"It was but like a long irregular cloud lying along the horizon at first. Then this cloud grew higher and darker and more defined. Then it grew bluer in parts, and lines stood boldly out towards us, then it turned blue and purple, oh! so lovely, and last of all it was a cloud no longer, but mountains stern and wild, and braelands covered half-way up with purple heath and wild flowers--geraniums I found afterwards these were--with rocks on the sh.o.r.e and a long white line of surf and sand.

"We did our business at the Cape and bore up for Australia.

"What a stretch of sea we had to cross, and what a length of time it was ere we reached Sydney!

"But I was not idle all these months. It was so good of Captain Pendrey, but he seemed to take a delight in teaching me navigation. He flattered me, too, I fear.

"'You're far too good and bright a boy,' he said, 'to stick before the mast.'

"So I worked and worked not only to please him, but because there was a prospect of my one day walking on the snowy quarter-deck of some beautiful barque, her proud commander.

"Every one on board loved our captain, although they called him the old man behind his back. From Australia we went to Hong Kong, then to Ceylon, from there to Calcutta, and then back again to Ceylon, and returned to India, lying up for repairs at the city of Bombay. And my kind captain never once went on sh.o.r.e without taking me with him, so that I saw so much that was strange in life, lad, that I could sit and talk in this cave for a month if my good friend here would bring us prog, and then I wouldn't have half told you all my strange experiences.

"I had been now nearly two years at sea, and had pa.s.sed one examination, so things were looking up.

"I dearly loved the sea and sea-life now. I would not have changed places with a land-lubber for all the world.

"We had many narrow escapes, of course, for our ship was a clipper, and the captain 'cracked on.' He did not mind risk so long as he made good voyages. But somehow I never dreamt of danger, not even while in the centre of a tornado in the Indian Ocean at night, and if there be a more fearful experience than that in the life of a mariner, I have yet to encounter it.

"Nor did I dream of danger even when seated of a night under the bright stars at the fo'c'stle head, while the men spun yarn after yarn of the awful dangers they had come through.

"'I've been wrecked often and often,' said our old 'bo'sun' one night.

'I was in the _Bombay_ when she was burned; I was a man-o'-war's man then. Ah! Kennie, lad, it is a fearful thing, a fire at sea. I hope you'll never see a burning ship. Over seventy of my shipmates were doomed that night, and some of them met worse deaths than drowning.

"'Another time,' he went on, 'I was the only one saved out of a gunboat.

I was taken off a bit of wreckage and rigging by the lifeboat after drifting about for twelve wet, cold, weary hours. Strange thing was this. I had been made captain of the foretop only a week before we were wrecked. 'Tis funny, mate, but it was on that same foretop I floated about so long. He! he! I was captain of the foretop then, and no mistake, and monarch of all I surveyed.'

"Just three weeks after this particular evening, Archie, I was away aloft one beautiful day. We were well down over the line, and bearing about South-South-East.

"There was a kind of haze over the ocean that day which made seeing distinctly difficult at any great distance, but I noticed what at first sight I thought was a bird or a shark's fin. I hailed the deck as soon as I made out it was something afloat with men on it.

"'Where away?' came the reply.

"On pointing in the direction, the yards were trimmed, and we soon got nearer.

"The sight that met my eyes I will not forget till my dying day. The survivors of a ship that had foundered they were, half-naked, half-dead, sun-blistered, sinking wretches, five in all.

"They had been afloat on a raft for nine days without food to eat, and with hardly a drop of water to quench their awful thirst.

"From that day, Archie, I began to think that a sailor's life had its dark as well as its rosy side.

"A year after this grief came. We were homeward bound. We got nearly to the Cape, and there our ship was dashed on a lee-sh.o.r.e, and I lost two of the best friends ever I had at sea, our poor captain and the dear old bo'sun.

"I was landed at Symon's Town at last, and there, Archie, I got your letter, and found I was an orphan. And all this great grief came to me within a fortnight.

"I had been bound for English sh.o.r.es; my hopes beat high; in a few months longer, at most, I would once again clasp my dear mother in my arms, once more visit my home. Changed I knew the glen would be, but old friends would give me a warm greeting.

"Heigho! the blow fell; I determined not to return, and, Archie, from that day to this I have been a wanderer.

"But bless Providence for all His mercies! Archie, lad, I'm not badly off, and I have you.

"Shake hands, old boy. Now I've been doing all the talking, I shall take it out of you next, for I dearly love to hear your voice.

"Senor Gasco, _mon ami_, suppose we launch our little boat, and be off.

I'm longing for supper and longing to sit down and rest in our mountain cottage. I don't think I've been so happy for many and many a long year.

"Come along, Archie. How lovely the moonlight is playing over the water!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

FRIDAY NIGHT AT SEA.

"Now round the galley fire the merry crew, With song and yarn and best of cheer, Have gathered. And storms may rage, and seas may rise, And thunders roll; they know not fear."

Anon.

Scene: A ship at sea, south of the Cape of Good Hope. A steamer evidently from her build, though the funnel has been lowered, and a gale of wind is roaring through her rigging, bellying out the few sails she is able to carry till it looks as though the cloth would bust. She is making heavy weather, dipping the ends of her long yards right into the water, and plunging so much, that at times neither her jib-boom nor bows are visible in the foam and spray. She must be shipping tons of water.

Looking at her as we are now doing with the eye of imagination, it would seem there could be little else save discomfort on board of her. And the night, too, is closing around her dark and thick. The sea is very troubled, the waves are racing, brawling, foam-crested billows, lightning plays around the ship every now and then, and thunders hurtle in the air, the awful noise appearing to run along over the sea. But let us go on board of her.

Here are Kenneth and Archie. Neither is on duty. Kenneth's watch will come on deck at midnight. Archie, who is engineer of this craft, may be called upon at any moment to stir up the banked fires and get up steam.

This is the ship in which Kenneth has been second mate for eighteen months, including the time he lay sick or roamed convalescent on the South American sh.o.r.e, where Archie found him. They have bidden farewell to that beautiful coast, which in some parts is so enchanting, with its wealth of vegetation, its grand old woods, its fruit trees, its flower-trees, its flowers themselves, the life and loveliness that teems everywhere on the earth, in the air, in the sea, on the little islands, green and feathery, that peep up here and there out of the blue, on mountain top, and even in its caves, that I feel sad as well as sorrowful. I cannot pause to describe it all.

But why should I? My descriptions, after all, would fall flat on the senses of the reader, even with the aid of the best of ill.u.s.trations, for no artist can give colour and movement combined. Go, reader, and see the world for yourself if you feel so inclined, and if ever you have the chance, I can tell you from long experience it is a very beautiful one.

"Well," said Kenneth, "we came up here, Archie, lad, to have a walk, but I don't see much chance. What a night it is going to be! How black the sky! How vivid the lightning! How close the horizon is--"

The last part of Kenneth's sentence was lost in a peal of thunder.

"Stand by! Jump, Archie. There is a comber."

They both leapt on the top of the capstan as an immense green sea swept over the bows and came tearing aft, carrying everything movable before it.

When it pa.s.sed away, and the water found partial exit by the scuppers,--

"I don't think there will be much pleasure in a walk to-night, Kennie,"

said Archie. "Wouldn't I like to be back again on that flower mountain of yours!"

"Poor dear old Gasco!" said Kennie with a sigh. "You find good among people of all nations."

"He was very sad when you bade him good-bye."

"Yes, and I won't forget his last words. They are so true 'Farewell,'

he sighed rather than said, 'farewell, if farewell it must be. This meeting to part, and meeting _but_ to part with those one gets to love, is one of the most soul-sobering feelings attached to our lot here below. Ah!' he continued, lifting up a finger--you know his style, Archie--'Ah! my young friend, what a joyful place heaven must be, if only for this one reason, we shall meet all our dear, dear friends again, and parting will be unknown! Farewell; we'll meet Yonder, if not on earth again.'"

There was a pause in the conversation, filled in by the whistling wind and the ceaseless rush of the dashing waves.

"Well," said Archie at last, "I cannot say that a night like this, Kennie, makes one feel enamoured of a sailor's life."