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

by Burt L. Standish

draper's shop in Upper High Street."

  "Well," said Peter, "that is true enough, but I hardly think that is theman. However, I've been through the straits before."

  "Do they charge anything for letting you through," said Jill, quietly.

  Peter laughed till he had to wriggle about in all directions. "I tellyou what it is, Greenie, you'll be the death of me some day. Well, weshall touch at the Land of the Giants."

  "Are there really giants?"

  "I'm not going to spin any yarn from personal experience, child, becauseI can't to any extent. But our bo's'n told me it _was_ a land ofgiants. There are giant plains--they call them pampas--giant lakes andrivers, giant hills and forests--awful in their gloom--giant men andwomen, giant cocks and hens--"

  "Yes, the ostriches."

  "And the whole is defended round the coast by giant cliffs, alive withgiant birds; but we'll see for ourselves in a day or two, Greenie, ifyou'll only whistle for the wind."

  "If it comes."

  "Yes, _if_ it comes."

  That same night in the first watch, which happened to be Peter's, wetold, or rather _I_ told, him all I knew of Mattie's history.

  He was silent for some time afterwards, leaning quietly over the weatherbulwarks, watching the phosphorescence in the sea. That was a glorioussight indeed, but Peter was not thinking about that at all. "Did itever occur to you, Jack," he said at length, "that this Adriano whom youso befriended--"

  "Who so befriended us."

  "--Might be one of the sailors saved from the wreck? might be evenMattie's father?"

  "No, no, no," I cried, "not that, Peter. It certainly was unaccountablethat when she first saw Adriano she seemed to recognise him, butremember that she could have been little over a year old when theshipwreck occurred. Besides, I wouldn't like to think of Adriano,friend and all as he must always rest in my memory, being Mattie'sfather."

  "Liking has nothing to do with it one way or another."

  "No, certainly not."

  "Assuredly not," from Jill.

  "But," I insisted, "the two shipwrecked sailors assured Nancy Gray thatthe lady's husband had not been on board."

  "Jack," said Peter, "you're a capital sailor, but you would have madebut a poor lawyer. Depend upon it there are wheels within wheels in themystery that surrounds poor Mattie."

  "It will be all the better if it is never cleared up," I said firmly,"and I hope it won't be--there!"

  "Well, I think otherwise. But one of the two men told the clergymansomething. Do you know what that was?"

  "No, and it didn't seem to signify."

  "Didn't it? There again I differ, and if you won't think me officious,I'm going to probe this matter as deeply as I can."

  "Do as you please, Peter; I only hope you won't find out--"

  "What?"

  "Anything disagreeable."

  "No fear of that, Jack. I pride myself in being able to read character,and there is that in Mattie's face and eyes that tells me she is a ladyborn."

  "That has not been denied, Peter."

  "No, but not only of gentle but unsullied birth."

  As he spoke there came again, I thought, that same strange dreamy lookin Peter's eyes; but I could not be sure, though the light from thecompanion fell full in his face.

  He extended his hand, and I grasped it. It was as if we were signing acompact of some kind, I hardly knew what.

  Then Jill and I went below.

  Mrs Coates sat near the stove, which was burning brightly, in herlittle rocking chair, reading; her black maid sitting not far offsewing; in front of the fire a big pleasant-faced cat was singing a duetwith the brightly burnished copper kettle, and the great lamp swung inits gymbals from a beam over head.

  I could not help pausing in the doorway for a moment to admire thehomelike cosiness of the scene. By and by down came Captain Coates.

  "Jill, my lad," he said, as he seated himself by the little piano, "troton deck and relieve Peter a bit."

  When Peter came down he went at once for his clarionet, and we had verysweet music indeed.

  This, or something like it, is the way we usually spent our evenings infine weather.

  In two days time we were, or thought we were, not far off the entranceto the First Narrows, but the horizon was hazy.

  The same afternoon a great red-funnelled steamer hove in sight, and cameploughing and churning on in our direction. She was English, andhomeward bound. How glad we were! We did not take ten minutes tofinish our letters. They carried all kinds of tender messages andwishes and hopes, and told how well and happy we were and expected toremain.

  I went in charge of the boat with the letters, and was very kindlyreceived. As I stood on the deck of the fine steamer, I really couldnot help wishing I was going home. It was but for a moment; then Iremembered I had duties that called me elsewhere.

  The ships parted with cheers, and the flock of seagulls, Cape pigeons,and albatrosses that had been following the steamer divided, one halfgoing on after her, the others electing to share our fortunes, and pickup our cook's tit-bits from off the water.

  We were now in Possession Bay, which surrounds the entrance to the FirstNarrows of Magellan Straits; but though the wind was fair, there was astrange haze lying low all round the horizon, so our good captaindetermined to keep "dodging" or tacking about till the weather shouldclear.

  Captain Coates had told us at dinner that for his part he would soonergo round the Horn any day, than through the Straits, but he hadimportant business at Sandy Point--a Chilian town of small dimensions onthe Patagonia shore--and--"duty is duty."

  The sun went down blood-red in the haze, and with as little sail aspossible on her we went tacking to and fro. Two great albatrosses weresailing round and round, sometimes coming so close that we could hearthe rustle of their feathers and note the glitter of their green eyesand the shape of their powerful beaks. I could not help thinking of thewords of Coleridge in that weird poem, "The Ancient Mariner."

  At length did come an albatross, Thorough the fog it came, As if it had been a Christian soul We hailed it in God's name.

  And a good south wind sprang up behind, The albatross did follow, And every day for food or play Came to the mariner's "hollo!"

  It may have been these lines that I conned over to myself, or themournful sough to that was in the wind to-night; but, at all events,some sort of heaviness seemed to lie about my heart that I could notaccount for.

  About three hours after sunset, the moon had asserted itself. Very highin air it shone, right overhead almost, and although but half a moon,was exceedingly bright and silver-like. But half-moons give the stars achance, and to-night, though the haze lay houses high all along thehorizon, the sky above was darkly blue, and so clear that you could markthe changing radiance of colour of many of the stars that sparkled asdew-drops do in the sun's rays.

  I noted all this with satisfaction, I cannot say with pleasure. Therewas that unbanishable feeling of heaviness at my heart, which I havementioned. It was getting late, however, so I went below to our cosysaloon, and was soon chatting cheerfully with our little mother, MrsCoates. As I was turning to come down the companion, I had heard Petersing out to Jill, "Oh, look at that great grampus!" And both had goneto see it.

  We expected the captain down every minute to play, as was his wont, andrather wondered he did not come.

  Suddenly on deck was heard the sound of footsteps hurrying aft, and atthe same moment that awful shout--who that has ever heard it is likelyto forget it till his dying day--?

  "Man overboard!"

  Mrs Coates started to her feet, clutching at the arm of the chair toprevent herself from falling.

  With a sudden and terrible fear at my heart I went rushing up theladder.

  Peter was there--alone.

  "Where is Jill?" I gasped.

  "It is he," was all he could answer.

  I knew where he had fallen, from the direction in which all eyes wereturn
ed. A life-buoy had already been thrown, and the usual hurriedorders were being issued.

  From out of the dark depths of the sea I thought I could hear mybrother's voice, as I had heard it once before, in innocent pleadingtones, when he was a child--

  "Come to me, Jack, come to me; I cannot come to you."

  Next moment _I_ was in the water, and the ship was some distance off.She seemed to move _so_ fast away.

  Here was the life-buoy. In my anguish I dashed it aside. _I_ couldsupport my brother. Many a time I had done so in the waves before ourcottage door at home.

  I felt glad the ship had gone, with her noise and bustling decks. Icould listen.

  "Jill," I