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CHAPTER III
OFF TO DARIEN

Five ships, not one of them really fit for the long and perilous voyage, composed the expedition, and they looked gay enough as, bedecked with flags and crowded with excited people, they swung at their moorings ready for departure.

The heart of Scotland beat high with hope. It was her first attempt at founding a colony, although her sons had done so much to help in the founding of English colonies, and now all the glory and the gold to be won in the new world would be hers, and hers alone: no other nation should have any share in them.

Donalblane felt something of this patriotic enthusiasm stirring his young heart. He was not wholly selfish in his desire to be a member of the expedition. Of course, his head was full of wild dreams of what wonders he would see, and the great things he would do in his own interest. But above it all rose a national pride that did him credit. He was a Scot to the backbone; and whether he realised all his own expectations or not he was passionately eager that the great scheme itself should be accomplished, and that his country should take a proud place among the nations.

His uncle, having bidden him good-bye and God-speed, had returned to the quay, and Donalblane, leaning over the bulwarks, was waiting somewhat impatiently for the anchor to be hoisted and the sails set, when a hand was laid gently on his shoulder, and a deep voice said in a kindly tone, "Beginning to feel a little homesick already, lad?"

Looking up quickly, Donald found beside him the master-spirit of the enterprise, William Paterson, to whom he had been once introduced in his uncle's office.

"Na, na, sir!" was his prompt, respectful reply; "I'm wearying to be off. Will the ships be ganging soon, sir?" and he fixed his big grey eyes upon Mr. Paterson's face.

"Oh! is that the way the wind lies?" was the response, as the great man smiled approvingly at the boy, for he was much pleased with his spirit. "You are eager for adventure, eh? Well, my lad, you are likely to have your fill of it." And his handsome countenance clouded as he spoke, for the execution of his scheme had been marked by many disappointments which boded no good for its ultimate success. By his frank, honest way and earnest efforts to do what was best for the interests of the expedition, not for the profit of those supplying the outfit, he had aroused the hostility of many who had not hesitated to plot against him, with the result that latterly he had been practically set aside, and had been compelled to witness gross imposition and fraud which he was powerless to prevent. No wonder, then, that his downcast face presented a striking contrast to that of the enthusiastic boy as they stood on the deck together; and, influenced by the other's contagious confidence, he brightened a little before continuing. "We can hardly fail to have adventures, for it is a new world we are going to, where savages, and, worse than savages, the cruel, grasping Spaniards, are already, and we shall have to reckon with them before we can succeed in our scheme. But with the providence of God protecting us, we shall succeed," and his voice took on a triumphant tone that revealed his faith in the Divine approval of his project. "Be careful what friends you make on board here," he added, once more laying his hand upon the boy's shoulder. "There are many to be shunned, and remember that, for your uncle's sake and your own, I shall always be glad to be of such service to you as may be in my power." And ere Donald could get out his thanks, Mr. Paterson hastened away to speak to one who had just come on board.

The interview had been a short one, but it made a deep impression upon Donald. That the great man of whom his uncle and the dominie always spoke in such terms of admiration should address him so graciously, touched the lad to the core, and from that moment he was ready to yield to Mr. Paterson the same passionate devotion that the Highland clansmen used to hold for their chieftain.

At last, amid fluttering of flags, booming of cannon, and solemn offering of prayer, the ships weighed anchor and, with all sails set, stood out to sea, the favouring breeze taking them in a few hours well out of the sheltered Firth of Forth into the exposed expanse of the North Sea.

They had not long been tumbling about amongst ever-troubled waters when Donalblane, in common with very many of his shipmates on the Bonnie Scotland, had a new experience. Hitherto his personal acquaintance with the sea had been limited to short trips between Leith and neighbouring ports, and now for the first time he was out of sight of land and entirely at the mercy of wind and wave. An old salt would have called the wind before which the ships of the expedition bowled southward just "a fresh breeze," but Donalblane thought it a gale, and the Bonnie Scotland had not long been pitching and tossing in lively fashion before something began to go wrong inside of him, making him feel so uncomfortable that he was fain to leave the quarter-deck, where he had been enjoying himself, and to seek a snug corner in which he could curl up unnoticed. By the end of an hour he was completely overcome, and if Mr. Paterson had happened along then with his question, he certainly would not have received so prompt and resolute a response. Not one day's illness had Donald known in the whole course of his life, and this misery of sea-sickness made him as angry with himself as was possible in his prostrate condition.

As the ships got down towards the English Channel they tumbled about more than ever, until the poor boy began to think he was really going to die, and heartily wished himself back upon solid ground. But once they were out in the Atlantic matters improved. Fine, bright weather succeeded, the vessels moved steadily along before a favouring wind, and Donald was soon established on his sea-legs.

He now had a chance to become acquainted with some of his fellow-passengers, the majority of whom had shared his sufferings. They were certainly a very mixed company of men, women, and children. Highlanders and lowlanders, peers and peasantry, grave ministers and gay scapegraces, shaggy shepherds from the hills, and bronzed sailor-men from the coast – a motley throng indeed, the members of which Donald studied with keen interest, for he had a sociable nature, but bore in mind the good advice given him by Mr. Paterson in regard to making acquaintances.

As it fell out, his first friend was won in a decidedly dramatic fashion. Among the occupants of the first cabin was a gentleman by name Henry Sutherland, whose wife and child, a beautiful boy of four years, accompanied him. Donald was greatly attracted by the child, and anxious to make friends with him, but had no opportunity, until one day a startling thing happened.

It was fine and warm, and the little fellow was playing happily about the quarter-deck near his mother, when a sprig of the nobility, the Hon. Hector Simpson, who had been sent out by his family in the hope of improving his habits, sauntered along, and, moved by a spirit of mischief, picked up the child, and held him over the bulwarks, saying teasingly, "How would you like to go and play with the fishes?" The mother screamed and started forward, and the child, terrified on his own account, gave so sudden and violent a wrench as to free himself from his tormentor's grasp and fall into the sea, leaving a portion of his dress in the latter's hands. Appalled by the utterly unexpected outcome of his foolish act, and unable to atone for it by springing after the child, for he could not swim a stroke, the Hon. Hector joined his shouts for help with the shrieks of the frenzied mother.

At that moment Donalblane was leaning over the bulwarks near by and feeling very lonely. He longed for friendly companionship, but was bashful about breaking the ice with any of those to whom he felt drawn, and so far no one, save Mr. Paterson, who always had a pleasant smile and kindly word for him, had taken any particular notice of him.

Now Donald was a strong, expert swimmer. He had dared the depths of many a dark loch before he left his native mountains for the coast, and at Leith he had always been one of the first to take a dip in the spring, and one of the last to give it up in the autumn. Without a question of fear, therefore, but thinking only of the pretty boy in peril of death, he threw off his coat and leaped over the bulwarks into the heaving waters. Happily the little one was still afloat when Donald's powerful strokes brought him within reach.

"There now, dearie, I've got you all safe! Dinna fear; ye'll no' droon. Keep still and ye'll be a' richt," panted Donald, as he put his left arm about the terror-stricken child.

Whether the little fellow really understood or was paralysed by fright he certainly obeyed. And well was it for them both that he did, for having cleared the brine from his eyes and got a good look at the Bonnie Scotland, Donald realised with a sinking of heart that many minutes must elapse before they could be rescued. The ship had already been brought up into the wind, and efforts were being made to lower a boat; but in the meantime his helpless burden was becoming heavier and heavier.

CHAPTER IV
A RESCUE AND A RETREAT

Well was it for both Donalblane and the child that all those on board the Bonnie Scotland did not lose their heads so completely as the young fellow whose foolish action had caused the trouble.

Among the first to take in the situation was William Paterson, and instinctively he looked about him for something to throw over after the brave boy which might serve to buoy him up until help reached him. As it happened, some one had brought on deck an empty wooden chest to serve for a seat.

"The very thing!" exclaimed Mr. Paterson when his eye fell upon it, and, without pausing to ask permission, he lifted it up and flung it over the bulwarks.

It fell not far from where Donald struck the water, and, although he did not see it at first, it presently attracted his attention.

"Eh! what's that?" he asked himself, as the black thing bobbed up and down on the waves. For a moment he feared it might be the back of a shark coming to the attack, but on a second look fear gave way to joy. "It's a box!" he cried, "and it will keep us up, if I can only get to it."

The child lay like a log, whimpering a little when the water splashed in his face; and it seemed to demand all Donald's strength just to keep from sinking, so that he did not see how he was to reach the chest, which was at least twenty yards distant.

"Wae's me!" he groaned, "but I'm near spent, and if I canna lay hold of that box, I maun droon."

Happily the wind was blowing towards him, and, although he could not make much progress against it, the chest was helped by it in his direction, so that, just when he thought he could keep up no longer, it bobbed within his reach, and, with a sigh of unutterable relief, he laid hold of it.

"Noo then, my bairnie, just get atop o' that," he said cheeringly, as he placed the child upon the chest, and held him there that he might not fall off.

The chest accepted the responsibility and bore it bravely, taking all the strain off Donald's tired arms, and enabling him to recover his strength and wind in a measure. Of course it was no easy matter to keep the little one in place with the waves so full of motion, but it was ever so much less strain than it had been before, and the sturdy boy could have maintained the struggle a little longer still, when the welcome rattle of oars and the encouraging shouts of men told him that rescue was near.

The boat came dashing up under the strenuous strokes of four brawny oarsmen, and in her bow stood William Paterson, his eager glance bent upon the two imperilled ones, and his arms outstretched ready to grasp them.

"God bless you, my noble boy!" he exclaimed, as, after tenderly lifting the child into the boat, he caught Donald under the arms to help him in. "You've taught us a lesson in heroism this day."

Donald sat down in the bow so utterly exhausted that he was hardly conscious of Mr. Paterson's warm words, nor of the hearty praise of the men, but he had an exquisite sense of relief and of having become a person of importance.

The first to greet him on the deck of the vessel were the parents of the child, and Mrs. Sutherland turned from hugging her rescued darling to throw her arms around Donald's neck and kiss him again and again, greatly to the bashful boy's embarrassment, while her husband was thumping him on the back, and exclaiming huskily, "How can I ever repay you for saving my child's life?"

It was really very trying to Donald to be the subject of such demonstration, and he was quite glad to get away from the grateful parents and the applauding crowd to his own cabin to put on some dry clothes. But when the first excitement subsided and he found that he had not only won the respect of his shipmates, but also the warm friendship of the Sutherlands, who were very fine people, he felt that the game was well worth the candle, and that he was splendidly repaid for the risk he had taken.

The first part of the long voyage across the great Atlantic Ocean was devoid of special incident. The ships presently scattered, so that each was alone in the vast expanse; and the days followed one another monotonously enough until the Bonnie Scotland sighted the Azores Islands, and, to the delight of all on board, it was announced that a call at Fayal would be made in order to replenish the supply of water.

By this time Donalblane had got a pretty good understanding of all his fellow-voyagers. His likes and dislikes were clearly defined, and, young as he was, his natural shrewdness told him that there were only too many in the company it would have been far better to have left at home.

The Sutherlands were his special friends. He had won their hearts completely, and he took great delight in the company of their little son Walter, who loved him as though he fully understood that he owed him his life.

At Fayal the four of them went ashore together, and Donalblane thought he had never before realised how pleasant it was to be on the solid ground as after these weeks of tossing about in an overcrowded ship.

"Eh, but this is bonnie!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, as his big eyes roamed over the novel and picturesque landscape. "I'd like well if this were Darien, and we need gang no farther."

Mr. Sutherland smiled at the boy's frankness. "You've evidently had enough of the Bonnie Scotland, Donald," he said. "So, too, have I. I'd be right glad to be rid both of the ship and many of her company. But we're not half-way to Darien yet."

The striking combination of rugged grandeur with tropical beauty which the Azores presented delighted Donald, and during their stay he spent the whole day ashore exploring the islands, usually in company with Mr. Sutherland. They revelled in the oranges and other fruit that were to be had almost for the asking, and Donald used to amuse Mr. Sutherland exceedingly by his lively effort to make himself understood by the inhabitants, who were chiefly Portuguese.

One adventure befell him that might have had a serious result. He had gone off wandering on his own account, and lost his way amidst the ravines which pierce the mountains in every direction, and lead one into another in a puzzling fashion. The harder he strove to extricate himself from the maze, the deeper he got into it, until at last, a little before sundown, he found himself in a regular cul-de-sac, from which there appeared to be no exit save by climbing the precipitous cliffs which shut him in, and it would soon be too dark to attempt that. "Losh me!" he sighed ruefully, "but I'm fair trapped, and what shall I do for the nicht?"

The question was more easily asked than answered. Of course to a son of the Highlands the spending of a night in the open was not a serious matter, so far as exposure was concerned; but how about danger from wild animals? This was what concerned Donalblane, and he was glad that he had put a pistol in his belt before leaving the ship. Wearied and perplexed, he had thrown himself down on the sward, when there suddenly hove in sight a big boar leading a small band of sows and piglings. He was a tusker of most forbidding appearance, and the instant his wicked little eyes fell upon Donalblane he bristled up and began gnashing his tusks ominously.

The boy sprang to his feet and drew his pistol, while he looked anxiously about him for a way of escape. "Save us a'!" he cried. "What a fearsome brute! He means ill to me, I'm thinking."

There seemed nothing for it but to stand firm and trust to his pistol. So, after a swift glance to make sure that the priming was in its place, he braced himself for the attack.

The boar did not waste much time. Having satisfied himself that this intruder upon his domain deserved no mercy, he charged fiercely at him, the foam flying from his gleaming tusks, and the thick bristles standing out on his mighty front.

Donalblane wisely waited until the fierce creature was within a few yards of him, and then fired, taking aim at the very centre of the forehead. At the report of the pistol the boar pitched forward, driving his snout into the ground, so great was his impetus, and Donalblane, thinking him dead, shouted triumphantly, "Noo, ye fool! will ye be trying to scare folk who meant ye no harm?" But his words had hardly left his lips when the boar, which had been only stunned, his tough, wrinkled hide proving an effectual shield, got upon his feet again and renewed the charge so furiously that Donalblane barely saved himself by a sudden spring aside. Baffled for the moment, the maddened brute swiftly swung round for a fresh onset, and Donalblane was fain to flee towards the cliffs, followed by the boar and his whole family, grunting and squealing.

There was no boy in Leith could out-foot him, and he dashed away at such a speed as gave him a good lead. But where was he to go, in order to escape the relentless monster that sought to rend him? And if it came to a question of endurance, the boar would assuredly run him down in the end.