Oscar would now ride solemnly aft, ’bout ship and forward as far as the fo’c’s’le, and so round and round the deck a dozen times at least.
When dog and child were tired of playing together, the dog went in search of breakfast down below, to the cook’s galley. There was always the stockpot, and as every man-jack loved the faithful fellow he didn’t come badly off.
But even Norman the Finn was a favourite of Matty’s, and he loved the child. She would run to him of a morning, when his tall form appeared emerging from the fore-hatch. He used to set her on the capstan, from which she could easily mount astride on his shoulders, grasping his hair to steady herself.
How she laughed and crowed, to be sure, as he went capering round the deck, sometimes pretending to rear and jib, like a very wicked horse indeed, sometimes actually bucking, which only made Matty laugh the more.
Ring, ding, ding!—the breakfast bell; and the child was landed on the capstan once more and taken down—now by her devoted sweetheart, Reginald Grahame.
The ship was well found. Certainly they had not much fresh meat, but tinned was excellent, and when a sea-bank was anywhere near, as known from the colour of the water, Dickson called away a boat and all hands, and had fish for two days at least. Fowls and piggies were kept forward. Well, on the whole she was a very happy ship, till trouble came at last.
It was Mr Hall’s wish to go round the stormy and usually ice-bound Horn. The cold he felt certain would brace up both himself and his wife. But he wished to see something of the romantic scenery of Magellan’s Straits first, and the wild and savage grandeur of Tierra del Fuego, or the Land of Fire. They did so, bearing far to the south for this purpose.
The weather was sunny and pleasant, the sky blue by day and star-studded by night, while high above shone that wondrous constellation called the Southern Cross. Indeed, all the stars seemed different from what they were used to in their own far northern land.
Now, there dwells in this fierce land a race of the most implacable savages on earth. Little is known of them except that they are cannibals, and that their hands are against everyone. But they live almost entirely in boats, and never hesitate to attack a sailing ship if in distress.
Hall and Dickson were standing well abaft on the quarter-deck smoking huge cigars, Mr Hall doing the “yarning,” Dickson doing the laughing, when suddenly a harsh grating sound caused both to start and listen.