Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Battery and the Boiler: Adventures in Laying of Submarine Electric Cables
Chapter Twenty Five.
A Great Field-day, in which Slagg distinguishes himself
Now, although we have said that Jim Slagg knew how to pull a trigger, it does not follow that he knew how to avoid pulling that important little piece of metal. He was aware, of course, that the keeping of his forefinger off the trigger was a point of importance, but how to keep it off when in a state of nervous expectation, he knew not, because his memory and the forefinger of his right hand appeared to get disconnected at such times, and it did not occur to him, just at first, that there was such an arrangement in gun-locks as half-cock.
Flinn reminded him of the fact, however, when, soon after entering the jungle, his straw hat was blown off his head by an accidental discharge of Slagg’s gun.
“Niver mention it,” said Flinn, picking up his riven headpiece, while poor Slagg overwhelmed him with protestations and apologies, and the black boy stood behind exposing his teeth, and gums and the whites of his eyes freely; “niver mention it, Mr Slagg; accidents will happen, you know, in the best regulated families. As for me beaver, it’s better riddled than whole in this warm weather. Maybe you’d as well carry your gun at what sodgers call ‘the showlder,’ wid the muzzle pintin’ at the moon—so; that’s it. Don’t blame yoursilf, Mr Slagg. Sure, it’s worse than that I was when I begood, for the nasty thing I carried wint off somehow of its own accord, an’ I shot me mother’s finest pig—wan barrel into the tail, an’ the other into the hid. You see, they both wint off a’most at the same moment. We must learn by exparience, av coorse. You’ve not had much shootin’ yet, I suppose?”
Poor, self-condemned Slagg admitted that he had not, and humbly attended to Flinn’s instructions, after which they proceeded on their way; but it might have been observed that Flinn kept a corner of his eye steadily on his new friend during the remainder of that day, while the attenuated black kept so close to Slagg’s elbow as to render the pointing of the muzzle of his gun at him an impossibility.
Presently there was heard among the bushes a whirring of wings, and up flew a covey of large birds of the turkey species. Flinn stepped briskly aside, saying, “Now thin, let drive!” while the attenuated black fell cautiously in rear.
Bang! bang! went Slagg’s gun.
“Oh!” he cried, conscience-stricken; “there, if I haven’t done it again!”
“Done it! av coorse ye have!” cried Flinn, picking up an enormous bird; “it cudn’t have bin nater done by a sportin’ lord.”
“Then it ain’t a tame one?” asked Slagg eagerly.
“No more a tame wan than yoursilf, an’ the best of aitin’ too,” said. Flinn.
Jim Slagg went on quietly loading his gun, and did not think it necessary to explain that he had supposed the birds to be tame turkeys, that his piece had a second time gone off by accident, and that he had taken no aim at all!
After that, however, he managed to subdue his feelings a little, and accidentally bagged a few more birds of strange form and beautiful plumage, by the simple process of shutting his eyes and firing into the middle of flocks, to the immense satisfaction of Flinn, who applauded all his successes and explained away all his failures in the most amiable manner.
If the frequent expanding of the mouth from ear to ear, the exposure of white teeth and red gums, and the shutting up of glittering eyes, indicated enjoyment, the attenuated boy must have been in a blissful condition that day.
“Why don’t ye shoot yerself, Mister Flinn?” asked Slagg on one occasion while reloading.
“Bekaise it shuits me better to look on,” answered the self-denying man. “You see, I’m used to it; besides, I’m a marciful man, and don’t care to shoot only for divarshion.”
“What’s that?” cried Slagg, suddenly pointing his gun straight upwards at two brilliant black eyes which were gazing straight down at him.
“Howld on—och! don’t—”
Flinn thrust the gun aside, but he was too late to prevent the explosion, which was followed by a lamentable cry, as a huge monkey fell into Slagg’s arms, knocked him over with the shock, and bounded off his breast into its native woods, shrieking.
“Arrah! he’s niver a bit the worse,” cried Flinn, laughing, in spite of his native politeness, “it was the fright knocked him off the branch. If you’d only given him wan shot he might have stud it, but two was too much for him. But plaise, Mister Slagg, don’t fire at monkeys again. I niver do it mesilf, an’ can’t stand by to see it. It’s so like murther, an’ the only wan I iver shot in me life was so like me own owld gran’mother that I’ve niver quite got over it.”
Slagg willingly promised never again to fire at monkeys, and they proceeded on their way.
They had not gone far, when another whirring of wings was heard, but this time the noise was greater than on other occasions.
“What is it?” asked Slagg eagerly, preparing for action.
“Sure it’s a pay-cock,” said Flinn.
“A what-cock?” asked Slagg, who afterwards described the noise to be like the flapping of a mainsail.
“A pay-cock. Splendid aitin’. Fire, avic!”
“What! fire at that?” cried Slagg, as a creature of enormous size and gorgeous plumage rose above the bushes. “Ye must be jokin’. I couldn’t fire at that.”
“Faix, an’ ye naidn’t fire at it now,” returned Flinn with a quiet smile, “for it’s a mile out o’ range by this time. Better luck—och! if there isn’t another. Now, thin, don’t be in a hurry. Be aisy. Whatever ye do, be aisy.”
While he spoke another huge bird appeared, and as Slagg beheld its size and spreading wings and tail, he took aim with the feelings of a cold-blooded murderer. That is to say, he shut both eyes and pulled both triggers. This double action had become a confirmed habit by that time, and Flinn commended it on the principle that there was “nothin’ like makin’ cocksure of everything!”
Re-opening his eyes and lowering his gun, Slagg beheld the peacock sailing away in the far distance.
“Sure ye’ve missed it, but after all it’s a most awkward bird to hit—specially when ye don’t pint the gun quite straight. An’ the tail, too, is apt to throw even a crack-shot out—so it is. Niver mind; there’s plenty more where that wan came from.”
Thus encouraged, our sportsman reloaded and continued his progress.
It is said that fortune favours the brave, and on that occasion the proverb was verified. There can be no question that our friend Jim Slagg was brave. All Irishmen are courageous, therefore it is equally certain that Flinn was brave, and the attenuated black could not have been otherwise than brave, else he would not have continued to enjoy himself in the dangerous neighbourhood of Slagg’s gun. As a consequence, therefore, fortune did favour the sportsmen that day, for it brought them unexpectedly into the presence of the king of India’s forests—a royal Bengal tiger—tawny skin, round face, glaring eyes, and black stripes complete from nose to tail!
There was no doubt in Flinn’s mind about it, as his actions proved, but there were considerable doubts in Slagg’s mind, as was evinced by his immediate petrifaction—not with fear, of course, but with something or other remarkably similar.
Slagg chanced to be walking in advance at the time, making his way with some trouble through a rather dense bit of jungle. He had by that time recovered his self-possession so much that he was able to let his mind wander to other subjects besides sport.
At the moment when the rencontre occurred he chanced to be wandering in spirit among the groves of Pirate Island. On turning sharp round a bend in the track, he found himself face to face with the tiger, which crouched instantly for a spring. As we have said, the sportsman was instantly petrified. He could not believe his eyes! He must have believed something, however, else he would not have gazed with such dreadful intensity. Yes, there, a few feet before him, crouched the tenant of the menagerie, without the cage—the creature of picture story-books endued with life!
Had Slagg’s life depended on his putting his gun to his shoulder he would have lost it, for he could not move. His fingers, however, were gifted with independent action. They gave a spasmodic jerk, and both barrels, chancing to be levelled correctly, sent their charges full into the tiger’s face.
Small shot may tickle a tiger but it cannot kill. With a roar like thunder the brute sprang on its audacious enemy. Fortunately Slagg made an involuntary step to the rear at the moment, and fell on his back, so that the animal, half-blinded by shot and smoke, went over him, and alighted almost at the feet of Flinn.
That worthy was equal to the occasion. At the sound of his friend’s double shot he had seized the large rifle and leaped forward in time to meet the baffled tiger. Quick as light his practised hand discharged the heavy bullet, which, passing over the animal’s head, went into its spine near the haunches, so that when it tried a second spring its hind legs refused their office, and it rolled over fuming and struggling in an agony of pain and rage.
Flinn ran a few paces backward so as to reload in comparative safety, while Slagg followed his example, but in desperate haste. Before he had half charged the first barrel, a second shot from the heavy rifle laid the royal monster dead on the ground.
“Well done!” cried Flinn, seizing his friend’s hand and wringing it. “It’s Nimrod you are, no less. I niver saw a purtier shot. An’, faix, it’s not every man that kills a tiger his first day out.”
“But I didn’t kill it,” said Slagg modestly.
“Sure but ye drew first blood, me boy, so the tiger’s yours, an’ I wish you joy. Come, we’ll go home now an’ git help to fetch the carcass. Won’t they open their two eyes aich of them whin they see it! Here, ye black spalpeen, take the rifle an’ give me the gun.”
In a few minutes the fortunate hunters were wending their way rapidly homeward, and that night the whole party, while enjoying their supper, feasted their eyes on the magnificent form of the royal Bengal tiger as it lay on the verandah, in front of the electricians’ bungalow.
Chapter Twenty Six.
Begins with a Disappointment, continues with a Great Reception, and ends with a Series of Surprises
At the breakfast-table next morning a telegram was handed to Redpath. There was nothing unusual in this. On the contrary, it seemed peculiarly natural that telegrams should be frequent visitors at the house of a telegraphist, but it was not so natural that Redpath should first look at the missive with surprise, and then toss it across the table to Sam.
“It is for you, Mr Shipton.”
“For me? Impossible! I am supposed to be dead at home,” exclaimed Sam, tearing it open. “Oh, it’s from Frank Hedley, and—well, he has been successful after all! Listen, Robin. Excuse me, Mrs Redpath. May I read it aloud?”
“By all means,” answered the pretty little woman, who would probably have answered the same if he had asked leave to go to bed in his boots.
“‘Your affair settled’”—continued Sam, reading.
“‘Great Eastern starts almost immediately. Come without delay.’”
“How provoking!” exclaimed the pretty little woman. “I had counted on having you a fortnight at least.”
“And I had counted on showing you some capital sport in our jungles, where we have all sorts of large game. But of course you cannot do otherwise than obey the summons at once.”
“Of course not,” said Sam and Robin together.
Flinn left the room and entered the servants’ quarters with something like a groan.
“Sure it’s bad luck has followed me iver since I left owld Ireland.”
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Slagg, looking up from the slice of peacock breast with which he was regaling himself.
“The matter? Och, it’s bad luck’s the matter. Hasn’t our frindship only just begood, an’ isn’t it goin’ to be cut short all of a suddint, niver more to be renewed?”
In pathetic tones, and with many Hibernian comments, the poor man communicated the news brought by the telegram. But regrets were of no avail; the orders were peremptory; the chance of returning to England in such circumstances too good to be lightly thrown away; so that same forenoon saw the whole party, with the skin of the royal tiger, on their way back to the city of Bombay.
It is easier to imagine than to describe the state of mind into which they were thrown when, on returning to their hotel, they discovered the perfidy of Stumps. Fortunately, they had enough of money left to discharge the hotel bill, and redeem their property.
“You’re quite sure of the name of the vessel he sailed in?” asked Sam of the waiter who had so cleverly obtained and so cautiously retained his information as to the proceedings of Stumps.
“Quite sure, sir,” replied the waiter. “The ship’s name was Fairy Queen, bound for the port of London, and the thief—the gen’lem’n, I mean—shipped in the name of James Gibson.”
Having received the “consideration” which he had anticipated, and had afterwards given up as lost, the waiter retired, and Sam, with his friends, went to inquire after the great cable with which they now felt themselves to be specially connected.
“Letta,” said Robin, as they went along, “you and I must part for a time.”
“Oh! must we?” asked the child, with a distressed look.
“Yes, but only for a very short time, dear,” returned Robin. “You know we cannot get you a berth on board the Great Eastern. They won’t even take you as chief engineer or captain!”
“But why not as the captain’s daughter—or his wife?” said Letta, who thoroughly understood and enjoyed a joke.
“Because, Letta, you are engaged to me,” replied Robin, with an offended look.
“O, yes; I forgot that. Well?”
Well, what we have arranged is this. I have met with many kind people here, some of whom have been greatly interested in your story, and one of them—a very nice lady, who is going home—has offered to take you with her, and deliver you safely to my mother in England, there to wait till I come home and marry you.
“How nice!” exclaimed Letta; “and you’ll be sure to come home soon?”
“Yes, quite sure, and very soon.”
This arrangement, being deemed satisfactory, was afterwards carried into effect, and Letta sailed a few days later in one of the regular steamers for England via the Suez Canal.
Meanwhile the Great Eastern still lay at her moorings, completing the arrangements for her voyage.
During this period our hero lived in a whirl of excitement. It seemed to himself as if he were the subject of an amazing but by no means unpleasant dream, the only dark spots in which were the departure of Letta and the depravity of John Shanks, alias James Gibson, alias Stumps.
“Oh! Stumps, Stumps,” he soliloquised, sadly, one day while standing on “the green” in the unromantic shade of a huge bale of cotton, “how could you behave so after being our trusted comrade so long!”
“Never mind Stumps just now,” said Sam Shipton, making his appearance at the moment, “but come along with me at once, for we have received an invitation, through my good and remarkable friend Frank Hedley, to the grand entertainment to be given to-night at the palace of the chief and Bahee Sahib of Junkhundee.”
“And who may that be?” asked Robin, with an incredulous smile.
“What! know you not the great chief whose praise is in the mouths of all—Hindu, Mohammedan, Jew, and Gentile, because he feeds and entertains them all like a prince?”
“He is the creation of your own brain, Sam. I fancy.”
“No, indeed,” protested Sam, earnestly, “I do not jest. The Bahee Sahib is a wealthy young Mahratta chieftain, who has been consistently loyal to us, and who entertains mixed parties of Englishmen and natives in European style, and does his best to break down the barriers of prejudice and caste. He has been hospitably received on board the Great Eastern, it seems, and is now getting up a grand affair in honour of Captain Halpin and his officers. So, come along.”
“But, my dear Sam, you forget, we have not a dress suit between us, and in the present condition of our finances it would be folly to—”
“Fiddlesticks, Robin. We have only to make a couple of turbans out of bath-towels and a few peacock feathers; turn Persian shawls, which we can borrow, into kilts, put on slippers, bare our legs and paint them with red and blue stripes crossed, to indicate something of Scottish Highland origin, anoint our noses with blue bear’s-grease, and—”
“Nonsense, Sam; be serious if you can, and consider what we are really to do.”
“You’re so impatient, Robin. The thing has all been considered for us. We have nothing to do but accept our fate. Frank Hedley, who is exactly your size, has a dress suit which he will lend you, and a friend of his, who happens to be exactly and conveniently my size, has also a suit, and is equally accommodating. Come now, for time presses, and I am told the Bahee’s wife loves punctuality—but she’s liberal-minded like her husband, and makes allowance for laziness, especially in hot weather. She is a regular trump, it seems, and quite amazed our electricians, during her visit to the big ship, by her intelligent comprehension of all they explained to her. She is an accomplished equestrian, and dresses as a native princess, with a huge ornament in her nose, but does not disdain to mingle with English ladies in the Bombay Rotten Row, and uses a European saddle.”
The account which Sam had thus slightly sketched was more than borne out by the facts that evening. The young Rajah’s reception-rooms, blazing with light, were decorated with all that the wealth of fancy could suggest or the wealth of precious metal procure, while music and perfume filled the air and intoxicated the senses.
For some time Sam and Robin moved slowly about in the crowded rooms, finding themselves rubbing shoulders, now with Eastern aristocrats in richest costume and glittering jewels, now with England’s warriors in scarlet and blue; sometimes with Parsees, Hindus, Mohammedans, and Jews in their characteristic garbs; at other times with European civilians, like themselves, in sober black.
It was a bewildering scene, and the loud continuous murmur of many voices, chattering in many tongues, did not tend to decrease the bewilderment.
“What are they about over there?” said Robin, directing his companion’s attention to a room in which the people appeared to be observing something with great attention.
“I don’t know. Let’s go and see,” said Sam.
A little polite pushing brought them into an apartment in which an English professor of conjuring, who had been engaged for the occasion, was exhibiting his tricks. They were poor enough, and would not have commanded much applause from any audience, except one that had met to enjoy whatever chanced to be provided.
In another room, however, they found a performer of much greater capacity—a man who possessed considerable powers as a musician, low comedian, and local satirist; he was noted for his delineations of native character, and succeeded in making the Parsees laugh heartily at his caricature of the Hindus, while he convulsed the Hindus with his clever skits on the Parsees. He also made effective reference to the Great Eastern and her work, bringing out the humorous aspects of telegraphy and of quick communication between India and England.
“Come, let’s go and see if we can find anything to eat,” said Sam, when tired of this man.
“Who is that?” asked Robin, as they moved through the crowd.
“Why, that’s the Bahee himself. See, he has got hold of Captain Halpin, and seems greatly pleased to lead him about.”
The Rajah did indeed exhibit much satisfaction in his beaming brown face at having got hold of so noted a character as the commander of the monster ship, and it was pleasant to see the almost childlike glee with which, taking the captain by the hand, he threaded his way through the crowd, introducing him right and left to his friends. Not less pleasant was it to observe the lively interest with which the natives regarded the captain when they learned who he was.
At this point in the evening’s proceedings, a gentleman in civilian costume came up to Sam Shipton, and asked him if he were acquainted with Mr Davis—one of the petty officers of the Great Eastern.
“I know him slightly,” said Sam.
“He has got into trouble, sir,” said the stranger, “and begged me to find you, if possible, and take you to him. I have been on board the Great Eastern looking for you, and was directed here.”
“That’s strange,” returned Sam, “I have seldom spoken to the man. Are you sure he did not send you for some one else—one of his mess-mates?”
“Quite sure, sir. And he bade me urge you to go quickly, else you may be too late.”
“Well—lead the way. Come, Robin, I’m sorry to quit this gay and festive scene—especially before supper—but it can’t be helped. You’ll go with me, and we can return together.”
The stranger seemed to hesitate a moment, as if annoyed at Robin being thus asked to go, but, as if quickly making up his mind, led them out of the Rajah’s residence, and, after a smart walk, conducted them into one of the poorer districts of the city.
“What sort of trouble has the man got into?” asked Sam as they went along.
“I really do not know. He will tell you when you see him, I suppose. I am only a casual acquaintance of his, and came on this errand to oblige him, solely because he seemed in great mental distress and was very urgent.”
Soon the conversation turned upon cable-laying, and, finding that Robin had been at the laying of the Atlantic cable of 1856, the stranger inquired about the attempts that had been made to injure that cable.
“Tell me, now, would you think it a sin,” he said, with a peculiar look at Sam, “to drive a nail into the cable so as to destroy it, if you were offered the sum of ten thousand pounds?”
“Of course I would,” said Sam, looking at his conductor with surprise. “I wonder that you should ask the question.”
“Why should you wonder,” returned the man with a smile, “at any question which aims at the investigation of that great enigma styled the human mind? I am fond of the study of character, and of those principles of good and evil which influence men. Under given circumstances and conditions, the commission of a certain sin is greatly more blameworthy than the commission of the same sin under different conditions and circumstances. Do you not think so?”
“Of course I do,” said Sam. “The man who, having been born and brought up among pickpockets, and under strong temptation commits a theft, is not nearly so guilty as the man would be who, having been trained under refined and Christian influences, should commit a similar theft; but I do not see the application of your argument, for your question did not refer to the relative depth of guilt, but to the sinfulness or innocence of a certain dastardly act for a tempting sum of money.”
“I may not have put my question very philosophically,” returned the stranger, “but I would like to have your opinion as to whether you think, under any circumstances of distress—poverty, for instance, with those dependent on one dying of hunger—a man would be justified in destroying the power of a telegraph cable for a sum of money—part, let us suppose, paid in advance, and the remainder after the deed had been accomplished.”
“My opinion is that no circumstances whatever would justify such an act,” said Sam with indignation. “Don’t you agree with me, Robin?”
“Of course I do,” said Robin with even greater indignation.
“And I quite agree with you, gentlemen,” said the stranger, with a wider smile than before; “but I like to have my opinions corroborated or combated by other minds. We have now reached our destination; please follow me, and stoop a little, for the ceiling of the passage is rather low, and the poor people here cannot afford to light it.”
The recent discussion had diverted Sam’s mind from the character of the place into which he had been led, but a suspicion which had been growing now assailed him forcibly.
“Keep your stick handy,” he whispered to Robin, at the same time grasping more firmly a stout cudgel which he carried.
These precautions seemed needless, however, for the stranger, opening with a latch-key a door at the further end of the dark passage, ushered them into a dimly lighted room, where about a dozen men were seated round a table drinking and smoking.
The men rose on the entrance of the visitors and received them with courtesy.
“Mr Davis will be glad to see you, sir,” said one; “he has been in much anxiety, but here he comes and will speak for himself.”
A door at the other end of the room opened, and a tall slightly-built man entered. Sam saw at once that he was not Davis.
“Fool!” growled the man, with a savage look at the stranger who had conducted them there, “you have brought the wrong man!”
“I had already begun to suspect as much,” returned the other, with a light laugh.
Swallowing his disgust, apparently with an effort, the slim man turned to Sam and said, “A mistake has been made, sir. One or two of my friends here will conduct you to any part of the city you may wish to go to.”
“I require no assistance,” said Sam, flushing with sudden indignation. “I believe that you are conspirators, and will take particular note of your dwelling, in order that I may spoil your game.”
He was about to turn and quit the room, when he was suddenly seized from behind by two powerful men, who seemed to have come on the scene by rising through the floor! At the same moment Robin was similarly secured. They did not, however, submit tamely. Both were strong-bodied as well as high-spirited, and Sam was large as well as strong.
But what were their powers against such odds! For a few seconds they struggled furiously. Then, feeling that their efforts were fruitless, they ceased.
“It is as well to go quietly, my fine fellows,” said the slim man in a slightly sarcastic tone. “We are not only more than a match for you, but we happen to belong to a class of gentlemen who don’t allow trifles to stand in their way. At the same time we object to murder when we can get along without it. Some of us will therefore conduct you to another part of the city. Now, I give you fair warning, if you struggle or try to make a noise on the way, we will silence you in a manner that will effectually keep you quiet for ever. Just have your knives handy, men, and don’t exercise forbearance if these gentlemen turn out to be fools.”
A prick in their necks by the point of some sharp instrument emphasised these words to Robin and Sam, and, at the same time, proved that the subordinates were quite ready, perhaps even anxious, to obey their superior. They suffered themselves, therefore, to be blindfolded, and led out of the house.
Of course once or twice they both thought of making a sudden struggle and endeavouring to throw off their captors, but the vice-like strength of the fingers that held them, and the recollection of the sharp instruments near their necks induced discretion; besides, the absence of the sound of footsteps told them that they could not count on aid from passers-by, even if the dwellers in such a region had been willing to assist them, which was not probable.
After passing quickly along several streets, the men who led them stopped and relaxed their hold.
“Now, you stand quiet for half a minute,” said one of them gruffly; “there’s a knife close to each of your spines at this moment.”
Thus warned, the captives stood still for nearly a minute. Then Sam lost patience.
“Well,” he said, angrily, “how long do you mean to keep us here?”
Receiving no reply, he suddenly pulled the handkerchief from his eyes and assumed the pugilistic attitude with the celerity of one whose life may depend on his action, but the only enemy to be seen was Robin, who, having also pulled down the handkerchief, stood staring at his comrade in mute surprise.
“They’re gone!” cried Sam, bursting into a fit of laughter. “The villains! The scoundrels! But who can they be? I fear there can be little doubt as to what mischief they are up to.”
“We have not the smallest clue to trace them by,” said Robin, with a vexed expression.
“Not the smallest. I don’t even know what quarter of the town we are in now,” returned Sam.
“The handkerchiefs!” exclaimed Robin with sudden animation.
“Well, what of them?”
“They—they may have names in the corners.”
Again the risible Sam burst into a loud laugh, as the idea of scoundrels possessing any handkerchiefs of their own at all, much less having their names marked in the corners; and poor Robin, whose memories of maternal care had prompted the thought, felt some degree of confusion, which was deepened when he discovered that the kerchiefs, with which their eyes had been bound, were their own.
They were startled by a gruff voice demanding to know what they were laughing at and kicking up such a row at that time of the morning!
It was one of the guardians of the night, who became very polite on drawing nearer and being informed, in a mild voice, by Sam that they had lost their way and would be much indebted for guidance, for Sam thought it best to say nothing about their adventure until they had had ample time to think it over and decide what was best to be done.
Having been directed how to go, having lost themselves a second time, and been directed again by another guardian, they found themselves at last in the neighbourhood of the port, and here the sound of loud voices, as if engaged in some nocturnal orgies, was heard in the distance.
“As we seem in for a night of adventure,” said Sam, “we may as well accept our fate, and go see what it’s all about.”
“Agreed,” said Robin.
Hurrying forward, they came upon a remarkable and picturesque scene. The engineers of the Great Eastern had chosen the previous day for the laying of the mile of land-line with which the cable was to be connected. The burying of it in its appointed home had commenced at half-past six in the evening and had continued all through the night. It was about 2 a.m. when our adventurers came upon the scene. The trench was cut through ground on which a number of soldiers were encamped, whose white tents looked ghostlike in the feeble star-light, and lines of naked natives were seen, waving lanterns, pushing along the mysterious cable, or, with hands and feet busily pressing down the loose soil that covered the buried portion.
