An enormous crowd assembled on the famous cricket-ground at Lord’s to witness the final battle between England and Australia. The record attendance was registered for the opening day of a match, and it was with difficulty that the crowd could be kept within bounds. It reminded old race-goers of a Derby Day to see so many vehicles driving in the direction of the ground. Although the sky was dull and threatening, this did not damp the ardour of the spectators. The members’ pavilion was thronged, and also the reserved stands and enclosure. A dense mass of people filled every available standing and sitting place in the cheaper portion of the ground. No sooner were the doors opened than a rush commenced for the best seats, which were secured by those who had been patiently waiting from an early hour in the morning.
Outside the high walls it was more like a fair than anything else. Itinerant vendors of a variety of eatables did a good trade, and evaded the attentions of the police with remarkable skill. No sooner did the man in blue move a coster on than he ‘bobbed up serenely’ in a different place. Portraits of the cricketers were hawked about, though the celebrities depicted would have had some difficulty in recognising their own faces. The excitement over the match was tremendous. The bus-drivers discussed the chances of success with the passengers nearest to them, and many of the cabmen wore the English colours on their whips. Morning editions of the evening papers met with a ready sale, and every scrap of news anent the great match was pounced upon with avidity.
Before noon a few drops of rain fell, and with the gathering clouds the faces of the people became sombre, and their looks gloomy. A heavy shower would make a good deal of difference, and none knew it better than the members of the teams.
Robert Foster stood inside the pavilion, with his son and Will Murch, anxiously scanning the clouds for a sign of a break. They had not long to wait. The blue sky became visible, and the sun chased the dulness away and shed its brilliant rays on the scene.
And what a sight it was as they looked from the pavilion over the ground! A dense mass of people lined the enclosure, and even pressed over the boundary line in some parts of the ground. To the left of the pavilion the enclosure was gay with the costumes of the ladies, and they seemed as eager for the game to commence as any of the male sex.
Doris Foster accompanied Muriel Wylde and her mother, and they were escorted by Will Brown and Ben Brody, who felt slightly uncomfortable in a hard hat and a pair of gloves—not to mention a new suit, made by a fashionable tailor. They occupied seats in the first enclosure, and had an excellent view of the ground.
The mere mention of Lord’s conjures up wonderful feats in the cricket field, and recalls memories of men who played on its green sward. A glance round the pavilion shows the members have not been unmindful of their doughty champions of the game. It gives the history of cricket, its rise and progress, in a pictorial form, to look at the various prints, paintings, and engravings hanging on the walls. The ‘tall hat’ period is well represented, and young cricketers may well be forgiven for smiling at the costumes of the men who made the game what it is. The smile, however, was not at the men—there was nothing but praise for them. Old stagers waxed eloquent over the doings of the cricketers of their younger days. They vowed there were as good men then as now, although they had to confess the game had improved—and consequently the players also.
A gray-headed veteran came up to Robert Foster and said:
‘We had big crowds in our day, but nothing like this,’ and he waved his hand in a comprehensive sweep round the circle of faces.
Edgar was introduced to the veteran, who said:
‘I remember the first time I saw your father play. He was about your age then, and he was a bat. I’ll never forget it. It was on this very ground—Surrey against Middlesex. He won the match, my boy. I’d sooner you were for us than against us to-day, if you can play as well as your father did then.’
‘I recollect that match,’ said Robert; ‘but you give me too much credit when you say I won it for the team.’
‘Not a bit of it,’ replied the veteran. ‘Ask any man who saw it, and I’ll guarantee he tells the same story. Is it not recorded in the annals of cricket?’
‘We’ve lost the toss,’ said Edgar. ‘The usual luck at Lord’s.’
‘I expect they will bat,’ said Robert Foster.
‘I doubt it,’ said Edgar. ‘The ground is a bit tricky and in favour of the bowlers. Grace has gone to have a good look at the wicket. He knows there are no chances to be thrown away.’
The tall figure of the English captain, with his black, bushy beard, stood out boldly against the background of people. It was in the days when Grace was at his best, and Dr. E. M. was another of the valiant brothers who took the field; Shaw and Morley, the famous Notts bowlers, were in their prime, and Daft had not yet retired from the field—when such grand men as A. P. Lucas, A. G. Steel, A. Lyttelton and Lord Harris were seen at nearly every big match. It was an anxious moment for everyone as Grace consulted with two of his team as to whether they should bat.
At last the decision came. The Englishmen were to bat, and a mighty cheer went up from the crowd.
‘The pitch is all right, or Grace would not have gone in,’ said Robert Foster.
‘Perhaps he thinks it will wear all right for their innings, and leave us with the ground cut up,’ said Murch.
People settled down in their places, and made themselves as comfortable as possible. As the Australians filed on the ground, headed by Murch, cheer after cheer was given them—for the ‘Kangaroo boys’ had become very popular.
The commencement of a great match is always fraught with intense excitement. How will the game go? Will there be a stand for the first wicket?
The brothers Grace, W. G. and E. M., came out to face the bowling, and again the cheers broke out from all parts of the ground. Two good men and good bats were going to open the game for the honour of Old England against the attack of her young country’s sons.
The English captain went through the preliminaries usual with him. He calmly surveyed the field, noting with keen eyes how each man was placed. He took his block, and then patted the ground in a fatherly way with his bat, as though requesting the pitch to behave well to him. Then he put his bat under his arm and leisurely fastened his glove. Having put himself to rights, he was ready for the attack.
The battle had commenced, and it soon became lively. Both men were in form, and the Australians had plenty of leather-hunting. Boundary hits did not come quite so quickly as might have been expected, as the ball seemed to fall rather dead, and did not roll far. When an adjournment for luncheon was made, both Graces were still in, and the crowd was jubilant.
Murch was not at all depressed. He never gave in, or had the faintest intention of doing so.
‘After luncheon will do it,’ he said. ‘There will be a separation then.’
He was right, for in the first over E. M. Grace had his stumps upset.
It was, however, uphill work fighting against such a powerful batting team. Man after man came in and piled up a score, and the captain was not got rid of until he had placed one hundred and fifty-two to his credit. He had played a grand innings, and fully maintained his great reputation.
The Englishmen were not disposed of until they had piled up the large score of four hundred and two.
‘What do you think of it now?’ asked Robert Foster of Edgar.
‘It is a big score, but we may equal it,’ he replied.
‘I admire your pluck, but I hardly think you will do that,’ was the remark of a friend of Mr. Foster’s.
They did not do it. The Australians made an unfortunate start, for Murch, their great bat and popular captain, was caught before he had scored.
Edgar made a fair show, and put on thirty runs before he was bowled; but none of the team made a good stand, and the innings closed, for a hundred and fifty runs—two hundred and fifty-two behind their opponents. This was a terribly black outlook for the Australians, and everyone was disappointed at their display.
Muriel Wylde felt vexed, and she knew Edgar would be much cut up about it. He came to see her, and tried to put the best face he could on the matter.
‘We must avoid a one innings defeat, anyhow,’ he said; ‘I cannot make it out at all. It is sheer bad luck, for the wicket was good. I think when Murch got out for a duck it made our fellows feel a bit nervous.’
‘You played well enough,’ said Brody.
‘That you did,’ said Will Brown; ‘but I’m afraid you are in for an awful dressing.’
‘No telling what may happen in cricket,’ said Edgar. ‘I have seen an even worse match than this pulled out of the fire.’
‘Then you have not lost hope?’ said Muriel.
‘By no means,’ said Edgar. ‘I have a presentiment we shall make a big score, and prove what we really can do.’
Robert Foster was proud of the display of the home eleven, but he could not help feeling a pang of regret that the Australians had not made a better show.
Will Murch was determined to have his revenge for the catch that disposed of him, and said he felt like making a big score. He got his men together, and talked the matter over.
‘I’ll go in first again,’ he said, ‘with Bannman, and we must make a stand somehow. If we can make a big score the other side may be got out without getting the requisite runs, or they may not have time to get them, and we shall make a draw of it.’
Edgar Foster was to go in at the fall of the first wicket, and Murch was very anxious every man should do his level best.
‘They will be very down in the mouth about it at home,’ he said. ‘We can all imagine how they felt when they saw the poor stand we made; we’ll try and change the tune for them. Remember, lads, that every run tells. Run carefully, but run well, and then it is surprising how a few singles tot up and swell the total. Bat carefully until you are set, and when you feel safe don’t spare them. They have given us some leather-hunting, let us return the compliment.’
The cheery words of their captain put heart into the team, and it was with considerable confidence they saw Murch and Bannman walk to the wickets to commence the second innings.
Edgar went over to his father to watch the start, and his heart beat fast as he saw Murch prepare to take the first over.
‘This is better, much better,’ said Robert Foster, as Murch hit a couple of fours in his first over. ‘We can afford to be generous, and wish you all to do well this innings.’
Bannman played a cautious game, and left the bulk of the run-getting to his captain. After half an hour’s play there was a change of bowling. Will Murch treated the new-comer with scant ceremony.
To Edgar’s great delight the Australian captain hit the bowling all over the field. His powerful drives and clean cuts elicited well deserved applause, which was freely bestowed.
‘If you go on at this rate,’ said Robert Foster, ‘it will put a very different complexion on the game. Your men always did play a good uphill fight.’
‘And will do so to-day,’ said Edgar. ‘By Jove! that was a narrow shave.’
Bannman made a miss-hit, and the ball went near to the fielder at point, but he just failed to hold it, although he touched it.
When the second day’s play ended, Murch and Bannman were not out, and the score stood at one hundred and thirty, of which number Will Murch had made eighty-four.
The brilliant stand made by the Australian captain and Bannman caused intense excitement, and the attendance on the final day of the match was enormous. Hundreds of people who anticipated a tame finish, and a one-sided affair, changed their opinions upon reading the score in the morning papers. Contrary to expectation, the third day’s play promised to be the most interesting of all.
When Murch and Bannman commenced again, every stroke was followed with interest. Runs came freely, and Bannman was not disposed of until he had made seventy. Then Edgar Foster joined his captain, and the reception he received on going to the wicket proved his father’s prowess in the field was not forgotten. Foster, in days gone by, was a name to conjure by, and people remembered Robert Foster’s feats with the bat.
Muriel Wylde felt anxious, and whispered to Doris Foster:
‘I do hope Edgar will make a score.’
‘He will try to do so, because he knows it will give you pleasure,’ said Doris.
Murch spoke to Edgar when he went in to bat, and gave him a hint or two as to the bowling. Edgar played the last ball of the over, and then Murch scored a couple in the next over.
The bowling was splendid. Both Shaw and Morley were doing their level best. Edgar found Alf Shaw could deceive a batsman, and put in a swift ball when least expected. He scored a single off the last ball, and then faced Morley. Edgar was partial to swift bowling, as Morley soon discovered, and the over proved productive.
‘I’m getting well set,’ thought Edgar. ‘I believe I’m in for a good score.’
The runs came freely, and it was not until he had made a hundred and sixty runs that Murch was caught.
He had done splendidly, and his return to the pavilion was a triumph. Royle joined Edgar and played steadily.
Grace took the ball and faced Edgar. The English captain knew Edgar was a free hitter, and placed his men far out. Then he tried to tempt him to send a catch. Edgar narrowly escaped being caught at the second ball of the over, and this made him careful. The last ball, however, was one he could not resist hitting. He drove it straight as a dart, and it landed over the boundary. It was a tremendous hit, and caused an outburst of cheering.
The next exciting moment came when E. M. Grace made a magnificent catch at long-on from a very high hit by Royle. He caught the ball with one hand, having had to run for it, and, much to Royle’s surprise, held it.
Donnell came next, and then there was some big hitting. Both batsmen knocked the bowling about terribly. When Edgar had scored fifty there was a hearty cheer, and he appeared likely to make as big a score as his captain. The Australians were playing a splendid uphill game, and keeping up their reputation as ‘men who never know when they are beaten.’
At the fall of the seventh wicket the two hundred and fifty-two runs had been wiped off, and they were over fifty to the good.
The game now became most exciting, as the Englishmen knew if they did not quickly dispose of the Australians the game would end in a draw. Each man worked hard, and the fielding and bowling was splendid.
Still Edgar Foster kept on increasing his score, and passed his century, to the great delight of his father and his friends.
Connor was now in, and his hits were marvellous. The giant—he was about six feet four—lifted the balls all over the ground, and safely out of the reach of the fielders.
When the last wicket fell Edgar Foster was a hundred and fifty, not out, and the score was five hundred and two runs, or two hundred and fifty ahead of the Englishmen.
Such a grand uphill game it was generally acknowledged had never been played before. Edgar Foster was overwhelmed with congratulations, and Muriel Wylde showed her delight on her face.
‘It was splendid, Edgar,’ she said. ‘I believe you would have made two hundred or more.’
‘I felt like it,’ said Edgar. ‘I knew you were watching me, and that put me on my mettle.’
It seemed well nigh a hopeless task for the Englishmen to get two hundred and fifty runs in the short time at their disposal. However, they lost no time in making a start to try to do so.
Strange to say, they did not bat in anything like the form shown in their first innings. Three wickets fell for under fifty runs, W. G. Grace being unluckily run out.
The Australians fielded with wonderful skill. Hardly a ball got past them, and many boundary hits were saved.
Seven wickets fell for a hundred runs, and now it was the turn of the Australians to endeavour to get their opponents out before the call of time.
The Englishmen had reckoned with certainty upon a draw, but they now had to fight hard to avert defeat, and even a draw would not be in their favour.
‘It is a most extraordinary game,’ said Robert Foster. ‘The glorious uncertainty of cricket again. You never can tell how it will go until a match is over, no matter how favourable it may look for a particular side.’
He had joined the ladies, and they were all watching the game with interest, taking keen note of every good stroke and every brilliant piece of fielding.
Will Brown looked at his watch.
‘They have only half-an-hour left,’ he said. ‘I should not wonder if they were got out in that time.’
The thousands of spectators also wondered how the game would end.
Ten minutes before time Morley joined Shaw at the wickets. They were not good bats—anything but that, and the crowd knew it. Morley hit out recklessly and made a couple of fours, and Shaw played steadily. The Australians did all in their power to separate them, but, as luck would have it, they failed to do so. The game ended in a draw, which practically amounted to a victory for the Australians, as the English eleven required over seventy runs to win.
The result of this match was the subject of conversation for some days, and the grand struggle made by the Australians was commented upon on all sides.
At Elm Lodge the event was duly celebrated, and, as Robert Foster promised, the party made a night of it.
When the tour of the Australians was finished they left for home, but Edgar Foster did not return with them. At his father’s request he remained at home.
‘What will Eva think when she finds that I have not returned?’ said Edgar. ‘I promised her I would go back.’
‘We must try and get her over here,’ said his father. ‘I shall feel lonely when you and Doris have left me, and Eva will be nice company for me.’
‘She is a dear little thing,’ said Edgar, ‘and you will love her as much as though she were your own child.’
‘Do you think every soul on board the Distant Shore, with the exception of Eva and yourself, was drowned?’ said Robert Foster.
‘There can hardly be any doubt about it,’ said Edgar. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I have received a rather mysterious letter,’ said Robert Foster; ‘it bears the Sydney postmark, and contains news that may interest you. I will show it you.’
Robert Foster unlocked his desk, and put his hand in one of the pigeon-holes. He looked through the letters, but could not find the one for which he searched.
‘Strange,’ he said, ‘I am sure I put it there.’
‘You may have dropped it, or torn it up by mistake,’ said Edgar. ‘Perhaps you remember the contents?’
‘The bulk of them,’ said his father. ‘The letter stated that the writer had been on a cruise to the South Sea Islands, where he met a man who had been saved from a wreck. He believes, from hints the man, who was very reticent, let fall, that he was saved from the wreck of the Distant Shore. When he returned to Sydney he met with Wal Jessop, who was much interested in what he was told about this man. Wal Jessop described Captain Manton, and my correspondent says he firmly believes from this description it is Captain Manton who was saved and is now in the South Seas. He did not tell Wal Jessop this, because the man seemed to have a great desire to be left alone, and had no wish to let people know he had been saved from the wreck of the Distant Shore. It is a most extraordinary story, and I wish I had the letter. I must have torn it up by mistake. It was careless of me to do so.’
Edgar was amazed at what his father said, and replied:
‘I can hardly credit this story. How any man could live if washed out to sea on such a night I do not know. If it is Captain Manton, surely he would have made some sign before this. It cannot possibly be Eva’s father, for I saw him standing on the deck as the ship struck, and from the look on his face, and the way he waved farewell to me, I knew he meant to go down with her.’
‘He may have been washed out to sea, and found a spar or something to support him. I have a peculiar feeling that this man who was saved from the wreck is Manton. I have had strange dreams about him since I received the letter, and I am not a dreamer as a rule, or a superstitious man. I knew Manton well; he was a proud man, and very sensitive. If he be the man so strangely saved, I think it is precisely what he would do—to hide himself away in some lonely spot, in order to make people think him dead.’
‘But surely he would come forward and tell the story of the wreck,’ said Edgar. ‘No blame attaches to him; he did his utmost to save the ship, and went down with her when he found he could not do so. Then there is Eva. He would want to see his child again; surely he would hear that she had been saved.’
‘He may not have heard. In such a lonely spot one hears very little news from the outer world.’
‘Do you really place any faith in your mysterious correspondent’s letter?’
‘I do, Edgar, and for this reason: I feel no man would have written such a letter had he not been convinced of the truth of its contents.’
‘But why should he write to you?’ asked Edgar. ‘Wal Jessop probably told him how you saved Eva from the wreck, and it would occur to him that you might wish to know what he thought he had discovered. He no doubt wrote to me, thinking I would tell you if I thought it well to do so,’ said Robert Foster.
‘It may be as you surmise,’ said Edgar. ‘I shall never be easy in my mind until I have seen the man who wrote the letter, and heard all he has to tell.’
‘That would mean another trip to Australia,’ said his father with a smile. ‘What would Muriel say to that?’
‘I do not think she would object to my going, for we are not to be married, as you know, until she is twenty-one. Her mother will not consent to part with her before that time. In any case I should not have the journey for nothing, because I could bring Eva back with me.’
‘So you could,’ said Robert Foster. ‘We should be put down as a couple of foolish fellows if anyone knew what you went to Sydney for.’
‘I shall tell no one, with the exception of Muriel,’ said Edgar. ‘She will not think it foolish.’
‘I ought to tell you more,’ said Robert Foster. ‘There was a sketch in the letter, and it bore a strange resemblance to Manton. I cannot make out where the letter has got to.’
‘Was it a sketch made on the spot, or drawn from memory?’
‘Drawn in Sydney, I believe the writer said.’
‘Then it may have been drawn from Wal Jessop’s description,’ said Edgar.
‘Possibly, but I hardly think so. It seemed to me to be a sketch just as the man who drew it remembered to have seen him. I did not tell you of this before, because I thought it might upset you during the tour.’
‘I should have thought a good deal about it, no doubt,’ said Edgar; ‘and perhaps it was as well you did not tell me.’
Edgar pondered over what his father told him, and the more he thought over it, the more impossible it seemed to him that anyone, least of all Captain Manton, should have been saved from the wreck of the Distant Shore.
The spirit of adventure, however, was still strong within him, and this letter his father had received would serve as an excuse, if a poor one, to revisit Australia. He communicated his intention to Muriel, and when she heard the reason for his setting out again she did not consider it so improbable as Edgar himself did.
So it was arranged that Edgar should again voyage to the Colonies, and Ben Brody was glad of a comrade to return with him. Will Brown, having obtained a situation in a large shipping office, decided to remain in England, and Doris Foster was consoled by the thought that if Edgar left again, she would still have a companion of her own age to whom she was much attached.
In due course Edgar Foster arrived in Sydney again. He thought it better to take Wal Jessop into his confidence, and related to him the real reason of his return to Australia.
Wal Jessop remembered the circumstances, and said he did not think Edgar would easily find the man.
‘He spoke of sailing for America,’ said Wal; ‘and as I have seen nothing of him for some time, I think he must have gone away.’
‘I mean to have a cruise in the South Seas, at any rate,’ said Edgar. ‘I have never been there, and it will be interesting. I am sure to hear something about this man from the natives and traders.’
Wal Jessop thought for a few moments, and then said:
‘I have a schooner that would suit your purpose, and I should not mind making a voyage with you. It would be better than going alone, and I have been in the South Seas several times.’
‘That would be splendid!’ said Edgar, overjoyed at the prospect of having Wal Jessop with him.
Wal Jessop communicated his intention of accompanying Edgar to his wife, and although she did not care for him to leave her again to go on a cruise, she raised no objections when she heard what object they had in view.
‘How strange it will be if you find Captain Manton there!’ she said. ‘Even if such a thing happened I am afraid he would not return with you.’
‘We shall persuade him to do so,’ said Wal, ‘if we find him; but that is more than we hope for. Still, more extraordinary things than this have happened over shipwrecks, and truth is often stranger than fiction.’
Wal Jessop’s schooner did not take much fitting out for the voyage, for both he and Edgar were used to roughing it. A couple of good men were engaged to go with them, upon whom Wal Jessop knew he could rely.
They set sail early one morning, and were soon outside the heads, going along at a fair rate of speed in their small craft.
‘She sails well,’ said Edgar.
‘Many a craft twice her size does not skim over the sea so fast,’ said Wal.
Edgar thoroughly enjoyed being on board the schooner. It was vastly different from the life on an ocean liner. They had on board a stock of goods to trade with the natives, and hoped to make the trip profitable. The wind and weather being in their favour, they sailed merrily along, and there was every prospect of their making a fast trip.
Wal Jessop suggested going to Fiji first of all.
‘It’s a jolly place,’ he said, ‘and will not be out of our way, and we are not tied for time.’
‘It is a good thing your wife cannot hear you,’ said Edgar, laughing. ‘I fancy I heard you say we should return as quickly as possible.’
‘So we shall,’ said Wal; ‘but we made no stipulation as to the course we should take.’
They made sail for Levuka, the former capital of Fiji, Suva being the present capital. Levuka is situated on a narrow strip of beach, from which the backbone of Ovalau rises precipitately to a height of 2,500 feet, and falls in a similar manner on the other side.
Levuka, Edgar found, consisted of one main street about a mile in length, which runs along the beach from old Government House to the native village at the other end. The ground ascends rapidly on leaving the beach, and the hills around are dotted with pretty villas. The stores and hotels face the water, and here Edgar and Wal took in a fresh stock of provisions for the schooner.
After leaving Levuka, they sailed along the coast and saw a number of small native towns dotted about at varying intervals, usually among a little grove of cocoa-nuts or bananas.
They landed near one of these native villages and obtained a supply of yams and sweet potatoes, also bananas in any quantity. The village was surrounded by filth and garbage of all sorts, and among this highly-scented mess a number of scraggy pigs, thin hens, and young children were rummaging. The stagnant water lying about attracted swarms of mosquitoes and flies.
Edgar entered one of the houses and was almost choked with the smoke, and was glad to get a breath of fresh air. The earthen floor of the house he could just discern was covered with dry grass over which were spread a few mats. The men seemed a lazy lot of fellows, passing the bulk of their time in smoking. They went inland for several miles, but found the country hilly and uninteresting.
They saw numerous inland villages nestling in the valley or perched on the top of a hill. After leaving Fiji they sailed for the New Hebrides, rather an inhospitable country, so Edgar understood. Wal Jessop had, however, been to Tana before, and meant to steer for that place.
‘What sort of a place is Tana?’ asked Edgar as they sat idly in the schooner with the blue sky shining brilliantly overhead, and the blue water of the ocean all around them.
‘It is a volcanic island,’ said Wal. ‘There are several of them in the group, and on many of them the natives speak different languages. It is a circular island, with a high mountain in the centre which we ought to see before long. The mountain is constantly in eruption, and answers the purpose of a lighthouse. It is covered with vegetation almost to the top.’
‘I hope we shall not have an earthquake during our stay on the island. I have experienced one already, during our exploration in the cave of Enooma, and I should not care for the experience to be repeated,’ said Edgar.
Next morning the island of Tana came in sight, and Edgar marvelled at its beauty as seen from the schooner. In the centre of the island rose the high mountain, as Wal Jessop had described it, and smoke and fire were issuing from the top. They were not long in reaching a landing-place, and on the beach they saw a number of native canoes, some about fifteen feet long, and others from twenty-five to nearly fifty feet in length.
When the natives saw the schooner let go her anchor, two canoes put off and were quickly paddled alongside. The natives in them were rather under the middle stature and the colour of old copper. Their faces were painted a reddish colour, and looked oily and sticky. Their hair was frizzy and of a light-brown colour, and was twisted and curled into numerous tails, which were thrown back from the forehead and hung down the back. It looked for all the world like a wig made of whipcord, Edgar thought.
‘These fellows are Tanese,’ said Wal. ‘I must try and make them understand a few questions.’
He spoke to one of the natives, who was taller than his companions, and asked him to come on board the schooner. Without the least hesitation the man did so. As he stood on deck, Edgar saw that he was a well-made, athletic young fellow. The septum of his nose was pierced, and through it was inserted a reed horizontally, but not so as to project beyond either nostril. He had tortoiseshell earrings in his ears, about half a dozen hanging down on each side, and the weight had enlarged the aperture until a child’s hand might have been passed through. He was not tattooed, but on his breast a rude device of a fish had been either cut or burnt in, and on the upper part of his arms was a leaf done in a similar way. He had no clothes on except a matting bag round the loins. He had armlets on, and also three large whale’s teeth on three strings hanging horizontally on his breast.
‘He’s a chief,’ said Wal. ‘I can tell that by those teeth he has on his breast.’
‘He is a formidable-looking savage,’ said Edgar. ‘I should not care to have a hit with that club he carries.’
Wal Jessop motioned the chief to sit down, which he did, and was presented with a necklace of bright-coloured beads which delighted him immensely.
The other natives in the canoes were looking at the schooner with eager eyes, evidently with the expectation of getting a few presents.
The chief, whose name was Meri, spoke a few words of English, and as Wal Jessop knew a little of the Tana language, they managed to understand each other.
Although Edgar could not make out what they were talking about, he knew Wal Jessop was questioning him as to the white men who visited the island.
‘Psan Aremama,’ said Meri.
‘There is a white man on the island,’ said Wal to Edgar. ‘We must go ashore and try and meet him. Meri knows where he is to be found, but he avoids the coast.’
‘Strange a white man should be here,’ said Edgar. ‘It may be the very man we are in search of.’
‘If it turns out to be Manton, it will be stranger still,’ said Wal.
Meri agreed to take them ashore in his canoe, and to make room for them ordered two of the men to jump out and swim back to land.
Wal Jessop asked if there were sharks about, for he saw the natives were frightened, but dared not disobey the chief.
Meri laughed, showing his even teeth, and hinted that it would be good sport to see a shark or two hunt the natives.
‘Pleasant sort of man to work for,’ said Edgar, when Wal had explained.
The canoe shot away from the side of the schooner. Wal and Edgar had their rifles with them and also a number of beads, trinkets, and pieces of bright-coloured cloths, with which to propitiate the natives.
As they neared the shore one of the natives who was swimming dived, and before he came to the surface the water was dyed with blood.
‘Laumasan! ,’ chuckled Meri.
The native came to the surface, and they saw he had dived and stabbed a shark that had been in pursuit.
‘That was cleverly done,’ said Wal.
‘They must have some pluck,’ said Edgar.
‘Good fighters, many of them,’ said Wal. ‘We must try and get them to give us an exhibition of spear-throwing and stone-slinging. It will interest you.’
They got out of the canoes and waded through the surf to the beach. Here a number of natives, men and women, were gathered. The women were fairly well covered with long girdles reaching below the knee. These girdles were made of rolled dried fibre of the banana stalk, which was soft to touch and very like hemp. They also wore a few ornaments, and their hair was shorter than the men’s,standing erect in a forest of little curls about an inch long.
The chief conducted them to his hut, which was rudely constructed, but large enough to hold half a dozen persons comfortably. This hut was built amongst the trees, and there were huts of a smaller size for about eight or ten families.
The chief gave them to understand that they must join them at the marum, or place of public meeting.
This meeting was held under a banyan tree in a large clear space. All the men assembled here at sundown for their evening meal.
A bowl of kava was prepared by chewing the root and ejecting the contents of the mouth into a bowl, which was filled up with water, then mixed and strained. In addition to the kava, there were raw yams served, and cooked food consisting of figs and fowls. The women had their meal apart from the men.
Meri repeated a short prayer before the meal, wishing them success in their crops and in the battles in which they were often engaged.
Edgar, having seen the kava prepared, did not relish tasting it, but at a sign from Wal Jessop, he took the bowl and sipped a little.
‘They would have been greatly offended had you refused it,’ Wal explained.
After the meal, which, with the exception of the kava, Edgar relished, the men made speeches and danced, flourishing their clubs. It amused Edgar to watch the children, of whom the men seemed very fond. The copper-skinned little ones imitated their elders with precocious dexterity.
It was a curious sight to see these natives holding a marum under the huge banyan tree, and as the shades of night quickly fell their figures loomed in the light with a peculiarly weird effect as they danced and chanted their monotonous song.
Meri sat between Wal Jessop and Edgar, and as the dance proceeded, he caught them one by each arm and nodded across the opening. Edgar and Wal looked in the direction Meri indicated, and saw a strange figure standing looking at the scene.
Edgar sprang to his feet and shouted:
‘The captain or his ghost!’
‘The very image of him,’ said Wal.
The stranger had, however, noted their movements, and, suddenly turning, darted back into the shadow of the trees.
Wal Jessop hastily explained to Meri that it was their intention to go in pursuit of the white man, and the chief said he would accompany them. The meeting came to an end, the savages dispersing to their various huts.
Meri, beckoning to Wal and Edgar to follow him, led the way across the marum into the forest beyond. They were soon in richly-wooded country, and found progress difficult. Edgar constantly stumbled over some tangled, twisted root that lay hidden in his path; thorns, growing on some of the bushes, pricked him and tore his clothes, and Wal Jessop was in no better plight. Meri, however, did not appear to mind the thorns, but walked on at a rapid pace.
They continued their tramp for some time, but saw nothing of the white man who had so quickly and mysteriously disappeared.
When they halted to rest Wal Jessop questioned Meri, and learned that the white man had been on the island for some time. He came in a trading vessel, and was left behind, either wilfully or through his own desire. The natives regarded him with superstition, and thought him scarcely human. Meri himself was evidently a believer in the white man’s powers over the natives for good or evil.
On resuming their search they came upon a pathway evidently cut in the bush, and along this Meri led them.
He halted at the entrance to a small clearing, and here they saw a strange sight.
Standing straight up from the ground were several large trunks of trees, that had been hollowed out and rudely carved in the shape of hideous heads at the top. They appeared to be idols, and Meri regarded them with a look of awe.
‘This is a Sing-Sing ground,’ said Wal; ‘I have heard of them before, but never seen one. This is where their gods live, and it is regarded as a sacred grove. If the white man is here it easily accounts for the fear with which he is regarded. No native would remain here alone; in fact, they dare not venture except upon special occasions. I’ll ask Meri about it.’
Wal questioned the chief, who said he could enter the sacred grove as chief of his tribe, and they walked into the clearing. Raising his club Meri struck one of the hollow trunks a blow, and it echoed through the forest with a sound like a drum.
Edgar looked into the hollow of each tree, but saw nothing. Presently a tall figure glided into the grove, and stood still regarding them.
They were at once convinced it was the unfortunate captain of the Distant Shore standing before them, but he showed no sign that he recognised them.
He was strangely altered from the fine, stalwart seaman they had known as Captain Manton of the Distant Shore. His figure was gaunt and thin, and his arms and hands were mere skin and bone. His hair was white, his beard of the same hue, and his eyes looked vacantly from under his bushy eyebrows. He wore an old coat, which reached to his knees, and his legs and feet were bare. As he advanced slowly towards them Meri fell back, but Edgar and Wal stood their ground.
‘Begone!’ said this ghost-like figure of Captain Manton. ‘This is no place for you. Begone, and leave me in peace! I harm no one. I am quite alone—alone in a world of my own, peopled with the ghosts of the drowned!’
Edgar stepped forward, and, looking him straight in the eyes, said:
‘Do you not know me, Captain Manton? I am Edgar Foster. I was saved from the wreck with your daughter Eva.’
At the mention of Eva’s name a momentary light of intelligence came into the man’s eyes, but it quickly died away, and left them dull and vacant.
‘Poor fellow!’ said Edgar sorrowfully; ‘his brain has given way under the strain. He must have suffered severely.’
‘Do you think he is mad?’ asked Wal.
‘Not a dangerous form of madness,’ replied Edgar; ‘but I have no doubt he is not in his right mind. We must humour him, and question him. He has a strange story to relate, if he can be persuaded to tell it, and if he remembers all he has gone through.’
Edgar took the unfortunate man by the hand, and persuaded him to sit down.
Meri looked on, his curiosity evidently being excited.
Edgar tried as gently and simply as possible to lead the wandering mind of the captain back to the wreck of the Distant Shore, and found, to his delight, that he succeeded in rousing his dormant memory.
Captain Manton began to talk in a strange, monotonous way. He was evidently recapitulating what had happened to him after the wreck of the Distant Shore, and he seemed almost unconscious of anyone being present.
From time to time during the course of the strange tale he related Edgar refreshed his weak memory.
‘If we can lead him on to tell us everything,’ said Edgar, ‘he may recognise us in the end.’
‘I hope so,’ said Wal; ‘it is terrible to see him like this, but it may be caused through not having any white men to converse with.’
Captain Manton—for, indeed, it was that unfortunate seaman—commenced by telling them, in a somewhat incoherent way, that he was on a big ship when it went on to the rocks and crashed to pieces.
‘It was the captain’s fault,’ he said; ‘he ought to have made for a harbour; he is responsible for all our deaths.’
‘You were saved,’ said Edgar. ‘You are not dead, and you ought to be thankful. It was not the captain’s fault, for he was a brave man, and a good seaman. I knew him well, and he was incapable of a cowardly action.’
‘I knew him once,’ said Captain Manton, ‘but it must have been a very long time ago. He’s dead now, and you say I am alive. Strange how little I remember of Manton, for I must have known him well.’
‘You did,’ said Edgar. ‘Have you forgotten? Can you not remember that you are Captain Manton, and that I saved your daughter Eva?’
‘Eva,’ said Manton, with a deep sigh, ‘I know the name very well—Eva; yes, I once knew little Eva.’
He spoke in such pathetic tones that both Edgar and Wal Jessop were affected.
Suddenly Manton began to talk rapidly.
‘I remember now,’ he said; ‘the captain went down with the ship. I was tossed about on the rocks—washed on and then off again. A huge wave rolled me back into the sea, and I clutched a broken spar. The captain clutched that spar, too, but I pushed him off—ah, ah! I pushed him off because there was only room for one; but he came up again and sat beside me, and I had not strength to push him off again. He did not try to push me off. Out to sea we were taken, and then I recollect nothing until I awoke on board a small craft, and the captain was not there. He must have fallen off the spar, and been drowned. I was starved on the boat, for they had very little to eat. When they landed on some island, they went away and left me. The natives were kind to me and gave me food. I have lived here many years. I do no one any harm, and I want to stay here. You will not take me away?’ he said suddenly, turning to Edgar and Wal, with an imploring look in his eyes.
Edgar evaded the question, and said:
‘I will tell you what happened on the night the Distant Shore was wrecked, and how Wal Jessop here saved me and your daughter Eva.’
‘My daughter Eva!’ said Manton, with a soft smile—‘my daughter Eva!’
He lingered fondly over the name, and Edgar said to Wal:
‘I believe if I relate all that took place he will remember. His sufferings have caused loss of memory, that is all.’
‘I hope so,’ said Wal; ‘it is pitiable to find him like this.’
Edgar then told him as briefly as possible all that took place at the wreck of the Distant Shore. As he described how Wal Jessop found himself and Eva on the rocks, and at great risk got them to the top of the cliffs, Manton’s eyes brightened, and he listened with intense interest.
‘Eva is now a beautiful little girl,’ said Edgar, ‘and she has been expecting to see you. We have always told her you would come back to her, and I am sure you will do so. You remember me now, do you not?’ said Edgar; ‘and also your good friend in Sydney, Wal Jessop?’
‘Ay, you’ll remember me, skipper,’ said Wal, in a hearty voice; ‘I’ve towed you safely into port many a time. Come, give me a grip of your hand, and say you know me.’
Manton looked, first at Edgar, and then at Wal Jessop. He was wrestling with the memories of the past that had so long been absent from him. Gradually they saw his memory was recovering its power. The mind was only clouded, and brighter days would chase the gloom away.
‘My God! can it be true?’ said Manton, as he gazed at them. ‘Am I dreaming, or am I mad? Can this be Edgar Foster, and my old mate, Wal Jessop? Where am I, and how did I come here?’
He was wrestling with his memory, and gradually drawing it back to life. With the return of reason he failed to comprehend what had happened to him, and why he was on this wild island in the New Hebrides.
‘True, true, true!’ he murmured; ‘they are indeed my friends!
He grasped their hands, and his frame shook with the intense emotion he felt. He was in a very weak state, and the reaction was too much for him. The change from darkness to light overpowered him, and he sank back in a dead faint.
Meri, when he saw Manton fall back, to all appearance dead, sprang forward and brandished his club in a savage manner. He thought Edgar and Wal must have practised some witchcraft upon this white man, who had been so long amongst them.
Wal Jessop, leaving Manton in Edgar’s care, explained, as well as he could, what had happened. Meri looked displeased when Wal said they would take Manton away with them, and said evil would fall upon their tribe if they allowed him to go.
It was some time before Manton recovered, and when he did so he was too weak to walk. Wal Jessop persuaded Meri to return with him to the village, and obtain help to carry Manton to the beach.
Edgar remained with the captain, and did all in his power to cheer him. He knew it would be some time before they returned, and Manton was not in a fit state to be left alone. With the return of his memory he had become nervous and excited. For the first time since that fatal night when the Distant Shore was wrecked, he began to remember clearly what had taken place.
Edgar saw what it was preyed upon his mind, and said:
‘Everyone will be glad to hear you have been saved in such a strange and marvellous way. You will be heartily welcomed in Sydney when we return; and think of little Eva waiting and watching for you.’
‘The ship was lost,’ said Manton in a hollow voice, ‘and I am responsible. Did all on board perish with the exception of three?’
‘Yes,’ said Edgar; ‘but you were not to blame. Everyone praised your conduct, for I told them how you stood by your ship, and went down with her. Nothing could have saved her. You did all that man could do.’
‘And my poor wife?’ he moaned.
Edgar was silent. He knew words would avail nothing.
‘How did you find me?’ asked Manton.
Edgar related how his father received a letter, and his own determination to set out in quest of him in order to ascertain the truth.
‘And you did this for my sake?’ said Manton.
‘I must not take too much credit for that,’ said Edgar. ‘A love of adventure prompted me, and, although I hardly credited your being alive, yet I knew it was not impossible.’
‘And where am I, and how long have I been here?’ asked Manton wonderingly.
‘You are on the island of Tana, in the New Hebrides,’ said Edgar. ‘You were no doubt picked up by a schooner on its way to the South Seas from Sydney.’
‘It is all very strange,’ said Manton. ‘I must have been near to death when I was rescued from the sea.’
‘Your sufferings were so great that your mind became deranged,’ said Edgar. ‘With complete rest, and amongst your friends, you will speedily recover.’
Manton shook his head despondingly. He was in a melancholy mood, and his mind was not quite balanced. As Edgar looked at him his heart was full of pity for him, and he fervently hoped it would not be many weeks before Captain Manton was fully recovered both in mind and body.
When Meri and Wal Jessop reached the village the chief explained to his followers how the white men had recognised their friend, and the natives were excited at such an unlooked-for occurrence. A stretcher was quickly made of long poles and matting, and, accompanied by four stalwart natives, Wal Jessop and Meri returned to the Sing-Sing ground where they had left Edgar and Captain Manton. They carefully carried Manton to the village, and Wal Jessop went out to the schooner to obtain drugs from the medicine chest.
In the course of a few days Captain Manton was much better, and eager to be gone from the island. The chief and the natives, however, seemed loath to part with him, and Edgar thought there might be some trouble in getting him away. To make matters easier they presented Meri and most of the natives—men, women, and children—with gifts of beads, cloth, and small ornaments. It amused them to watch the women adorning their persons with bright red and yellow cloths, and they were particularly delighted some with the strings of bright-coloured beads.
Edgar noticed the natives, even when going to walk in the plantations, were armed, and Meri said they were always at war with one or more of the neighbouring tribes. Even the women and children were armed, and it was surprising with what accuracy of aim the smallest lads could shoot their arrows. These natives were all fond of sports, and spent the greater part of their time practising with the various weapons they used.
Meri, at Edgar’s request, ordered some native sports to take place; and the men, nothing loath, prepared for them in a very short time. Wal Jessop promised the most successful should have prizes given them, selected from the stock of trade goods on board the schooner.
Spear-throwing was first undertaken, and the natives aimed with wonderful skill, far better than the Enooma blacks. They hurled their spears with terrific force, and often buried them six inches deep in the trunk of a tree the wood of which was almost as hard as iron. Smooth stones were piled up on the beach, and the natives, using slings, whirled them out to sea for such a long distance that the splash made when they fell could hardly be seen. Club-swinging they were clever at, and an attack with clubs, warded off by wooden shields, made Edgar fearful for the result, so furious and excited did the combatants become.
The boys and girls, all naked, ran races on the clear white sand, and swam out to sea in the most daring manner. One lad, a son of the chief, shot his arrow through Meri’s fingers as he spread the back of his hand out wide against a tree. The girls were quite as active as the boys, and ran as fast, and swam as well. These youngsters had very little fear in them, and even a shark near the shore did not frighten them, for the lads would swim out with spears in their hands and attack the monsters.
The canoe-races caused much excitement, and the chief, Meri, paddled dexterously—in fact, he was superior to the others in most of the sports.
Edgar was much interested in watching the natives build a canoe. A tree was felled, and the branches cut off. Then, for a common fishing canoe, the log was hollowed out about fifteen feet long, and a rough canoe was soon formed. The better-built canoes were made of separate planks raised from the keel, and laid on in pieces from twenty-five to fifty feet long. Gum of the bread-fruit tree was used instead of pitch, and smeared over to make them water-tight. The inside and outside were smoothed, and when finished the canoe looked a creditable craft.
Although Edgar enjoyed the experiences he was going through at Tana, he was anxious to get away now Captain Manton had been discovered; but the chief always made some excuse for detaining them, and Wal Jessop said it would be safer to obtain his permission to leave. Captain Manton was also in a hurry to depart, and once more get to sea. Wal Jessop gave Meri to understand that it was necessary for them to leave, and the chief said he would consider the matter.
A meeting was held under the banyan tree in the marum, and the three friends looked on, much interested in the proceedings.
Wal Jessop gathered that there was considerable opposition to Captain Manton’s departure, and that the chief did not care to resist the will of the natives. When the meeting was over, Meri said his people were not willing that Captain Manton should go with Edgar and Wal.
To this Wal Jessop made no reply, but after consulting Edgar and Captain Manton, it was arranged they should make a bolt for it at night, seize one of the canoes, and row back to the schooner.
Wal Jessop went to the schooner to give instructions for all to be ready for sailing immediately they were on board.
Towards evening, when the natives were returning from the plantation, there was a great row amongst them. They came forward shouting, dancing, and gesticulating, and in their midst was a poor wretched native, almost ready to drop with fright. Meri’s men had kidnapped this man, who belonged to another tribe, and he knew, poor wretch! the fate in store for him.
‘What will they do with that poor beggar?’ said Edgar.
‘Eat him probably,’ said Wal Jessop with a shudder. ‘The natives here are cannibals.’
‘Horrible!’ said Edgar. ‘Can we do nothing to prevent it?’
‘I am afraid not,’ said Wal. ‘I will remonstrate with the chief, but it will be all to no purpose. All we can do is to take advantage of their absence when the poor wretch is killed, and make for the schooner.’
‘Speak to Meri,’ said Edgar. ‘We ought to stop it if we can.’
Wal Jessop went to the chief, who acknowledged it was the custom to kill and eat prisoners of another tribe. Wal then tried to buy the wretch off, but the chief was firm. He could not interfere with the custom of the tribe.
That night a large fire was lighted in the marum, and they could see the flames flashing in the darkness.
They shuddered as they thought of what was about to take place; but as they were powerless to interfere they determined to steal away to the schooner.
Cautiously they went down to the beach and secured a canoe. Captain Manton sat in the bow, where there was a seat for the chief, and Wal and Edgar paddled.
Before they were half-way to the schooner the natives saw them, and, uttering loud cries, ran down to the beach. A large canoe was quickly launched, Meri took his place in the bow, and the pursuit commenced.
‘They will overhaul us before we reach the schooner,’ said Wal. ‘Our only plan is to frighten them. We have our rifles. You must send a bullet or two in their direction, Edgar. Do not harm anyone if you can help it, but strike the canoe somewhere near the chief. It will give him a shock, and may hinder the pursuit.’
The natives were fast nearing them, their canoe skimming along the water with wonderful swiftness. Meri stood up in the bow, spear in hand, and signalled them to stop. His dark figure was plainly seen in the moonlight which covered the sea with a soft, silvery glow.
Edgar put down his paddle and took up his rifle, which he levelled at the chief.
Meri saw him, but did not flinch. He turned to his men and urged them on.
Edgar took aim and fired at the bow of the canoe. It was a lucky shot, for just as he fired the bow of the canoe rose slightly, and the bullet splintered the wood under Meri’s feet.
This caused the chief to spring backwards, and in so doing he stumbled and fell into the water. The natives at once ceased rowing, and assisted him to get into the canoe.
Edgar, as soon as he had fired the shot, put down the rifle and grasped the paddle. They gained on the canoe again, and reached the schooner before the natives. Captain Manton was assisted into the schooner, and Edgar and Wal quickly followed, taking good care to throw their rifles to the men on deck.
Everything was ready for sailing immediately, but before the schooner could get under way the canoe, full of natives, was alongside.
Meri was about to spring on the schooner when Edgar levelled his rifle at him, and Wal Jessop shouted:
‘Get back, or we shall fire. We want to leave peaceably. Go back to your island. You have had many presents from us.’
The chief said they wanted their white man back, and meant to have him.
‘Then you must look out for a row,’ said Wal.
The schooner was now under sail, and although there was but little breeze, she made headway. Seeing the schooner gliding away, the chief gave some order to his men, who stood up and hurled their spears at those on deck.
‘Lie flat down,’ shouted Wal, who saw their intention; and they all fell on the deck. The spears whistled harmlessly over them, one or two striking the mast.
‘Give me the gun; I’ll give them a dose of shot for that,’ said Edgar.
Wal Jessop handed him a gun, and Edgar fired it at the canoe. The shot told, and one or two of the natives were hit, but not severely. This had the desired effect, and, seeing pursuit was both hopeless and dangerous, the chief ordered them to paddle back to the island.
The travellers were all glad to get safely away from Tana, and decided to sail direct to Sydney, as there was an ample supply of food on board. Captain Manton seemed to recover every day at sea, and both Edgar and Wal Jessop did all in their power to cheer him and make him forget what he had suffered.
The voyage back to Sydney was uneventful, and the little schooner entered the Heads sooner than was expected, and cast anchor in Watson’s Bay.
Captain Manton, as they neared the Heads, had looked long at the fatal rocks where the Distant Shore went to pieces, and the tears stood in his eyes as he thought of that awful night.
When they were in the smooth waters of the harbour, and snugly at anchor in Watson’s Bay, his spirits revived at the prospect of meeting his daughter again.
He wondered if she would know him, for he was much altered, and she was a little child when last he saw her on that fatal night.
‘I am sure she will recognise you,’ said Edgar; ‘you look much more like your old self now. When we found you at Tana you were a different man.’
They landed at the jetty, and walked up to Wal Jessop’s cottage.
‘We shall give them a surprise,’ said Edgar.
‘A pleasant one,’ said Wal.
Captain Manton’s heart beat fast as he walked up the familiar road, and hastened to meet the daughter he had thought he would never see again.
‘Perhaps it will be better for me to go on first,’ said Wal, ‘and prepare her. The sudden joy may be too much for Eva.’
They agreed, and Wal walked on. He reached the cottage door, and knocked. His wife opened it, and gave a cry of joy as she saw him. After a hearty embrace, she said anxiously:
‘Where is Edgar? Is he well?’
‘Never better,’ said Wal. ‘Where’s Eva?’
Eva heard them talking, and came running into the room. She rushed into Wal’s outstretched arms, and he kissed her tenderly.
‘Edgar has come back,’ said Wal, ‘and someone else—someone you love best in all the world.’
‘Daddy?’ said Eva excitedly.
‘Yes,’ said Wal, looking from her to his wife; ‘daddy has come back.’
He heard footsteps outside, and said:
‘And here he is, with Edgar.’
Captain Manton came into the room. Eva looked at him for a few moments, evidently in doubt.
‘Eva, my child, my little one, don’t you know me? Come to my arms, my pet; come to daddy again.’
‘It is my daddy!’ said Eva, with a joyful cry, as she flew to him. ‘Eddy said he would come back. I shall never let him go away again—never, never, never!’
How Captain Manton came to Sydney, and how he received a welcome of the heartiest description on all sides, is well known throughout the colony. His marvellous escape and subsequent adventures, and the strange discovery of him at Tana by Edgar Foster and Wal Jessop, have been related over and over again. His examination by the Marine Board was thoroughly satisfactory, and Captain Fife said no man could have done more than Captain Manton to save his ship.
The tall, commanding form of Captain Manton, and the pretty child accompanying him wherever he went, soon became familiar figures in the parks of Sydney. The big, stalwart seaman was wrapped up in his child, and his intense love for her was shown in every word and action.
They sat together for hours on the grassy slopes of the Botanical Gardens overlooking the harbour, and watched the big steamers pass to and fro, and the sailing vessels towed out from their snug berths to face the perils of an ocean voyage to some far-distant land. Those were halcyon days for little Eva Manton, and she often thought of them in after years, when the business of life had commenced for her in real earnest.
Leaving Captain Manton to rejoice in his new-found happiness, Edgar Foster took a trip out West to Yanda, in order to bid good-bye to his friends before finally departing for England.
They were all very pleased to see him at Yanda, and Ben Brody could not refrain from relating wonderful and improbable yarns about his experiences with Edgar in London.
‘It’s grown into a mighty big place,’ said Ben. ‘You fellows have no idea what London is like. Bless me if the people are not thicker on the pavements than sheep in a catching pen!’
‘What’s the mutton like over there?’ asked Jim Lee solemnly.
‘Nearly as juicy as it is here,’ said Ben, with a wink, and a smack of the lips that betokened fond remembrances of sundry succulent London chops.
Yacka made quite a scene when he discovered that Edgar had returned. He summoned all the blacks in the neighbourhood, and a great corroboree took place in his honour.
To Edgar’s inquiries Yacka said he had resolved never to return to the country of the Enooma, or to the cave of the White Spirit, now no longer there.
Yacka was contented to live and die at Yanda, where Ben Brody and the hands were kind to him, and where he could idle away most of his time, and spend a savage life such as the blackfellow loves.
‘Would you not like to become civilized,’ asked Edgar, ‘and cultivate the ways of the white man?’
‘No,’ said Yacka; ‘to be civilized means rum and ruin. Yacka loves his freedom, and wants no civilization.’
It was in vain Edgar endeavoured to induce Yacka to leave Yanda, and go to Sydney with him. The black was firm in his resolve never to quit Yanda again, and many years after Edgar learned that Yacka died at the station, and was much regretted, not only by the blacks, but also by the hands.
Before Edgar left Sydney he was entertained by the cricketers of the city at a banquet, and the speeches made on that memorable occasion were treasured by him. They were not mere after-dinner displays, but real, genuine words spoken from the heart, and Edgar accepted them as such.
Edgar made many attempts to induce Captain Manton to return to England with him.
The captain, however, was firm in his determination not to leave Sydney.
‘I want to end my days here in peace,’ he said to Edgar; ‘I have only Eva to live for, and I feel we shall be happy here with our good friends the Jessops. You will tell your father how much I thank him for all his kindness to me and mine.’
‘I am sorry you have decided to remain here,’ said Edgar; ‘we should all be so pleased to welcome you home.’
‘I feel I must remain, my lad,’ said Captain Manton. ‘I want to be near the place where I lost my wife and my ship, and all the poor souls who went down with her. God knows I did my best to save them, but it was not to be. I feel it to be my duty to stay here—a duty I owe to the dead who lie buried fathoms deep off this spot. At Watson’s Bay I hope to end my days, and I am thankful Eva has been restored to me to keep me from being lonely in my declining years.’
Wal Jessop became more reconciled to parting with Edgar Foster when he heard that Captain Manton had decided to remain and take a small cottage at Watson’s Bay.
‘I should have been lost without one of you,’ he said, ‘and I don’t know what the wife would have done without Eva. She loves that bairn as much as if she were her own.’
The day that Edgar sailed for home Captain Manton and Eva stood on the cliffs at Watson’s Bay, and watched the great steamer pass slowly through the Heads. They waved their handkerchiefs, and Captain Manton, looking through his glasses, spied Edgar leaning over the rails of the upper-deck also waving a farewell.
As he saw those two figures on the cliffs, Edgar Foster felt a sadness creep over him at the thought that he might never see them again. He watched them as the steamer ploughed its way south, until they were mere specks against the sky-line.
As for Captain Manton and Eva, they stood there until the steamer had disappeared, and only a faint line of smoke denoted where she had sunk below the horizon. Then the captain took Eva by the hand, and led her gently down the rough, steep, pathway to Wal Jessop’s cottage. He did not feel lonely, for he had his child to comfort him, and he knew the remainder of his life would be quiet, uneventful, and peaceful. He had determined to devote his life to his child, and to try and teach her how to be a brave, good woman.
Mrs. Jessop had been a mother to Eva, and she felt it would be hard to part with her.
‘Try and persuade Captain Manton to stay with us,’ she said to Wal. ‘We have room for him, and then I shall not lose Eva.’
Wal Jessop broached the subject to Captain Manton, who was easily persuaded to fall in with Mrs. Jessop’s wishes.
‘It will be better for Eva,’ he said, ‘for your wife has taken her mother’s place. I shall not want much attention. We old sailors are accustomed to looking after ourselves and taking things easily, eh, Wal?’
‘I guess we are,’ replied Wal; ‘I’m right glad you have decided to stay with us, skipper. I believe the wife would have broken her heart if you had taken Eva away from her.’
So Captain Manton and Eva remained at Wal Jessop’s cottage, and a happy united family they were.
Leaving Captain Manton and the Jessops, we must now return to Edgar Foster, who, after a safe passage home, was once more at his father’s house at Elm Lodge.
He related how Captain Manton was found, and excited interest by displaying a number of curiosities he had secured in the South Seas.
‘I wish Manton had come home with you,’ said his father; ‘I wanted to see him again.’
‘After all, I think he decided rightly to remain in Sydney,’ said Edgar. ‘Eva was much attached to Mrs. Jessop, and Wal will be a good companion for the captain.’
Naturally, Edgar had not been home long before he paid a visit to the Wyldes, and he found Muriel looking more charming than ever. After several years of travel, Edgar felt it was high time he settled down and devoted himself to business seriously. He knew his father was moderately well off, but he was determined to get his own living, and not rely upon him. He did not know that Mrs. Wylde was a wealthy woman, or he would perhaps have felt some diffidence in proposing to Muriel.
Will Brown and Doris Foster were married soon after Edgar’s return, and resided in a comfortable house at Putney.
When Edgar had been at home some time, the secretary of the M—— Cricket Club died, and Robert Foster thought it would be a good place for his son. The salary was excellent, and the work such as Edgar liked, and knew a good deal about.
At a meeting of the club Edgar’s name came up, and the committee decided in his favour, at the same time suggesting that he should play when required. This suited Edgar’s plans admirably, and it was somewhat of a novelty to see the secretary of such a club taking a prominent position in the cricket-field.
Feeling his position secure, and having now an ample income for his wants, Edgar asked Muriel Wylde to marry him at an early date, and she consented. The wedding took place at Twickenham Church, and never had the sun shone on a prettier bride, or a more manly-looking bridegroom.
Prosperity dogged Edgar’s footsteps, for he invested a considerable sum in mines in West Australia, and being well advised, his speculation proved successful. As the years rolled on he became a devoted husband and father, and he taught his sons to be honest and manly, and to earn for themselves a good name as lads of mettle.
In the cricket-field Edgar constantly distinguished himself, and many a century was recorded to his credit. Through his management the club of which he was secretary advanced by leaps and bounds, until financially it stood far above the average run of clubs, and in the cricket-field had twice held the honours at the close of the season.
News from Sydney came frequently, and kept Edgar in touch with the world over the water, for which he had a great affection.
Many years after Edgar Foster left Sydney for the last time an old man and a lovely girl were sitting on the cliffs at Watson’s Bay. Below them the vast expanse of sea lay calm and still. Hardly a ripple stirred the placid surface of the water, as it gently lapped over the smooth worn slabs of rock at the base of the cliffs. A faint breeze fanned the faces of the old man and the beautiful girl, and waved his white beard gently, and caressingly lingered amidst her silken hair. It was easy to see they were father and daughter, for she resembled him very much.
They both looked out to sea, and watched the boats sailing slowly in the calm water. Scores of yachts and small boats had ventured outside the Heads on this calm day.
It was Sunday, and there were many people from Sydney enjoying the cool breeze on the cliffs. Several of them looked at the gray-bearded man and his lovely daughter, and there was respect in their glances, for they knew the history of this inseparable pair.
Eva Manton had developed into a lovely girl. The promise of childhood had been fulfilled in womanhood—for woman she was, although her father always called her ‘my little girl.’
Captain Manton was ageing rapidly, but still looked to have many years of life before him. With sturdy Wal Jessop and his wife he passed life comfortably, and lived for his daughter, who amply repaid the affection he bestowed upon her.
Eva Manton had her admirers as other girls have, but she kept them at arm’s length. She meant to be her father’s companion while he lived, and thought it no sacrifice upon her part to remain with him.
Now she could understand all about that terrible wreck, and how Wal Jessop’s sturdy arms had rescued Edgar Foster and herself from the rocks below where they stood.
She often sat there looking down into the depths, and thought how Edgar Foster had at the risk of his own life saved hers. Then she would think of the peril her father had passed through, and of his wonderful rescue and discovery on the island by Wal Jessop and Edgar. She felt it was good to be alive after such trials and sufferings, and she was thankful for her existence.
‘A letter from Edgar,’ said Wal Jessop one morning as they all sat in the cottage.
This was an important event, and one always eagerly looked forward to. Edgar’s letters gave them all pleasure, they were so bright and cheery, and full of good news and good wishes.
Wal Jessop read it, and, as usual, had to repeat the operation.
‘That’s what I call a manly letter,’ said Captain Manton.
‘He was always a straight goer,’ said Wal Jessop. ‘As a lad he was a manly youngster.’
‘He was brave,’ said Eva, ‘and full of courage. He risked his life for mine.’
‘And for that I am ever grateful,’ said her father.
‘I wish him well,’ said Wal, ‘for he deserves to be happy. I always thought him a lad of mettle.’