the pirate’s island—continued.

next morning sam shipton awoke from a sound and dreamless slumber. raising himself on the soft ottoman, or eastern couch, on which he had spent the night, he looked round in a state of sleepy wonder, unable at first to remember where he was. gradually he recalled the circumstances and events of the preceding day.

the forms of his companions lay on couches similar to his own in attitudes of repose, and the seaman still slept profoundly in the position in which he had been laid down when brought in.

through the mouth of the cavern sam could see the little garden, glowing like an emerald in the beams of the rising sun, and amongst the bushes he observed the old couple stooping quietly over their labour of gathering weeds. the warm air, the bright sunshine, and the soft cries of distant sea-birds, induced sam to slip into such of his garments as he had put off, and go out quietly without rousing his companions.

in a few minutes he stood on the summit of the islet and saw the wide ocean surrounding him, like a vast sparkling plain, its myriad wavelets reflecting now the dazzling sun, now the azure vault, the commingling yellow and blue of which resulted in a lovely transparent green, save where a few puffs of wind swept over the great expanse and streaked it with lines of darkest blue.

“truly,” murmured sam, as he gazed in admiration at the glorious expanse of sea and sky, “robin is right when he says that we are not half sufficiently impressed with the goodness of the almighty in placing us in the midst of such a splendid world, with capacity to appreciate and enjoy it to the full. i begin to fear that i am a more ungrateful fellow than i’ve been used to think.”

for some time he continued to gaze in silence as if that thought were working.

from his elevated position he could now see that the islet was not quite so barren as at first he had been led to suppose. several little valleys and cup-like hollows lay nestling among the otherwise barren hills, like lovely gems in a rough setting. those, he now perceived, must have been invisible from the sea, and the rugged, almost perpendicular, cliffs in their neighbourhood had apparently prevented men from landing and discovering their existence. one of the valleys, in particular, was not only larger than the others, but exceptionally rich in vegetation, besides having a miniature lake, like a diamond, in its bosom.

descending the hill and returning to the cave, sam found his comrades still asleep. letta was assisting old meerta in the preparation of a substantial breakfast that would not have done discredit to a first-class hotel.

“oh, i’m so glad you’ve come!” said letta, running up, to him and giving him both hands to shake, and a ready little mouth to kiss, “for i didn’t like to awaken your friends, and the sailor one looks so still that i fear he may be dying. i saw one of the naughty men die here, and he looked just like that.”

somewhat alarmed by this, sam went at once to the sailor and looked earnestly at him.

“no fear, letta,” he said, “the poor fellow is not dying; he is only in a very profound sleep, having been much exhausted and nearly killed yesterday. hallo, robin! awake at last?”

robin, who had been roused by the voices, rubbed his eyes, yawned vociferously, and looked vacantly round.

“well, now, that’s most extraordinary; it isn’t a dream after all!”

“it’s an uncommon pleasant dream, if it is one,” remarked jim slagg, with a grave stare at robin, as he sat up on his couch. “i never in all my born days dreamt such a sweet smell of coffee and fried sausages. why, the old ’ooman’s a-bringin’ of ’em in, i do declare. pinch me, stumps, to see if i’m awake!”

as stumps was still asleep, slagg himself resorted to the method referred to, and roused his comrade. in a few minutes they were all seated at breakfast with the exception of the sailor, whom it was thought best to leave to his repose until nature should whisper in his ear.

“well now,” said slagg, pausing to rest for a few seconds, “if we had a submarine cable ’tween this and england, and we was to give ’em an account of all we’ve seen an’ bin doin’, they’d never believe it.”

“cer’nly not. they’d say it wos all a passel o’ lies,” remarked stumps; “but i say, mr sam—”

“come now, stumps, don’t ‘mister’ me any more.”

“well, i won’t do it any more, though ’tain’t easy to change one’s ’abits. but how is it, sir, that that there electricity works? that’s what i wants to know. does the words run along the cable,—or ’ow?”

“of course they do, stumpy,” interrupted slagg, “they run along the cable like a lot o’ little tightrope dancers, an’ when they come to the end o’t they jumps off an’ ranges ’temselves in a row. sometimes, in coorse, they spells wrong, like bad schoolboys, and then they’ve to be walloped an’ set right.”

“hold your noise, slagg, an’ let your betters speak,” returned stumps.

“well, if they don’t exactly do that,” said sam shipton, “there are people who think they can do things even more difficult. i remember once, when i was clerk at a country railroad station and had to work the telegraph, an old woman came into the ticket office in a state of wild despair. she was about the size and shape of meerta there, but with about an inch and a half more nose, and two or three ounces less brain.

“‘what’s wrong, madam?’ i asked, feeling quite sorry for the poor old thing.

“‘oh! sir,’ said she, clasping her hands, ‘i’ve bin an’ left my passel,—a brown paper one it was,—on the seat at the last station, an’ there was a babby’s muffler in it—the sweetest thing as ever was—an’ f–fi’ pun t–ten, on’y one sh–shillin’ was b–bad—boo-hoo!’

“she broke down entirely at this point, so, said i, ‘madam, make your mind quite easy, sit down, and i’ll telegraph at once,’ so i telegraphed, and got a reply back immediately that the parcel had been found all right, and would be sent on as soon as possible. i told this to the old lady, who seemed quite pleased, and went on to the platform to wait.

“i was pretty busy for the next quarter of an hour, for it was market day at the next town, but i noticed through the window that the old lady was standing on the platform, gazing steadily up at the sky.

“‘broxley—third class,’ said a big farmer at that moment, with a head like one of his own turnips.

“i gave him his ticket, and for five minutes more i was kept pretty busy, when up came the train; in got the struggling crowd; whew! went the whistle, and away went the whole affair, leaving no one on the platform but the porter, and the old woman still staring up at the sky.

“‘what’s the matter, madam?’ i asked.

“‘matter!’ she exclaimed, ‘a pretty telegraph yours is to be sure! wuss than the old carrier by a long way. here ’ave i bin standin’ for full ’alf-an-hour with my neck nigh broke, and there’s no sign of it yet.’

“‘no sign of what, madam?’

“‘of my brown paper passel, to be sure. didn’t you tell me, young man, that they said they’d send it by telegraph as soon as possible?’

“‘no, madam,’ i replied, ‘i told you they had telegraphed to say they would send it on as soon as possible—meaning, of course, by rail, for we have not yet discovered the method of sending parcels by telegraph—though, no doubt, we shall in course of time. if you’ll give me your address i’ll send the parcel to you.’

“‘thank you, young man. do,’ she said, giving me an old envelope with her name on it. ‘be sure you do. i don’t mind the money much, but i couldn’t a-bear to lose that muffler. it was such a sweet thing, turned up with yaller, and a present too, which it isn’t many of ’em comes my way.’

“so you see, stumps, some people have queer notions about the powers of the telegraph.”

“but did the old lady get the parcel all right?” asked stumps, who was a sympathetic soul.

“of course she did, and came over to the station next day to thank me, and offer me the bad shilling by way of reward. of course i declined it with many expressions of gratitude.”

while they were thus adding intellectual sauce to the material feast of breakfast, the rescued sailor awoke from his prolonged sleep, and stretched himself.

he was a huge, thick-set man, with a benign expression of countenance, but that phase of his character was somewhat concealed at the time by two black eyes, a swollen nose, a cut lip, and a torn cheek. poor fellow, he had suffered severely at the hands of the pirates, and suddenly checked the stretch in which he was indulging with a sharp groan, or growl, as he sat up and pressed his hand to his side.

“why, what’s the matter with me, an’ where am i?” he exclaimed, gazing round the cave, while a look of wonder gradually displaced the expression of pain.

“you’re all right—rescued from the pirates at all events,” answered sam shipton, rising from table and sitting down beside the seaman’s couch.

“thank god for that!” said the man earnestly, though with a troubled look; “but how did i escape—where are the rascals?—what—”

“there, now, don’t excite yourself, my man; you’re not quite yourself in body. come, let me feel your pulse. ah, slightly feverish—no wonder—i’ll tell you all about it soon, but at present you must be content merely to know that you are safe in the hands of friends, that you are in the pirates’ cave, and that the pirates and their vessel are now at the bottom of the sea.”

“that’s hardly c’rect, mr shipton,” murmured slagg; “i would have said they was blow’d to hatoms.”

the seaman turned and looked at the speaker with what would have been a twinkle if his swelled visage would have permitted, but the effort produced another spasm of pain.

“i must examine you, friend,” said sam; “you have been severely handled. help me to strip him, robin.”

the poor man at once submitted.

“you’re a doctor, sir, i suppose?” he asked.

“no,” said sam, “only an amateur; nevertheless i know what i’m about. you see, i think that every man in the world, whatever his station or profession, should be at least slightly acquainted with every subject under the sun in connection with which he may be called on to act. in other words, he should know at least a little about surgery, and physic, and law, and carpentering, blacksmithing, building, cooking, riding, swimming, and—hallo! why, two of your ribs are broken, my man!”

“sorry to hear it, sir, but not surprised, for i feels as if two or three o’ my spines was broken also, and five or six o’ my lungs bu’sted. you won’t be able to mend ’em, i fear.”

“oh, yes, i shall,” said sam cheerily.

“ah! that’s well. i’d thowt that p’r’aps you wouldn’t have the tools ’andy in these parts for splicin’ of ’em.”

“fortunately no tools are required,” returned sam. “i’ll soon put you right, but you’ll have to lie still for some time. here, robin, go into the store-cave and fetch me a few yards of that white cotton, you remember, near the door. and, i say, mind you keep well clear of the powder.”

when the cotton was brought, sam tore it up into long strips, which he wound somewhat tightly round the sailor’s huge chest.

“you see,” he observed, as he applied the bandages, “broken ribs are not necessarily displaced, but the action of breathing separates the ends of them continually, so that they can’t get a chance of re-uniting. all we have to do, therefore, is to prevent your taking a full breath, and this is accomplished by tying you up tight—so. now, you can’t breathe fully even if you would, and i’d recommend you not to try. by the way—what’s your name?”

“johnson, sir,—john johnson.”

“well, johnson, i’ll give you something to eat and drink now, after which you’ll have another sleep. to-morrow we’ll have a chat on things in general.”

“i say,” asked robin that night, as he and sam stood star-gazing together beside a small fire which had been kindled outside the cavern-mouth for cooking purposes, “is it true that you have studied all the subjects you mentioned to johnson this morning?”

“quite true. i have not indeed studied them long or profoundly, but i have acquired sufficient knowledge of each to enable me to take intelligent action, as i did this morning, instead of standing helplessly by, or, what might be worse, making a blind attempt to do something on the chance that it might be the right thing, as once happened to myself when a bungling ignoramus gave me a glass of brandy to cure what he called mulligrumps, but what in truth turned out to be inflammation.”

“but what think you of the saying that ‘a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,’ sam.”

“i think that, like most of the world’s maxims, it is only partially, or relatively, true. if little knowledge claims the position and attempts to act the part of great knowledge, it becomes dangerous indeed; but if little knowledge walks modestly, and only takes action when none but ignorance stands by, it is, in my opinion, neither dangerous nor liable to be destructive.”

while they were speaking, little letta came out of the cavern and ran towards them.

“it is like a dream of the arabian nights to meet such a little angel here,” murmured robin; “what a dreadful blow the loss of her must have been to her poor mother!”

“o! come to johnson, please,” she said, taking sam by the hand with a very trustful look and manner.

“why; he’s not worse, is he?”

“o no! he has just awakened, and says he is very much better, and so peckish. what does he mean by that?”

“peckish, my dear, is hungry,” explained robin, as they went into the cave together.

they found that johnson was not only peckish but curious, and thirsting for information as well as meat and drink. as his pulse was pronounced by dr shipton to be all right, he was gratified with a hearty supper, a long pull at the tankard of sparkling water, and a good deal of information and small-talk about the pirates, the wreck of the triton, and the science of electricity.

“but you have not told us yet,” said sam, “how it was that you came to fail into the hands of the pirates.”

“i can soon tell ’ee that,” said the seaman, turning slowly on his couch.

“lie still, now, you must not move,” said sam, remonstratively.

“but that not movin’, doctor, is wuss than downright pain, by a long way. hows’ever, i s’pose i must obey orders—anyhow you’ve got the whip hand o’ me just now. well, as i was sayin’, the yarn ain’t a long ’un. i sailed from the port o’ lun’on in a tea-clipper, of which i was the cook; got out to hong-kong all right, shipped a cargo, and off again for old england. we hadn’t got far when a most horrible gale blew us far out of our course. when it fell calm, soon arter, we was boarded by a pirate. our captain fought like a hero, but it warn’t of no use. they was too many for us; most of my shipmates was killed, and i was knocked flat on the deck from behind with a hand-spike. on recoverin’, i found myself in the ship’s hold, bound hand and futt, among a lot of unfortunits like myself, most of ’em bein’ chinese and malays. the reptiles untied my hands and set me to an oar. they thrashed us all unmercifully to make us work hard, and killed the weak ones to be rid of ’em. at last we came to an anchor, as i knew by the rattlin’ o’ the cables, though, bein’ below, i couldn’t see where we was. then i heard the boats got out, an’ all the crew went ashore, as i guessed, except the guard left to watch us.

“that night i dreamed a deal about bein’ free, an’ about former voyages—specially one when i was wrecked in the atlantic, an’ our good ship, the seahorse, went down in latitude—”

“the seahorse!” echoed robin, with an earnest look at the sailor; “was she an emigrant ship?”

“ay, that’s just what she was.”

“was she lost in the year 1850?” continued robin, with increasing excitement.

“jus’ so, my lad.”

“and you were cook?”

“you’ve hit the nail fair on the head,” replied the sailor, with a look of surprise.

“well, now, that is most remarkable,” said robin, “for i was born on board of that very ship.”

“you don’t mean it,” said johnson, looking eagerly at our hero. “was you really the babby as was born to that poor miserable sea-sick gentleman, mr wright—you’ll excuse my sayin’ so—in the middle of a thunder-clap an’ a flash o’ lightnin’ as would have split our main-mast an’ sent us to the bottom, along wi’ the ship, if it hadn’t bin for the noo lightnin’ conductor that mr harris, the inventor, indooced our skipper to put up!”

“yes, i am that very baby,” said robin, “and although, of course, i remember nothing about the thunder and lightning, or anything else. my father and mother have often told me all about it, and the wonderful deliverance which god mercifully sent when all hope had been given up. and many a time did they speak of you, johnson, as a right good fellow and a splendid cook.”

“much obleedged to ’em,” said johnson, “an’ are they both alive?”

“they were both alive and well when i left england.”

“come now, this is pleasant, to meet an old shipmate in such pecooliar circumstances,” said the sailor, extending his hand, which robin shook warmly; “quite as good as a play, ain’t it?”

“ay,” observed jim slagg, who with the others had witnessed this meeting with deep interest, “an’ the babby has kep’ the lighten’ goin’ ever since, though he’s dropped the thunder, for he’s an electrician no less—a manufacturer of lightnin’ an’ a director of it too.”

the sailor wass good deal puzzled by this remark, but when its purport was explained to him, he gave vent to a vigorous chuckle, notwithstanding sam’s stern order to “lie still.”

“didn’t i say so?” he exclaimed. “didn’t i say distinctly, that night, to the stooard—thomson was his name—‘stooard,’ said i, ‘that there babby what has just bin born will make his mark some’ow an’ somew’eres.’”

“well, but i have not made my mark yet,” said robin, laughing, “so you’re not a true prophet, at least time has not yet proved your title.”

“not yet proved it!” cried johnson with vehemence, “why, how much proof do you want? here you are, not much more than a babby yet—any’ow hardly a man—and, besides havin’ bin born in thunder, lightnin’, wind, an’ rain, you’ve laid the atlantic cable, you’ve took up lightnin’ as a profession—or a plaything,—you’ve helped to save the life of john johnson, an’ you’ve got comfortably located in a pirate’s island! if you on’y go on as you’ve begun, you’ll make your mark so deep that it’ll never be rubbed out to the end of time. a prophet, indeed! why, i’m shuperior to mahomet, an’ beat nebuchadnezzar all to sticks.”

“but you haven’t finished your story, johnson,” said jim slagg.

“that’s true—where was i? ah, dreamin’ in the hold of the pirate-ship. well, i woke up with a start all of a suddent, bent on doin’ suthin’, i scarce knew what, but i wriggled away at the rope that bound me till i got my hands free; then i freed my legs; then i loosed some o’ the boldest fellows among the slaves, and got handspikes and bits o’ wood to arm ’em with. they was clever enough to understand signs, an’ i couldn’t speak to ’em, not knowin’ their lingo, but i signed to ’em to keep quiet as mice. then i crep’ to the powder-magazine, which the reckless reptiles fastened very carelessly, and got a bit paper and made a slow match by rubbin’ some wet powder on it, and laid it all handy, for i was determined to escape and put an end to their doin’s all at once. my plan was to attack and overpower the guard, free and arm all the slaves, blow up the ship, escape on shore, an’ have a pitched battle with the pirate crew. unfortunately there was a white-livered traitor among us—a sort o’ half-an’-half slave—very likely he was a spy. anyhow, when he saw what i was about, he slipped over the side and swam quietly ashore. why he didn’t alarm the guards i don’t know—p’r’aps he thought we might be too many for ’em, and that if we conquered he stood but a small chance. anyhow he escaped the sharks, and warned the crew in good time, for we was in the very middle of the scrimmage when they suddintly turned up, as you saw, an’ got the better of us. hows’ever i managed to bolt below and fire the slow match, before they saw what i was after. then i turned and fought my way on deck again, so that they didn’t find out. and when they was about to throw me overboard, the thought of the surprise in store for ’em indooced me to give vent to a hearty cheer. it warn’t a right state o’ mind, i confess, and i was properly punished, for, instead o’ killin’ me off quick an’ comfortable, they tied me hand and futt, took me below, an’ laid me not two yards from the slowly burnin’ match. i felt raither unhappy, i assure you; an’ the reptiles never noticed the match because o’ the smoke o’ the scrimmage. i do believe it was being so near it as saved me, for when the crash came, i was lifted bodily wi’ the planks on which i lay, and, comin’ down from the sky, as it appeared to me, i went clean into the sea without damage, except the breakin’ o’ one o’ the ropes, which, fortunately, set my right arm free.”

“come now, johnson, you must go to sleep after that,” said sam. “you’re exciting yourself too much; remember that i am your doctor, and obedience is the first law of nature—when one is out of health.”

“very good, sir,” returned the seaman; “but before i turn over mr wright must read me a few verses out o’ that bible his mother gave him.”

“why, how do you know that my mother gave me a bible?” asked robin in great surprise.

“didn’t i know your mother?” replied the sailor with a flush of enthusiasm; “an’ don’t i know that she would sooner have let you go to sea without her blessing than without the word of god? she was the first human bein’ as ever spoke to me about my miserable soul, and the love of god in sendin’ his son to save it. many a one has asked me about my health, and warned me to fly from drink, and offered to help me on in life, but she was the first that ever asked after my soul, or tried to impress on me that eternity and its affairs were of more importance than time. i didn’t say much at the time, but the seed that your mother planted nigh twenty years ago has bin watered, thank god an’ kep’ alive ever since.”

there was a tone of seriousness and gratitude in this off-hand seaman’s manner, while speaking of his mother, which touched robin deeply. without a moment’s hesitation he pulled out his bible and read a chapter in the gospel of john.

“now you’ll pray,” said the sailor, to robin’s surprise and embarrassment, for he had never prayed in public before, though accustomed from a child to make known his wants to god night and morning.

but our hero was morally as well as physically courageous—as every hero should be! he knelt at once by the sailor’s couch, while the others followed his example, and, in a few simple sentences, asked for pardon, blessing, help, and guidance in the name of jesus christ.

thus peculiarly was bible-reading and family worship established on the pirates’ island in the year eighteen hundred and sixty-eight.