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.