No confusion here in the fort. The men were all in, the other spear-armed corps of at least five hundred were hidden in the bush at the base of the mountain side. Inside everything was being conducted as quietly and regularly as – as – well, as a marriage in church.

But looking seaward, even without the aid of a glass, the great Armada could be seen approaching.

Huge black many-paddled war canoes, forty in all, and probably with fifty men in each, or nearly a thousand altogether.

Nearer and nearer they swept with many a wild or warlike shout that was meant to strike terror into the hearts of the Flower Islanders. They were soon so near that the rattling of their spears as they struck them against their big shields could be distinctly heard.

So near now that with a small opera-glass which the doctor carried, he could see their painted skins and faces, and the red and horrible streaks.

And now it was time to fire the first gun. A shot or shell would have carried much further, but grape would be ever so much more demoralising. Dickson himself trained that gun on the foremost or leading boat.

The surprise of the enemy was indeed great. Never had they seen a gun fired before, nor heard the roar of one. But yonder on shore and in front of the barricaded fort they could see a balloon of white smoke, with a stream of red fire in the centre. Then the roar of that piece of ordnance was appalling. Next moment the crowded boat or war canoe was filled with corpses and the shrieking, bleeding wounded. But she was in splinters, and quickly filled and sank. The other boats lay on their paddles for a minute, uncertain what to do.

Meanwhile, and just as Reginald was quickly sponging out the gun previous to reloading, and all was silent for a time, a curious thing occurred.

In at the tiny back door of the fort, which had not yet been closed, rushed a tiny, laughing figure, all in white and barefooted. It was Matty, and in jumped honest Oscar next. She was laughing merrily.

“Oh!” she cried, clapping her hands with glee. “They put me to bed, but I dot up again and runned away twickly, and I’se come to ’ssist!”

“Oh, my darling!” cried Reginald, in great concern, “why did you come?”

“I can tally (carry) tartridges and powder.”

“No, no, no, dear. You must obey me. Here, there is my coat, and in that corner you must sit till all the fight is over.”

Matty said: “Tiss me, then.”

He kissed her, and down she sat with the dog beside her, and looked very demure indeed, with that one wee forefinger in her mouth.

Strange to say, she soon fell fast asleep, with her head pillowed on the dog’s back, one hand clutching his mane.

The battle now became general all along the line. For the riflemen in the back, as well as those within the fort, began to fire.

And now slowly down the hill came Bertha, the Island Queen, sceptre-pole in hand, and dressed in skins of dazzling white. A very imposing figure she looked. But her presence gave extra courage to her people.

The officers in almost every boat were picked off easily, so short was now the range.

It must be admitted that the enemy showed no lack of courage, though boat after boat was sunk to the number of six, and rifles rang out from the bush and fort in a series of independent but incessant firing, and well did the foe understand that their main safety now consisted in landing as soon as they possibly could. They knew that in a hand-to-hand fight the “fire-sticks,” as savages call our rifles, would be of little avail.

The guns were worked with splendid results, however, and by the time the war canoes were beached only about four hundred men were left to fight. But these cannibals knew no fear.

One more telling volley from the bush, one more shot from a six-pounder, then from behind a bush rushed the white Queen waving aloft her sceptre, and instantly from their cover, spear-armed, now rushed the Flower Islanders, one thousand strong at least The fight was a fearful one. Dickson, Hall, with Reginald and the men in the fort, joined with revolver and cutlass. The Queen was in the front. No, she fought not, but her presence there was like that of Joan of Arc.

Many of the invaded fell dead and wounded; but even the fierce foe was forced to yield at last, and the miserable remnant of them tried once more to reach their boats.

They never did. It was a war of extermination, and the invaders were utterly and completely wiped out Never a boat, never a man returned home to their distant island to tell the fearful tale.

The Flower Islanders expected now a grand feast. Here was flesh – human flesh.

The Queen forbade it, and Dickson himself gave orders that every body – the wounded had been stabbed – should be rowed out to sea and thrown overboard to feed the sharks. They demurred. Dickson was determined and stern. If not obeyed instantly, he should turn the guns on the would-be cannibals.

Reginald suggested as a kind of compromise that each man who had been fighting should receive a large biscuit and a glass of rum. It was a happy thought, and after this the work was set about merrily. The sea-burial occupied all the afternoon till within an hour of sunset. Then the canoes returned. All was over. The Armada was no more.

But around him now Dickson gathered the Flower Island Army, and offered up a prayer of thanks to the God of Battle, who had fought on their side, and the islanders seemed much impressed. The enemy would probably never attempt invasion again – in our heroes’ time, at all events.

The Queen gave a banquet that night, she herself presiding. Of course, nothing was talked about except the incidents of the recent terrible battle.

Matty came in for a share of praise, but was told she really must not run away again. And she promised, only adding that she thought she could “’ssist the poor dear doc.”

The banquet lasted till late. The Queen had not forgotten how to play and sing. Dickson and Reginald were both good musicians, and one or two blacks gave inimitable performances, partly gesture, partly song; which would assuredly have brought down the house if given in a London music-hall.

Being freed now for a time from any fear of further invasion, attention was turned to the gold mines and to the pearl-fishing. At a meeting on the hillside it was resolved that the men – they were all honest fellows – should be admitted to the secret. To have shut them out would hardly have been fair, so thought all.

Well, naturally enough, Reginald chose what he considered the best two claims; then came Dickson’s choice; then Mr Hall’s, and after these the six white sailors, and they were willing to dig like heroes.

They divided the work of the day into two parts. One was spent at the gold mines, the other in fishing for pearls. They were remarkably successful with the latter, but for nine months at least the gold came but slowly in, and this was disheartening. Nevertheless, they continued to dig and dig, assisted by native labour. The savages often found nuggets among the débris that had been overlooked by the white men, and these they dutifully presented to the owners of the claims.

It must be admitted that the men were most energetic, for while their officers were always at the Queen’s palace by five o’clock, and ready for dinner, the men often worked by moonlight, or even by the glimmer of lanterns. They were slowly accumulating wealth.

Success crowned Reginald’s efforts at last, though. For, to his extreme wonderment and delight, he struck a splendid pocket.

It was deep down at the far end of the cave, and the mould was of a sandy nature, much of it apparently powdered quartz, broken, perhaps, by the awful pressure of the mountain above. But the very first nugget he pulled from here was as large as a pineapple, and many more followed, though none so large.

No wonder his heart palpitated with joy and excitement, or that his comrades crowded round to shake his hand and congratulate him. But that cave had already made Reginald a fairly wealthy man. His success, moreover, encouraged the others to dig all the harder, and not without excellent results. It seemed, indeed, that not only was this island a flowery land, but an isle of gold. And the further they dug into the hill the more gold did they find. The men were very happy.

“Oh, Bill,” said one to his pal one night at supper, “if ever we does get a ship home from this blessed isle, won’t my Polly be glad to see me just!”

“Ay, Jack, she will; but I ain’t in any particular hurry to go yet, you know.”

“Well, it’s two years come Monday since we sailed away from the beautiful Clyde. Heigho! I shouldn’t wonder if Polly has given me up for good and all, and married some counter-jumping land-lubber of a draper or grocer.”

“Never mind, Jack; there’s as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it yet. Pass the rum. This is Saturday night, and it was just real good of Captain Dickson to send us an extra drop of the rosy. Fill your glasses, gentlemen, for a toast and a song. That digging has made me a mighty deal too tired to think of dancing to the sweetest jig e’er a fiddler could scrape out.”

“Well, give us your toast, Bill. We’re all primed and waiting.”

“My toast ain’t a very short one, but here it goes: ‘May the next year be our very last in this ’ere blessed island; may we all go home with bags of gold, and find our sweethearts true and faithful.’”

“Hear, hear!” And every glass was drained to the bottom. “Now for the song.”

“Oh, only an old ditty o’ Dibdin’s, and I’d rather be on the heavin’ ocean when I sings it. There is no accompaniment to a song so fetching as that which the boom and the wash of the waves make. Them’s my sentiments, boys.

“Wives and Sweethearts.

“’Tis said we ve’t’rous diehards, when we leave the shore,
        Our friends should mourn,
        Lest we return
To bless their sight no more;
        But this is all a notion
            Bold Jack can’t understand,
        Some die upon the ocean,
            And some die on the land.
            Then since ’tis clear,
            Howe’er we steer,
No man’s life’s under his command;
            Let tempests howl
            And billows roll,
            And dangers press;
        In spite of these there are some joys
            Us jolly tars to bless,
        For Saturday night still comes, my boys,
            To drink to Poll and Bess.

“Hurrah!” But just at this moment a strange and ominous sound, like distant thunder, put a sudden stop to the sailors’ Saturday night. All started to their feet to listen.

Chapter Twenty.
“Oh, awful! What can it be?” cried Reginald

I do not hesitate to say that the possession of unprotected wealth maketh cowards of most people. The anxiety connected therewith may keep one awake at night, and bring on a state of nervousness that shall end in a break-up of the general health. But no thought of ever losing the precious nuggets and pearls that had cost him so much hard work came into the mind of Reginald Grahame, until an event took place which proved that gold may tempt even those we trust the most.

Harry Jenkins was a bright little sailor, the pet of his mess. He was always singing when at work in the diggings, and he generally managed to keep his comrades in excellent humour, and laughing all the time. In their messroom of an evening they were all frank and free, and hid nothing one from the other. For each believed in his pal’s honesty.

“I have a thousand pounds’ worth of nuggets at least!” said Harry one evening.

“And I,” said Bill Johnson, “have half as much again.”

They showed each other their gold, comparing nuggets, their very eyes glittering with joy as they thought of how happy they should be when they returned once more to their own country. Then they each stowed away their wealth of nuggets and pearls, placed in tiny canvas bags inside their small sea-chests.

This was about a week after that pleasant Saturday night which was so suddenly broken up by the muttering of subterranean thunder and the trembling of the earth.

But earthquakes were frequent in the island, though as yet not severe. The Queen was by no means alarmed, but Ilda was – terribly so.

“Oh,” she cried, “I wish I were away and away from this terrible island!”

The Queen comforted her all she could.

“I have a presentiment,” replied the poor girl, “that this is not the last nor the worst.”

But when days and days passed away, and there were no more signs of earth-tremor, she regained courage, and was once more the same happy girl she had been before.

Then the occurrence took place that made Reginald suspicious of the honesty of some of those British sailors.

One morning Harry was missing. They sought him high, they sought him low, but all in vain. Then it occurred to Johnson to look into his box. The box, with all his gold and pearls, was gone!

Harry’s box had been left open, and it was found to be empty. No one else had lost anything. However, this was a clue, and the officers set themselves to unravel the mystery at once. Nor was it long before they did so. Not only was one of the largest canoes missing, with a sail that had been rigged on her, but two of the strongest natives and best boatmen.

It was sadly evident that Harry was a thief, and that he had bribed these two savages to set out to sea with him.

There was a favouring breeze for the west, and Harry no doubt hoped that, after probably a week’s sailing, he would reach some of the more civilised of the Polynesian islands, and find his way in a ship back to Britain. Whether he did so may never be known, but the fact that the breeze increased to over half a gale about three days after he had fled, makes it rather more than probable that the big canoe was swamped, and that she foundered, going down with the crew and the ill-gotten gold as well. Only a proof that the wicked do not always prosper in this world.

Poor Johnson’s grief was sad to witness.

“On my little store,” he told his messmates, wringing his hands, and with the tears flowing over his cheeks, “I placed all my future happiness. I care not now what happens. One thing alone I know: life to me has no more charms, and I can never face poor Mary again.”

He went to the diggings again in a halfhearted kind of way, and for a day or two was fairly successful; but it was evident that his heart was almost broken, and that if something were not done he might some evening throw himself over a cliff, and so end a life that had become distasteful to him.

So one morning Reginald had an interview with his messmates.

“I myself,” he said, “must have already collected over twenty thousand pounds in nuggets and pearls, and will willingly give of this my store five hundred pounds worth of gold by weight, if you, Captain Dickson, and you, Hall, will do the same. Thus shall we restore reason and happiness to a fellow-creature, and one of the best-hearted sailors that ever lived and sailed the salt, salt seas.”

Both Dickson and Hall must need shake hands with Reginald, and, while the tears stood in his eyes, the former said:

“That will we, my dear boy, and God will bless your riches, and restore you all your desires whenever we reach our British shores again.”

And so that very night there was no more happy man than Johnson.

Another Saturday night in the men’s mess. Dickson willingly spliced the main-brace twice over, and the night passed pleasantly on with yarn and song till midnight. But the thief Harry was never mentioned. It was better thus. Already, perhaps, the man had met his doom, and so they forgave him. Yet somehow this incident rankled in Reginald’s bosom, and made him very uneasy.

“I say,” he said to Dickson one day, “I confess that the flight of Harry Jenkins with poor Johnson’s gold has made me suspicious.”

“And me so as well,” said Dickson.

“I mean,” said Reginald, “to bury my treasure, and I have already selected a spot.”

“You have? Then I shall bury mine near yours. I have ever liked you, doctor, since first we met, and we have been as brothers.”

They shook hands.

Appealed to, Mr Hall said straight:

“I am a wealthy man, and, if ever I reach America, I shall have more than I can spend. I shall leave mine in the box where it is. I admit,” he added, “that if there be one thief among six men, there may be two, and gold is a great temptation. But I’ll go with you at the dead of night, and help to carry, and help you to bury your treasure.”

They thanked him heartily, and accepted his kindly assistance.

The spot at which Reginald had chosen to hide his gold and treasure was called Lone Tree Hill. It was on a bare, bluff mountain side. Here stood one huge eucalyptus tree, that might have been used as a landmark for ships at sea had it been in the track of vessels. But this island, as I have already said, was not so.

Strangely enough, all around this tree the hill was supposed to be haunted by an evil spirit, and there was not a native who would go anywhere near it, even in broad daylight. The spirit took many forms, sometimes rushing down in the shape of a fox, or even wild pig, and scaring the natives into convulsions, but more often, and always before an earthquake, the spirit was seen in the shape of a round ball of flame on the very top of the tree.

This was likely enough. I myself have seen a mysterious flame of this kind on the truck or highest portion of a ship’s mast, and we sailors call it Saint Elmo’s fire. I have known sailors, who would not have been afraid to bear the brunt of battle in a man-o’-war, tremble with superstitious dread as they beheld that mysterious quivering flame at the mast-head. Some evil, they would tell you, was sure to happen. A storm invariably followed. Well, generally a gale wind did, owing to the electric conditions of the atmosphere.

A bright scimitar of moon was shining at midnight when Dickson and Reginald, assisted by Hall, stole silently out and away to the hills to bury their treasure.

There were few sounds to be heard to-night on the island. Far out in the bay there was at times the splash of a shark or the strange cooing of a porpoise, and in the valley the yapping of foxes in pursuit of their prey. The mournful hooting of great owls sounded from the woods, with now and then the cry of a night bird, or shriek of wounded bird.

It was a long and stiff walk to Lone Tree Hill; but arrived there, they set to work at once to dig at the eucalyptus root. The holes made – Dickson’s to the east, Reginald’s to the west – the nuggets, enclosed in strong tarpaulin bags, were laid in, and next the pearls, in small cash-boxes, were placed above these. The earth was now filled in, and the sods replaced so carefully and neatly that no one could have told that the earth had ever been broken or the sods upturned.

Then, breathing a prayer for the safety of their treasure, on which so much might depend in future, they walked silently down the hill and back to the camp.

But that very night – or rather towards morning – an event took place that alarmed all hands.

The earth shook and trembled, and finally heaved; and it felt as if the house were a ship in the doldrums crossing the Line. Everyone was dashed on to the floor, and for a time lay there almost stunned, giddy, and even sick. It passed off. But in an hour’s time a worse shock followed, and all hands rushed into the open air to seek for safety.

Outside it was not only hot and stifling – for not a breath of wind was blowing – but the air had a strange and almost suffocating sulphurous odour. And this was soon accounted for. Now, not far from Lone Tree Mountain was a high and conical hill.

From this, to the great astonishment of all, smoke and flames were now seen issuing. The flames leapt in marvellous tongues high up through the smoke. There was the whitest of steam mingling with the smoke, and anon showers of dust, scorai, and stones began to fall.

For a minute or two the sight quite demoralised the trio. But the men, too, had run out, and all had thrown themselves face down on the ground while the heaving of the earth continued. It was a new experience, and a terrible one. Dickson went towards them now.

“I do not think, boys, that the danger is very extreme,” he said. “But I advise you to keep out of doors as much as possible, in case of a greater shock, which may bring down our humble dwelling. And now, Hall, and you, Reginald,” he added, “the ladies at the palace will, I fear, be in great terror. It is our duty to go to them. Our presence may help to cheer them up.”

Daylight was beginning to dawn, though from rolling clouds of smoke in the far east the sun could only be seen like a red-hot iron shot. It was evident enough to our heroes when they had climbed the highest intervening hill, that the island from which the Armada had come was far more severely stricken than this Isle of Flowers was.

But as they still gazed eastward at the three or four blazing mountains on that island, they started and clung together with something akin to terror in every heart.

“Oh, awful! What can it be?” cried Reginald.