The Luck of Gerard Ridgeley.

by Bertram Mitford.

CHAPTER ONE.

CROSSING THE DURBAN BAR.

The steamship _Amatikulu_ was drawing near the end of her voyage.

A fresh breeze was ploughing up the blue waves of the Indian Ocean, hurling off their crests in white, foamy ma.s.ses, casting showers of salt spray upon the wet decks of the vessel as she plunged her nose into each heaving, tossing billow, and leaped up again with a sudden jerk which was more than lively, and calculated to produce the most distressful of throes in the systems of her pa.s.sengers. But these were well salted by this time, for, as we have just stated, they were at the end of their voyage.

This being so, it was pleasant work coasting along the Natal sh.o.r.e; pleasant to gaze on the green slopes and luxuriant tropical foliage, with here and there a planter's bungalow peeping out from the tall canes; trebly pleasant, indeed, after a month of sea and sky-line, unvaried by any sight or diversion save such as the ocean could afford; for the _Amatikulu_ was not in the mail service, but owned by a private firm, and, being advertised to "sail direct for Natal," had touched nowhere save at Madeira, a week out from home.

"I reckon you two youngsters will be glad to stretch your legs ash.o.r.e."

The two thus unceremoniously addressed, who had been leaning over the taffrail intently watching the coastline, turned to the speaker, one with an air of would-be offended dignity, the other with a good-humoured laugh and a word of hearty a.s.sent.

Not less dissimilar in appearance than in their manner of receiving the above greeting were these two. Both of the same age, both bound on the same errand, it was easy to see that, come good or come ill, their lines would run upon altogether different roads. One, a well-made, broad-shouldered young fellow, whose sunburnt face and muscular hands spoke of abundance of cricket and rowing, and, in short, of every healthy outdoor sport within reach. The other, of slighter build, showed, in feature and dress alike, every symptom of the budding "masher," the would-be man of the world. Thus Gerard Ridgeley and Harry Maitland respectively, as they gazed curiously at the sh.o.r.es of the new country, whither both had been consigned to seek their fortunes--in a word, to shift for themselves.

They were in no way related. They had become friends on board ship--up to a certain point, that is, for they had few ideas in common. Both were of the same age, however--just under nineteen, and the _Amatikulu_ carried but few pa.s.sengers. But she carried them at a considerably reduced rate.

"Of course, of course," went on he who had accosted the pair, a bluff, jolly-looking individual with a short, grizzled beard. "That's only natural and right. Young fellows who don't look ahead ain't worth their salt, in my humble opinion. And yet, if I know anything of life, I'll bet a guinea the time'll come when you'll find yourselves wishing all you know you were back aboard this old barkie, with the c.o.c.kroaches running over you all night, and nothing to do all day but play 'bull,'

and look at the sea, or quarrel to kill time."

"That's cheerful, Mr Kingsland, at any rate," said Gerard Ridgeley, laughing heartily at this terse summary of a sea voyage, no less than at the somewhat discouraging prediction which accompanied it. "But of course no one expects a bed of roses by way of a start in a new country.

And now that it has come to the point, I feel in no hurry to leave the old barkie, c.o.c.kroaches and all."

"That's right, my lad," said his senior, looking at him approvingly.

"We haven't had such a bad time aboard the old ship after all. And she's brought us over safe and sound. No--you'll do; I can sea you'll do, wherever you are." And the speaker strolled away forward.

"Of all the b.u.mptious old clodhoppers!" muttered Harry Maitland, scowling after the retreating form. "You seem to take things mighty cool, Ridgeley. Now, for my part, I can't stand that fellow's patronising way of talking to one. As if a chap was a schoolboy, don't you know."

"Bosh, Maitland!" said Gerard. "Old Kingsland's not half a bad sort.

He's colonial, you know, and these colonial fellows are always blunt and outspoken--at least, so I've heard. He doesn't mean any harm, and, if I were you, I'd knock off being so touchy about everything. I'm tolerably sure it won't pay out here."

"Hallo!" sneered Maitland. "You seem to be taking a leaf out of old Kingsland's book. And it's rather rich you setting up to lecture a fellow when you know about as much of this country as I do."

"Well, we shall both know a little more about it directly," was the good-humoured reply, "for in less than half an hour we shall be at anchor."

The _Amatikulu_ was now nearly abreast of the lofty brush-clad headland known as The Bluff, which extends its protecting arm between the port of Durban and the full force of the south-westerly gales. Signals were exchanged with the lighthouse, and, tumbling through the blue and lumpy seas, the steamer with slackened speed dropped cautiously into the roadstead. Then the rattling of the cable, as down went the anchor into half a score fathoms of water, and the voyage was at an end.

Not quite, however. There was still the "bar" to cross, before any could set foot on that beautiful land lying there spread out, an ocean of wooded hills, softly outlined in mellow distance against the cloudless blue. Dotted along the Berea, nestling amid tropical foliage, were scattered the villas of the well-to-do. Below lay the roofs of the busy town, a forest of masts rising above them from the land-locked harbour.

The _Amatikulu_ drew too much water to attempt crossing this bar even in the smoothest of seas. From her decks the lines of roaring, boiling surf, the spume flying in misty clouds from each combing roller, were plainly visible. Visions of battening down, of a horrible half-hour spent in darkness beneath closed hatchways and crushing, thunderous seas, arose in the minds of her dismayed pa.s.sengers. And their misgivings underwent no abatement as they watched the puffing little tug-boat, tossing like a c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l upon the great rollers, or burying her hull out of sight beneath the surf. Out she came, however, right bravely, and soon sheered up alongside, to take off the pa.s.sengers.

Then followed much leave-taking. Gerard, who had made friends with everybody on board, from the skipper and his mates to the sour-visaged old quarter-master, felt low-spirited enough as he took his seat in the great basket, through the agency of which, by threes and fours at a time, the pa.s.sengers were swung off the _Amatikulu_ and deposited with a thump on the streaming decks of the little tug-boat. Nothing delighted the grinning salts so much as to note the aspect of each human basketful as it tumbled out, scared and flurried, or mirthful and cheery, according to temperament, upon the heaving deck of its new and uncommonly lively resting-place, and the gleeful alacrity with which they hoisted up the empty basket for a load of fresh victims, spoke volumes for the genuineness of the pleasure too many people take in the misfortunes of their neighbours.

"I say, my hearties, I must trouble you to get below," said the parchment-faced skipper of the tug, hailing our two young friends. The boat was rapidly nearing the worst part, plunging and rolling in the furiously increasing seas.

"I'd rather stay on deck," expostulated Gerard.

"Dare say you would--and get washed overboard. Then what'd be said to me I'd like to know?"

"Is it as bad as that?" said Harry Maitland, in a scared tone.

"It is so. Time we came out before this, we had a couple of black fellows washed clean overboard. There was a tow-rope out, luckily for them, or they'd never have come up again. Now then, get below, will you? it's time to batten."

Harry needed no second warning. Down he went into the dark, stuffy little cabin. But Gerard still hesitated.

"Let him stay, captain," said Mr Kingsland, who had overheard the dialogue, and who, moreover, was acquainted with that functionary.

"He'll know how to take care of himself."

"Oh, all right; he'll have to, then. Here, mister, stand there forrard the companion, and lay hold of that ringbolt. Hang on to it, mind--hang on to it by your teeth and your eyelashes for all you know, or you'll find yourself overboard in less than a duck's whisper. We are going to get it lively in a minute."

So saying, he jumped on to the bridge to take the wheel from his subordinate, while Gerard, resolving to follow that advice which related to "hanging on," looked around upon the situation.

Up went the boat's head suddenly with a smooth slide, up a great hill of water, from whose summit it seemed she must leap right on to that of the lofty wooded bluff rising on her port bow. Then a mighty plunge; the foam flew in a deafening hiss from her bows, breaking on and pouring knee-deep along her decks. There was a sharp warning cry. In her wake, rearing up higher and higher as it sped on, came a huge green wall-- rearing up till it seemed to shut out the very heavens. Watching it with an awestruck fascination, Gerard marked its crest curl, then, with a terrible and appalling crash, it burst full upon their decks.

For a moment he could not have told whether he was overboard, or not.

The shock, the continuous pouring rush of the mighty wave--by no means over in a moment--was so stunning, so bewildering in its effect, that his senses were utterly confused. But for his firm hold of the iron ring, he would have been swept away like a feather. Hold on to it, however, he did, and with good reason. The first shock was but an earnest of what was to follow. Crash after crash, the game little craft burying herself completely beneath the mighty seas, to rise again like a duck, only to be sent staggering under once more, as a fresh roller broke in bellowing fury upon her. The rattle of her steering chains, the harsh and laboured clank of her engines, the sharp whirr of her propeller spinning clear of the water, the stifled shrieks of terrified female pa.s.sengers hermetically sealed up in the cabin below--these alone were the sounds heard through the deafening roar of the surf, the swirling din of cataracts pouring along her heaving decks. A quarter of an hour of this raging, seething cauldron of waters, of buffeting, staggering, plunging, rolling half under, and there was a sudden calm.

The terrible bar was pa.s.sed; and none the worse for her rough usage, the staunch little craft sped blithely over the still waters of the land-locked harbour.

Then, released from their imprisonment, the pa.s.sengers came swarming on deck, and a woeful sight they presented. Pallid, shaky, grime-besmeared and otherwise the worse for wear, not a man but looked as though he had been turned prematurely out of a hospital, while many of the females were in a fainting and hysterical condition. And small wonder. Here were these unfortunate people sealed up in a square box, whose sole furniture consisted of a wooden bench let into each side, and thus, with nothing in the world to hold on to, literally shaken up as though in a cask rolling downhill, every frantic plunge of the vessel sending them tumbling over and over each other on the floor; many, too, in the wildest throes of sea-sickness; add to this the darkness, the horrible stifling atmosphere, the hoa.r.s.e thunder of the great seas shivering the fabric, and the shrieks of the panic-stricken women, and it will be seen that the 'tweendecks of a tug-boat crossing the Durban bar might almost put Pandemonium itself to the blush.

"Well, Ridgeley, how did you come through it?" said Maitland, emerging very white and shaky. "I believe I'd sooner end my days in this country than go through that awful cabin experience again."

"You'd have been better above," said Gerard. "Although I haven't got a dry st.i.tch on me, and am going to land in our new country wet to the very bones!"

But the semi-tropical sun was strong and bright, and the sea-water warm.

No harm would come of ten such wettings. Then the tug was moored to the quay. There was a rush of coolie porters on board, and our two friends, surrounded by all their worldly goods, planted a first footstep on the land which was to be the scene of their start in life.

CHAPTER TWO.

STRANGERS IN A STRANGE LAND.

"Now, young fellows. Bring along your traps this way. Got anything to declare?"

The voice proceeded from a bluff hearty individual wearing a thick grizzled beard and a bra.s.s-b.u.t.toned coat. He was standing in the doorway of the Custom-house.

"Oh, hang it, I don't know," answered Maitland, peevishly, and looking around rather wildly. "Those n.i.g.g.e.rs have cleared out every mortal thing we possess. What they've done with them, Heaven only knows.

There doesn't seem to be any one to look after one's things in this beast of a place."

The official burst into a loud laugh.

"Any one to look after your things!" he echoed. "You've got to do that yourself, sonny, here. But we are going to do that too."