Annie o' the Banks o' Dee

Chapter Thirteen.

The Breakdown – Savages!

Captain Dickson was just as kind to Norman, the Finn, as he was to anyone else. Perhaps more so. Not that he dreaded him. Dickson would have shot him with as little compunction as shooting a panther had he given him even a mutinous answer. But he often let him have double allowance of rum. “You’re a big man,” he would say; “you need a little more than the little ones.”

Norman would smile grimly, but swallow it. He would even buy the men’s, for he seemed to have plenty of money. When half-seas-over Norman would swagger and rant and sing, and with little provocation he would have fought. The other Finns and the Spaniard, besides an Englishman or two, always took Norman’s side in an argument.

So things went on until Rio was reached. What a splendid harbour – ships of all nations here; what a romantic city as seen from the sea, and the surroundings how romantic, rivalling even Edinburgh itself in beauty!

It was early summer here, too. They had left autumn and the coming winter far away in the dreary north. I shall make no attempt to describe the floral grandeur of the country here. I have done so before. But not only Reginald, but all the Halls, and Matty as well, were able to walk round and admire the tropical vegetation and the gorgeous flowers in the gardens; and in the town itself the fish-market and fruit-market were duly wondered at, for everything was new and strange to the visitors.

Further out into the country they drove all among the peaked and marvellous mountains and the foliaged glens, and Matty, who sat on Reginald’s knee, clapped her hands with delight to see the wee, wee humming-birds buzzing from flower to flower “like chips of rainbows,” as Ilda phrased it, and the great butterflies as big as fans that floated in seeming idleness here, there, and everywhere.

A whole week was spent here, and every day afforded fresh enjoyments. But they must sail away at last. The captain had half-thought of leaving the Finn Norman here, but the man seemed to have turned over a new leaf, so he relented.

South now, with still a little west in it. The good ship encountered more bad weather. Yet so taut and true was she, and so strong withal, that with the exception of the waves that dashed inboards – some of them great green seas that rolled aft like breakers on a stormy beach – she never leaked a pint.

Captain Dickson and his mate paid good attention to the glass, and never failed to shorten sail and even batten down in time, and before the approach of danger.

But all went well and the ship kept healthy. Indeed, hardly was there a sick man among the crew. Little Matty was the life and soul of the yacht. Surely never on board ship before was there such a merry little child! Had anyone been in the saloon as early as four, or even three, bells in the morning watch, they might have heard her lightsome laugh proceeding from her maid’s cabin; for Matty was usually awake long before the break of day, and it is to be presumed that Maggie, the maid, got little sleep or rest after that.

Reginald used to be on deck at seven bells, and it was not long before he was joined by Matty. Prettily dressed the wee thing was, in white, with ribbons of blue or crimson, her bonnie hair trailing over her back just as wild and free as she herself was.

Then up would come Oscar, the great Newfoundland. Hitherto it might have been all babyish love-making between Reginald and Matty.

“I loves ’oo,” she told him one morning, “and when I’se old eno’ I’se doin’ (going) to mally ’oo.”

Reginald kissed her and set her down on the deck.

But the advent of the grand dog altered matters considerably. He came on deck with a dash and a spring, laughing, apparently, all down both sides.

“You can’t catch me,” he would say, or appear to say, to Matty.

“I tan tatch ’oo, twick!” she would cry, and off went the dog forward at the gallop, Matty, screaming with laughter, taking up the running, though far in the rear.

Smaller dogs on board ship are content to carry and toss and play with a wooden marlin-spike. Oscar despised so puny an object. He would not have felt it in his huge mouth. But he helped himself to a capstan bar, and that is of great length and very heavy. Nevertheless, he would not drop it, and there was honest pride in his beaming eye as he swung off with it. He had to hold his head high to balance it. But round and round the decks he flew, and if a sailor happened to cross his hawse the bar went whack! across his shins or knees, and he was left rubbing and lamenting.

Matty tried to take all sorts of cross-cuts between the masts or boats that lay upside down on the deck, but all in vain. But Oscar would tire at last, and let the child catch him.

“Now I’se tatched ’oo fairly!” she would cry, seizing him by the shaggy mane.

Oscar was very serious now, and licked the child’s cheek and ear in the most affectionate manner, well knowing she was but a baby.

“Woa, horsie, woa!” It was all she could do to scramble up and on to Oscar’s broad back. Stride-legs she rode, but sometimes, by way of practical joke, after she had mounted the dog would suddenly sit down, and away slid Matty, falling on her back, laughing and sprawling, all legs and arms, white teeth, and merry, twinkling eyes of blue.

“Mind,” she would tell Oscar, after getting up from deck and preparing to remount, “if ’oo sits down adain, ’oo shall be whipped and put into the black hole till the bow-mannie (an evil spirit) tomes and takes ’oo away!”

Oscar would now ride solemnly aft, ’bout ship and forward as far as the fo’c’s’le, and so round and round the deck a dozen times at least.

When dog and child were tired of playing together, the dog went in search of breakfast down below, to the cook’s galley. There was always the stockpot, and as every man-jack loved the faithful fellow he didn’t come badly off.

But even Norman the Finn was a favourite of Matty’s, and he loved the child. She would run to him of a morning, when his tall form appeared emerging from the fore-hatch. He used to set her on the capstan, from which she could easily mount astride on his shoulders, grasping his hair to steady herself.

How she laughed and crowed, to be sure, as he went capering round the deck, sometimes pretending to rear and jib, like a very wicked horse indeed, sometimes actually bucking, which only made Matty laugh the more.

Ring, ding, ding! – the breakfast bell; and the child was landed on the capstan once more and taken down – now by her devoted sweetheart, Reginald Grahame.

The ship was well found. Certainly they had not much fresh meat, but tinned was excellent, and when a sea-bank was anywhere near, as known from the colour of the water, Dickson called away a boat and all hands, and had fish for two days at least. Fowls and piggies were kept forward. Well, on the whole she was a very happy ship, till trouble came at last.

It was Mr Hall’s wish to go round the stormy and usually ice-bound Horn. The cold he felt certain would brace up both himself and his wife. But he wished to see something of the romantic scenery of Magellan’s Straits first, and the wild and savage grandeur of Tierra del Fuego, or the Land of Fire. They did so, bearing far to the south for this purpose.

The weather was sunny and pleasant, the sky blue by day and star-studded by night, while high above shone that wondrous constellation called the Southern Cross. Indeed, all the stars seemed different from what they were used to in their own far northern land.

Now, there dwells in this fierce land a race of the most implacable savages on earth. Little is known of them except that they are cannibals, and that their hands are against everyone. But they live almost entirely in boats, and never hesitate to attack a sailing ship if in distress.

Hall and Dickson were standing well abaft on the quarter-deck smoking huge cigars, Mr Hall doing the “yarning,” Dickson doing the laughing, when suddenly a harsh grating sound caused both to start and listen.

Next minute the vessel had stopped. There she lay, not a great way off the shore, in a calm and placid sea, with not as much wind as would lift a feather, “As idle as a painted ship, upon a painted ocean.”

In a few minutes’ time the Scotch engineer, looking rather pale, came hurrying aft.

“Well, Mr McDonald, what is the extent of the damage? Shaft broken?”

“Oh, no, sir, and I think that myself and men can put it all to rights in four days, if not sooner, and she’ll be just as strong as ever.”

“Thank you, Mr McDonald; so set to work as soon as possible, for mind you, we are lying here becalmed off an ugly coast. The yacht would make very nice pickings for these Land of Fire savages.”

“Yes, I know, sir; and so would we.”

And the worthy engineer departed, with a grim smile on his face. He came back in a few minutes to beg for the loan of a hand or two.

“Choose your men, my good fellow, and take as many as you please.”

Both Hall and Dickson watched the shore with some degree of anxiety. It was evident that the yacht was being swept perilously near to it. The tide had begun to flow, too, and this made matters worse. Nor could anyone tell what shoal water might lie ahead of them.

There was only one thing to be done, and Dickson did it. He called away every boat, and by means of hawsers to each the Wolverine was finally moved further away by nearly a mile.

The sailors were now recalled, and the boats hoisted. The men were thoroughly exhausted, so the doctor begged the captain to splice the main-brace, and soon the stewardess was seen marching forward with “Black Jack.” Black Jack wasn’t a man, nor a boy either, but simply a huge can with a spout to it, that held half a gallon of rum at the very least.

The men began to sing after this, for your true sailor never neglects an opportunity of being merry when he can. Some of them could sing charmingly, and they were accompanied by the carpenter on his violin. That grand old song, “The Bay of Biscay,” as given by a bass-voiced sailor, was delightful to listen to. As the notes rose and fell one seemed to hear the shrieking of the wind in the rigging, the wild turmoil of the dashing waters, and the deep rolling of the thunder that shook the doomed ship from stem to stern.

“Hullo?” cried Hall, looking shorewards. “See yonder – a little black fleet of canoes, their crews like devils incarnate!”

“Ha!” said Dickson. “Come they in peace or come they in war, we shall be ready. Lay aft here, lads. Get your rifles. Load with ball cartridge, and get our two little guns ready and loaded with grape.”

The savages were indeed coming on as swift as the wind, with wild shouts and cries, meant perhaps only to hurry the paddle-men, but startling enough in all conscience.

Chapter Fourteen.

Against Fearful Odds

Hardly a heart on board that did not throb with anxiety, if not with fear, as that fiendish-looking cannibal fleet drew swiftly nigh. Armed with bows and arrows and spears were they, and Dickson could see also the glitter of ugly creases in the bottom of each canoe. Not tall men were any of them; all nearly naked, however, broad-shouldered, fierce, and grim.

The yacht was now stern on to the shore, but at a safe distance. Nevertheless, by the soundings they could tell that the water just here was not so deep as that further in; so both anchors were let go, the chains rattling like platoon-firing as these safeguards sank to the bottom.

There was no fear about Matty. To the astonishment of all she had clambered up into the dinghy that hung from davits abaft the binnacle.

“Hillo!” she was shouting, as she waved a wee red flag. “Hillo! ’oo bootiful neglos! Tome twick, Matty wants to buy some-fink!”

These dark boats and their savage crews were soon swarming round the Wolverine, but they had come to barter skins for tobacco, rum, and bread, not to fight, it seemed.

Peaceful enough they appeared in all conscience. Yet Dickson would not permit them to board. But both he and Hall made splendid deals. A dozen boxes of matches bought half-a-dozen splendid and well-cured otter skins, worth much fine gold; tobacco bought beautiful large guanaca skins; bread fetched foxes’ skins and those of the tuen-tuen, a charming little rodent; skins, also well-cured, of owls, hawks, rock-rabbits, and those of many a beautiful sea-bird.

The barter, or nicker, as the Yankee called it, pleased both sides, and the savages left rejoicing, all the more so in that, although the skipper would give them no rum to carry away with them, he spliced a kind of savage main-brace, and everyone swallowed a glass of that rosy fluid as a baby swallows its mother’s milk.

“The moon will be shining to-night, Hall,” said the captain, “and we’ll have a visit from these fire-fiends of another description. Glad we have got her anchored, anyhow.”

Soon after sunset the moon sailed majestically through the little fleecy clouds lying low on the horizon. She soon lost her rosy hue, and then one could have seen to pick up pins and needles on the quarter-deck. She made an immense silver triangular track from ship to shore. Matty was then on deck with Oscar, both merry as ever. But Reginald now took her in his arms and carried her below for bed. Both Dickson and Hall went below to console and hearten the ladies.

“Those fire savages will pay us a visit,” said Hall, “but you are not to be afraid. We will wipe them off the face of the creation world. Won’t we, skipper?”

“That will we!” nodded Dickson.

But neither Mrs Hall nor Ilda could be persuaded to retire. If a battle was to be fought they would sit with fear and trembling till all was over.

Out from under the dark shadows of the terrible snow-peaked mountain, that fell far over the water, just before eight bells in the first watch – the midnight hour – crept a fleet of canoes, silently – oh, so silently! But presently they got into that track of moonlit sea, so that they could be counted. Thirteen! Ominous number – but ominous for whom?

In twenty minutes the plash of the paddles could be distinctly heard, and the warriors could be seen, armed with spear and bow and deadly crease.

“Standoff! Standoff!”

It was a shout from Dickson.

But it was answered by a wilder shout of defiance and rage, and a cloud of arrows flew inboards.

“Now then, lads!” cried the captain, “give them fits! Quick is the word!”

The six-pounder Armstrong was trained on the foremost boat, with terrible effect. “Bang!” went the gun. Heavens! what a sight! No less than three canoes went down, with the dead and the shrieking wounded. The others but sped onwards the faster, however. A rifle volley now. Then the other gun was fired almost straight down among them, with awful results so far as the savages were concerned.

Hall was coolly emptying his revolvers as soon as his fingers could fill them. Had it been daylight his practice would have been better; as it was, there was nothing to be ashamed of.

But now the canoes were close under the ship’s bows and sides. They would attempt to board.

They did, and partly succeeded, cutting through the netting easily with their knives. The sailors fought like true British tars, repelling the fiends with revolvers, with the butts of their rifles, and smashing many a chest and skull even with capstan bars. The officers defended the bows.

No less than six savages managed to get inboards. The Newfoundland was slightly wounded; then he was like a wild beast. He downed one savage, and, horrible to say, seizing him by the windpipe, drew it clean away from the lungs. The others were seen to by the sailors, and their bodies tossed overboard.

The fire-fiends had had enough of it, and prepared to retire. Grape was once more brought to bear on them, and two more canoes were sunk.

The loss to the Wolverine was one man killed and three wounded, but not severely. As long as a canoe was visible, a determined rifle fire was kept up, and many must have fallen.

When Hall and Reginald went below to report the victory, they found the ladies somewhat nervous, and there was little Matty on the table-top, barefooted and in her night-dress. The strange little Yankee maiden wouldn’t stop in her state-room, and even when the battle was raging fiercest she had actually tried to reach the deck!

Then Oscar came down, laughing and gasping, and Matty quickly lowered herself down to hug her darling horsie, as she called him.

“Oh, look, auntie!” she cried, after she had thrown her little arms around his great neck and kissed him over and over again, “my pinny is all bluggy!”

The night-dress was indeed “bluggy,” for poor Oscar had an ugly spear wound in his shoulder. But the doctor soon stitched it, the faithful fellow never even wincing. Then he licked the doctors red hands and Matty’s ear, and then went off on deck to bed.

Next morning broke bright and crisp and clear, but it was cold, for autumn reigned in this dreary land. Once more a service for the dead, and as the body sank into the deep the poor sailor’s messmates turned sadly away, and more than one brought his arm to bear across his eyes.

As another attack was to be feared, it was determined to punish the islanders – to carry the war on shore, in fact – and so the four large boats were called away, only a few men being left on board to defend the ship. The guns were too heavy to take, but every man had a rifle, two revolvers and a cutlass.

For so small a vessel, the Wolverine was heavily manned, for from the beginning Captain Dickson had expected grim fighting.

This attack was more than the natives had calculated on. They did not stand the onset an instant, but fled from their village helter-skelter to the almost inaccessible mountains beyond, dropping their spears and bows to accelerate their flight. But the fire which was poured on them was a withering one, and brought many to the ground.

Emboldened by their success, Hall, with Dickson and his brave fellows, made a journey of several miles into the interior. The mountains were everywhere rugged and stern, and covered on their summits with snow that no doubt was perpetual.

But in the valleys beneath, which were quite uninhabited except by wild beasts and birds, were beautiful forests of dark waving cypresses, lofty pines, and beeches, their leaves tinted now with rose and yellow. Very silent and solemn were these woods; but for the savages that even now might be hidden in their dark depths, they seemed to woo one to that peace that only a forest can give.

A stream was meandering through the valley here, and many a glad fish leaped up from the pools, his scales shining like a rainbow in the sunlight.

All haste was now made to regain the shore, where but a few sailors had been left to guard the boats. Only just in time, for the savages were gathering for another attack, and coming down the hillsides in streams.

A hot volley or two dispersed them, however, and they once more hid behind the rocks.

Here in the village was evidence that these fire-fiends had been sitting down to a terrible feast of roasted human flesh! Doubtless they had killed the wounded and cooked them. It is a terrible thing to think of, but I have proof that a woman will eat of the dead body of either husband or brother, and the children too will ravenously partake. I dare not tell in a story like this the horrors of savage life that I have witnessed. I wish to interest, but not to horrify, my readers.

This village was probably one of the largest in the islands which constitute the Tierra del Fuego group. It consisted of nearly nine hundred huts in all, some well-built and comparatively comfortable. First and foremost it was looted, a large cargo of precious skins being secured. Some bows and arrows, spears, etc, were taken as curios; then, just as the sun was sinking red behind the sea, every hut and house was fired.

The blaze was tremendous; and back to the ship, by means of its light, the boats were steered. A breeze having sprung up increased the magnificence of the conflagration, and the sparks, like showers of golden snow, were carried far inland and up the mountain sides.

No wonder that Matty was clapping her wee hands and crowing with delight at the beauty of the “bonfire,” as she called it.

Happy indeed were the adventurers when the breeze waxed steadier and stronger. It blew from the west, too. The anchors were quickly hoisted, the ship’s head turned to the east, and before two days had fled she had wormed her way out once more into the open ocean. The engines had by this time been repaired, but were not now needed, for the breeze, though abeam, was steady, and good progress was made.

A few days more, and the wind having died down, clear sky by day, star-studded at night, and with sharp frost, the Wolverine was once more under steam and forcing her way round the storm-tormented Horn. For the waves are ofttimes houses high here when no wind is blowing, and they break and toss their white spray far over the green and glittering sides of the snow-clad bergs.

But at this time a greater danger than that from the ice was threatening, for Norman the Finn was hatching mutiny. Verily a curse seemed to follow the ship wherever she went.

Chapter Fifteen.

Mutiny – The Coming Storm

Nobody would have credited Williams, the cabin-boy, with very much ’cuteness. We never know the hidden depths of even a young lad’s mind.

The Finn Norman had in his two countrymen and in the Spaniards five men willing to do anything. To put it plainly, for gold they would use their knives against their dearest friends, and rejoice in it too.