Chapter 12: New York and Home.

The ships were in no condition to cross the Atlantic, and by the royal decree the British West Indies were closed against them, while, of course, they dare not trust the mercy of the Spaniards. Their only alternative, therefore, was to make their way up to New York in the hope of finding their way back to Scotland from there later on.

Donalblane quite approved of this plan. He had had quite enough of South America to last him for the rest of his life, and, now that he had left, it was quite clear in his mind as to never returning.

But of North America he knew nothing, and he was eager to learn.

“Nae doot there’ll be Indians there like those at Darien,” he said to Mr. Paterson, “and we’ll be going to see them. Have they kings, too?”

An amused look lightened Mr. Paterson’s face for the moment as he replied—

“There are Indians, of course, in the country, very many tribes of them, and we may see some of them at New York, but we will not have anything to do with them. We are of no account now,” he went on sadly. “We shall be little better than beggars when we reach New York, and shall have to trust to the kindness of our countrymen there to afford us the help we need. Ah, Donald, Donald! it is a sore thing to fail—a sore, sore thing!” and he turned away to hide the emotion that mastered him.

Donalblane was touched to the heart, and in his passion of loyal love would not have hesitated to give his very life if thereby the fortunes of his hero could have been retrieved. But no sacrifice could save them now. The great scheme that was to have been a blessing to the world and to make Scotland mighty among the nations had failed utterly.

Creeping cautiously along the coast, the two ships made their slow way northward, and, after passing through many a peril, at length reached New York, with the rotten rigging dropping from the masts, the pumps going steadily to keep the leaky hulks afloat, and scarce two days’ scant supply of food and water. With inexpressible joy the wearied voyagers hastened to land, Donalblane of course accompanying Mr. Paterson.

Although for a quarter of a century in possession of the British, New York was still for the most part a Dutch town, and the keen-eyed Scotch boy saw much that was novel and interesting in the quaint ways of the people and the odd appearance of the houses. He was quick to notice the aspect of comfort and neatness that marked the place, and made so pleasing a contrast to the squalor and misery of the settlement at Darien.