Wild Life in the Land of the Giants: A Tale of Two Brothers

Bang, bang, went both pistols at once.

“Hullo!” cried Mattie; “Hullo!”

And at the same moment, seeing she had the halyards in her hand, I looked aloft just in time to see a little black bundle expand into a huge flag, and lo! fluttering out in the morning air was the dark dread ensign of the pirate, with its hideous skull and cross-bones.

“Hullo!” cried Mattie once more.

But Jill and I stood aghast!

Then our dream rushed back to our minds.

We did not foul the flag-ship, and were soon rolling away out seawards. But what had we done? It was dreadful to think of – hoisted the pirate flag and fired upon one of her Majesty’s flags, right into the teeth of her officers and crew.

So paralysed were we that we entirely forgot to haul down the flag, and it was still flying when – an hour afterwards a couple of tugs managed to get us in tow, and we were once more heading back for the harbour.

The first words the officer of the tug said to me, when he had time to speak, were —

“Why, you’re a pretty lot! Cutting out a man o’ war under the very guns of the flag-ship, and running off with it. Ha! ha! ha!”

Whatever the laugh might have meant, it sounded to me like the yell of a hyena.

“If you please, sir,” I advanced, “we didn’t run away with the ship; the ship ran away with us.”

“Was it bullum versus boatum,” he said, “or boatum versus bullum?”

“I don’t talk Turkish,” I said.

“Well,” he said, “Turkish here or Turkish there, you young pirate, I suppose you know what you’ll catch?”

“Hang us, won’t they?”

“Hang you? Yes. Drum-head court-martial, and hanging, and serve you right too. You don’t look very frightened,” he added. “There get away inside, the lot of you, and thank your stars it is no worse.”

We did as we were told, at the same time I could not help wondering what worse could befall us, than a drum-head court-martial with hanging to follow.

I stopped behind Jill long enough to ask the officer this question:

“They won’t hang our little sister Mattie?”

“No, not likely, we’ll make much of her.”

He caught Mattie up as he spoke, and soon had her laughing and crowing like a mad thing as he galloped round the deck with her on his shoulder.

“They won’t hang Mattie,” I said to Jill.

“No,” said Jill, “that is one good thing.”

“Well, do you want to be hanged, Jill?”

“I don’t think I should like it much.”

“Well, nothing can save us, you know.”

“But flight, Jack.”

“Yes, flight, Jill, that’s it. I suppose they won’t drum-head us to-day?”

“I don’t know. I’m not so sure. A drum-head court-martial is a drum-head court-martial, you see. And the beauty of it is – if there be any beauty about it – that it’s got up and got done with at once.”

“Well, then, I move we prepare for instant flight.”

“Quite right. I’m all ready as it is. Let us eat this pie, though.”

We did eat the pie. In fact, we breakfasted very heartily. But we grew very sad again when we thought of Mattie we must leave so soon, if indeed we should be successful in getting away at all. However, we could only try.

I got Mattie by the port, and said sadly enough —

“You won’t ever, ever forget me, will you, dear Mattie?” I put the question with a kiss.

“No, you silly boy; I promise I won’t. But what a silly question. We’ll play at pirates again to-morrow.”

I felt very much inclined to cry, but – I did not.

Chapter Seven

Alone on the Moor – Adventure in the Cave

On looking back through a long vista of years, and considering all the pros and cons of the case, and remembering that Jill and I were only boys, I do not think it any wonder we ran away from the dear old Thunderbolt hulk. I have always accused myself to myself, for the folly of having given way to a sudden romantic impulse – for which I, being the elder of the three on board, am alone accountable – playing at pirates, firing at a flag-ship, and all the rest of it.

But when our little game was over, and the full enormity of the offence stared us in the face, and after what the officer of the tug-boat had told us, I repeat, it is no wonder we ran away. We were not to know the officer was, figuratively speaking, laughing in his sleeve at us. We believed him. We were convinced it would end in a drum-head court-martial, with, next day, poor Jack swung up at one end of the fore-yard, and poor dear Jill at the other. A pretty sight that would have been on a summer’s morning. Romantic? Oh, yes, I own there would have been a good deal of romance about it. Rather much indeed. Our position would have been far too exalted to suit even my ambition.

Some one has said that hanging is the worst use you can put a man to, so it cannot be good for a boy.

That officer of the tug-boat, too, made so awfully light of the matter.

When I had asked him if hanging was very, very, dreadful, —

“Oh, dear me, no, my lad,” he replied, laughing, “not half so bad as having a tooth pulled.”

Our darling mother told us never to hate anybody, but I do not think I loved that officer very much just then.

Well, how did we get away? The fact is our escape was effected far more safely and easily than I had anticipated. I had expected that there would be a considerable deal of romance about that I felt sure they would fire shot and shell and shrapnel at the boat that was bearing us off, and if after throwing ourselves into the water we reached shore safely, they would send a regiment or two of soldiers at the very least to pursue us.

The old Thunderbolt, when she ran away, “showed a pair of clean heels,” so I heard that tug-boat fellow say, because wind and tide was hurrying her on. But it was no such easy matter to get her back; so the whole morning had fled before she was once more alongside her moorings. Then the bustle and din and the loud talking were shocking, for nearly an hour.

Mattie – I was so glad of this – got very sleepy, so we took her into Mrs Moore’s room and placed her on the bed. She bade us both good-night prettily, but sleepily, and I was glad of this too, for the “good-nights” did for the “good-byes.” Ah! little did Mattie think we were going to leave her, but she did not feel the tear that fell on her beautiful hair as I bent over her. It was best. After this I suppose it was activity that made us feel brave. We had to look sharp, I assure you. We hurried into our cabin – ours, alas! no more – and exchanged our hats for caps, and put on our monkey jackets – our winter ones. This would not look odd, because there was quite a raw air over the water. We went and packed our one portmanteau, taking nothing lumbersome, and no books, except our little Bibles that mamma had given us.

Then I sat down and wrote a letter, a very brief one, to Mattie. It only said, in a boy’s scrawling hand —