Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England The Golden Rock By Ernest Glanville Illustrations by Stanley Wood Published by Chatto and Windus, London. This edition dated 1895. The Golden Rock, by Ernest Glanville. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ THE GOLDEN ROCK, BY ERNEST GLANVILLE. CHAPTER ONE. A QUEER LEGACY. Old Trader Hume was dead. Not that he was really old when he died, but he had lived a life that had robbed him of his youth at one end and cut off the slow decline on the other. At fifteen he began the career of trader and hunter; before twenty he had been tossed by a buffalo, and broken his leg in a fall from his horse; at twenty-five he had been twice down with the fever; at thirty he was known as Old Hume; at fifty he had gone home to die--a man worn, sun-dried, and scarred with many wounds. Home to the Old Country, the land of his parents, the land of rest and green fields that had figured in his waking dreams, and in his lonely watches beneath the African sky. His mother had talked to him of the quiet village, the ivied church, the bells, the song of the lark, and the pleasant customs of the country folk; and his father had told him of the great cities, the roar of life, and the silence of old ruins testifying to a mighty past; and the untrained, toughened Colonial boy had kept before him one goal--the hoary tower of Westminster, the green meadows, and the tuneful bells of old England. Well, at last he had gone home; but it was not the home of his dreams. There were the wonderful green fields, the eloquent ruins, and a multitude beyond expectation for number; but there was something wanting, and the lack of it preyed upon him, hastening his end. These swarming men and women were not of his type. The people in the streets hurried along hard-eyed and absorbed; his neighbours treated his overtures with suspicion, not understanding his familiar greeting and his manner of going about in his shirt-sleeves, smoking strange tobacco. He was alone in the midst of crowds, and he waited for death with the patience of a stricken animal, while the people who understood him not made much of an explorer recently returned, not knowing that this weather-worn stranger who pottered about aimlessly had braved more dangers in unexplored countries, and had, without thinking of it, opened up more routes for the advance of commerce. One friendship he had formed with the son of his father's brother, his only living relative, a boy who had been with him on his last trading trip, and whom he had sent to Oxford to pick up the ways of men, and, perhaps, some of their learning. But he only saw the lad in the long vacation, and then only for a few days, insisting that the young fellow should camp out in Wales with some of his companions. Now, Old Trader Hume was dead and buried, and his nephew, Francis Hume, was alone in the old man's room, the room of a hunter filled with trophies of the chase. The young man was bending forward, one hand supporting his head, while the other, dangling listlessly, held a sheet of paper. Long he remained so, his eyes absently fixed on the point of a curved rhinoceros' horn, then leant back in the chair and read the contents, setting forth the last will of his uncle. A very short and simple document it was: "I, Abel Hume, commonly known as Old Hume, the Trader, leave to my nephew Frank all my possessions, including 275 pounds in the Standard Bank. There is a map in my pocket-book drawn by myself. That I leave him also, and it is my wish that he will follow the directions therein. I would like him to use my double Express, and to treat it tenderly. Good-bye, my lad; shoot straight, and deal straight. "_Signed_ Abel Hume." "Dear old chap!" muttered Frank, with a sad smile, and again he sank into a long reverie. He had always thought that his uncle was a wealthy man, and, under that impression, he had lived rather extravagantly at Oxford. His uncle had paid his bills, and he tried to recall if there had been, unnoticed at the time by him, any word or sign of disapproval, but he could remember only the dry chuckle of the hunter at some unusual entry. "Poor old boy," he said again; "I wish he had told me. What a lonely time he had!" He thought then--how could he help it?--of his own prospects, which had lost so suddenly all the wide outlook of a happy career. "I must give up Oxford, of course, and my friends, too, before they give me up; but what am I to do?" He looked around at the house, at the trophy of assegais on the wall, at the lion's skin on the hearth, the yellow eyes glaring, and the red mouth set in an everlasting snarl. "I am sorry the old man came home. He was happy there in the bush, or on the trek. What a life he must have led during those thirty-five years of hunting and trading, and what yarns he did spin in the evenings! There was that story of the bull elephant." He lit his pipe by instinct, and was lost in veldt and kloof among the big game until the strange glamour of the chase, from which no man is free, was upon him, and he was soon sitting with his uncle's favourite rifle in his hands, examining its rich brown barrels, and the polished stock of almost black walnut, bound about the hand-grip with the skin of a puff-adder. He brought the butt to his shoulders, his cheek against the stock, and began sighting at small objects on the wall. The gun was heavy, but he had not been at Oxford for two years for nothing, and his muscles were those of an athlete. He rose up to replace the gun tenderly in its rack, and then, going to his uncle's desk, took out the pocket-book--a much-worn leather case, bound round with a length of braided buckskin. Folded up in an inner pocket was a frayed piece of paper. This he carefully spread out on an open book, and, with a faint smile about his lips, carefully examined the roughly-drawn outlines of river and mountains. This was not the first time he had seen the sketch. His uncle had, on his last visit, with much gravity, taken the paper from its hiding-place, and had told the story connected with it--a story which had impressed the young undergraduate, chiefly on account of the moving adventures related, the real heart of the thing taking but an insignificant place in his thoughts. Yet he vividly remembered how the old hunter, usually so cool, had worked himself into a pitch of excitement, and how, placing his withered finger on one spot, he had, sinking his voice to a whisper, said impressively: "There, my lad, is your fortune. Your fortune; the fortunes of a hundred men." What was the story? Was there a fortune there, or had his uncle been, like many a lonely wanderer, the victim of a hallucination? He pored over the map, and in imagination listened again to the slow, grave words of the old hunter, whose eyes had flashed under the glow recalled by the memory of that expedition. His uncle had struck north through the Transvaal, and after crossing the Crocodile, had turned to the east for an unknown land, whence rumours had come of great herds of elephants. Entering a bush country too thick for the waggon to continue, he had gone on afoot with a score of boys for a big vlei, where there was, indeed, a happy hunting-ground. There, after bagging some fine tusks, he had heard from an old black of a strange rock to the west, which shone bright in the sun, and had struggled to reach the spot. A week he spent amid the tangle of reeds about the river, and in the gorges of a wild and lofty chain of mountains; and then, one day, in the early morning, he had, from the Place of the Eye in a singular rocky profile of a human face, seen shine out, from the great plain below, a blaze of light which glowed for the space of an hour while the rays were level, and then went out. He had seen the Golden Rock, the shining stone of the natives, the eye of the morning, the place of bloodshed, as the old man related, and he marked the spot where he had stood, for he could go no further then. Several days he had spent returning to the huts at the vlei, where he listened much to the old man, hearing more about the rock, and of the glistening ornaments that were made from it whenever a new chief arose. He learnt about the tribe who lived at the feet of the mountains and in the great forests, and he planned how he would reach the rock, when news came that his waggon had been burnt by the natives, and the next day he himself was attacked. Escaping to the river, where he lurked in the reeds, he at last fashioned a hollow tree to his purpose, and floated down the Limpopo, enduring twenty-five days of fearful suffering before he reached the month, where he was picked up by a Portuguese trader and landed at Delagoa Bay. In that trip he had lost everything--waggon, oxen, ivory, skins and stores, and before he could plan another expedition to the mysterious rock he felt he had entered the shadows, and the craving for the home of his forefathers would not be denied. "My lad, that is your fortune. I have seen it, and you must find it. Will you promise?" "Yes, uncle, I promise," Frank had said, laughing at what he thought was a joke. "That's all right," the old hunter had replied. "When a Hume makes a promise he means to keep it--or die." Frank now remembered those words and all they implied, and they spoke to him now with greater force than when he had heard them. He had made a promise, carelessly, not knowing what he said, just to humour his uncle. Nevertheless he had given his word. Was he bound to keep it? Well for that matter, he was a Hume. Taking an atlas from the shelf, he studied the East Coast of Africa, and the course of the Limpopo from its mouth. As far as his uncle had drawn, his sketch tallied with the map, and so exactly indeed that he must have filled in the original rough draft from the printed map. Folding up the much-creased paper with a sigh, he paced up and down the room, tugging at his moustache, a blank look on his manly face. Suddenly stopping opposite a mirror, and seeing his reflection, he broke into a loud laugh. "Hang it! what a brute I am! But it's too absurd, this legacy of a Golden Rock which does not exist. Well, at any rate, I can use up the bank balance in making a hunting trip to the spot, and after that--" He shrugged his shoulders, and went out to see about executing the will. CHAPTER TWO. A MYSTERY. Frank Hume had some of that tenacity of purpose which had made his uncle a successful hunter and Kaffir trader. He saw plainly enough the quixotic side of the quest to which he was committed, but he was not one of those who ask, "Is it worth while?" and "Where is the good?" if confronted with any undertaking not obviously practical. The Golden Rock had taken no hold on his imagination. It was no bright spot glowing, like a beacon in a dark night, out of the dim future, but itself merely a dim and shadowy token representing and explaining the duty he owed to the dead man's whim. He would go to the locality, and then let events shape his career to any rough-and-ready pattern, even to that of the hard life of a hunter. Having made up his mind, he set about his preparations carefully, shaking off his extravagant university habits, and keeping an eye to economy in small things to make the most of his little store of money. In one important respect he was admirably fitted for a life of hardship. Though of average height, he was uncommonly deep in the chest and broad across the shoulders, and possessed a stock of bone and muscle upon which he could safely depend. His head was well set on, with a marked tilt of the chin that gave him an air of watchfulness, and this aspect was heightened by a pair of steady blue eyes. Within a week he had settled his affairs and was ready to take the first outward-bound vessel, limiting his choice to a sailing-ship, for time was of no particular object, while money and the saving of it was of first importance. He had even seen the skipper of a four-masted iron clipper with the view of working his passage out, but the skipper had received his overture with an explosion. "No more swab-fisted gentlemen lubbers for me. They're worse than an old maid with a family of cats, and not so useful. Have a drink?" They had a drink, and the rejected volunteer walked homewards in the evening, stopping on the Embankment to look on the dark river which was soon to carry him down to the salt waters. As he leant there with his elbows on the granite coping, he heard the sound of oars, and presently made out the blurred outline of a boat, and a streak of white about its bows where the strong tide opposed its rush to the exertions of the labouring oarsmen. There were two of these, and Frank could see that they were not pulling together, while the bow oar was weaker than the stroke. The boat scarcely gained a foot against the tide, but, instead, moved sideways at every savage pull by stroke. "Put your weight into it, man," growled stroke. "I can't. I'm dead beat," gasped the other. "Look out!" shouted Frank, "you'll be into the steps." Stroke looked sharply to the right, threw out a hand to keep the boat off the granite, then, as she was swept back, caught fast hold of an iron ring, while the bow oarsman sighed audibly and set to rubbing his arms. "You're a pretty sort of fellow, you are--as soft as butter. What the deuce did you say you could row for?" "Who can pull against this flood? Look here!" Bow leant over, thrusting his hand into the dark waters, which foamed against the obstruction. "What are we to do now?" "Wait till the ebb, I suppose; or get a ferryman to row us." "Ferryman be damned. If we wait for the ebb we'll not get out before daylight." Frank went round to the opening in the Embankment, and walked down the steps. "Can I be of any use?" he said. "Yes, you can, by taking yourself off," was the surly rejoinder from stroke. "Nonsense! Don't go, sir. Can you row?" "I think so." "I don't want you to think. I thought I could row until I met this infernal tide." "Well, I can row against tide, or with it." "Step right in, then." "Man, you're mad!" sharply interposed stroke. The two whispered together for a few minutes, then bow suavely spoke: "My friend would be glad of your help, but he rather doubts your discretion. We are engaged in no nefarious designs, but at the same time we don't want to be talked of." "I think," said Frank, with a laugh, "you may trust me, especially as you have already given yourself away. There would be nothing to prevent my calling the attention of a policeman to your condition, you know." "Jump in," said stroke quickly. Bow crawled aft to take the tiller, and Frank stepped lightly into the boat. "Take her through the second arch, and then keep over to the Surrey side, when you will shoot us through the end arch of London Bridge, and by the fleet of barges. She lies just beyond." "They are evidently making for a ship of some sort," was Frank's mental reflection on the reference to "she," but he was next moment bending to his oar, his eyes fixed on the broad back before him, and his soul bent upon holding his own. For a moment the boat had swept back with the tide, then as the oars dipped in she stood still to their tug, hung a moment, then crept on with slowly-increasing speed--under Waterloo Bridge, past the railway bridge, then across to the Surrey side, and, with a hard struggle, down under London Bridge and into the Pool, close in the shadow of a number of barges. "Do you see her?" asked stroke, with a gasp. "Pull on," said the cox. "So--steady, stroke--pull, bow--easy." The boat scraped alongside a low craft, and cox held on to a rope ladder. "How do you feel?" asked stroke, turning his head. "Pretty well baked," said Frank; "and you?" "I'm worked to a cast-iron finish. Give me the painter--thanks. Now, up you go." Without more ado, Frank climbed up the ladder to a narrow deck, where he stood holding to a light rail. The two men were quickly by his side, one of them securing the boat. "This way." They went forward to a deck-house, and descended a companion-way to a small saloon, where one of them struck a match, and lit a suspended lamp. "Let's have a look at you!" and the man who had pulled stroke, standing himself in the shade, threw the light full on Frank's face, while the second man closed the door and stood with his back to it. "That will do." "Pardon me," said Frank, stung by this ungracious treatment; "it is my turn now." Quickly steadying the lamp, he directed the light on the other's face, revealing a pair of fierce black eyes, and a face thickly bearded. "Stop that, or I'll--" He put his hand to his pocket with a threatening action. "Leave him alone, Captain. Upon my word, he has served you well in your own coin;" and the other man stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Frank's shoulder, whereat the latter, finding he was in queer company, stepped back. "Don't start, sir; there is nothing to fear." "I think there is," said Frank; "so please keep your distance, or, better still, stand aside, as I should like to get out of this." "Of course you would, but--and I hate to tell you after what you have done--we can't afford to let you go." "Afford, that's not the word. We won't let you go, mate." "I'll see about that," shouted Frank, at the same time hurling one man aside, and, seizing the handle, which came off to his furious tug, leaving the door still fast closed. Turning, he hurled the brass knob at the black-bearded man, but it missed the mark, and went with a crash through a glass door beyond. Next moment he was looking into the dark muzzle of a revolver, held very straight in the brawny hand of the Captain, whose black eyes wore a very ugly look. "Put that pistol down," rang out in tones of suppressed passion. The door stood open, and a tall girl in black swept in. Her dark eyes, flashing from a face of unusual pallor, dwelt a moment on the three figures, the one huddled on the floor, the others facing each other. "What does this mean, Captain Pardoe?" she asked haughtily, "and who is this stranger?" Frank raised his hat. "For my part in this disturbance I heartily apologise, but I must say, and these gentlemen will bear me out, that my intrusion was not of my seeking." She inclined her head slightly, then turned to the second man, who had risen, looking uncomfortable at having been found in a humiliating position. "Since Captain Pardoe cannot speak, perhaps you will have the goodness to explain, Mr Commins." "It is this way, Miss Laura!" blurted the Captain; "this young fellow knows too much." "Excuse me," said Frank, "I know nothing except that I helped to row you here, and you wished to detain me." "Allow me to explain," said Mr Commins, interposing with a wave of his hand. "The tide was against us, and I was unequal to the work. This young man kindly offered his help, and we accepted, but thinking it would be inadvisable to let him return, we felt it best to detain him, and if he had not been in such a hurry to put us down as thieves or cut-throats, and to act with unnecessary violence on that supposition, matters could have been amicably settled." "At the muzzle of a pistol," said Frank dryly. "I think you might have managed without help," said the young lady coldly. "It is most vexing, and such a beginning bodes ill for the undertaking." "You need be under no uneasiness. We can easily detain him." "I object," said Frank hotly. Captain Pardoe lifted his weapon. "Give me that pistol, sir," said the young lady imperiously, and the Captain reluctantly handed it over. "I regret very much that we should place you under restraint, sir; but there are interests at stake more important than considerations of mere personal convenience. I'm afraid you must be our guest for a few days." "We can put him ashore at Madeira, Miss Laura," said the Captain. "At Madeira," said Frank, earnestly gazing at the splendid eyes and superb figure of this masterful young lady. "We will do our best to entertain you in the meanwhile," she said, with a sudden dazzling smile, "and, perhaps, you will even forgive us for this unmannerly and ungrateful return for your kindness." As he caught the dazzle of her smile he determined upon his course, especially as the trip to Madeira would advance him on his voyage. "I am willing," he replied, "to take an enforced passage, provided you allow me to get my baggage." "That means going ashore?" "Not necessarily; for upon a note from me to the landlady of my rooms the things would be given up." "We have no time to spare, Miss Laura," said Captain Pardoe. "It is necessary for me to go ashore," she answered, "for a few minutes. Where are your rooms?" "Off the Temple--in York street." "I think I will trust you," she said, giving her hand, which Frank warmly clasped, the spell of her beauty being full upon him. Within an hour they were all back on the ship, and as Big Ben struck out the hours of midnight the vessel slowly crept down the river. CHAPTER THREE. A WILD RUSH. Hume was immediately shown into a tiny box of a cabin and the door locked upon him, an indignity that roused him to wrath, so that he banged against the frail panels with his fist. "Look here," said a deep voice from the alley, "if you don't stow that sharp I'll clap you in irons." "Leave him to me, Captain, and go on the bridge. Now, sir, will you oblige me by keeping silence for a few hours?" Frank recognised the speaker by the rich tones, and immediately was pacified. "If you wish it, I will; but please unlock the door." "Give me your promise that you won't make any disturbance." "I promise." "Thank you." She turned the key, and then he heard the rustle of her dress as she quickly moved away. He stood looking at the handle for some moments, then sat on the bunk, with the feeling strongly rooted that he was in for some dark enterprise; but his mind dwelt less on this than on the stately figure and beautiful face of this strange girl, whose strong character had been so forcibly shown. Who could she be, and what was she doing there--one woman with several men, and men evidently lawless? Already he longed for the hour when he could see her again, and once more hear her voice, and the remarkable and sudden change in the steady current of his life troubled him not at all. But presently his natural caution overmastered the swift-born infatuation which had threatened to make a slave of him, and he roused himself to take a survey of the little cabin. This, though small, contained two bunks, was plainly fitted and strongly built. The port-hole, he noticed by the dim light, was protected by an inner sheet of steel. This he unscrewed, and opening, too, the round glass, he framed his face in the brass-rimmed circle. The boat was slipping along down the dark river at medium speed, the regular beat of her engines sounding very distinctly in the still night, and her track stretching in a ghostly gleam, unbroken by any other craft. By craning his neck, he noticed that she seemed very low in the water, and of unusual length, and he was puzzled to place her in any category of cargo or passenger steamers, finally coming to the conclusion that she was one of those long, swift tugs he had sometimes seen ploughing up the river with a string of coal barges in tow; a boat probably built for narrow channels, and to pass under low bridges. "She's not built for the ocean," he mused, "and when we get into the Bay she'll play pitch-and-toss, I'll be bound." Suddenly, quite near, Captain Pardoe spoke: "Forrard, there!" "Ay, ay, sir." "Do you see the Hospital ship?" "We'll pass her at the next bend, sir." "Put the lights out as soon as you see her. Who have you got in the bows?" "Dick, the Owl," said the officer, with a slight laugh. "That will do. Aft there, stand by the wheel." "Ay, ay, sir," came in muffled reply. "We won't steer her from the bridge, madam," said the Captain, "all the lights must be out, and the orders passed by mouth." "Do you think they'll challenge us?" spoke the young lady, her voice sounding so near that Frank involuntarily drew back his head. "They'll speak us, but we'll get through right enough. If there's any trouble it'll be off Sheerness." "Why there?" "They'll wire to the coastguard, and they'll signal the guardship." "That's a man-of-war, isn't it?" "She is that, miss, but she'll not fire, I hope; and we'll slip by before she's rubbed her eyes. There are the lights of Gravesend, and isn't that something black ahead under the bank? You won't go below, I s'pose, Miss Laura?" "No, Captain Pardoe; I will stop here." Suddenly the glare over the bows from the forward lamps died out, there was a sharp ring of the engineer's bell, a sound of men in hot haste thrusting at the fires, and the vessel began to quiver and vibrate to the beat of vast engines working faster and faster. There was a rush of wind on Frank's face, the dark objects on the shore swiftly receded into the general blur, and the water foamed up at the bows and fell away in curling waves. "Are all the lights out, Mr Webster?" "Yes, sir; all but a light from a starboard port." "It's that swab of a passenger," growled the Captain; "I'll have him tied to his bunk." Frank, warned that he was guilty of some unpardonable indiscretion, crawled down from the top bunk, and had just reached the floor, when the handle turned, there was a quick step, a rustle, and the light was switched off, not before he had seen the dark eyes flashing in resentment. "If you behave in this way, sir, I'll not stand between you and discipline." "Really, I did not know I was doing anything wrong." "Shut the port-hole," she said sharply. He turned to obey with a frown of protest, when, seemingly not a yard off, there flamed the lights of a ship's cabin. "Where are you coming to, you lubber?" shouted out a voice furiously. There was a jar, an ugly tearing noise, and Frank and the young lady were thrown at each other. "I beg your pardon, really," said Frank, as he loosened his hold of her waist; "but I could not help myself." She stood back with a gasp. "Did you see that? Has she sunk?" The reply came from the angry officer of the other vessel in a torrent of language reassuring as to her safety, but venomously strong. The lights of another ship flashed by; then the steamer darted into the narrow fairway between a fleet of vessels, big and little, the waves washing against them, and bringing up an angry swarm of men, whose shouts could be heard in a confused babble in the rear. "What ship's that?" hailed a man in powerful tones. There was no answer, and Frank felt a hand on his arm. "We are the Customs--where are your lights?" followed in a faint hail astern. "Thank Heaven, we are past Gravesend. Now, sir, you may have your light again." She pressed the button, and the electric light shone over her lustrous hair, revealing a sparkle in her glorious eyes and a flush on her cheeks. Frank looked at her, and forgot everything in amazement at her beauty. "I dare say," she said, with a faint smile, "you are wondering who we are?" "I don't know," said he, "and I don't care, so long as I"--he meant to add--"am with you," but he paused in time at the hint of a haughty surprise in her eyes. She looked at him steadily a moment with a glance that implied some new interest, then, once more switching off the light, went out without a word, closing the door behind her. He listened and heard her voice on deck, when he again framed his face in the port-hole. The bow lights had been relit, and the ship had slackened something of her tremendous speed. "I wish to Heaven," said the Captain, "those funnels would not draw so well. Just look at that shower of sparks; they'll give notice of our coming." "Why not slacken speed until you are close on the guardship?" "That'll give 'em more time to prepare for us, but it's the best thing to do." Then followed a sharp signal to the engineer, and the speed was still further decreased. "Mr Webster, was she damaged at all by that brush?" "Just a dent, sir; but she's all sound below." "Douse the lights again. We'll keep close in on the port tack. Keep your eye on the Kent shore, and tell the watch to be on the lookout for the guardship." For some time the ship slipped along through the dark waters without another word being spoken. "There's the signal, sir," sang out a voice, breaking in on the silence. A rocket mounted afar off. "Ay, I see it. It's as I feared. They've alarmed the guardship, and'll be sending a boat to her. Suppose they catch us, madam, what yarn will you spin?" "They must not catch us." "They may open fire." "Whether they fire or not, we must get through. Couldn't we open fire, too?" Captain Pardoe laughed. "We must depend on our heels, Miss Laura. If it came to knocks, the guardship would blow us out of the water." "How annoying!" was the truly feminine reply--a reply so inappropriate that even Frank smiled, while Captain Pardoe chuckled audibly. "Understand, Captain," she continued imperiously, "I will not be captured, nor the ship, not if they have to blow it up." "Ah, see that?" A shaft of light shot into the sky, then dropped to the water and swept swiftly from right to left. "It's the search-light. The guardship is looking for us. Mr Webster, step down to the engineer and tell him we'll want every pound of steam he can give us when I signal him. We must get twenty-seven knots out of her." "Twenty-seven knots," thought Frank. "What ship can this be?" The cabin seemed to grow unbearable as his excitement increased, and if danger was to be encountered his place was by the side of this girl whom Fate had thrown in his path. Again the shaft of light, broadening from its base, shot out into the darkness, and swept the water to its outermost fringe, where the gleam mingled with the black night, reaching a few lengths ahead, where it outlined a bare pole on the bank. "Port your helm; put her over to the Kent shore," the Captain ordered with lowered voice. The vessel came round, and made across to the other bank. The search-light swept round again, just as the vessel was near the right bank, and the light shone over the deck, lighting up every detail, before it passed on. "Astern--full speed astern," roared the Captain down the speaking-tube; "starboard your helm; bring her up on the old course." The vessel backed out as the search-light flew back to the place she had occupied, and then swiftly made over to the Essex shore, and at another signal from the bridge darted into the shelter of the night. Frank could hold himself no longer, but flung open the door, and after groping about in the saloon, found the companion-way to the deck. There was a broad white belt of light on his right, but all around and ahead was darkness, intensified by the brightness so near. "They'll find us in a minute," spoke the Captain, and Frank, turning, saw dimly two figures on a bridge just ahead of two singularly low funnels, from which poured dense volumes of smoke. The shaft of light played about the further shore, swept out slowly to mid-stream, then swept back again. "Stand by, Mr Dixon," said the Captain, down the tube. The guardship could now be dimly seen behind that glittering eye--a blurr of spars and funnels about a mile up stream. The light crept over the dark river in a broad track of gleaming silver, came slowly nearer, then, in a blinding flash, shone over the vessel, lighting up every man as he stood at his post, and bringing out the girl's face in a startling pallor. The bell sounded its sharp order, the engines answered quicker and quicker, and the long, narrow ship seemed to leap forward, sending up a shower of water, which sparkled in the light, and came aft like rain. On she rushed--the flames springing from her funnels--the whole frame and body of her vibrating, and the water hissing and splashing before her bows and in her wake. A ball of white smoke, which for a moment dimmed the flaming light, belched from the warship, followed at fully half a minute by the sullen boom. "That's by way of formal notice," said the Captain; "by-and-by she'll send a sharper summons; better go below, Miss Laura." "I will stay here," she answered quietly. The small ship was now abreast of the man-of-war, which had changed its course and was steaming slowly ahead. On the left were the lights of Southend, far ahead the revolving lights of the Nore lightship, and on the port bows was the black hull and green and red lights of a huge steamer. "That's a stroke of luck," said the Captain. "We'll get on the blind side of that ship, and that bulldog daren't show his teeth until we're well clear both of Southend and the steamer." The man-of-war fired another blank charge, but the long, low vessel darted along, shifting her course until she came under the bows of the big ocean steamer. The search-light, however, soon picked her up beyond, and a minute after there was another report, followed this time by the shrill scream of a shell, than which there are few sounds more threatening. The shot flew high, plunging with a splash far on the port side. "They cannot hit us, Captain Pardoe, and we are rapidly leaving them." "They are not trying, Miss Laura. That was just by way of being more peremptory. In ten minutes we'll be beyond reach of their light, and then there'll be another spell of safety, unless we are sunk. Hullo, here comes another." There was another sullen roar, and the gunner had determined on a closer call, for the ball touched the water not a hundred yards off, then ricocheted to the Essex coast. "The next one will have us," growled the Captain. "Steamer's lights ahead! Starboard bow!" hailed the lookout. Eyes were taken off the following man-of-war, and strained into--the darkness ahead, out of which presently there stood two lights. "She's near us, Mr Webster, and thank your stars for a sound berth to-night for that. We'll slip by on the port, and then get away under her bulk. Do you think they see her?" "No, sir; but the steamer 'll make the cruiser see her. She must be in a rare state. Ah! there goes a rocket." High into the black heavens ahead went a ball of fire, which presently curved over and burst in a shower of blue. "Looks like a navy signal, sir?" "Very like. If she is, we're caught hard and fast." "There's an answer from the warship, sir," said Frank, who had turned his eyes aft. "I wish I understood the game," growled the Captain, banging his fist on the bridge rail. "Oh, she means it this time!" A red tongue of flame leapt out, a great volume of white smoke; the shot, keeping low, struck the water up, and then there was a loud crash, followed by the whir of splinters. Frank saw the dark figure at the wheel suddenly sink to the deck, and without losing a moment he bounded down the narrow deck, seized the handle as the wheel was beginning to revolve, and brought it round. "She's paying off. What in thunder's up with the wheel?" roared the Captain. "Mr Webster, take two men aft. Starboard your helm." Frank put his weight in, and with every sinew straining, brought the vessel round, just as, like a runaway horse that takes the bit in its iron jaws, she had threatened to come broadside on. "What's wrong here?" panted Mr Webster anxiously, as he reached the wheel. "Steersman hit," said Frank shortly; "carry him off. I'll manage this." Mr Webster groped for the wounded man, drew him away, and then paused to look up, for they were passing the vessel whose lights they had seen. She was scarcely making any way, and the bulwarks were lined with pale faces, among them those of many women. "Thank Heaven, she's no cruiser; hurrah, boys, hurrah!" The few hands took up the cheer, and the people on the deck above, relieved from some nameless fear at seeing the dark ship slipping away, responded with a feeble shout; the captain, from his lofty bridge, sending a call through his hollow hands: "What's the meaning of this foolery?" "Ask the guardship," bellowed Captain Pardoe; "a little target practice. Good-bye." The little ship plunged into the welcome darkness, still maintaining her terrific speed, and the search-light could not reach her. Then the lights were lit, the wounded man carried below, and an inspection made of the ship, when it was found that the iron bulwarks had been pierced a little forward of the wheel. "Send the steersman forward!" shouted the Captain. Frank was relieved, and walked to the bridge. "What's your name, my man?" "Hume." "What--the passenger? I gave orders to have you locked in. Never mind that, sir; you did well, and I'm much obliged to you. You're welcome to the run of the ship. That was a close shave, eh? If it hadn't been for the mercy of that steamer we'd have been five fathoms under. You'd better turn in now." Frank lingered awhile to see whether the lady would appear, and then went down below, where he saw her leaning, as it were, for support against a saloon pillar, a handkerchief pressed to her forehead. "It has been a trying night," he said gently. "You had no right to leave your cabin," she replied--then swiftly disappeared. Frank looked down the narrow gangway, heard the bang of her door, and, with his head up, and feeling mightily offended, entered his own tiny cabin. "She might have been civil, at least," he muttered. CHAPTER FOUR. A STRANGE CRAFT. Hume had been to the Cape and back; he had also tossed about off the Bristol Channel in a small yacht; but before morning he learnt that the ocean could play more tricks with a ship than he had ever dreamt of in the wildest tossing. He was sleeping on the top bunk, for the sake of the breeze from the open port, and was early awakened by a dream, in which, with the thunder of waters in his ears, he had gone head foremost down a cascade. Had it been a dream? He sat up, knocking his head against the roof, and in his ears there was the same terrific roar, with a splashing sound, and an unmistakable feeling of dampness. A desperate lurch made him cling to the brass rail; then, as the port dipped, he saw the sky-line obscured by a moving wall, and was almost washed away by a belching funnel of cold water that boomed on to the floor, and rushed over his cabin, taking with it every movable object. As the ship heeled over he struggled, soaked and shivering, with the brass hinge of the port-window, which he thrust in and held there until the ship rolled under again. With the backward swing he worked the screw in, then lurched out from his sodden bed to the floor, inches deep in water, when he groped for the switch and turned on the electric light. His portmanteau coming swiftly out from under the lower bunk, carried him off his feet, and then bounded over his body, while his gun-case rammed him viciously in the ribs. Staggering up, he clambered into the lower bunk, and spent an awful hour of misery with a babel of sounds racking his brain, and every possible motion threatening dislocation to his body. The small bunk was too large for him. He could not brace himself tight; but, like a pea in a drum, was rattled from side to side and top to bottom, his head at one time threatening to fly off as the bows dipped; his body sinking with the most sickening desire to part with his head as the stern went under, and his arms, legs, and head flopping about hopelessly to each dizzy roll. Then between, and coming through every motion, was the jarring of the screw as the stern was lifted up--a most soul-disturbing sensation, enough in itself to unsettle the innermost lashings, the smallest nerves and sinews of the body. "What the devil possesses the ship?" thought Frank, in a state of feeble protest against this indignity of sea-sickness that held him in its clammy grasp. "Hulloa!" he groaned, as he heard someone staggering along the alley-way. The door was opened, and the new-comer dived in to the roll of the ship as though he were violently impelled from the rear, ending up by stumbling over the gun-case. "That's the fifty-seventh time I've been knocked off my pins within an hour by this infernal buck-jumper. What have you been doing, messmate; taking a shower-bath?" And Mr Webster, the speaker, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes, sat down on the edge of the bunk and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Frank turned his head with a look of disgust, but the ship, pitching and rolling at the same moment, sent him and his bedclothes in a heap to one end of the bunk. "God forgive me," said the officer, making futile attempts to keep his feet out of the water; "but you're a most dismal object." "What's the matter with the ship?" growled Frank. Webster opened his mouth to laugh, but a vicious lurch banged his head against the iron side of the cabin. "Ship, do you call it?" he cried. "Why, 'tis nothing but a steel tube with an engine in it, and there's not a ship afloat that would not ride over this sea without a heave." "Isn't it rough, then?" "Man, we're just in the Channel, with a cross current and the apology for a ripple, but this devil of a sawn-off scaffold-pole just wallows in it like a porpoise. Come up on deck, and you'll blush with shame to think you should have gone under to such little waves, scarce big enough to wet the frills of a Brighton beach-wader." As if to belie this imputation of mildness, a sea came on board with a crash and rushed along the deck with an angry swirl, making noise enough to spur Frank on to make an effort. "That's right," said Webster, taking him by the arm. "Now come and have a nip and a bite." Together they rolled out of the cabin and down the alley to the officers' box, where Hume duly swallowed a stiff glass of grog, and was suited with a shiny covering of oilskin overalls. Then, holding on to anything that came handy, they clambered on deck, where the keen morning air very soon dispelled the nausea contracted in the stuffy cabin. It was a brilliant morning, with wisps of wind-lashed clouds scurrying across the clear blue sky, and a buoyant property in the salt-laden air that brightened the eyes. It had brought a flush to the cheeks of the lady, whose figure, clad in oils, had been the first thing to catch and hold Frank's gaze. She stood on the low bridge, holding with both hands to the rail, her feet braced and her body bending to the dips and roll of the steamer with a grace that even the heavy tarpaulin could not hide. The spray which came aft in a white and gleaming drizzle glistened on her covering, and ever and again with a low laugh she would bend her head to an unusually heavy gust of wet tossed up by the plunging bows of the steamer. "Isn't she a beauty!" growled Webster, brushing his hand across his eyes to wipe away the drops. "She is, indeed!" murmured Frank. "May I ask who she is?" Webster followed his companion's gaze, and led him forward. "I'm not talking of her," he said, dropping his voice; "and you'd best leave her out of your thoughts, young fellow. It's this craft I mean; this narrow-gutted rib of a steel monument, that's fit for nothing but to be stuck on end with a lamp in its stern, when it would make a good lighthouse. Ugh! the brute. See her bury her nose in that sea like a pig in a mash-tub." This wave was a gentle swell of dull green, covered with a lace-like tracing of air bubbles in round patches of white, and the top of it fringed with a line of hissing foam. A lumbering coal-ship would have ridden over it without wetting her eye-holes, but this strange craft, with a snort, leapt into the very heart of it, tossing up a column of spray, while the divided sea swelled up to the gunwales and foamed along the side with ripping noise, and went aft in a swirl of eddying whirlpools. "Tell me," said Webster, flicking the wet from his sou'wester, "what sort of a ship she is." Frank, standing wide on the slippery deck, cast his eyes fore and aft with growing wonder at the long, narrow shape of her, at the inward slope of her heavy bulwarks, at the wide, short funnels and sharp bows. "I can't liken her to anything but a wasp or a shark," said he, "there's such a vicious air about her." "Ay, she carries a sting in her tail and a devilish set of teeth. She's ugly as a shark, and as narrow and vicious as a wasp. Well, what is she?" "She's a deuced bad sea boat, anyhow," said Frank, as the deck suddenly sloped away at a fearful angle. "Is she a yacht?" "You've hit it first shot. She's a yacht--that's what she is--a nice pleasure-boat for ladies and children, with engines strong enough to get twenty-seven knots out of her, and steel frame like a man-o'-war. What's that you're leaning against?" "A ship's boat, I suppose, covered with tarpaulin." "Right again, sir; that's the yacht's dinghy, fitted with velvet cushions. Take a peep." Frank looked under the tarpaulin, and saw the vast butt and machinery of a gun. "That's the yacht's
{'title': 'The Golden Rock by Ernest Glanville', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}