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"Mr. Paterson, wake up! there's danger!" and hurled himself at the foremost man, grasping him about the knees. Down went the scoundrel on his face, and the other was so close behind that he tripped and fell also, the two getting tangled up together and giving vent to fearful words, while Donalblane, somewhat bruised from the encounter, crawled away, and darted to the side of Mr. Paterson, who was now fully awake.
They had nothing in their hands wherewith to defend themselves, and the would-be assassins were no doubt well armed; but neither of them had any thought of flight. Not so with the intruders. Realising that their foul plot had failed of its purpose, thanks to Donalblane's vigilance, their one idea was to get away, and the fellow that entered last did succeed in regaining his feet and rushing out into the darkness; but the other had been half stunned by his head coming into contact with a heavy chest, and ere he could escape Mr. Paterson had thrown himself upon him and pinned him to the ground.
"A light, Donald – quick, a light!" he called, as he put his whole weight on the struggling form.
Donalblane hastened to obey, and the lighting up of the hut revealed the fact that Mr. Paterson's prisoner was one of the very men Donalblane had overheard conspiring against him. When they had bound the wretch securely, Donalblane could not resist saying, in a tone of exultation —
"Noo, sir, didn't I tell ye? and yet ye wadna listen to me. He's ane o' them, and I can point ye out the other one any day."
Mr. Paterson, who had already recovered his composure as completely as if nothing had happened, took both the boy's hands in his own, and shook them warmly as he replied, with a look full of gratitude and love —
"You were right, Donald, and it was wrong to make light of your warning. God be thanked that you were able to baulk the scoundrels to-night, for if you had not been awake at the moment, I and perhaps you also would be no longer alive. But evidently it is not the will of Providence that we should die yet. Let us kneel and give thanks to God for our deliverance."
And so with the foiled assassin scowling and cursing them as he strained at his bonds, the two knelt down, while Mr. Paterson poured forth in prayer his gratitude to God for their merciful deliverance.
There was no more sleep for either of them that night. In the morning Mr. Paterson called the council together, and producing the prisoner, told the story of the night attack.
Great was the indignation of all who heard him. Although there were many who blamed him for the failure of their high hopes, and others who were jealous of his fine qualities and resented his authority, none were so base as to desire his death; and if it had not been for his earnest entreaty, the prisoner would have been condemned to be shot that very day as a terrible example. But Mr. Paterson magnanimously interceded, with the result that the prisoner and his confederate, if he should be found, were banished from the colony, on pain of death if they dared to return.
With the passing of the days matters grew steadily worse at St. Andrews. The plan had been that other ships carrying reinforcements of men and supplies should follow the first little fleet after an interval of some months, and these were now long overdue; yet although the high hill above the settlement was never without watchers, who eagerly scanned the face of the waters, no sign of sail appeared.
As a matter of fact, only one ship had been dispatched, and this one unfortunately foundered in mid-ocean. Meanwhile, deaths were taking place daily, and those who managed to keep alive were little more than haggard, sickly skeletons.
No wonder that in spite of Mr. Paterson's earnest protest they at last determined to depart from the fatal spot, which, instead of proving a paradise, had been the grave of all their high hopes and of so many of their companions. Mr. Paterson, still hopeful of the success of the great scheme, pleaded with them not to abandon it. He claimed that to do so would be to be false to the trust placed in them by their countrymen.
But they would not listen to him. Their first duty, they retorted, was to themselves. They must save their own lives. To remain was to die.
Accordingly, having provisioned the ships as best they could, they prepared to depart. For the last time they gathered in the rude church, while the sole surviving minister prayed for the Divine blessing and protection. It was a sad congregation, and Donalblane, whose loyal heart had sympathised to the full with Mr. Paterson's endeavour to stay the retreat, felt heavier of heart than he had ever done in his life before. Right willingly would he have remained behind with Mr. Paterson if any good could have been gained thereby. But if all the others departed, they must needs go too; and after the mournful service ended, the boats bore them to the ships, Mr. Paterson being the very last to leave the shore, which none of them would ever set foot upon again.
CHAPTER XII
NEW YORK AND HOME
The ships were in no condition to cross the Atlantic, and by the royal decree the British West Indies were closed against them, while, of course, they dare not trust the mercy of the Spaniards. Their only alternative, therefore, was to make their way up to New York in the hope of finding their way back to Scotland from there later on.
Donalblane quite approved of this plan. He had had quite enough of South America to last him for the rest of his life, and, now that he had left, it was quite clear in his mind as to never returning.
But of North America he knew nothing, and he was eager to learn.
"Nae doot there'll be Indians there like those at Darien," he said to Mr. Paterson, "and we'll be going to see them. Have they kings, too?"
An amused look lightened Mr. Paterson's face for the moment as he replied —
"There are Indians, of course, in the country, very many tribes of them, and we may see some of them at New York, but we will not have anything to do with them. We are of no account now," he went on sadly. "We shall be little better than beggars when we reach New York, and shall have to trust to the kindness of our countrymen there to afford us the help we need. Ah, Donald, Donald! it is a sore thing to fail – a sore, sore thing!" and he turned away to hide the emotion that mastered him.
Donalblane was touched to the heart, and in his passion of loyal love would not have hesitated to give his very life if thereby the fortunes of his hero could have been retrieved. But no sacrifice could save them now. The great scheme that was to have been a blessing to the world and to make Scotland mighty among the nations had failed utterly.
Creeping cautiously along the coast, the two ships made their slow way northward, and, after passing through many a peril, at length reached New York, with the rotten rigging dropping from the masts, the pumps going steadily to keep the leaky hulks afloat, and scarce two days' scant supply of food and water. With inexpressible joy the wearied voyagers hastened to land, Donalblane of course accompanying Mr. Paterson.
Although for a quarter of a century in possession of the British, New York was still for the most part a Dutch town, and the keen-eyed Scotch boy saw much that was novel and interesting in the quaint ways of the people and the odd appearance of the houses. He was quick to notice the aspect of comfort and neatness that marked the place, and made so pleasing a contrast to the squalor and misery of the settlement at Darien.
"Oh, but it's verra bonnie here!" he said to Mr. Paterson as, strolling through the streets in the cool of the evening, he saw the prosperous burghers with their plump wives and rosy children sitting out at the front of their houses, so evidently enjoying life in their simple, sober way.
"Do you think you'd like to stay here, then?" Mr. Paterson asked, with a kindly twinkle in his eye. "I dare say it could be managed. One of these well-to-do merchants might be glad to take you as an apprentice."
Donald smiled and shook his head. There was indeed something attractive in the idea, but he did not feel free to entertain it.
"Wad ye be thinkin' of staying yer ain sel'?" he inquired in turn.
"Oh, no, Donald," replied Mr. Paterson with a deep sigh. "I must return to Scotland to give an account of my stewardship."
"Then if ye're going back, I'm going wi' ye," responded the lad in a tone of absolute decision; and Mr. Paterson, patting him affectionately on the shoulder, said in a voice whose unwonted tremor showed how strongly he felt —
"You're a good boy, Donald, leal and true, and I believe that in the providence of God you will come to greatness yet."
The survivors of the unfortunate Darien expedition were so kindly treated at New York that quite a number of them were glad to settle permanently in the prosperous colony; but Mr. Paterson impatiently awaited the opportunity to get back to Scotland.
During the delay Donalblane had an adventure that caused him to retain a vivid remembrance of the place for the remainder of his life. His restless, inquiring spirit kept him constantly on the move, and one fine day he had roamed away up toward the north end of the island, and so overstayed his time that night had fallen ere he reached the outskirts of the city.
There were no street lights in those days, and, save where a friendly gleam came from the window or open door of a house, the streets were dark as pitch; hence there were many good chances for highwaymen to practise their evil profession, which they were not slow to seize upon.
Donalblane had just got well into the city, when, as he passed through a dark, narrow street, he heard a cry for help, followed by the sounds of a violent struggle. At once the impulse to render aid took possession of him, and he darted in the direction whence the sounds came, grasping tightly his pistol, which he always carried with him. A short run brought him to where three persons were struggling together, one crying out for help, while the other two strove to smother his cries and knock him senseless with their bludgeons.
"Hi, there, ye scoondrels!" shouted Donalblane. "Hands off, or I'll shoot ye!"
As the words left his lips, one of the highwaymen got in so brutal a blow that his victim fell limply to the ground; but the next instant the report of the pistol rang out, and its bullet buried itself in the ruffian's shoulder.
Completely taken by surprise – for neither of them had been aware of the boy's swift approach – the rascals were so panic-stricken that they took to their heels and disappeared around the corner, leaving Donalblane with the seemingly lifeless form.
"The puir man, they've killed him, nae doot," he murmured sadly, as he bent over the prostrate figure to feel if there were any signs of life left.
He was thus engaged when a door near by opened, and out sprang a couple of men, who rushed upon him and grasped him roughly, exclaiming —
"Ah – ah! now we've caught you red-handed! You'll swing high for this, you villain!"
"Hoot, man, ye're quite wrong!" retorted Donalblane hotly. "I'm no' the villain. I ran to help this man. 'Twas the robbers that killed him."
But they refused to believe him, and others coming up, the poor boy was like to have been roughly handled, when a grey-haired man, who spoke with authority, commanded that he be brought to his house for examination. When this had been done, and the men realised what a mere lad he was, and what a frank, honest countenance he possessed, the tide of feeling at once began to turn.
"I am greatly disposed to believe the boy," said the elderly man after he had heard Donalblane's story. "But we must keep him in ward until we can find this Mr. Paterson of whom he speaks."
So Donalblane was securely locked up until the morning, when he not only had the joy of being vouched for by Mr. Paterson, and honourably released, but the relief of learning that the highwaymen's victim had been only stunned, not killed, and would soon recover from his injuries.
He proved to be a prosperous merchant, who felt profoundly grateful for the timely service, and, as it chanced, had a vessel sailing for England in a short time. On learning of their desire to cross the ocean, he at once placed the cabin of the vessel at the disposal of Mr. Paterson and Donalblane, adding to this kindness a substantial advance of money, which the former might repay at his convenience.
Thus the way home was providentially opened up, and in far greater comfort than they had set out for the New World, the two friends returned to Scotland. Here Donalblane was received with characteristic coolness by his uncle, who felt very sore over the loss of his five hundred pounds; and Mr. Paterson had to bear the undeserved reproaches of those who had lost not merely money, but relatives, in the unfortunate enterprise.
Yet there were far brighter days in store for both. Mr. Paterson cleared himself of all blame for the catastrophe, and filled the remaining years of his life with honourable work, while Donalblane, sobered by his experience, devoted himself to his uncle's business with such ardour and intelligence that ere long he came to be his right-hand man.
The step from that to a partnership was an easy and natural one, and, combining in a rare degree daring enterprise with far-sighted caution, Donalblane of Darien became in time one of the merchant princes of Scotland, winning, through the right use of his wealth and influence, high honour among his fellow-men, and the favour of Divine Providence.
THE END