of the afternoon than to run the risk of travelling in the dark. An experienced guide and a supply of torches, consisting of bundles of candlewood split into small strips, had been provided. The party stood before the face of the rock.

“What, are we to go in there?” asked Miss Pemberton, in a tone of dismay.

“I am afraid that we shall discover no other mode of ingress,” said Mr Twigg, as the guide, with the torches under his arm, crept through the larger of the two openings. “Come, Archie, do you and the rest of you go next,” he said, turning to the two book-keepers, “and hail when the torches are lighted. You will assist to sweep the passage.”

Archie, not very well pleased, obeyed his superior, and in a short time the voices of the young gentlemen from within were heard shouting, “All right!” The gallant lieutenant next went down on his hands and knees, his long legs disappearing through the entrance. The major stood bowing to Mrs Twigg, who seemed to consider that it was her duty to go next, that she might be ready to receive her charges; they, laughing, quickly followed her, the major and the other gentlemen bringing up the rear. They found themselves in a circular vestibule about twenty feet in diameter and fourteen in height, with an irregular concave ceiling covered, as were the sides, with innumerable glittering stalactites, reflecting on their polished surfaces the light of the torches held by the guide and the young book-keepers, who stood round in a circle, flourishing them over their heads. Several columns of stalactite forming arches overhead gave the cavern, the appearance of a Gothic chapel, while between the pillars various openings led into avenues which diverged in different directions, apparently running far away into the interior of the mountain.

“See, there sits the presiding genius of the cavern,” said Mr Twigg, taking a torch and advancing a few steps towards an object which had a wonderful resemblance to a statue carved by the sculptor’s hand. It was that of a venerable hermit, sitting in profound meditation, wrapped in a flowing robe, his arms folded and his beard descending to his waist. His head was bald, his forehead wrinkled with age, while his features were well defined, the eyes, nose, and mouth being perfect. The graceful, easy folds of the drapery and the wavy flow of his beard were especially remarkable. Mr Twigg did not say that he had gone in shortly before with the guide and artistically touched up the features by the liberal use of charcoal.

“Shouldn’t wonder if the old fellow was a god of the original inhabitants of the island,” said Lieutenant Belt. “Never saw anything so natural in my life.”

Expressions of delighted surprise escaped from the young ladies, and even Mrs Twigg was very glad that she had come.

“But we have only seen the commencement of this magic cavern; it has more wonders to reveal to us,” remarked her husband, desiring the black guide to lead on. He accordingly proceeded through one of the widest passages in front of them, holding his torch high above his head to show its height, which appeared to be from twelve to fifteen feet. Each of the young men also carried a torch, which illumined the otherwise total darkness of the cavern, bringing out the numberless objects hanging from the roof or appearing on either side—canopies studded with bright gems, festoons of sparkling icicles, rostrums and thrones, busts of warriors and poets. Here were skulls grinning from the wall; columns of every order of architecture; fonts and basins, some holding water; and a thousand other representations of works of art. Here and there other passages struck off to the right or left, adorned in the same curious fashion. Most of the arches and columns appeared to consist of a greyish marble, and were wild and curious in the extreme. Some of the pillars were perfect, sustaining apparently the massive superstructure; others were only half formed; and many were but just commenced by the dripping of water from above. Several of the apartments were cellular; others spacious and airy, having eyelet holes through the roof, which allowed the escape of noxious vapours, and assisted greatly to ventilate the cavern. The ground beneath their feet was of a soft nature, deep and yielding, and had a peculiar smell. As they advanced, thousands of bats flew out from among the crevices of the rock, disturbed by the light of the torches and the voices of the visitors, which echoed through the passages and vaulted roof. They had not gone far when the guide stopped short, and an exclamation of alarm escaped him.

“What is dem? Did you see dem, massa?” he asked of Archie, who was by his side. The rest of the party, who were close at his heels, saw numerous dark forms flitting by at the further end of a passage directly in front of them, while unearthly sounding voices reached their ears.

“Those must be shadows cast by the light of our torches,” observed the major; “the sounds are merely echoes.”

“No, no, massa, dey duppies,” cried the guide; “de echo nebber take so long to come back to us.”

Still the major was not convinced, although Mr Twigg suspected that they had disturbed an assembly of negroes, who, not expecting that the cavern was about to be visited by strangers, had met there for some purpose or other. It was some time before the guide recovered his courage.

“Come along,” said Archie; “if they were duppies they will be afraid of interfering with white people, and if black fellows, they are still less likely to trouble us.”

The other young men, who were always ready to follow Archie, insisted on the guide going on; but he let them proceed in advance, directing them which way to take. They had gone some distance further, passing the entrances of several more passages, when the guide cried out, “Stop, atop, massa; we got furder dan I tink.” Scarcely were the words out of his mouth than Archie and his torch disappeared, and before they could stop themselves, two of his companions fell over. The ladies shrieked, supposing that the young men had fallen down some frightful hollow; but the shouts of laughter which followed soon reassured them, as did the assertions of the guide, that there was no harm done. It was found that they had merely gone done a descent of four or five feet, and had quickly again picked themselves up. The guide followed them, and the ladies, assisted by the gentlemen, easily leaped down to a lower level of the cavern. They continued their walk without further interruption, till daylight streamed down upon them from above, and they found themselves in an open area, with steep rocks covered with trees surrounding them on all sides. This area, as nearly as they could conjecture, lay about a quarter of a mile from the entrance of the grotto. From it numerous other passages branched off, into one of which the guide led them. They shortly came to a magnificent circular chamber with a vaulted ceiling eighteen feet or more in height. The most curious feature was the straight taproot of a tree which descended from above, about the size of a cable, uniform in shape from the top to the bottom. It had apparently made its way through a cleft in the rock, and penetrated downwards till it reached the floor of the apartment. On one side was an opening into a narrow passage, which the guide endeavoured to dissuade the gentlemen from entering. Archie, however, who had become excited, and considered himself the leader of the party, insisted on going forward.