Raymi; or the Children of the Sun

Front matter

Tlie light fell upon a throne or chair of solid gold, glittering with the rays from many gems, and in it sat a figure." [Frontispiece RAYMI; OS THE CHILDREN OF THE SUE BY CLIVE HOLLAND, AUTHOE OF " THE GOLDEN HAWK, ETC. r \ JIlUisJttatfB lip pern> ®. €bluitt, JF.'S.lL.a. LONDON : HENRY AND COMPANY, si, BOUVERIE STKEET, E.C. 1889. Printed by HazeLL Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. xo WALTER BESANT, AUTHOR, THIS BOOK IS, WITH HIS PERMISSION, INSCRIBED, AS A SLIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENT BY THE WRITER OF KINDNESS RECEIVED FROM HIM, AND IN ADMIRATION OF HIS WORK AS A NOVELIST.

Preface

. sriHE launching forth of a book upon the sea of literature is always an important event for the writer, and not without anxiety. Like a ship, a book cannot be pronounced successful until afloat and sailing well upon an even keel ; and the launch is almost an uncertainty for all, except the builder of the one and the writer of the other be well and tried men. The story related in these pages, which should and would, but for its unconscionable length, have been entitled, " The Strange Adventures of Hugh Carton amongst Marvellous Scenes and Curious People in Company with Clare Savill," is, like its predecessor, a work simply intended to amuse and pass an hour or two pleasantly. If it does this, aud brings him VI

PREFACE.

. some slight reward, the purpose and object of the writer will have been served. The events recorded by Hugh Carton are not, the present writer is led to believe, in any way beyond the bounds of possibility ; but this will not, it is hoped, detract from anyone's pleasure in the perusal of them. Finally, if the present romance is as kindly and well received by critics and friends — and these two classes, in the author's mind, represent a distinction without a difference — as the simple story before told, he will indeed have cause to say that there is no need to complaiu of the critic on the home hearth, or any other. London, 1889. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. THE HOME-COMING OF MY FATHER . . . 1 II. MY BOYHOOD. — THE FORTUNE IN MY HAND . .14 III. BRISTOL CITY AND THE JACOBITE AGENT . .27 IV. A NIGHT ADVENTURE. — THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER 37 V. IN WHICH I GO TO SEA IN A PRIVATEER . . 50 VI.

TELLS OF AN ENGAGEMENT WITH A BIG FRENCHMAN 63 VII. UP THE MORLAIX. — IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH . 76 VIII. A LETTER FROM BRISTOL. THE FRENCH FLEET . 89 IX. IN WHICH WE TAKE A PRIZE. ARE CHASED AND SUFFER PERIL . . . . . .103 X. THE CASTING AWAY OF THE " ARROW." 1 AM RESCUED. — THE MYSTERY OF THE " STORM BIRD " . 116 XI. RICHARD SAVILL, BUCCANEER. — THE ANGEL OF THE SHIP 130 XII. WHAT I SAW AT DEAD OF NIGHT . . .113 XIII. THE STORY OF RICHARD SAVILL, BUCCANEER . CONTEXTS. CHAP. . PACE XIV. A NIGHT IN THE HOLD. — THE POWER OF A CHILD 173 xv. the Spaniard's tale. — round the cape of storms ........ 185 xvi. the plan of escape . . . . .198 XVII. THE ESCAPE. THE DEATH OF RICHARD SAVILL . 213 XVIII. WE REACH THE SHORE. — CAPTURED . . . 228 XIX. THE INCA'S DAUGHTER. — AMONGST A STRANGE PEOPLE ........ 243 XX.

A TEMPLE OF THE SUN. — OELLO WEAVES A WEB . 257 XXI. CLARE TO THE SACRIFICE. WE ESCAPE. IN THE CITY OF THE DEAD ..... 272 XXII. THE TREASURES OF THE INCAS. — FAREWELL . 286 XXIII. DOWN THE RIVER. — THE SPANISH SHIP. — RESCUED. HOME 305 XXIV.

Epilogue

317 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. i. in the cave OF the incas . . . Frontispiece II. THE ESCAPE FROM THE BUCCANEER . To face p. 112 III. THE BURIAL OF RICnARD SAVILL . . 208 IV. THE FIGHT BETWEEN TUPAC AND INTAYU „ EAYMI ; on THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN.

Chapter I The Home-coming Of My Father

I VERILY believe that there was ever a spicing of sea-salt and fresh sea-air in my blood. For at the age when most boys would be thinkingof birds nesting and the like and nought else, my thoughts awake aud my dreams asleep were of the sea, and the mighty ships which sailed thereon. My mother was a widow. My father had been a sea captain, and I can just remember him. He was tall even for a man, like as I am, fair, and, according to my mother, strikingly handsome and noble-looking, which my honesty tells me I am not; he was a good RAYMI. husband, or surely my mother would scarce have so deeply bemoaned his untimely death on that wild October night, now nigh on forty years ago, which I remember as if it were but yesterday. There blew a fearful gale, and the wind howled in great gusts around our cottage home on the cliff hard by Weymouth, on the Dorset coast, dashing the rain, which fell in sheets such as I have never since seen out of the tropics, against the window panes and rattling on them like buckshot.

The fire burned brightly on the open hearth, and the flickering flame lit up the room, in which no other light was, with fitful gleams. The old clock in its dark oaken case, which in my childhood I always fancied hid in its depths a little demon or spirit, ticked solemn and slow, marking the seconds as they sped swiftly by. My mother sat opposite me iii an arm-chair, soft cushioned and deep-seated, which was always reserved for my father when home from a voyage ; her hands on her knees, her head with its dark hair thrown backwards and np wards with the firelight falling upon it. She was very beautiful, at least I thought so ; none more so the neighbours said, and I liked most to compare her to one of the angels which used to look down upon me with smiling, loving faces out from the coloured windows of the village church where I went each Sunday morning.

I have a painted miniature of her, which my father THE H0ME-C0MTNG OF MY FATHER. 3 had done during the only visit they ever paid to London, and by its aid I can call her to mind quite clearly. She had eyes of deepest blue, like the sea when au autumn sky o'ershadows it, hair, as I have said before, black as a raven's wing, and a face — but how can an untutored pen describe that fully ? — it was oval-shaped, of the Spanish type, with a high frontal, part hidden by curling strands of Lair; arched, well marked brows curved over the eyes ; and the mouth was of the shapeliest form, and her smile one of the sweetest ever seen, I faiu believe. This is how she was before that wild October night, A few short hours and how altered was she ! But I must hark back. I sat silently watching her as she rested with closed eyes ; and as the wind blew and whistled, and the door and casements rattled in the gale, I edged closer the fire and began to softly hum a ditty learned of my father during his last spell ashore.

This because I was, to tell no lie, feeling oppressed and not a little frightened at the storm raging in mad fury without, My mother slept, I fancied, for her eyes were closed, and she seemed to take but little notice of the storm and rain, and I saw in the glimmer of the firelight her bosom heaved with the regular breathing of sleep. It was too dark now to see print, so I put down the heavy volume of " Voyagers' Tales " which I had begun to read when she fell asleep, and gazed into the fire, which now began to burn steady, clear, and red. RAYMI. I was scarce ever tired of looking at the fire, aud many wrere the fairy palaces and faces that I saw therein; and sometimes, bnt less seldom, I fancied the embers formed ships with mimic crews aboard, and I watched these with intense interest — for was I not a sailor's son ? — as they journeyed over the molten sea of fire, alas ! not often to reach a port, for their voyage was as often as not abruptly ended by a gust of wind which came down the chimney, and then the sails of flame would be thrust aside, and the ember masts, spars, hulls, and crew would fall to pieces with a mimic crash, leaving a void in my childish heart until another toy came into sight, only itself to share the fate of others, and fade (as Shakespeare hath it) " like the baseless fabric of a vision," to leave ne'er a trace behind.

How long I remained gazing at the flames on that wrild night I can scarce tell, for the events which followed my awakening left me little leisure for thought and less for consideration of things past and gone. It may have been an hour, perhaps two (I incline to the latter), when the wind suddenly lulled, and in the calm of the moment I was awakened by the sound of heavy feet clattering in hot haste over the stones of the road which ran at the bottom of the little plot of garden along the front of our cottage. I can scarce tell why, but those footsteps ringing out on the pebbly road filled me with an unknown fear and dread. I started up in my chair, only to find the room almost in darkness, for the fire was now nought but a small heap of dully glowing embers, which shed no light a yard or two away from the ingle.

My waking must have aroused my mother also, for she spoke out of the darkness, and I noticed her tones had a tremble, as if she too had heard the affrighting sound. " Hugh," said she, " art there ?" " Aye, mother," I replied. " Didst thou hear anything strange ? Or was it my saucy ? Put some logs ou the fire, there's a good lad, and let us have a light." " You've been asleep, mother," said I ; " I've heard nothing, for I felt drowsy also till just now, when some of the fisherfolk clattered past down towards the bay." My mother at this drew close to me, and as I rose up from my chair to do her bidding with the logs she laid her hand on my cheek, and I felt its deathly chill and the tremble of the fingers. " Mother, what ails you ? " I cried, for I was thoroughly frightened, being but a matter of twelve years old.

" Oh, nothing, child," she answered. " But something does," I persisted, feeling quite sure that she was but putting me off. " Oh, nothing, then, but a dream. I dreamt your father, Hugh, was come home, when I awoke and found RAYMI, it was only an idle thought, and the room dark, the fire burned low and cheerless, aud the raindrops splashing against the window panes. I felt disap pointed and cold, that is all." Saying no more I did as bidden, aud piled ou the logs, and lighted the lamp which swung from the black beam that ran across the kitchen, and then sat down at her feet, with my head resting against her knees. But she was still troubled, for I felt her shiver every now and again as I leant against her, mostly when a gust stronger than the rest shook the cottage with its fierce assault.

My mother was, it was plain, ill at case, and she suddenly asked me in a tremulous voice whether I had seen that the oil in the lamp was properly re newed ; for, said she, " It burns with a sickly, feeble flame to-night." I looked up at it from my place afore the fire, and noticed that the light was not as usual, and rose to tend it. Nothing, however, seemed to remedy it, and I was fain to give it up at last in despair. This lamp, a large ship's cabin one, was my sailor father's, but of this fact I took no note at the time ; but afterwards I, although not given to superstition, saw reason for this dulness of light and flame. We sat there, my mother and I, silent, So still, indeed, that I fancied I could hear my own heart beating with ceaseless stroke in my breast. As for her, she seemed, when I turned my gaze up towards her, simply to be looking into the fire, with a face very white and frightened ; and seeing this I felt terrified afresh.

It was nearly eight by our old clock when more footsteps were heard in the road above the wind, which had again blown up stronger. They drew nigher and nigher until they reached opjtosite our house, outside which they halted. A second or two later (to me it seemed a lifetime, as I half rose and stood bent forward listening with both cars) and then we heard the wicket latch raised, the gate swing back with a shrill, rain-swollen screech, aud at last footsteps treading the shingle path. My mother sprang ivp and drew aside the bolt of the door, for we recognised the voice which called upon us to open as that of Jack Hadley, a fisherman we knew well. With the opening of the door the wind swept in the rain like a sheet of water, and it was with difficulty that all three of us could close it again against the savage blast.

Jack was dripping wet, and a little stream of water ran from his hat brim on to the sanded floor ; but mother this once noticed not the mess made, but grasping his sleeve besought him to tell her what had happened without more ado. " There's a vessel in the bay, Mrs. Carton," said he, " and we're afeared she will drive ashore ; the wind RAYMI. sets dead on shore, aud God have mercy on the poor fellows aboard ! " continued he, raising his hat. I noticed that his voice had a curious ring in it, as if he were holding back something he knew but dare not tell. And so he was. Mother still held his arm aud said nothing-, but her lips moved as if she would have spoken. " I just looked in," Jack went on, " to see that you and the boy hadn't been frightened by the mates going down awhile back." This last was a lie, and though but a boy I some how knew it to be ; mother, it was plain, guessed as much herself, for with a shudder that seemed to shake her from head to foot she cried out, — " Jack, I will, I must go with you — it may be my husband's ship !

" " Never fear," said Jack, trying his best to comfort her, <l the Mariposa would ne'er been so foully handled as to have been caught ou a lee shore a night like this." His words were poor solace, for the ring of truth and heartiness was not in them. Seeing she was fully determined to go with him down to the shore, he did and urged nothing to dis suade her, but helped both her and me with the putting on of garments fit for such a boisterous night. It might have been the matter of five minutes before we were ready, and then, after replenishing the fire with logs, for the comfort of any poor halfdrowned soul who might be borne to the shelter of our roof, the door was once more opened and we went forth, mother clinging to Jack Hadley's strong arm, and I sticking close to both by turns, and sheltering myself from the blast somewhat behind them.

Never shall I forget that night. The gale swept in hurricane gusts over the downs and along the road, which for about a quarter of a mile lay dead in its teeth. It was moreover dark as pitch, for the heavy jiall like clouds hid the face of the moon, which was nearly full, completely, and the rain driven of the wind beat in our faces cold as ice. Jack Hadley, fairly staggering under the blast, dragged us on along the rough, water-torn road till we came to the bend where it branched off down to the beach through the village. There was a light in nearly every cottage, and as we passed on down the narrow street I saw many auxious faces at the windows, mostly, however, those of the very old or very young, for nearly every able bodied man or woman was on the beach or cliff by theu. At last, after a struggle of more thaii half an hour, we came to the end of the road, which ran sheer down to the edge of the shore ; there when we reached it we were somewhat sheltered, and in the dim light of a half-score of lanthorns I was able to look around.

RAYMI. The spiky gleams from out their rain-splashed sides afforded but poor light, and I could only guess at many of the people upon whose faces the rays fell ; but I could see that most of the men wore white, set faces as they peered with hand-shaded eyes out into the black wall of darkness that seemed to shut in our sight ; most of the women had frightened, sad eyes, and they spoke into each other's ears with fearsome glances. At length I got tired of looking at them, and in my turn peered out seaward. I could discern nothing, but a minute later a bright flash came out in the gloom about two miles away, and then, after a few seconds, above the roar of the howling gale came the dull boom of a gun. " There she is, lads ! " shouted one of the men stand ing near me. " She's headingstraight into the bay, and with this sea running may the good Lord help 'em when she strikes, for we can't, I fear."

Aud to this last sentence there went up a great heart-riving " Amen." That and every succeeding gun (and they came about every two minutes, as near as I could judge) revealed to us, during the momentary flash, the posi tion and strait of the doomed vessel. The big boat which had, manned by the brave lads of the village, over-ridden many a hungry sea, and snatched many a life from the ravening waves, lay a few paces further down the beach ready for launching if that should become possible ; but the sorrowful glances of the men towards her showed this to be not likely. We waited, almost breathless with anxiety. The gun flashes had been getting nearer and nearer, and now that the doomed vessel was so close the men kindled torches and waved them to guide her to where the sea broke least heavily.

The glare of the torches lit up the faces of the crowd as the flames were drawn out lengthwise by the wind. In my excitement I had let go my mother's hand, and now I saw that she was kneeling, with pale terrified face, on the shingle ; her hands clasped and her shawl blown from her shoulders, her head gear gone, and her black hair streaming behind in the breeze, lit up by the flaming torches till it gleamed like as one of them. The rest of the women were also mostly praying, as I could see by their moving lips ; the men had split up into little groups, and were eagerly talking over the chance of launching the boat. They had brave hearts, daring spirits, and iron strong arms, but they soon saw clearly that they could render no aid in that manner as yet. The brigantine, for such I had by this time made her out to be, and she was of strangely familiar appearance — still rushed on towards the boiling surf, borne on the crest of each rapidly succeeding wave to her destruction.

Nearer aud nearer she drew, and by the light of RAYMI. the torches held by some of the crew, and the glimmer of the watery moon which began to struggle through the clouds with the ceasing of the rain, we could see some of the faces of those on board ; but the light, thank God ! was too faint to let us see who they were ; we learnt that later. A short hundred fathoms of unbroken water now lay between her aud the breakers. A moment later and her head sails, strained beyond bearing by a terrific gust, split, and then parting at their eyelets blew away shorewards like white storm bird's wings. In a second's space she became un governable, and broaching to with a heavy lurch she drifted, with the seas breaking clean over her, broadside on to the shore. I cannot describe the next five minutes clearly ; all I remember is a great groan from the crowd, a tramp ling of many feet on the shingle, the gurgling cry of the crew of the brigantine as one by one they were swept from their hold by the hissing waters, the shouts of the fishermen as they rushed roped together into the boiling cauldron of waters to save the sinking seamen, or pull ashore the bodies of those who would ne'er go down into the deep waters more.

At last four men came staggering up the shelving beach, bearing between them the body of a man whom they thought the captain ; his head being covered with a coat. They laid him down on the beach, but none seemed TnE HOME-COMING OF MY FATHER. to dare draw aside the garment which hid his face from view. A motley crowd of women soon gathered round, although a few of the men sought to prevent them approaching. Suddenly those outside gave way, and some one pushed through, casting aside with unnatural strength the men's arms as they strove to detain her. It was my mother. She knelt down beside the unknown man, and with trembling fingers drew aside the coat. A wild cry, like that of a wounded sea-bird, rang out once ; then silence. Looking, I saw my mother lying prone upon the beach, and from her my eyes wandered on to the face of the dead captain. The moon came forth from a wind-reft cloud, and its beams rested upon what she had seen. It was mv father.

Chapter II My Boyhood

— THE FORTUNE IN MY HAND "TT7TTH this awful discovery made, I, it appears, ' " lost consciousness, and became like as my mother. All I now remember, after so many years, is a sinking, numb feeling at my heart, as if it had stopped for a time its beating, a rushing, roaring noise as of many waters in my ears, a dancing upwards of the flaming torches, and a confused whirl of the crowd of faces gathered round me. It could have been but a few minutes when a hum of voices like the distant sound of bees in summer fell upon my ears, and I again opened my eyes and began to recall where I had last been. The wind still howled, 'tis true, but it was not on the open beach that I found myself. Nor were any people now gathered round me. A bright blazing fire crackled on a hearth, in front of which I lay on a straw mattress covered with a rug or blanket, which had, it was clear, been hastily dragged from off some bed for my comfort.

The bright firelight lit up the room, and from the high, curiously-carved mantel which towered above, and the strangely-shaped fire-dogs on either side of the open fireplace, I had little perplexing doubt as to where I was. Once or twice before I had been in this self-same room, which I now recognised as the landlady's private parlour at the Blue Boar, and had then wondered, as I was marvelling now, at the grotesque figures of fish, flesh, and fowl, man and beast, which were depicted so skilfully by the carver's chisel upon the smoke-cured oaken chimney-piece. " But who had been with me then ? " I questioned. And I puzzled at the mystery born of forgetfulness. I must have lain there full half an hour, thinking and thinking, and racking my brain, which felt strangely confused, before I heard footsteps in the passage, and with the opening of the door I caught the sound of a woman's voice speaking in low tones.

I listened in a dreamy kind of way until 1 distin guished my mother's name. From this point I was all ears. " Poor Mildred ! " said someone, who I could not see, although I had turned my face towards the door, for the light from the fire was low, and seemed swallowed up ere it reached so far. " Aye, poor lass for sure ! " came back the reply, in a voice I at once recognised as that of the hostess herself. "And yon poor little lad Hugh also asleep RAYMI. there by the fire. I much fear Mildred will ne'er be herself again. She does nought but moan and beat her breast in her sleep." "There'll be something lacking when she awakes, mark you my words. It would surprise me little if her head proves quite turned." After these cruel, hateful words I heard no more, save " Hugh's still asleep. Poor lad ! poor lad !

" And then the door closed again, and the footsteps died away down the passage. I did not cry as boys cry, although I knew full well the meaning of the words I had overheard ; but I turned over towards the fire again, and lay with the great sobs shaking my very being, for I then remem bered the scene on the beach, and my dead father's face. I felt no fear, although the uncertain firelight caused ghost-like shadows to flit across the ceiling, and some of the strange forms and figures of the mantel-carving were thrown greatly enlarged upon the wall, till their uncouth heads and limbs seemed near the size of life itself. No, they did not terrify me ; another time maybe they would have, but not now. Grief had stricken all other sense from me. The cold grey October morning must have broken in the east long ere I fell asleep, for the fire had burnt low before my eyes without heed, and the chill of coming dawn had taken hold on my limbs, the last thing I remembered being the struggling of a beam of light through the salted window pane and part opened shutter.

It was broad daylight when I awoke again, with heavy eyes and tired frame, and arose to go to the window to peer out at the day. I suppose my moving about must have been heard, for I was not long left to gaze at the hurrying clouds as they raced across the sky, which now and again broke forth blue betwixt them, lashed forward on their course by the stiff south-west breeze. Someone crossed the room and laid a kindly hand ivpon my shoulder. I turned about and saw that it was a fisherman's wife, who had tended my mother a few months before when she caught a severe chill. She had a kindly face, and I felt I could ask her how my mother fared. Her reply was small comfort, for she only said, " She sleeps, lad, now. 'Tis best she should. Later we'll move you and she up to the cottage yonder. But talk no more now, but come and have a bit o' food, for thou'rt half-famished, I know."

I went with her as she bid, not that I felt hungry, for I didn't. Even when the food was set before me in the parlour I turned from it, and when I essayed to eat every morsel seemed as if it would choke me. At last I gave up the attempt, and crossed the room to the window which looked right out upon the beach. The wind had lulled, but the waves still came foam- RAYMI ing across the bay. along the shore of which the line of surf ran without a break. After a struggle the sun came through, and shone out bright and clear over the wild waste of waters, turning the dull leaden sea in patches to deepest blue. The shore itself was strewn with wreckage all the length of the shingle; I could see men rushing waist deep in the water to rescue some spar, bale, or cask, which in the distance looked like the heads of swim mers, as they rose and disappeared from sight.

In watching these I at last part forgot my sorrow, aud I was not recalled to it till I looked the other way along the strand and saw my father's ill-fated ship hove on her beam ends, with the white seas hungrily tearing her piecemeal. Her foremast had gone by the board, and her mizzen, snapped midway, stood up against the sky with the parted shrouds swaying backwards and for wards with each lurch. Every plank torn from her shiveringhull was a heart stab, and I was soon glad to turn from the sorry sight. After an hour or so a young fisher-lad entered the room, and in a kindly but rough voice told me I could go home now, and that my mother had already gone. I sought my hat, and then followed him through the village towards our cottage. He left me at the gate, and I went in alone. It was very still in the parlour, and no one seemed about the house.