Well, it seemed there was very little chance of poor Reginald (if we dare extend pity to him) forgetting either his loves or the terrible incubus that pressed like a millstone on heart and brain.
Captain Dickson was now doctor instead of Grahame, and the latter was his patient. Two things he knew right well: first, that in three or four months at the least a ship of some kind would arrive, and Reginald be taken prisoner back to England; secondly, that if he could not get him to work, and thus keep his thoughts away from the awful grief, he might sink and die. He determined, therefore, to institute a fresh prospecting party. Perhaps, he told the men, the gold was not so much buried but that they might find their way to it.
“That is just what we think, sir, and that is why we stayed in the island with you and Dr Grahame instead of going home in the Erebus. Now, sir,” continued the man, “why not employ native labour? We have plenty of tools, and those twenty stalwart blacks that fought so well for us would do anything to help us. Shall I speak to them, captain?”
“Very well, McGregor; you seem to have the knack of giving good advice. It shall be as you say.”
After a visit to the Queen, who received them both with great cordiality, and endeavoured all she could to keep up poor Reginald’s heart, they took their departure, and bore up for the hills, accompanied by their black labourers, who were as merry as crickets. Much of the lava, or ashes, had been washed away from the Golden Mount, as they termed it, and they could thus prospect with more ease in the gulch below.
In the most likely part, a place where crushed or powdered quartz abound, work was commenced in downright earnest.
“Here alone have we any chance, men,” said Captain Dickson cheerily.
“Ah, sir,” said McGregor, “you have been at the diggings before, and so have I.”
“You are right, my good fellow; I made my pile in California when little more than a boy. I thought that this fortune was going to last me for ever, and there was no extravagance in New York I did not go in for. Well, my pile just vanished like mist before the morning sun, and I had to take a situation as a man before the mast, and so worked myself up to what I am now, a British master mariner.”
“Well, sir,” said Mac, “you have seen the world, anyhow, and gained experience, and no doubt that your having been yourself a common sailor accounts for much of your kindness to and sympathy for us poor Jacks.”