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16911	----	THE ROMANCE OF THE COAST. by JAMES RUNCIMAN. [Illustration] London: George Bell and Sons, York Street, Covent Garden. Chiswick Press:--C. Whittingham and Co., Tooks Court, Chancery Lane. 1883. To FREDERICK GREENWOOD, THE EDITOR OF THE _James's Gazette._ DEAR SIR, I dedicate this little book to you. When you first gave me the chance of escaping from the unkindly work of political journalism, I used to think that your treatment of efforts which I thought extremely fine, was somewhat heartless. I am glad now that I have passed under your severe discipline, and I am proud to be one of the school of writers whose professional success is due to your help and training. I am, Dear Sir, Yours very faithfully, JAMES RUNCIMAN. CONTENTS. PAGE AN OLD-SCHOOL PILOT 1 AN UGLY CONTRAST 6 THE FISHERWOMAN 11 THE VETERAN 16 THE HEROINE OF A FISHING VILLAGE 22 THE SILENT MEN 27 THE CABIN-BOY 33 THE SQUIRE 40 THE VILLAGE PREACHER 47 THE FISHER'S FRIEND 52 THE COASTGUARD 57 THE SUSPECTED MAN 63 THE RABBIT-CATCHER 68 THE GIANTS 79 THE COLLIER SKIPPER 85 IN THE BAY 90 THE SIBYL 96 A VOLUNTEER LIFE-BRIGADE 102 KEELMEN 107 BLOWN NORTH 113 NORTH-COUNTRY FISHERMEN 118 A LONG CHASE 126 HOB'S TOMMY 131 THE FAILURE 151 MR. CASELY 169 THE ROMANCE OF THE COAST. AN OLD-SCHOOL PILOT. At the mouth of a north-country river a colony of pilots dwelt. The men and women of this colony looked differently and spoke a dialect different from that used by the country people only half a mile off. The names, too, of the pilot community were different from those of the surrounding population. Tully was the most common surname of all, and the great number of people who bore it were mostly black-eyed and dark-haired, quite unlike our fair and blue-eyed north-country folk. Antiquaries say the Romans must have lived on the spot for at least two hundred years, judging by the coins and the vast quantities of household materials unearthed; and so some persons have no difficulty in accounting for the peculiarities of the pilot colony. Speculations of this sort are, however, somewhat beside the mark. It is only certain that the pilots lived amongst themselves, intermarried, and kept their habits and dialect quite distinct. When a pilot crossed the line a hundred yards west of his house, he met people who knew him by his tongue to be a "foreigner." My particular friend among the pilots was a very big man, who used, to amuse us much by the childish gravity of his remarks. He was a remnant of a past generation, and the introduction of steam shocked his faculties beyond recovery. He would say: "In the old times, sir, vessels had to turn up here. It was back, fill, and shiver-r-r all the way; but now you might as well have sets of rails laid on the water and run the ships on them. There is no seamanship needed." He never quite forgave the Commissioners for deepening the river. As he said in his trenchant manner: "There used to be some credit in bringing a ship across the bar when you were never quite sure whether she would touch or not; but now you could bring the 'Duke of Wellington' in at low water. These kid-gloved captains come right up to their moorings as safe as if they were driving a coach along the road." He was quite intolerant of railways, too; but then his first experience of the locomotive engine was not pleasant. Somehow he got on to the railway line on a hazy night; and just as the train had slowed down to enter the station the engine struck him and knocked him over. The engine-driver became aware of a brief burst of strong language, and in great alarm called upon two porters to walk along the line to see what had happened. They did so of course, and when they got to the place of the accident the light of their lanterns revealed the pilot perfectly sound and engaged in brushing dirt off his clothes. When he saw the bright buttons of the railway officials the thought of the police came instantly into his mind, and he said, "Here, now, you needn't be taking me up; if I've done any damage to your engine I'll pay for it." At another time he was bringing a ship northwards when he was invited by the captain to run down below and help himself to a nip of brandy. After taking his brandy he proceeded to light his pipe at the stove. Now the captain possessed a large monkey, and the creature was shivering near the fire. The pilot said, "A gurly day, sir;" and the monkey gave a responsive shiver. Tho pilot went on with affable gruffness, "The Soutar light's away on the port bow now, sir;" and still the monkey made no answer. Not to be stalled off, the pilot proceeded, "We'll be over the bar in an hour, sir." But failing to elicit a response even to this pleasant information, he stepped up on deck, and ranging himself alongside of the captain on the bridge, said, "What a quiet chap your father is!" The first time I saw my poor friend I liked him. We lived in a lonely house that stood on the cliffs at a bleak turn of the coast. One wild morning a coble beat into our cove. It looked as though the sea must double on her every second; but just when the combers shot at her most dangerously the man at the tiller placed the broad square stern at right angles to the path of the travelling wave, and she lunged forward safely. By dexterous jockeying she was brought close in, and the men came through the shallow water in their sea-boots. They were blue with cold, and begged for a little tea or coffee. Hot cakes and coffee happened to be just ready; so the fellows had a hearty breakfast and went away. With prolonged clumsiness the pilot shook the hand of the lady who had entertained him; and in two days after the boat sailed into the cove again amid nasty weather, and the master came ashore with a set of gaudy wooden bowls painted black and red. These he solemnly presented to the lady of the house. He had run thirty miles against a northerly sea to bring them. When I next saw the pilot he had fallen upon very hard times. The system of keeping "privileged men" had obtained great hold in the north. The privileged pilot does not need to go out and beat about at sea in search of vessels; he can lie comfortably in his bed until he is signalled, and then he steps aboard without any of the trouble of competition. However good this system may be in a general way, it bears very hardly on the poor fellows who have to lie off for two or three days together on the chance of getting a ship. We were passing by Flamborough Head in a large steamer when the mate came down below and said, "There is a pilot-boat from our town astern there, sir." The captain shouted, "Tell them to stop her directly and take the coble in tow." We then blew our whistle, and the pilot-boat drew up alongside. My friend stepped aboard, and the captain said, "Come away down and have some breakfast." The pilot tried to speak, but his voice broke. He said: "No, I can't eat. When you passed us, we baith started to cry; and when you whistled for us, maw heart com' oot on its place, an' it'll gan back ne mair." The poor men had had no food for two days. In spite of his tragic statement, the pilot recovered, and ate a very good breakfast indeed; and his boat towed astern of us till he placed us at our moorings. He met his end like a brave man in the great October gale which all of us remember. He was down on the pier smoking with his friends in the watch-house and looking out occasionally for distressed vessels. The great seas were hurling themselves over the stone-work and shattering into wild wreaths of foam on the sand. Strong men who showed themselves outside full in the face of the wind were blown down flat as if they had been tottering children. The wind sounded as though it were blown through a huge trumpet, and the sea was running nine feet on the bar. A small vessel fought through, and appeared likely to get into the fairway. She showed her port light for a time, and all seemed going well. Suddenly she opened both her red and her green lights, and it was seen that she was coming dead on for the pier. Presently she struck hard, within thirty yards of the stone-work. There was wild excitement amongst the brigade men, for they saw that she must be smashed into matchwood in five minutes. The rockets were got ready; but before a shot could be fired the ill-fated vessel gave way totally. A great sea rushed along the side of the pier, and the pilot saw something black amongst the travelling water. "There's a man!" he shouted; and without a moment's thought plunged in, calling on the other fellows to pitch him a rope. Had he tied a line around his waist before he jumped he would have been all right. As it was, the Dutchman whom he tried to save was washed clean on to the pier and put safely to bed in the brigade-house. The pilot was not found until two days afterwards. AN UGLY CONTRAST. The steam-tug "Alice," laden with excursionists from several Tyneside towns, struck in the autumn of 1882 on the Bondicar Rocks, sixteen miles north of Blyth. The boat was not much damaged, and could easily have been run into the Coquet River within a very few minutes if the passengers had only kept steady. But the modern English spirit came upon the men, and a rush was made for the boat. Women and children were hustled aside; and the captain of the tug had to threaten certain persons of his own sex with violence before he could keep the crowd back. Some twenty-seven people clambered into the boat, and then a man of genius cut away the head-rope, and flung the helpless screaming company into the sea. Twenty-five of them were drowned. It will be a relief if time reveals any ground of hope that the men of our manufacturing towns will lose no more of the virtues which we used to think a part of the English character--coolness and steadiness and unselfishness in times of danger, for example. The Englishmen who live in quiet places have not become cowardly, so far as is ascertained; nor are they liable to womanish panic. In the dales and in the fishing-villages along our north-east coast may still be found plenty of brave men. Where such disgraceful scenes as that rush to the "Alice's" boat are witnessed, or selfishness like that of the men who got away in the boats of the "Northfleet," there we generally find that the civilization of towns has proved fatal to coolness and courage. Curiously enough, it happens that within six miles of the rock where the "Alice" struck, a splendidly brave thing was done, which serves in itself to illustrate the difference that is growing up between the race that lives by the factory and the men who earn their bread out-of-doors. Passing southward from the Bondicar Rocks you come to a shallow stream that sprawls over the sand and ripples into the sea. You wade this stream, and walk still southward by the side of rolling sand hills. The wind hurls through the hollows, and the bents shine like grey armour on the bluffs of the low heights. You are not likely to meet any one on your way, not even a tramp. Presently the hills open, and you come to the prettiest village on the whole coast. The green common slopes down to the sea, and great woods rustle and look glad all round the margin of the luxuriant grass-land. Along the cliff straggle a few stone houses, and the square tower with its sinister arrow-holes dominates the row. There is smooth water inshore; but half a mile or so out eastward there runs a low range of rocks. One night a terrible storm broke on the coast. The sea rose, and beat so furiously on the shore that the spray flew over the Fisher Row, and yellow sea foam was blown in patches over the fields. The waters beyond the shore were all in a white turmoil, save where, far off, the grey clouds laid their shoulders to the sea and threw down leaden shadows. Most of the ships had gone south about; but one little brig got stuck hard-and-fast on the ledge of rocks that runs below the village. She had eight men aboard of her, and these had to take to the rigging; where the people on shore heard them shouting. It is a fearful kind of noise, the crying of men in a wrecked ship. Morning broke, and the weather was wilder than ever. There was no lifeboat in the place, and it was plain that the vessel could not stand the rage of the breakers much longer. It was hard to see the ship at all, the spray came in so thickly. The women were crying and wringing their hands on the bank; but that was of small avail. However, one little trouting-boat lay handy, and her owner determined to go off in her to the brig. He was a fine fellow to look at--quite a remarkable specimen of a man, indeed. Without any flurry, without a sign of emotion on his face, he said, "Who's coming?" His two sons stepped out, and the boat was moved towards the water's edge. Just then a carter came down to look at the wreck. The carter's mare was terror-stricken by the wrath of the sea, and galloped down the beach. In passing the coble the mare plunged, and the axle-tree of the cart staved in the head of the boat below the water-line. This was very bad; but the leader of the forlorn hope did not give himself time to waver. Taking off his coat, he stuffed it into the hole; and then, calling in another volunteer, he said, "Sit against that." The men took their places very coolly, and the little boat was thrust out amid the broken water. Amidst all this the face of one woman who stood looking at the men arrested my attention. It was very white, and her eyes had a look in them that I cannot describe, though I have seen it since in my sleep. The men in the boat were her husband and her sons. She said nothing, but kept her hands tightly clasped; and her lips parted every time the boat rose on the crown of a wave. We could not see those good fellows half the time: all we could tell was that the man who was sitting against the jacket had to bale very hard. Presently the deep bow of the boat rose over a travelling sea, and she ground on the sand. She was heavily laden with the brig's crew of limp and shivering Danish seamen. And it was not a moment too soon for her to be ashore: the brig parted almost directly, and the wreckage was strewn all along the beach. The men who did this action never had any reward. And it did not matter; for they took a very moderate view of their own merits. They knew, of course, that they had done a good morning's work; but it never occurred to them that they ought to have a paragraph in the newspapers and be called brave. The sort of courage they exhibited they would have described, if their attention had been called to it, as "only natural." The old hero who went through a heavy sea with a staved-in boat is still living. His name is Big Tom, and his home is at Cresswell, in the county of Northumberland. He does not know that he is at all heroic; but it is pleasant to think of him after reading about those wretched excursionists who drowned each other in sheer fright within sight of his home. He has often saved life since then. But when he puts out to sea now he does not need to use a stove-in coble: he is captain of the smart lifeboat; and his proudest possession is a photograph which shows his noble figure standing at the bow. THE FISHERWOMAN. On bleak mornings you might see the movements of Peggy's stooping figure among the glistening brown weeds that draped the low rocks; and somehow you always noticed her most on bleak mornings. When the joy of the summer was in the air, and the larks were singing high up in the sky, it seemed rather pleasant than otherwise to paddle about among the quiet pools and on the cold bladder-wrack. But when the sky was leaden, and the wind rolled with strange sounds down the chill hollows, it was rather pitiful to see a barefooted woman tramping in those bitter places. The sea seemed to wait for every fresh lash of the blast; and when the grey water sprang into brief spurts of spray you felt how cruelly Peggy's bare limbs were cut by the wind. But she took it all kindly, and made no moan about anything. Towards eight o'clock you would meet her tramping over the sand with her great creel full of bait slung on her forehead. Her feet gripped at the sand, and her strong leg looked ruddy and hard. Her hands were always rough, and covered with little scratches received while she baited the lines; but these were no miseries to Peggy, and her face always seemed composed and quiet. She would not pass you without a word, and her voice was pleasant with low gutturals. If her eyes reminded you of the sea, you put it down to a natural fancy. They were not at all poetic or sentimental; for Peggy was a rough woman. But something there was in the gleam of her pale clear eyes that made you think of the far northern seas, by the borders of which her forefathers in a remote time were probably born. As I have said, Peggy could use very rough words when farmers' wives tired her with too much chaffering; but mostly her face had a hard placidity that refreshed the mind, just as it is refreshed by considering the deliberate ways of harmless animals. Towards eleven in the morning Peggy would be seated in her warm kitchen, beside a flat basket in which mysterious coils of brown twine wound round and round. The brown twine had tied to it long lines of horse-hair snoods with sharp white hooks lashed on by slips of waxed thread. Peggy baited one after another of these hooks and laid them dexterously so that the line might be shot overboard without entanglement. You might sit down in the sanded kitchen to talk to the good woman if you were not nice about fishy odours. If you led on to such subjects, she would bring out her store of ghostly stories: how a dead lady walked in the shrubberies by the tower after the squire's sons murdered her lover; and how the old clock in the tower had a queer light travelling over its face on one day of the year. Or she would gossip about the folks in the place; telling you how poor Jemmy had lost money, and how old Adam had got a rare stocking, and him meeting the priest every day like a poor man. You might smoke as much as you liked in Peggy's kitchen; and for various reasons it was just as well to keep smoking: the sanitary principles of Dr. Richardson are not known in the villages on the coast. Peggy herself did not smoke, because it was not considered right for women to use tobacco until they were past the age of sixty-five. After that they had their weekly allowance with the groceries. In the evenings of bright days you saw Peggy at her best. When the dusk fell, and the level sands shone with a deep smooth gloss, you would see strange figures bowing with rhythmic motions. These figures were those of women. All the women of the village turn out on the sand to hunt for sand-eels. To catch a sand-eel requires long practice. You take two iron hooks, and work them down deep in the sand when the tide has just gone. With quick but steady movements, you make a series of deep "criss-crosses;" and when the fish is disturbed by the hooks you whip him smartly out, and put him in the basket before his magical wriggle has taken him deep into the sand again. The women stooping over the shining floor look like ghostly harvesters reaping invisible crops. They are very silent, and their steps are feline. Peggy worked out her day, and then she would go home and cut up the eels for the next day's lines. In the early morning the men came in, and then Peggy had to turn out and carry the fish to the cart that drove inland to the coach or the railway station. It was not a gay life; but still each fresh day brought the lads and their father home, and Peggy could not have looked at them, and more especially perhaps at her great sons, without being proud of her men-folk. While they were sleeping she had to be at work, so that the home life was restricted, but it was abundantly clear that in a rough and silent way the whole of the family were fond of each other; and if Peggy could spare little more than a glance when the brown sail of the coble came in sight, it is probable that she felt just as much as ladies who have time for long and yearning looks. There came a time when Peggy needed no more to look out for the sail. Her husband went stolidly down to the boat one evening, and her three sons followed with their weighty tread. The father was a big, rugged man with a dark face; the lads were yellow-haired, taking after their mother. Some of the fishermen did not like the look of the evening sky, but Peggy's husband never much heeded the weather. Next day the wind came away very strong, and the cobles had to cower southward under a bare strip of mainsail. The men ashore did not like to be asked whether they thought the weather would get worse; and the women stood anxiously at their doors. A little later and they gathered all together on the rock-edge. One coble, finely handled, was working steadily up to the bend where the boats ran in for the smooth water, and Peggy followed every yard that the little craft gained. All the world for her depended on the chance of weathering that perilous turn. The sail was hardly to be seen for the drift that was plucked off the crests of the waves. Too soon Peggy saw a great roller double over and fold itself heavily into the boat. Then there was the long wallowing lurch, and the rudder came up, while the mast and the sodden sail went under. It was bad enough for a woman to read in some cold official list about the death of her father, her husband, her son; but very much worse it is for the woman who sees her dearest drowning--standing safe ashore to watch every hopeless struggle for life. One of the fishers said to Peggy, "Come thy ways in, my woman; and we'll away and seek them." But Peggy walked fast across the sand and down to the place where she knew the set of the tide would carry the dead lads in. The father came first ashore. She wiped the froth from his lips and closed his eyes, and then hastened further northward where her eldest son was flung on the beach. Peggy saw in an instant that his face was bruised, and moaned at the sight of the bruises; his father looked as though he were sleeping. The other lads did not come ashore till next day, and Peggy would not go home all the night through. In the dark she got away from the kind fellows who stayed by her; and when they sought her she was kneeling in the hollow of a sand-hill where another of her boys lay--her face pressed against the grass. These bold fellows were laid in the ground, and next day Peggy started silently to work. The grandfather--that is, her husband's father, an old man, quite broken by the loss of his son--was brought home to his son's fireside, where the two may be seen to-day: their thoughts divided between their dead and the business of getting bread for to-morrow. THE VETERAN. In the mornings a chair used to be placed on the cliff-side facing the sea, and towards ten o'clock a very old man would walk slowly down the village street and take his seat. A little shelf held his pipe and tobacco-jar, and he would sit and smoke contentedly until the afternoon. The children used to play around him with perfect confidence, although he seldom spoke to them. His face looked as if it were roughly carved out of stone, and his complexion was of a deep rich brown. On his watch-chain he wore several trinkets, and he was specially proud of one thin disk: this was the Nile medal; for the old man had been in the fight at Aboukir. He seldom spoke about his experience of life on board a man-of-war; he was far more interested in bestowing appreciative criticism on the little coasters that flitted past northward and southward, and in saying severe things about the large screw colliers. But although he had little to tell about his fighting experiences, he was a hero none the less. He lived in a little white cottage at the high end of the Green, and a woman came every morning to attend to his simple wants; for his old wife had died long ago. He was lonely, and not much noticed outside the village; yet he had done, in his time, one of the finest things known in the history of bravery. The Veteran lived happily in his way. He had made some money in a small sloop with which he used to run round to the Firth; good things were sent to him from the Hall; and the head gardener had orders to let him have whatever fruit and vegetables he wanted. He had no wish to see populous places: his uneventful life was varied enough for his desires. If he were properly coaxed, he was willing to tell many things about Nelson; but, strange to say, he was not fond of the great Admiral. Collingwood was his man, and he always spoke with reverence about the north-country sailor. He cared very little for glory; and he estimated men on the simple principle that one kind man is worth twenty clever ones and a hundred plucky ones. The story of his acquaintance with Collingwood and Nelson was strange. In 1797 the Veteran was just nineteen years old; but he had already got command of a little sloop that plied up the Firth, and he was accounted one of the best sailors on the coast. His father was a hearty man of eight-and-forty, and had retired from the sea. Now it happened that the wealthiest shipowner of the little port had a very wild and unsteady son, who was a ship captain and sailed one of his father's vessels. The shipowner was anxious to see some steady man sail with his lad; so he asked the Veteran's father to go as mate of a barque which the son was going to take out to Genoa. The terms offered were so very tempting that the old man decided to take another short spell of the sea; and when the Veteran next brought his little sloop on to the Hard, he found his father had run round to Hull in the barque. The young captain, of whom the old man had taken charge, behaved very badly during the southerly trip, and in the end had delirium tremens. During the whole of the night the madman divided his time between giving contradictory orders and crying out with fear of the dreadful things which he said were chasing him. On the night after the vessel brought up at Hull he staggered aboard, and stumbled into the cabin. Sitting down at the table, he set himself deliberately to insult his mate, who had been quietly reading. He called the old man a pig, and asked him why he had not gone to his sty. Finding that all his insults were received with good humour, he grew bolder, and at last went round the table and hit out heavily. A white mark appeared on the mate's cheek where the blow landed, and in return he delivered a tremendous right-hander full in the captain's face. The bully was lifted off his feet and fell against the cabin-door, crashing one of the panels out. He rose, wiped the blood from his mouth, and went ashore. The lieutenant of a frigate which was lying in the harbour was ashore with a press-gang. The drunkard went and declared that the Veteran's father had been insubordinate, and showed a bruised face in evidence. So in the grey of the morning the naval officer and half-a-dozen seamen came under the barque's quarter and climbed aboard. The old man was walking the deck, being very much perturbed about the last night's affray, and he grasped the whole situation at once. He picked up a handspike and got ready to defend himself; but the seamen made a rush, and a blow with the flat of a heavy cutlass knocked the old sailor senseless. When he came to himself he found that he was on board the guardship. Two days after the Veteran was strolling along the quay in all the glory of white duck and blue pilot cloth. (Sailors were great dandies in those days, and every one of the little ports from the Firth to the Foreland had its own particular fashion in the matter of go-ashore rig.) The Veteran was going to be married as soon as his next trip was over; and on this particular evening he intended to stroll through the lanes and see his sweetheart, who was a farmer's daughter. A fine southerly breeze was blowing, and a little fishing smack crossed the bar and ran up the harbour, lying hard over with press of sail. The Veteran had the curiosity to wait until the little craft had brought up, and he watched the dingy come ashore with two men aboard. He was very much surprised to hear one of the men mention his name; so he turned to ask what was wanted. The fisherman handed him a dirty letter, and on opening it the Veteran found that it was from one of the able seamen aboard the barque. The writer briefly told the circumstances, and then added that there would be no delivery from the guard ship for four days. Within two hours the smack was beating away to the southward with the Veteran in her. He had bidden his sweetheart good-bye, telling her quietly that they could not be married for a long time; but she did not know then how very long it would be. The Veteran helped to work the smack round to the Humber, and it is probable that his thoughts during the trip were not cheerful. He had asked a friend to take charge of his sloop, and had rapidly countermanded all the preparations that were being made for his marriage. On arriving at Hull the Veteran went at once on board the guardship, and was shown into the commander's cabin. His business was soon over, and a sergeant of marines took him down to the wretched cockpit, where he found his father lying with cloths about his head. The lad said quite simply, "I want you to go ashore, father, and look after the girl until I come back; I have volunteered in your stead." The old man would have liked to argue the point; but he knew that his son would not give way, and so he submitted. Long afterwards the Veteran used to tell us that that was one of the best moments of his life, although his heart had been so heavy at going away from home. So the young sailor joined the "Minotaur" and fought at the Nile. He was many years at sea; and before he got back to the town he had risen to be sailing-master of a forty-four. When he came to be married, all the little vessels in the harbour made themselves gay with their colours, and the church bells were rung for him as though he had been a great personage. He lived long enough for his brief story to be forgotten; and only the clergyman and the squire, among all the people of the village where he died, knew that the old man was in the least a hero. They knew that he was fond of children, and they were all willing to run to oblige him. Perhaps he wanted no better reward. In these days of advertisement, much would have been made of him; for the great Collingwood had specially mentioned him for a brilliant act of bravery. As it was, he got very little pension and no fame. THE HEROINE OF A FISHING VILLAGE. Until she was nineteen years old, Dorothy lived a very uneventful life; for one week was much the same as another in the placid existence of the village. On Sunday mornings, when the church-bells began to ring, you would meet her walking over the moor with a springy step. Her shawl was gay, and her dress was of the most pronounced colour that could be bought in the market-town. Her brown hair was gathered in a net, and her calm eyes looked from under an old-fashioned bonnet of straw. Her feet were always bare, but she carried her shoes and stockings slung over her shoulder. When she got near the church she sat down in the shade of a hedge and put them on; then she walked the rest of the distance with a cramped and civilized gait. On the Monday mornings early she carried the water from the well. Her great "skeel" was poised easily on her head; and, as she strode along singing lightly without shaking a drop of water over the edge of her pail, you could see how she had come by her erect carriage. When the boats came in, she went to the beach and helped to carry the baskets of fish to the cart. She was then dressed in a sort of thick flannel blouse and a singular quantity of brief petticoats. Her head was bare, and she looked far better than in her Sunday clothes. If the morning were fine she sat out in the sun and baited the lines, all the while lilting old country songs in her guttural dialect. In the evening she would spend some time chatting with other lasses in the Row; but she never had a very long spell of that pastime, for she had to be at work winter and summer by about five or six in the morning. The fisher-folk do not waste many candles by keeping late hours. She was very healthy and powerful, very ignorant, and very modest. Had she lived by one of the big harbours, where fleets of boats come in, she might have been as rough and brazen as the girls often are in those places. But in her secluded little village the ways of the people were old-fashioned and decorous; and girls were very restrained in their manners. No one would have taken her to be anything more than an ordinary country girl had not a chance enabled her to show herself full of bravery and resource. Every boat in the village went away North one evening, and not a man remained in the Row excepting three very old fellows, who were long past work of any kind. When a fisherman grows helpless with age he is kept by his own people, and his days are passed in quietly smoking on the kitchen settle or in looking dimly out over the sea from the bench at the door. But a man must be sorely "failed" before he is reduced to idleness, and able to do nothing that needs strength. A southerly gale, with a southerly sea, came away in the night, and the boats could not beat down from the northward. By daylight they were all safe in a harbour about eighteen miles north of the village. The sea grew worse and worse, till the usual clouds of foam flew against the houses or skimmed away into the fields beyond. When the wind reached its height the sounds it made in the hollows were like distant firing of small-arms, and the waves in the hollow rocks seemed to shake the ground over the cliffs. A little schooner came round the point, running before the sea. She might have got clear away, because it was easy enough for her, had she clawed a short way out, risking the beam sea, to have made the harbour where the fishers were. But the skipper kept her close in, and presently she struck on a long tongue of rocks that trended far out eastward. The tops of her masts seemed nearly to meet, so it appeared as if she had broken her back. The seas flew sheer over her, and the men had to climb into the rigging. All the women were watching and waiting to see her go to pieces. There was no chance of getting a boat out, so the helpless villagers waited to see the men drown; and the women cried in their shrill, piteous manner. Dorothy said, "Will she break up in an hour? If I thowt she could hing there, I would be away for the lifeboat." But the old men said, "You can never cross the burn." Four miles south, behind the point, there was a village where a lifeboat was kept; but just half-way a stream ran into the sea, and across this stream there was only a plank bridge. Half a mile below the bridge the water spread far over the broad sand and became very shallow and wide. Dorothy spoke no more, except to say "I'll away." She ran across the moor for a mile, and then scrambled down to the sand so that the tearing wind might not impede her. It was dangerous work for the next mile. Every yard of the way she had to splash through the foam, because the great waves were rolling up very nearly to the foot of the cliffs. An extra strong sea might have caught her off her feet, but she did not think of that; she only thought of saving her breath by escaping the direct onslaught of the wind. When she came to the mouth of the burn her heart failed her for a little. There was three-quarters of a mile of water covered with creamy foam, and she did not know but what she might be taken out of her depth. Yet she determined to risk it, and plunged in at a run. The sand was hard under foot, but, as she said, when the piled foam came softly up to her waist she "felt gey funny." Half-way across she stumbled into a hole caused by a swirling eddy, and she thought all was over; but her nerve never failed her, and she struggled till she got a footing again. When she reached the hard ground she was wet to the neck, and her hair was sodden with her one plunge "overhead." Her clothes troubled her with their weight in crossing the moor; so she put off all she did not need and pressed forward again. Presently she reached the house where the coxswain of the lifeboat lived. She gasped out, "The schooner! On the Letch! Norrad." The coxswain, who had seen the schooner go past, knew what was the matter. He said, "Here, wife, look after the lass," and ran out. The "lass" needed looking after, for she had fainted. But her work was well done; the lifeboat went round the point, ran north, and took six men ashore from the schooner. The captain had been washed overboard, but the others were saved by Dorothy's daring and endurance. THE SILENT MEN. Two very reckless fellows used always to go fishing together, and used also to spend their leisure together. One was known as Roughit; and the other was called Lance. Roughit was big, with heavy limbs and a rather brutal face. He wore his hair and beard very long, and his eyes looked morosely from under thick reddish eyebrows. He scarcely ever spoke to anybody; and some of the superstitious fishermen did not like to meet him in the morning, because they thought he always brought them bad luck. Lance was a handsome man, with small hands and feet. He was not like the shaggy giants of the village--and, indeed, it had been said that some people at the Hall knew more about his parentage than might at first sight be supposed. The two men never talked much, and never exchanged any kind of greeting when they met and parted. Both of them were such expert boatmen that excepting on very dark nights they scarcely needed to communicate except by signs. On summer afternoons when the herrings were coming southward Roughit would knock at Lance's door and pass on without a word. Presently Lance would come out, with his oilskins over one arm and his water-bottle swung by his side. The coble was lifted on to the launching-wheels and run down to the water; then the two men took their places, and the boat stole away northward over the bay. They never carried their fish to any big port, because their boat was so small that it was not worth their while. They always ran back to their own village and sold their catch to the farmers and labourers in their own neighbourhood. When the boat was beached, Roughit and Lance had their nets driven up to the great green and then spread in the sun for an hour or two. They sat smoking and listening to the larks that sung against one another over the common. About one o'clock they strode home together and went to bed until it was time to go north once more. The herring season is the pleasantest for fishermen. It is their harvest; and they have little real hardship and a good deal of excitement. On calm nights, after the nets are shot, there are hours of keen expectancy, until the oily flicker on the surface of the water tells that the great shoal is moving to its fate; then there is the wild bustle among the whole fleet while the nets are hauled in; and then comes the pleasant morning lounge after the fish are sold. Roughit and Lance were always lucky, and made lots of money during the summer and autumn. In winter times were harder for them. They mostly did all their work in the daytime, and sent their fish round to their customers in the afternoons. In the evenings they sat on the bench in the tavern and smoked silently until the time came for expeditions of another sort. The friends were great poachers, and they carried on their operations like a pair of vicious and well-trained lurchers. Roughit had a small lightly built dog, bred between a collie and greyhound; Lance had a big Bedlington terrier; and these two dogs were certain to be the death of any hare they made up their minds to catch. Lance and Roughit would sit down by the fence beside a gate; the lurcher lay quietly down beside the gate-post, while the terrier slipped through the gap in the hedge and sneaked quietly round to the top of the field. When he had reached the furthermost hedge, he began to beat slowly down towards his confederate: there would come a quick thud, thud of feet; then a scraping on the bars of the gate; then a shrill squeak; and the lurcher cantered quietly up with his game to the place where the two fishermen sat. If old Sam, the Squire's gamekeeper, had ever had a chance of putting a charge of shot into either of the dogs he would not have thrown it away. But the brutes usually stayed indoors all day, and never went rummaging the coverts on their own account. Roughit showed no signs of sporting instinct; but Lance really liked the fun, and was willing to run all kinds of risks. Year after year the friends lived their silent life, dividing their time between fishing, poaching, and drinking. Sometimes a spell of bad weather came, and all day long the spray flew over the cottages and the cold breeze covered the sand with foam. The waters roared drearily, and the nights were bad enough to prevent the most inveterate poacher from turning out. During the daytime Lance and Roughit would lounge on the rock-tops, and look grimly out at the horizon, where the grey clouds laid their shoulders to the sea. Their companionship was much like that of lower animals: it was quite sufficient for one to know that the other was near. They did once separate for a short time, Roughit shipped in a merchant brig that was going round to Plymouth. The vessel made the run in about a week; but Roughit felt very wretched during the whole time, without knowing exactly why. At Plymouth he deserted, leaving his box behind him, and set off on foot northwards. One evening Lance was sitting sulkily on the ground, when he saw a man crossing the moor. A vague curiosity caused him to walk out to meet the stranger, and presently Roughit came up looking very dirty, and wearing only an old sleeved waistcoat and a ragged pair of canvas trousers. He was barefooted too, and limped a good deal. The two men simply nodded and turned back to the village together. Neither of them asked any questions, but they sat drinking until a late hour, and went home less steadily than might have been wished. The people in the Row took but little notice of this eccentric couple; for, after all, the friends did harm to nothing except the Squire's ground-game. When the two men were growing grizzled with advancing years the coble which belonged to them had gone away from the fishing-ground one black night, before a strong north-easterly gale: she shot between the Great Farne Island and the Bird's Rock. The tide was going like a millrace, and the solemn roar of the vast stream made very terrible music in the dark. The men might have got into their own haven by an easy passage, despite the gale. But both of them seemed to be always possessed by a gloomy kind of recklessness, and when they made the village lights they determined upon trying an entrance which was desperately difficult. In the centre of a gap which was twenty feet wide stood a rock which was known as "The Tailor's Needle." It stood 400 yards south of "The Cobbler." This rock was clad in sea-weed around its base; but eight feet of the upper part of it was bare of weeds and covered only with tiny shells which tore the hands. On the top of the rock was a very small platform of about one foot square, and in fine weather daring boys would stand upright on this summit and wave to the people ashore. The rock was covered two feet by an ordinary spring tide; but on the night when Roughit and Lance decided to try and pass it, about a foot was above water. There was not a great deal of sea on; indeed, there was hardly more than what the fishermen call a "northerly lipper;" but the tide was running with extraordinary swiftness. Roughit put the helm down and guessed at his bearings. The boat lay hard down and tore in through the gap. There was a long grinding crash; the weather-side lifted clean out of the water; she dropped off the rock, and the two men were pitched overboard. Roughit scrambled to the top, at the expense of torn hands. He hung on as well as he could; but the spray from the combings of the seas cut his face and blinded him. Still, he could easily have held on till dawn, because the tide had no further to rise. He, like too many of the fishermen, could not swim. He got hold of the edge of the rock. There was not room for him on the ledge; so presently he said, "I am going." Roughit answered: "No, don't do that; let me give you a haul up here." As Lance went up on one side Roughit went off on the other. The waves buffeted him away towards the shore, and he cried out "Good-night!" when he had swum a few yards westward. At dawn Lance was picked off "The Tailor's Needle," but Roughit was found dead on the sand. Lance never forgave himself for having taken his comrade's offer; he disliked the village, he hated the sea; and before long he went away inland to work down in the pits. THE CABIN-BOY. The master of a smack was lately accused of having murdered an apprentice; so the mob made desperate attempts to lynch the prisoner every time he was brought before the magistrates. They heard that the dead boy used to be beaten with ropes'-ends, kicked, dragged along the deck, drenched with cold water, and subjected to other ingenious modes of discipline, and they were horrified. Yet only a few years ago no surprise or indignation greeted a skipper who habitually ill-used his cabin-boys. If screams were heard coming from a collier in the Pool, the men in neighbouring vessels scarcely took the trouble to turn round. They know that some unhappy boy was being corrected; and they believed in stripes and bruises as necessary agencies in nautical education. When a weakly lad chanced to die he was dropped overboard, and there was an end of the matter; the strong lads who lived through these brutalities grew into fine sailors. Times are altered. The old-fashioned sailor is an extinct creature, and modern conditions have developed a totally new variety. The old-fashioned sailor was brought up in an atmosphere of rough cruelty; the new-fashioned sailor will submit to no tyranny whatever. The old-fashioned skipper was very like the Hull culprit in habits and customs; the new-fashioned skipper is overbearing and often conceited, but rarely brutal. They formed a strange society, did those East Coast sailors of past days. A boy grew up in one of the brisk little ports that lay between Wivenhoe and Spittal. The notion of inland life had no place in his mind, for his thoughts in early years suffered a sea change. He played on the quay, and heard the growling talk of the lounging, bearded sailors; so that he soon became critical in the matter of ships and seamanship. He could tell you the name of every black and apple-bowed vessel that came curtseying over the bar on the flood tide; and he would prove the superiority of the "Halicore" over the "Mary Jane," with many clenching allusions to aged authorities. If the black fleet went out with a northerly breeze blowing, he could name the ship that would be first clear of the ruck; if the wind were off the land, he knew which ship would be suited by having the breeze on the beam. Long before he ever saw the outside of the bar he had heard of every point on the coast. The possibility of becoming anything but a sailor never entered his head. He tried to copy the flat-footed rolling walk of the seamen, and he longed for the time when he might wear a braided cap and smoke a pipe. While yet little more than a child he went on his trial voyage, and had his first experience of sea-sickness. Then he was bound apprentice for five years, his wages beginning at £8 per year, and increasing yearly by £2 until the end of his term. His troubles began after his indentures were signed. The average skipper had no thought of cruelty and yet was very cruel. The poor lad had a very scanty allowance of water for washing; yet if he appeared at breakfast-time with face and hands unclean he was sent squeaking up to the galley with a few smart weals tingling upon him. All sorts of projectiles were launched at him merely to emphasize orders. The mate, the able seamen (or "full-marrows"), the ordinary seamen (or "half-marrows") never dreamed of signifying their pleasure to him save with a kick or an open-handed blow. His only time of peace came when it was his watch below, and he could lay his poor little unkempt head easily in his hammock. In bad weather he took his chance with the men. The icy gusts roared through the rigging; the cold spray smote him and froze on him; green seas came over and forced him to hold on wheresoever he might. Sometimes the clumsy old brig would drown everybody out of the forecastle, and the little sailor had to curl up in his oilskins on the streaming floor of the after-cabin. Sometimes the ship would have to "turn" every yard of the way from Thames to Tyne, or from Thames to Blyth. Then the cabin-boy had to stamp and shiver with the rest until the vessel came round on each new tack, and then perhaps he would be forced to haul on a rope where the ice was hardening. It might be that on one bad night, when the fog lay low on the water and the rollers lunged heavily shoreward, the skipper would make a mistake. The look-out men would hear the thunder of broken water close under the bows; and then, after a brief agony of hurry and effort, the vessel beat herself to bits on the remorseless stones. In that case the little cabin-boy's troubles were soon over. The country people found him in the morning stretched on the beach with his eyes sealed with the soft sand. But in most instances he made his trips from port to port safely enough. His chief danger came when he lay in the London river or in the Tyne. As soon as a collier was moored in the Pool or in the Blackwall Reach, the skipper made it a point of honour to go ashore, and the boy had to scull the ship's boat to the landing. From the top of Greenwich Pier to the bend of the river a fleet of tiny boats might be seen bobbing at their painters every evening. The skippers were ashore in the red-curtained public-houses. The roar of personal experiences sounded through the cloud of tobacco-smoke and steam, and the drinking was steady and determined. Out on the river the shadows fell on the racing tide; the weird lights flickered in the brown depths of the water; and the swirling eddies gurgled darkly and flung the boats hither and thither. In the stern of each boat was a crouching figure; for the little cabin-boy had to wait in the cold until the pleasures of rum and conversation had palled upon his master. Sometimes the boy fell asleep; there came a lurch, he fell into the swift tide, and was borne away into the dark. Over and over again did little boys lose their lives in this way when their thoughtless masters kept them waiting until midnight or later. Through hunger and cruelty and storm and stress, the luckier cabin-boy grew in health and courage until his time was out. When he went home he wore a thick blue coat, wide blue trousers, and a flat cap with mystic braid; and on the quay he strolled with his peers in great majesty. Tiny children admired his earrings and his cap and his complicated swagger. Then in due time came the blessed day when he called himself ordinary seaman, and when the most energetic of mates dared not thrash him (unless, indeed, the mate happened to be much the stronger man, in which case professional etiquette was apt to be disregarded); his pay rose to £2 a month; he felt justified in walking regularly with a maiden of his choice; and his brown face showed signs of moustache and beard. Then he became A.B., then mate, and last of all he reached the glories of mastership and £8 a month. By that time he had become a resolute, skilful man, with coarse tastes and blunt feelings. Danger never cost him a thought. He would swear fearfully about trifling annoyances; but in utmost peril, when his ship was rolling yard-arm under, or straining off the gnashing cliffs of a lee-shore, he was quiet and cool and resigned. He took the risk of his life as part of his day's work and made no fuss about it. He was hopelessly ignorant and wildly conservative; he believed in England, and reckoned foreigners as a minor species. His sinful insularity ran to ludicrous manifestations sometimes. An old coaster was once beating up for his own harbour and trying to save the tide. A little Danish brig got a slant of wind and rattled in over the bar, while the collier had to stand off for six hours. The captain was gravely indignant at this mischance, and, sighing, said, "Ah! God cares far more for them furriners than He does for His own countrymen." As he grew in years his temper became worse, and his girth greater. The violent exertion of his earlier days was exchanged for the ease of a man who had nothing to do but stand about, eat, sleep, and throw things at cabin-boys. He had all the peremptory disposition of an Eastern tyrant; and the notion of being called to account for any one of his doings would have thrown him into apoplectic surprise. So he lived out his days, working his old tub up and down the coast with marvellous skill, beating his boy, roaring songs when his vessel lay in the Pool, and lamenting the good times gone by. When at last his joints grew too stiff, and other troubles of age came upon him, he settled ashore in some little cottage and devoted himself to quiet meditation of a pessimistic kind. Every morning he rolled down to the quay and criticised with cruel acuteness the habits of the younger generation of mariners; every evening he took his place in the tavern parlour and instructed the assembled skippers. At last the time came for him to go: then the men whom he had scored with ropes'-ends in his day were the first to mourn him and to speak with admiration of his educational methods. The skipper of the new school is a sad backslider. He would think it undignified to beat a boy; he wears a black frock coat, keeps novels in his cabin, wears a finger-ring, and tries to look like a ship-broker. He mixes his north-country accent with a twang learned in the West-end theatres, and he never goes ashore without a tall hat and an umbrella. His walk is a grievous trouble to his mind. The ideal ship-broker has a straight and seemly gait; but no captain who ever tried to imitate the ship-broker could quite do away with a certain nautical roll. The new-fashioned captain is not content with that simple old political creed of true sailors, which began and ended with the assertion that one Englishman could beat any six foreigners. This is crude in his eyes. He knows all about Gladstone and the Land Bill; he is abreast of his age in knowledge of the Eastern Question; and he claims kindred with a Party. His self-confidence is phenomenal, but not often offensive. In short, he is a sort of nautical bagman, with all the faults and all the business-like virtues of his kind. THE SQUIRE. Every afternoon when the weather was bright, an erect old man used to ride round the Fisher Row on a stout cob. If the men happened to be sitting in the sun, on the benches, he would stop and speak to them, in sharp, ringing accents, and he always had a word for the women as they sat baiting their lines in the open air. He called the men by their Christian names, and they called him by the name of his estate. None of the fishermen ever ventured to be familiar with him; but he often held long talks with them about commonplace matters. They considered that they had a proprietary interest in him, and they always inquired about his family affairs. He would tell them that Mr. Harry had gone with his regiment to India, or that Miss Mabel had gone to stay with her aunt at the West Moor, or, that Miss Ella was coming home from school for altogether next month. All this cross-questioning was carried on without the least vulgarity. The people were really anxious to hear news of the boys and girls who had grown up amongst them, and they thought it would please the Squire if they treated him as a sort of Patriarch. The old man lived for nearly a century in the one place. It may be said that not long before he died he wagered that he would reach his hundredth year, but he missed that by three years. His whole energy and thought were devoted to improving his estate. He had no notion of art or things of that kind, yet he managed to make his village and its surroundings very beautiful by long years of care. The sleepy place where he lived was right away from the currents of modern life. If you walked over a mile of moorland, then through five miles of deep wood, where splendid elms and fine beeches made shade for you, you would come at last to some rising ground, and, if you waited, you might see far away the trailing smoke of a train. But there are men now, on the Squire's estate, who have never seen an engine, and there must be a score or so of the population who have never slept one night away from their native place. While Mr. Pitt was breaking his heart over Austerlitz; while Napoleon was playing his last throw at Waterloo; while the Birmingham men were threatening to march on London, the Squire was riding peacefully day by day, in the lanes and spinneys of his lovely countryside. He never would allow a stranger to settle on his property, and he was never quite pleased if any of the fisher girls married pitmen. He did not mind when the hinds and the fishers intermarried, but anything that suggested noise and smoke was an abhorrence to him, and thus he disliked the miners. A splendid seam of coal ran beneath his land. This coal could have been easily won; in fact, at the place where the cliffs met the sea, a two-foot seam cropped out, and the people could go with a pickaxe and break off a basketful for themselves whenever they chose; but the Squire would never allow borings to be made. He did not object to the use of coal on abstract grounds, but he was determined that his property should not be disfigured. Once, when a smart agent came to make proposals respecting the sinking of a pit, the Squire took him by the shoulders and solemnly pushed him out of his study. He fancied that a colliery would bring poachers and squalor and drunkenness, and many other bad consequences, so he kept his fields unsullied and his little streams pure. Without knowing it, the Squire was a bit of a poet. For example, he had one long dell, which ran through his woods, planted with hyacinths and the wild pink geranium. These flowers came in bloom together, and the effect of the great sheet of blue and pink was indescribable. He was very proud of this piece of work, and he always looked happy as he went down the path in the spring time. The Squire had the most intimate acquaintance with the circumstances of every man, woman, and child on his property. If he rode out at two in the afternoon and heard that a fisherman was suffering with rheumatism, it was almost certain that the fat man-servant from the Hall would call at the sick man's house before the day was out with blankets and wine, and whatever else might be needed. Yet the Squire was by no means lavish. In making a bargain with a tenant he never showed the least generosity. On one occasion he set a number of gardeners to work in a very large orchard where the trees were beginning to feel the effects of time. The men were likely to be employed for at least three years, so each of them was fixed by a formal engagement. The married men were paid fifteen shillings a week, but on coming to a young man, the Squire said, "Now I am going to give you a shilling a week less than the others because you live with your mother." This sounds like the speech of a very stingy person; but in spite of the apparent hardness of the great landlord, poverty was never known on his estate. The hinds had to eat barley bread, and beef and mutton were not plentiful, for the butcher's visit only came once in the week. Yet nevertheless the men were healthy and powerful, and the women and children were neatly and decently dressed. Once every year the Squire met the whole of his tenants. As Michaelmas came round he drew his rents, and then the dandy agent, the solid farmers, and the poor cottiers sat down at one table for the rent dinner. The strict discipline of ordinary life was relaxed, and the Squire allowed even the fishermen to make jokes in his presence. When the company broke up in the evening it often happened that various members were obliged to lie down in the hedge-sides, and once the Squire had to ride his cob right over his own head mason. The mason happened to be thinking about nautical affairs when the grey cob swept down upon him, and just as the Squire cleared him he cried "Ship ahoy." This occurrence supplied the Squire with a joke which lasted nearly forty years. All the sayings which the Squire dropped at the rent dinner were carefully treasured, and formed the subject of occasional conversation on the benches until the year went round again. The good man did not like newspapers. When he began his life as a landlord, at the end of the last century, the folk who lived on the estate managed perfectly well without journals, and he did not see why a change should be made. He never could understand why a man could not be content with his own life, and his own sensations, instead of wanting to know what other people in other parts of the world were saying and doing. About the time of the Reform agitation of 1867 he rode round to the masons' shed. The men were having their eleven o'clock meal, and as they ate their bread and cheese, Fat Jack, the stone-cutter, read to them one of Mr. John Bright's speeches. The Squire did not exactly know, or care to know, who Mr. John Bright might be, but he gathered enough from Fat Jack's guttural elocution to cause uneasiness. He declared that if ever the postman brought such a thing into the village again he would never allow a letter to be delivered on his estate. But with all this bluster, the common people knew that their landlord wished them well, and they were ready to do anything for him. One night, while he was dragging his trout stream, he fell into the ugliest part of the water. He had hardly had time to come to the surface when six men were in after him, and he had to thank each one of the six in the same formal terms before any of them would consent to resign the whole credit of the rescue. His eldest son was killed in battle. Before departing for the fatal campaign, the young officer had dragged the burn, and placed all the brown trout that he caught in a great tarn that lay amongst the low hills on the moor. The fish increased and multiplied until the little lake was swarming. Big fat trout used to roll easily round on summer evenings, and make lazy lunges at the flies. It would have been easy to have taken twenty dozen out of the lake in a day; but the Squire said he did not want the pond fished because his boy had stocked it. So no native ever cast a line there, although the temptation was almost unbearable. A very smart young person came from the neighbouring market town once, and tried the pond with the fly. He had just reached his third dozen when he was caught by old Sam, the gamekeeper, and three fishermen. They tied a cart-rope round his waist and threw him into the pond; they then pitched the whole of the trout back into the water, and after that they dragged the trespasser out, floured him carefully, and sent him on his road. These incidents are not idyllic, but they serve to show what kind of a hold a strong, just man may obtain upon simple people if he only shows that he is ready to work for them. The whole of the tenantry and the villagers knew that their stern old master gave up his life for their sake. They knew that he worked like a common bailiff; they knew that he drank nothing but water; they knew that he put by money every year with the sole object of making improvements which might better their condition, and they respected him accordingly. When he reached the age of ninety-six years he was no longer capable of guiding his pony: the pony guided him. On one afternoon the beast turned just at the end of the Fisher Row and walked the old man quietly back to the stables. He could not dismount without assistance, and he had to wait in the stall, while Matchem munched his oats, until one of the stable boys came and released him. From that day the Squire rode no more, and the occasion was memorable, alike for fishers and hinds. When the old man died he was followed to his grave by the entire population from nine farms and two fishing villages. Old men of eighty, who remembered him when he was a bright young fellow in George the Third's time, went and stood round his grave. Everybody wanted some remembrance of him, but this could not be attained until the clever national schoolmaster of the village suggested that an engraving should be made from a photograph. You cannot go into one cottage or one farm-house on the whole of the estate without finding an engraved portrait of the splendid old man hung in a place of honour. THE VILLAGE PREACHER. The Methodists got a very strong hold in seaside places at the end of the last century, but during the long pressure of the great War the claims of religion were somewhat forgotten. Smuggling went on to an extraordinary extent and the consequent demoralisation was very apparent. The strict morality which the stern Methodists of the old school taught had been broken, and some of the villages were little better than nests of pirates. The decent people who lived inland were continually molested by marauding ruffians who came from seaside places, and to call a man a "fisher," was to label him with a term of reproach. On Saturday nights every Fisher Row was a scene of drunken turmoil, and on Sunday the men lounged about drinking, the women scolding, while the old-fashioned simplicity of life seemed to be forgotten altogether. Grave countrymen shook their heads over the terrible change. Our village had become notorious for bad behaviour, and the old man who tried to keep up the traditions of religion was much distressed in his mind. This local preacher was coming over the moor one fine summer night when the moon shone so as to make the sands and the trees round the village look splendid. The peacefulness of the night seemed to have impressed him, and he was occupied with his own grave thoughts. As he passed the tavern the front door opened, and a waft of rank tobacco came out. Then came a little mob of fishermen, many of whom were cursing and swearing. Two of them began to fight, and the local preacher heard the thud of heavy blows. He stepped in amongst the crowd and tried to separate the fighters, but he only got jeered at for his pains. He was usually very civilly treated, but the men were in drink and could not discriminate. The next day was Sunday, and as the evening dropped down there was a stir in the village, and a score or two of the villagers came out on the green. Three or four men took to playing pitch and toss, and the women got up little quarrels on their own account. A few big fellows walked towards the shore, and got ready the boats to go out fishing, for there was no respect shown to the Sabbath. At seven o'clock the local preacher took his stand in the middle of the green, and remained there bare-headed until he had attracted attention. He began to pray aloud, and the villagers stood grinning round him until he had finished. He then asked the people to join him in a hymn, but this proposal was too comic, and the men and women laughed loudly. The preacher, however, was not a man to be stopped by a little laughter. He actually did sing a hymn in a beautiful tenor, and, before he had finished, some of the men seemed rather ashamed of having laughed at all. One of the leaders said--"Let us hear what this born fool has to say. If he makes very much noise we'll take and put him in one of the rain-water barrels." A poacher proposed that the dogs should be set on him; but, although this idea was received as a humorous contribution to the discussion, it was not put into practice. The preacher began a kind of rude address. He picked his words with a certain precision, and managed to express himself in the dialect of the people to whom he was speaking. His enthusiasm grew, and at the end of a quarter of an hour he had obtained such complete mastery over the crowd, that individuals amongst the audience unconsciously imitated the changes of his face. The man was really a kind of poet, and the villagers felt his power without exactly knowing why. When the preaching was over, the orator strode away home without speaking to anybody. On the next Sunday he appeared in the same place at the same hour. Only some half a dozen men and lads were on the green and these were gambling as usual; but when they saw the preacher, two or three of them ran along the Row and brought out the people. The men who had intended to go fishing stayed out of curiosity; and not a single boat was run off the sands that night. The next week the best part of the village population was waiting when the preacher came. Some of the very old men were accommodated with logs of wood which had been brought out for seats, and the very roughest of the young men remained respectfully silent. Some heavy clouds came over the hills and discharged a sprinkle of water upon the group. A big man stepped out and spoke to the preacher. He was one of the most powerful fellows on the coast, and had been a great ruffian in his time. It was said that he once killed a man with a single blow. He offered the preacher the use of his house, and presently all the villagers were packed in the great sanded kitchen, and a rude service was carried on under cover. The work thus begun went on for years. Sometimes a little spasmodic emotion was shown in the meetings by women who were hysterically inclined, but in general the services were free from excitement and vulgarity. The little tavern had to be shut up, for the men stopped drinking. The fishermen saw the preacher roughly dressed during the week and doing work as hard as their own, yet the influence he gained over them was so strong that it came to be regarded as a very discreditable thing for any man or woman to stay away from the evening services. By-and-by the fisherman who had been the worst ruffian in the village used to take a turn at the preaching. His remarks would have been very laughable to outsiders, but as he was a man of strong character and genuine feeling, his hearers took him quite seriously. As the preacher grew old he was regarded with extreme reverence, especially by the women, whose lives had often been very hard before the Revival. One night the big man, who had first offered the preacher shelter, was sitting in the kitchen when a neighbour came in. The new-comer seemed flurried, and said--"I am going to hit you very hard. The old man's dying. He says he wants to see you; so come you away with me." The giant didn't put his hat on, and did not even take off his sea-boots. He ran out at once, and strode heavily over the moor. The old man was waiting for him, but the end was very near. The preacher made a pathetic little joke. He said, "You once gave me shelter. Maybe I'll have to get one of the many mansions ready for you." Soon after that the ebb tide began to run out, and the preacher died in the big fisherman's arms. When the day of the funeral came, the men would not allow the corpse to be put in the hearse; they took turns to carry the coffin over the moor, and the women and children followed in lines. There was a little jealousy as to who should have the old man's dog, but there was very little need for that, because the collie went from house to house in the Row, arranging his visits with a view to meal-times. After a while a good Church of England clergyman took up the work that the Primitive had begun. The fishers did not like the university man, with his dainty accent, quite so well as their rough friend, but they always behaved well to him, and are still a very decent and sober set of people. THE FISHER'S FRIEND. A square stone house decked with clambering honeysuckle stood in a lonely place about a mile to the northward of the Row. A narrow flower garden lay to the right and left of the front, and in spring-time and summer a delicate little lady used to come out and move gracefully about among the flower beds. She was old, but she carried herself erect, and her cheeks were prettily tinged. Her dress was in the style of the last century, and she made no change in her fashions from year's end to year's end. On Sundays she walked primly to church, wearing a quaint deep bonnet from which her pretty face peeped archly, She reminded you of some demure chapter in an old-world book. After she had finished with her flowers in the mornings she would walk through the kitchen garden and thence into her orchard. Four or five tortoise-shell cats and two sleek spaniels followed her around, and took a dignified interest in her proceedings. When the lady had visited the cows in the paddock she walked through the dairy and got ready to go out. When she came out she bore a little basket on her arm, and she went to visit her old women, and her favourite children. Whenever she stepped into Black Mary's kitchen that aged dame was sure to be smoking, and the little lady would say, "Now Mary, you'll shorten your life if you keep on with that bad habit." Mary would answer, "Well, well, I'm a long way over seventy now, a day or two won't make a great deal of difference." This joke pleased both parties very much, and it was always followed by the production of enough tobacco to last Mary for a day--unless the fisher lads chanced to steal some. After that the cottager's children had to be seen, and those young persons looked at the basket with interest. The dainty visitor would say, "Now Jimmy, I saw you pelting the ducks this morning. How would you like some big cruel man to pelt you? And I saw you, Frank, wading without ever doubling your trousers up; you will catch cold, and your mother and I will have to give you nasty medicine." After this stern reproof some little packets were brought out of the basket and shared with care. Thus the old lady went about the place like a sort of fairy godmother. The fishermen were fond of her. Big Tom, the giant, used to look kindly down at her from under his great brows, and listened to her sharp, twittering speech as though he were criticising some new species of bird. All the other fishermen treated her with rough politeness, and they called her Miss Anne, without troubling themselves about her second name. She was known to the tramps who travelled the coast road, and the gipsies made much of her in their sly, Eastern way. Whenever a poor man knocked she called off the dogs, and went out to talk with him; she questioned him briskly; asked about his parents, his birthplace, his age, the distance he had travelled, his destination, and all sorts of other matters. She then took him to the great wooden table outside the dairy if she was satisfied, and gave him food and a little money. Sometimes she heard that her guest spent the money in the village tavern, but she did not alter her charitable habits for all that. She would say, "Oh sad, sad man, to spend his money like that." Then she would add, "But, perhaps he hasn't learned any other pleasure." The gipsies used to send for medicine when any of them were ailing, and they repaid her kindness by leaving her live stock alone. Once she lost some of her silver-pencilled chickens, but they were soon returned, and it was said that the man who stole them had a very bad beating from one of the Lees who had been a prizefighter. A few marks on the lintel on the door let all the regular tramps know that Miss Anne's property must not be touched; and she very rarely locked her doors in winter. The dark nights were weary for young folks, so Miss Anne used often to invite some favourites among the village boys to come and spend an hour or two in her delightful parlour. The wind screamed hoarsely among the elder-bushes, and the wintry sea made strange noises on the sands, but the happy boys in the bright room never much heeded the weather outside. When Miss Anne had made sure that her guests had spotless hands she let them visit her book-shelves, and they could look through the precious volumes of Bewick's Natural History. A great number of stuffed specimens ornamented the walls of the room, and nothing pleased Miss Anne better than to show how the stuffed birds resembled the woodcuts of the wonderful engraver. After a little time the mistress would question the lads about the various animals. She would say, "Now, Ralph, you shall tell me all about the old English mastiff, and if you break down I shall have to ask Jimmy;" but when the invariable distribution of tarts came, no difference was made between the boys who failed and those who did not. At nine o'clock the young people lit their lanterns and went off over the dark moor. Thus Miss Anne lived her life from week to week in that remote place. Her only excitement came when very bad weather broke on us. If vessels were in danger off our savage rocks, she would stand on the cliffs while the spray lashed up in her face and drenched her with its bitter saltness. If a shipwrecked crew were brought ashore she always liked to take in one or two of the men, and her house was kept in a sad turmoil until her guests had gone away. There are Italians, Norwegians, Swedes, and Frenchmen, besides our own countrymen, who remember the exquisite lady with gratitude. Very few people knew how Miss Anne came to live unmarried, and in solitude; but there is a sorrowful story that explains all. The Fisher's Friend had been the greatest beauty in all the north country, and many men had loved her. One mad young fellow asked her to marry him. She liked him, but she had always said that she never would have him for a husband unless he gave up his wild ways. Again and again they quarrelled, and made friends when he promised to be better. At last she said something very bitter to him, and ordered him out of her sight. He tramped in his own woods all night, and in the morning he galloped his big brown horse down to the sea. He met Miss Anne and straightened his horse across her path. She spoke sharply to him again, as he dashed the spurs in, and went away. Next morning Miss Anne heard that he had hung himself in the barn, and that he had left a note upbraiding her. She turned very white, and went to her room, where she stayed praying all day. The young Squire's death really ended her life. After she had grown old, she failed one morning to rise early, and the servants, who had been used to hear the quick sound of her feet whenever the dawn came, grew alarmed. They sent for Big Tom, and Tom broke open Miss Anne's bedroom door about noon. She was lying dead, and on her breast they found a miniature portrait of a handsome and dark-looking young man. She had worn her sweetheart's likeness for fifty years. THE COASTGUARD. Winter and summer, every night about six o'clock, a tall man, dressed in blue, strode over the moor. Sometimes he looked on the ground for a long time together, and seemed to be buried in deep thought. When he came to the stream he always found another man waiting for him on the far side, and this man was accompanied by a rough water-spaniel. The two friends, who were both coastguards, held a little chat, and then the dog was told to go over for the letters. The spaniel swam across, received the blue despatches, and carried them to his master; then, with a cheery good-night, the men turned back and went across the dark moor to their homes. In the morning the tall coastguard was astir very early. He walked along the rock tops with his old telescope under his arm, and looked acutely at the vessels that crept round the bay. During the middle of the day he had little to do. In fine weather he would sit outside his door with a book, and in bad weather he was always to be found, from ten to four o'clock, on the long settle beside the great fire in his little cottage. He was one of the old school, and had entered the service at the time when civilians were admitted, so he had the utmost contempt for the new school of boatmen who came from on board men-of-war. He was rarely troubled with visits from inspecting officers; in fact, after a certain memorable occurrence, the commander of the station let him alone. A very shrewd officer wished to show his own cleverness, and to find out his men's weakness; so one night, when thick clouds were flying across the moon, he crept round the bay in a six-oared cutter, ran ashore on the sand, hauled up half a dozen empty kegs, and told his men to bury them in the sand. This ingenious captain proceeded as he fancied smugglers would have done, and he intended to go round to the coastguard's cottage and inform him of the trick in the morning. Just as the casks had been triumphantly covered, a voice called sharply, "Who goes there?" The clever officer was thrown off his guard, and was too confused to speak. The challenge was repeated, and presently a couple of bullets whizzed sharply among the party. The coastguard had emptied both his pistols, and one of the bullets cut through the officer's shoulder-knot. The modern coastguardmen never expect to find such an animal as a smuggler: all contraband business is done by dint of craft and not by daring. Firemen and engineers scoop out coal from the bottom of a ship's bunkers and fill the space up with tobacco. Sometimes a clever carpenter will actually hollow out a beam in the forecastle or a block of wood which is used as a stool; the whole article looks perfectly solid, and the Custom-house officers are apt to pass it by. But our friend the coastguard had been used to the old-fashioned smugglers--desperate men who would let fly a ball on the very slightest provocation. Before the piping times of peace came he had known what it was to charge with a party right amongst a gang of desperate fellows who were bumping kegs ashore. When in the grey of the evening the low black lugger crept stealthily towards the shore, the coastguard had been used to stalk the gliding vessel like some wild beast. He could not row off and board her, because the lugger would have spread her brown wings and flown away into the uttermost dark. The coastguardsmen had to catch the smugglers in the act of bringing their goods ashore, and in order to do this he had to contend against a conspiracy of the villagers, who were always ready to lend their horses and their labour to those who were cheating the king. No amount of logic could ever persuade the small farmer that smuggling was in any way immoral, so the coastguard had to combat the cunning of the bold sailors who ran across from Cherbourg, and the still greater cunning of the slouching fellows who signalled his movements from the shore. This was his training, and when the time came for smuggling to be given over entirely to merchant seamen instead of being carried on by desperadoes, the change left the old officer still ready and resolute, and quick with his pistol. It was well for the Revenue that one at least of their servants retained the habits and instincts of the ancient race of preventive-men. One night, just as the tide was flowing, our friend stepped out of his cottage and looked across the bay. Suddenly he saw a light, which flashed for a short time and then was darkened; another flash came and then another; the flood was pouring south in a sombre stream; there was not a gleam on the water, and the whole sea looked like a huge dark abyss. From the depths of the troubled blackness the coastguard saw another light flash back in answer to the one which had been waved from the shore; the seaward light was simply like the ordinary mast-head lantern of a fishing-boat; but the coastguard noticed that it was waved three times, as if in answer to a set signal. He did not quite like the look of things, so he got out a pony from the stables at the Hall and galloped around till he was near the place from which he guessed that the flashes had come. He lay down amongst the long grass and waited in an agony of expectation for something that might help him to solve the puzzle. It turned out that a set of fellows had determined to go back to the old ways, and the flash that the coastguard saw from the sea was shown from an ordinary herring-boat which now lay perilously close to the beach. He saw the black hull wavering like a shadow amid the uncertain gloom and the solemn water. Presently a hand touched him, and a terrible thrill of momentary terror shook his nerves. The man that touched him gave a sharp cry and recoiled; before he could utter another sound the coastguard was upon him, and the muzzle of a great horse-pistol was clapped to his face. The coastguard said: "Tell me where they are going to land?" The prostrate man hesitated; whereupon his stern assailant said: "I'll give you until I count three!" The frightened lout stammered: "They are coming past this way." A few long minutes went by, and then the coastguard heard a sound of laboured breathing; this sound came from a horse which was dragging a large hay-cart through the heavy sand. Two men walked, one on each side of the horse, and a third pushed the cart from behind. The coastguard man had only two shots to spare, and he did not know in the least whether the men opposed to him were armed or not. His decision had to be made swiftly. He was a kind man, fond of dumb animals, and averse to hurting anything in the world; but he saw that there was only one way of preventing the cargo from being safely carried inland. It went sorely against him to take an innocent life; but just as the horse passed him, he fired, aiming a little behind the near shoulder. The horse gave a convulsive stagger and fell dead in the shafts. There was then left one man with a pistol against four, who might or might not be armed. Luckily it happened that the smugglers only carried bludgeons. The coastguard saw that he could not hope to catch any of them, so he said quietly: "I have another shot here, and I am quite safe up to thirty paces. If you don't clear away, I'll have one of you; but I don't say which one it will be." This practical address had a very good effect; the men wisely ran away. The coastguard loaded his other pistol and mounted guard on the cart. In the morning a passing tramp brought him help; the cart was conveyed to the station, and it was found that a splendid haul had been attempted. There was a load of silks and brandy, which was worth a great deal of money. This was the very last attempt at old-fashioned smuggling that ever was made on the north-east coast, and there is no doubt that the attempt would have been successful if only raw young sailors had been employed as guards, instead of an old hand who knew every move of the game. The coastguardman received his promotion soon afterwards, and he continued to express his contempt for man-o'-war's men and smugglers till he arrived at a very old age. THE SUSPECTED MAN. A tall girl used to wander about from village to village down the coast. Strangers did not know what was the matter with her, but all the people who lived round the bay knew that she was out of her mind. Her clothes were not very good, but she kept herself clean, and when she was in the humour she would help the neighbours. She had no relations living, but she never went short of food, for the fishers and the farm people, and even the pitmen, took care to give her shelter and enough to eat. She was mostly bare-headed, but in September, when the cotton-grass grew feathery, she liked to make herself a head-dress out of the grey plumes. When her Sunday hat, as she called it, was on, she was fond of putting the red fronds of the dying bracken into her belt, and with those adornments she looked picturesque. She was always humming to herself, but she never got beyond one silly old song which is common enough in the north country. As she walked along the links she used to move her hands in a stupid way to the rhythm of her music. The words that she sung are known to the people who live on the border, but nobody has ever completed the lyric to which they belong. The two verses which she sang were:-- "Oh have you seen my bonny lad, And ken ye if he's weel, O! It's owre the land and owre the sea He's gyen to moor the keel, O! "Oh yes, I saw your bonny lad, Upon the sea I spied him, His grave is green, but not wi' grass, And you'll never lie beside him." The tune to which she sang her lines was rather merry than otherwise, and sometimes she would dance to the measure. The boys were kind to her, and she liked to enter a school-yard during play time, because the young people used to share their sweets with her. Whenever the weather was very stormy she walked about the sands and tore at her hair. If a ship stood into the bay to escape the northerly wind, she was violently excited; and, when vessels anchored a good mile out, she would scream warnings to the captains. She had been a very fine girl in her time, and many of the fisher lads would have been glad to have married her. The sailor-men too from the colliers' port used to come after her. But she went mad when she found the lad whom she liked best lying dead on the beach, and so she never married. The story of her sweetheart's death was one of the ugliest that ever was known on the shores of the bay. He was a smart fellow, who went mate of a brig that ran to Middlesborough for iron-stone. The brig was not much of a beauty, and, when she had to go round, the odds were always about two to one that she would "miss stays." In coming northward from Middlesborough, one bad winter's day, she missed stays once too often, and when the captain found that she would not come round, he let go one anchor. But the chain was of no more use than a straw rope: it snapped, and the vessel came ashore, broadside on to the rocks. It was about dusk when she struck, and nothing could be done to help the men. Mad Mary's sweetheart swam ashore, but it seemed that he must have been very much exhausted when he got to the sand, and somebody was waiting for him who had better never have seen him. A man who stood under the cliffs while the poor struggling swimmer fought southward, had a bad reputation in every village from Spittal to Cullercoates. He was a sulky fellow, and did not make his living by legitimate ways. None of the men cared to associate with him, for he had once violated every instinct of kindness that the fishermen and sailors held dear. He had found an abandoned vessel to the north of the Dogger Bank, and he boarded her. Finding no one on deck, he determined to sail the vessel into port and get the salvage on her. A retriever dog came floundering along the deck and fawned upon him. Now the man had heard that if any living thing is on board a vessel no salvage-money can be claimed when the ship is picked up, and he believed the story, so he coaxed the dog, patted him until he got the chance of a fair hold, then put his arms round the poor beast, and pitched it overboard. The story was told everywhere by the other smacks-men, and the children used to cry, "Who drowned the dog?" whenever the doer of this wicked act appeared in the street. The fellow who drowned the dog was certainly close by when the brig touched, but beyond this we know nothing that could prove a crime. In the morning, when a troop of fishermen walked along the beach to see if anything could be picked up, they found Mary sitting on the sand beside the dead body of a man. The dead sailor's head was bruised, and his waistcoat had been torn open. A rat-catcher who had crossed the moor said that he saw the man who drowned the dog skulking up the hollow from the place where the corpse lay, but no one brought any definite accusation, for, after all, the bruise on the head might have been caused by a blow on a stone. Still the suspected man had a bad life after this occurrence. Mary lost her senses completely, but she recognized him always, and whenever she saw him she crooked her fingers like the claws of a cat, and showed her teeth. Why she did so could only be guessed: perhaps she had seen more than the rat-catcher, but she never said anything. The fellow who had earned this suspicion stayed in the village until one memorable winter night, when some youths waylaid him as he came sneaking off the moor with his lurcher. They put a lantern under a sheet and waited till their scouts told them that the victim was near. As soon as he had passed the marsh that borders the waste, the practical jokers pushed up a pole with the lantern on top, and with the sheet over the lantern. The poacher lay down on his face and shouted for mercy. He never came into the village after this, but went to an inland town and lived by his old mysterious industry. No crime worse than poaching was ever brought home to him, and, as he left the seafaring life, the unpleasant memory of him soon died away. Mad Mary wandered the countryside for a long time: some kind people wanted to put her in an asylum, because they feared she might get drowned as she walked the shore where the unhappy little brig went to pieces. But she was never put under restraint, and her innocent life passed amid kindness and pity. THE RABBIT-CATCHER. I had the fancy to walk out one winter's morning in a very lonely place. The wind was laden with sleet, and as I walked on the top of the cliffs it struck my right cheek viciously, and then screamed away past through the furze-bushes. The light was coming up slowly over the leaden sea, and the waves seemed cowed by the steady flogging of the sleet. I heard the woods complaining from afar off, and the whistling curlew as he called overhead made me think of messengers of evil. Presently I came to a great range of rounded hills, which were covered by withered bracken. Certain gaps led through these hills to the beach, and along the beach I determined to walk. My terrier concluded that rabbits were vanity. He drooped his ears and tail, and trotted along as if he were reproaching me for my rashness. I was glancing out over the grey trouble of the sea, and watching the forlorn ships cowering along like belated ghosts, when I heard a click to the right of me. Looking up the bluff, I saw a tall powerful lad who had just straightened himself up. He had two rabbits slung over his shoulder, and his big bag seemed to contain many more. I walked towards him to have a look at what he was doing, and I found him manoeuvring with a great steel trap. When he had finished, we dropped into conversation in that easy way proper to wild places where few men ever come. I noticed his build and his face. His rough bonnet covered his forehead, but I could see he had plenty of thick brown hair. His eye was blue like tempered steel, and shone with a steady gleam from under projecting brows. His mouth was beautifully shaped, and his lips were full and resolute. For the rest, he was built like an ordinary dalesman--broad and flat in the shoulders, lean in the flank, and strong of limb. His clothing was coarse and poor, and his hands were rough and very red. I said, "What takes you out at this time of the morning?" "Oh! I was just lookin' round the traps. My father rents the hills from here to the Clough, and I work with him." "You find it chilly work this weather?" "It's grey and cold; but we haven't to mind those things." "Are you busy all day?" "No. I only go to the traps twice, and then drive the rabbits into the town, and the rest o' the time I'm clear." "Then where do you live?" "I stop by myself mostly in the wooden house at the Poachers' Hollow, and old Betty Winthrop comes and does what's wanted to keep the place right." We walked on exchanging small talk until we came to the hollow, and I saw the tiny hut where my new friend lived. The hollow was a gruesome place. It acted as a kind of funnel whereby the wind from the great woods was poured over the beach, and sent moaning away across the sea. In summer it was gay with bracken, and golden ragwort, and wild geranium, but in winter it looked only fit for adventurous witches to gambol in. I said, "The wind must yell awfully here when it is a gusty night." A curious look came into the young fellow's eye, and gave me a new interest in him. He answered: "I like it. The wind here's like nowhere else. It plays tunes on the trees there as it comes through, and I get the echoes of them. Sometimes I hear the men's voices, and then I know what it is. It's the old Norsemen going out over the sea to look at their tracks again. Bless you, I've heard them talk about the Swan's bath. Sometimes the dead ladies come and whisper, and I know they're walking in the woods all the time the dusk lasts." I stared very much. This speech did not sound very sane, and yet it was uttered by a quiet young lad who looked as if he might be trusted. I thought, "Oh! Here's a kind of poet, or something of that sort," and I said, smilingly, "How do you come to know about the Norsemen, then?" "I have several books. I got one on a stall--a very good one about heroes. It has a lot in it about the Norsemen. If you come in you can see my books. You might have some tea. I put the kettle ready before I went out." I stepped into the hut, and found it warm and cosy. A cake of barley bread was on the table, and a little black teapot stood there also. There was no furniture but a low wooden bed, one chair, a settle, and a broad shelf. On the shelf was a slate scrabbled all over with geometrical figures, and one of these figures was a parabola with two tangents drawn touching. This puzzled me much. I sat down to warm my hands and my half-frozen face, and when I felt comfortable I said, "Do you read conic sections, young gentleman?" His bonnet was off now, and I saw his broad, compact forehead and his massive temples. He looked capable of reading anything. He replied, quite simply: "Oh, yes! I read geometrical conics." "And did you teach yourself?" "Yes. It isn't hard after you've got over the sixth book of Euclid." I grew more and more puzzled and interested. We had some tea, which made me feel positively luxurious, and then I looked at the backs of the books. There were "The Pilgrim's Progress," and "Tappan on the Will." Then came Shakespeare, a shilling edition of Keats, Drew's "Conic Sections," Hall's "Differential Calculus," Baker's "Land Surveying," Carlyle's "Heroes," a fat volume of Shelley, "The Antiquary," White's "Selborne," Bonnycastle's "Algebra," and five volumes of "The Tales of the Borders." "You have a capital lot of books, my man. I suppose you know them all by heart, pretty well?" "Yes, I know them; not by heart exactly, but I've had a lot of time these two winters, and I've gone over them and written about them." "Well, which do you like best of all?" "My fancy's all for mathematics, but I like poetry." "Ah! And I suppose you write poetry--don't you, now?" He was not abashed--he said in an ordinary tone, "Very often. It doesn't seem good, but I go on at it. It pleases me and puts away the time now and then. There's some in that copy-book at your side." I know what a fearful thing youthful poetry is, and I felt a discreet dread. But I opened the book and saw that the young man had been writing verses in a large strong hand. I did not read much. There was one pair of broken quatrains which I remember:-- "Though toil is heavy I'll not be sad, I'll rest content while my pulses beat; If I work, and love, and trust and be glad, Perchance the world will come to my feet. But if no fortune ever be mine, If my bones on this grey hill-side must lie, As long as I breathe I'll not repine, I've gladly lived and I'll gladly die." "You're not very particular about the form of your verses," said I. "No! I never count syllables. I only go by accents." "Um! Well. I shall meet you again, and you shall come and see me." All that winter I was secluded. Day after day broke with wild weather. Sometimes the snow came and laid all the bracken under its gentle coverlid. Sometimes the wind came in from the sea, and as the mad squalls tore off the crests of the breakers, our cottage was smothered with yellow foam. I liked to go along to the wooden hut and sit with my young friend, although the tramp back in the chill darkness was not always very safe. He used also to visit me, and I lent him books. He was much taken with Burke, and would talk with a solemn enthusiasm when I encouraged him to speak about the American war and the Revolution. He began to try prose writing during this same winter, and I sometimes read his attempts. After he had shown me some quiet fragments, describing his own daily work, I advised him not to trouble himself with verse any more, and he went on imitating his favourite prose writers with curious persistence. February came in, bringing worse weather than ever. One night the wind rose so that by nine o'clock it was hardly possible to stand in the open. The sky was like iron, and the dull red which had appeared in the West at sundown changed to a cold, neutral dimness. The birds were in great trouble, the gulls especially wailing with a peevish sharpness that made the skin creep. I looked out twice into the roaring darkness, and could see nothing except the flash of the "white horses" as they trampled and reared far out at sea. The fire was better than that wild company, so I sat a little, and then slept. A loud knocking awaked me, and, going to the door, I found that the dawn had come, and that my young friend was there. "What is the matter?" "Get dressed, sir. There's bad work coming, the gale's worse, and there's a brig trying to work north. He'll never get round the point. You go nor'ard and rouse the Hundalee men, and I'll go south and rouse the chaps at the Bay. Good-bye." When I got out the wind hit me so that I had to turn and gasp a second for breath. It seemed as though the sea were going to invade the land. There was not a vestige of black or green water for half a mile from the beach. Nothing but wild masses of angry whiteness coiling and winding and shivering themselves against each other. Twice the wind stopped me as I fought my way north, and once I had fairly to lie down in a hollow until a shrieking blast gave me leave to step on. But I got to the village and told the men, and a dozen strong fellows went back with me. There was no lifeboat within eight miles, so we harnessed two horses to a pair of the ordinary wheels used to launch herring-boats after the winter is over, and we took one of the smaller sort of trouting-boats with us. When we reached the Point the men from the south were there, and my young friend was among them. All were excited, for the brig was fighting her way still through the awful sea. She would not bear enough sail to steady her in the least, and she could only claw her way inch by inch to the north-east. The Point was a long sandy spit, which sloped gradually away into deep water. If the vessel could weather it, she might get away to the north, but she had gone too far into the bay, and the fishermen saw that she must choose between going ashore on the rocks of the bay and hitting the Point. In the latter event the vessel might hold for a while before the seas finally smashed her. The brig rose sometimes on the cross seas until we could see her copper. Then she would seem to strike savagely at the driving mist as her masts lashed forward; then she would lurch to leeward, and lie for a few horrible seconds as though she never would rise again. It could not last. My young friend said: "Let's get the coble down to the water's edge." The volleys of wind and the thunder of water had frightened the horses, and they stood trembling and cowed. The men had to let the boat slide down the grassy channel, which was, as it were, bevelled in the low bulge of the Point. They had not long to wait. The brig suddenly came round, as though her helm had been put hard up. "Rudder's gone," said one of the fishermen. Sea after sea struck the vessel astern, and threatened to swamp her, but she managed always to shake herself. She came on like a cork that is rushed down a gutter by a shower, only giving a roll and going yard-arm under as cross-seas hit her. At last she stopped. "Touched," said one of the men. But she rose again and lumbered yet a few yards forward. Then she beat herself heavily, and the next sea doubled clean over her. "We can't do nothin', chaps. The coble winnot get two yards till she's over." This came from the oldest fisherman. "Oh! for Christ's sake, let's shove off," said my young student, clasping his hands. He was pale, and his eyes shone, as they always did when he was excited. "It's very well to say shove off, my bonny man, but look at it! We brought the boat for fear there might be a chance, but there's no chance at all." "I think we might just have a try," said a large, grave man. "Will three o' you come, and I'll steer her myself?" "I'll be one," said a stiff little man, known as "Catfish." "Let me go," said the young rabbit-catcher. "I can pull as well as ever a one of you," he pleaded, when the large man looked doubtful. I wanted to go, but it was decided that a fisherman would pull better than I. So we got the boat hurled through the smother of foam, and presently we heard the "Crack, crack," as the vanguard of the real water began to strike at her. My youngster was pulling with his hat off, and I saw him now and then, as the boat swooped upward, and hung almost perpendicularly on the striped side of a travelling wave. I believe I prayed. An old man, whose son was rowing the stern oar (cobles only need three oars, two on one side, and a long one astern) said, "Lord, have mercy on you, my bonny Harry." Then he sobbed once, and his face became fixed, like a mask of carven stone. I do not know how long the wild buffeting lasted, but I know that presently the bows of the boat appeared returning over a doubling sea, and as she made her downward flight I saw a black, huddled mass in her. Then there was a rush, and the coble came up on the sand. Only one trip was needed. Five men were brought ashore; the other two hands had been taken overboard by one sea just before the ship lost her rudder. Years went by, and I returned to dwell in cities. One evening I went to dine at a club. I was lounging in the reading-room, when a splendid-looking man attracted my attention. He was a magnificently-built young fellow, with a fine beard, and bright, steel-blue eyes. When he rose, I saw that he was perfectly dressed, and when he spoke to a waiter, his voice seemed deep, and his accent fine. I looked down at my paper, and I then felt that he was looking at me. When I looked up, he had risen, and was looking steadily in my face. He made a step forward. "Pardon me. How very, very strange!" I said; "I'm at a loss to remember you. You'll forgive me." "Don't you remember the Poachers' Hollow, and the brig, and Burke, and the Differential?" Then I knew, and we shook hands heartily. We dined together, and he told me how his change of fortune had come about. "It all came through that shipwreck," he explained. "How was that?" "Well, directly I got home and changed, I sat down and wrote an account of the whole concern in some very gaudy prose, and I drove the pony into the town and handed the letter in at the 'Sentinel' office. My account was printed. Old Mr. Willits--you remember him--sent to the editor to know who had done it, and then sent for me. He was very grumpy and crusty at first, but I explained my position to him simply, and he got very good humoured. He sent me to a tutor for two years and a half; then I won a Trinity scholarship, and scored two or three other things; then I went to the University, and slogged like a slave. Mr. Willits helped me. I did very well in the Tripos--not so well as men who started younger--but still I landed ninth. Now I'm principal of the new college that ---- endowed, and I have a very good thing indeed." So my friend, the rabbit-catcher, became a successful man, and, I am sure, I wished him joy. THE GIANTS. In passing along the shores of the bay, on evenings when the water was smooth, you could hear a succession of dull thuds like the sound of distant guns. Looking to eastward you saw a dark semicircular streak on the water, and inside this streak a coble glided slowly hither and thither. One man rowed gently, letting his oars drop into the water with a slight splash, that could be heard nevertheless a long way off. The sweeps were so long that the rower could not scull in the ordinary way, but crossed his arms and held the handle of the right sweep in his left hand, and _vice versâ_. In the stern of the boat stood a man of gigantic size. At intervals he heaved up a great tiller into the air and brought it down with all his strength; he then gathered himself for another effort while the split end of the tiller floated on the water; then came another strong muscular effort, and then another resounding splash. If the boat drew near the brown rocks the blows of the tiller would startle a piper or a curlew; a long note of warning would pierce the stillness, and a wailing answer came from the next point; then a shrill clamour passed all round the bay, and the birds skimmed towards the island like flights of dark arrows. The black streak on the water was made by the cork floaters of a net, for the men in the coble were engaged in catching sea-trout. When the tide has flowed for some time, there is a general stir among the fish. First the dainty gobies come forward as vanguard; then come the pretty fish that the men call sea-minnows; then the dark shadows of the flounders fly swiftly over the sandy floor, and the dogcrabs sidle along in a very lively manner. As the foam creeps further and further in the larger fishes come from the deep water. Great congers with their ugly manes and villanous eyes wind in and out the rocky channels, committing assaults on smaller fishes as they come. The red rock cod leaves his stony hollows and swims over the sandy places, looking for soft crabs, or for his favourite food, the luscious crass. Last of all comes the beautiful sea-trout, skirmishing forward with short rushes, and sometimes making a swirl near the surface of the water. The fishermen wait until they think the trout have had time to reach the inner rocks, and then softly paddle the coble away from the shore. The net is dexterously shot, and a good man can manage to do this without making a splash. The long curtain is about four feet deep, and lead sinkers make it hang true. Not a word is spoken until the great bladder which marks the end of the net falls into the sea. Then the boat is taken toward the shore, and the fishermen rest quiet for awhile, until it is time to begin splashing. The big pole is dashed into the water in order to frighten the trout towards the net, and very great judgment is required in the rower, for if he happens to take the wrong track he may easily put the fish in the way of escape. The gigantic man who used to ply the tiller, and the old rower, were both very clever at this kind of fishing. The older of the two was called "Big Harry," and the younger was called "Little Harry." There was humour in this mode of naming, for Little Harry stood six feet four, while Big Harry only measured about six feet three. Big Harry had four sons altogether, and the average height of the family was about six feet four. All the lads were extremely good-looking, but the old man liked Little Harry best, and always took him for partner. The other sons handled the second of the family cobles, and the five men made an excellent living. It was a fine sight to see the fellows go away in the afternoon. They wore great boots that came up to the thigh, blue woollen caps, or sou-westers, and thick dark Guernseys. All of them were dark-haired and dark-eyed, and with their earrings, they looked strange and foreign. The three younger lads, who were much bigger than their father, went partners in one boat, and the two gaudy craft took their several ways. The men never said good-bye or good-night, nor did they use any other form of politeness, because by the fishermen any demonstration of friendliness, even among relations, is counted as showing softness. The mother of the lads was a handsome, broad-shouldered woman who had been a beauty in her day. She mostly used to spare time for seeing her tall fellows off, but she never waved to them. In spite of this reticence, it must not be supposed that the family were unkindly: more gentle and helpful men never lived, and there was not one of them who had not done some brave thing. It may be worth while to tell a story illustrative of their disposition. One brisk morning, when the sea was running high, a little boy was sailing a fine model yacht in one of the great pools on the shore. The tide was running in, and presently the advancing water rushed into the pool. The yacht was just in the centre when the whirl of the sea took her. She swung round; the westerly wind caught her, and in a moment she was over the barrier and away into deep water. The little thing was well leaded, and she went off like a dolphin. The youthful owner saw her now and again as she topped the waves, and he lamented exceedingly. At last it struck him to run north to the village. Just as he reached the cove, Big Harry's younger sons were coming in after a night at sea. The men were wet and sleepy enough, but when the little boy told them his story they lifted him into the bow of the coble and shoved off again. With three reefs in the sail they dodged out among the jumping seas, and ran over the bay after the truant yacht. The swift coble soon overhauled the runaway, and the men came back well drenched by their second trip. The whole thing was done with perfect simplicity; and the fishermen would not accept even a glass of ale from the boy's father. They said "they were glad to see the bairn so pleased," and they tease the said "bairn" about his skill in navigation even to this day. When we see kindness like this we may be content to do without words or other minor demonstrations. During all the long nights Big Harry and Little Harry used to sit together very silently. Sometimes when the corks at one part of the net went under water suddenly, one of the men would say, "There's a troot fast," but conversation did not extend beyond elementary observations like this. The dark came down over the bay, and the last gleam died away from the distant hills. The water purred softly with little treble sounds against the sides of the boat; the trees made hoarse noises, and sometimes the long whistle of an otter (who is also a trout fisher) would come from the shaggy sides of the brown stream. The men sat on amid the mystery of the night, but they had no care for the picturesque. By-and-by the time for a haul would come, and the muscular fish were pitched "flopping" into the basket. Then the nets were shot again, and the resonant splashing begun. If the tide suited, the boat stayed on till dawn. As soon as the cushats began to fly from the woods to the fields, and the hillsides were streaked with grey motes of light, Big Harry and his son rowed into the cove, and then Little Harry went to catch the old mare on the moor. A boy drove the night's fish to the station, and Big Harry slept heavily in the dark box bed. Father and sons led this life for many years. Their only change came when the herring shoals moved southward, and then the five strong men used to make a great deal of money. They saved too, and were much better off than some people who live in finer houses. Indeed, they had much need to earn a great deal, for those great frames were not easily kept up. Big Adam once ate five eggs after his return from a night's fishing. He then inquired "When will breakfast be ready?". So it will be seen that his appetite was healthy. It seemed that nothing but gradual decay could ever sap the strength of any one of these fine athletes, yet a miserable mischance made a break in the family, and changed Big Harry into a sorrowful man. He came ashore one rainy morning, and he and his son had sore work in hauling the coble up. There was no one to drive the fish to the station, so Little Harry volunteered. It was a long drive for such a bad day, and when the young man came home he was chilled. He shivered a good deal and could not sleep, but no one dreamed of bringing a doctor for a man with a forty-seven inch chest. Within a very short while Little Harry was taken by rapid consumption, and succumbed like a weakling from the town. On the day of the funeral the father would not follow the coffin over the moor. He lay with his face pressed on the pillow, and the bed shook with his sobbing. He never would take another son for mate, because he thought he might distress the lad if he showed signs of comparing him with the dead. He preferred a stranger. He liked carrying Little Harry's son about, and he used to be pleased when the clergyman said to the child, "Well, and how is your big pony?"--the pony being the grandfather. When the lad grew big enough to handle the small-sized plasher the old man took him as partner, and he boasts about the little fellow's cleverness. THE COLLIER SKIPPER. Many old-fashioned people who read of the massacres caused by steamboat collisions, think regretfully of the time when eight hundred sail of ships would make the trip between Tyne and Thames without so much as the loss of a bowsprit from one of the fleet. It was slow work, perhaps, and it might be a tedious sight (say those who praise past times), to see a ship being hauled up the river foot by foot with a warp and a kedge; yet we do not get cheap coals now, for all our science, and we have lost our seamen. The old inhabitants of the eastern seaports never cease to lament the progress of steam. They point out that all the money made in the brig colliers goes into few hands, and is carried away to be spent in London and Torquay, and Cannes, and Paris, by the great coalowners. They say, too, that the new race of seamen are unsocial beings who do no good to any town that the steamers run from. The modern "hand" comes into the river, say, at dusk; sees his vessel put under the coal spout, jumps ashore to buy a loaf and a few herrings, and then goes off to sea by three in the morning. This goes on all the year round, and if the sailor gets four-and-twenty hours to spend at home, he thinks himself wonderfully lucky. The sailor-men of old times seldom worked in the winter. All the colliers were laid up in the river, and the men lived on their summer earnings, so that multitudes of small tradesmen, who are now unable to live, fared very comfortably then. These complaints may not be very logical or well founded, but the people who make them speak with perfect belief. Whatever may be thought of the social aspect of the question, the nautical aspect is not to be mistaken; for our school of seamen is undoubtedly departed. The old collier sailor was a man of one faculty: he could handle a ship to perfection, but he could do nothing else, and he knew nothing else. On shore he was a child of the most innocent description, and the world that lay outside the regular line traversed by his old black tub, was a place beyond his conception. It is true that he sometimes went to such far-off regions as the Baltic, but even that extent of travel failed to open his mind. The worthy man who said that the four quarters of the globe were "Russia, Prussia, Memel, and Shields," was the type of the travelled collier captain. It is hardly possible to understand the complete ignorance of some of those fine sailors, or to conceive the methods on which they worked their ships. A man who could neither read nor write would take his vessel without a mistake from port to port. The lights on the coast were his only books, and his one intellectual exercise consisted in calculating the set of the ebb and the flood. With all the phenomena that he was used to observe in his ordinary life, he could deal promptly and sagaciously, but anything new tended to disarrange his mind. When steamers were first ordered to carry red and green side-lights with a high white light hung forward, an old captain saw the mysterious coloured circles coming down on him. He did not understand this new thing, and his faculties became confused. He shouted "Hard a-starboard. We'll be into a chemist's shop." This momentary infirmity of purpose was the source of much fun among more advanced mariners in his town. Another master who happened to have a leisure evening went to hear a popular astronomical lecture. He was much troubled by what he heard, and he explained his perplexity with great feeling to his friends. He said: "The man told the lot of us that the world turned round and round; but I cannot see how that can be. The Hatter's Rock's been there ever since I can mind." It sometimes happened that a captain more than usually competent was sent over seas to strange regions. One gentleman who could read and use a chart was despatched to Rotterdam. After getting over the bar and well away to the east, he produced his charts and made a learned inspection; but the charts had been a long time in the lockers, and circumstances combined to alarm him extremely. He went up on deck and called to his mate, "Put her about, the rats has eaten Holland." One of the most remarkable of the old school was a man who could actually take his ship about and find his place on the chart without being able to read the names himself. He always became very shortsighted on longish voyages. Towards the end of his time the new race of apprentices who had learned to read began to go to sea: before that period he had only been used to coasting trips, and the learned youths were a godsend to him when his owners sent him far afield. He would call his lad down below, and, assuming a tender air, would give the seasoned youngster a glass of rum. He would then point to the chart and say, "We're there. What is that place, my man? I can't see very well." On receiving his answer, he would remark, gravely, "I thought it was that." This innocent device gave the greatest entertainment to his irreverent pupils. Sometimes this kind of ignorance led to complications. One old gentleman bored away through a fog for several days under the pleasing impression that he was going north about from Liverpool. After a long time a vessel came past and the lost captain inquired, "Are we going right for the Castle foot?" The stranger made answer. "What Castle foot?" Whereupon the incensed skipper said, "There's only one Castle foot. Tynemouth Castle." The answer was discouraging: "If you go as you're going, you'll be at Newfoundland in a very short time." This hero felt his way back and after many days and much hailing of passing ships he sighted St. Abb's Head. He then said with pride, "Ah! here's England. Aw thowt aw would fetch her." He had really known no more of his route than a player at blind man's buff knows of his way about a room. Of course very many of the captains were more accomplished than the stolid persons concerning whom so many droll legends still linger; but the fact remains, that valuable property and valuable lives were entrusted to men who wrought solely by rule of thumb, and that the trust was, on the whole, very wisely bestowed. With clumsy old craft that sailed in heavy weather as though they were dragging an anchor at the bottom, and that missed stays on the faintest provocation, these men carried goods to the value of millions, without incurring nearly the loss which is borne through the failure of the smart iron steamers. They are nearly all gone now, and the public are not much the better. Many good judges think that in the event of a great naval war we shall feel the need of that fine recruiting ground that lay between Spittal and Yarmouth. The old collier sailor, illiterate as he was, and stupid as he was in many respects, made a model man-of-war's man when he had been drilled into shape. He was alert, obedient, and utterly careless of danger; he had the fighting instinct developed to the point of ferocity; he was at once strong and docile, and his very simplicity made him the best possible instrument to be employed on dangerous enterprises. The last specimens will soon be beyond the reach of social students. Here and there may be found some bronzed old man who remembers when the Tyne was little more than a ditch flooded at tide-time. He hobbles sturdily to the pier and looks at the passing vessels with dim eyes. The steamers pass up and down with their swaggering turmoil; the little tugs whisk the sailing ships deftly in and out; but he will always think that the world was better when the bar was shallow, and when the sailors worked up stream without the aid of those unseamanlike kettles. IN THE BAY. The screw steamer "Coquet" left a little port on the north coast early one October. She was bound for Genoa; and as this was a long trip, a little group of men, among whom were several who owned shares in her, waved their farewells from the end of the pier. A number of small tradesmen and a few well-to-do fishermen had formed a company to buy her, so she was regarded as quite an institution of the port. A smart captain had managed her cleverly, and she paid, during five years, an average dividend of nearly fifty per cent., after the modest claims of the "managing" owner had been satisfied. Naturally she was regarded as a treasure, and her fortunate owners used to make triumphant observations about her to less lucky men. The steamer had gone through some very bad weather; but as every rivet in her hull had been examined while she was being put together, and that too by a man whom no skulker could deceive, she had lived in seas that sent scamped ships to the bottom. The "Coquet" got away down Channel and struck for Ushant without any mishap; but when she got well into the Bay the sky began to look ominous. On the second morning the sea ran very strong, and by mid-day the gale had fairly come. All the fine descriptions of heavy weather in the Bay help one but little to understand what it is really like. It is hardly possible to think coherently about the enormous hurly-burly, much less to write or speak so as to make anyone understand how the masses of water move and how they sound. The "Coquet" got into a very bad quarter indeed, and the captain soon saw that it was useless to try running her. All hands were warned; the formalities of watches were dispensed with; and the engineers received orders to get on every possible ounce of steam. Then the ship was placed with her head to the sea, and the master took his place on the bridge. He did not know what a very long spell he would have. Only by keeping the engines at full speed ahead the vessel was enabled to hold her ground, and sometimes when the usual eight great waves were followed by the mountainous ninth, she lost considerably. The captain had to watch like a cat; for an instant's nervousness, a momentary failure of judgment, would have let her come round, and then all would have been soon over. The men hung on anyhow, and the two hands at the wheel were lashed, for the hull was seldom above water. A pouring stream rushed over the steamer; and hardly had one volume of water passed away when another came down like thunder. There was very little of the usual creamy foam, for the sea ran over the ship as though she were not there. When the downward flights came, the captain on the high bridge was often up to his knees in water; and again and again he made up his mind that his vessel could never come out of it. Once, when the mate dodged aft and clambered to the bridge, the "Coquet" took a long rush down, after she had reared on end like a horse. Her plunge was like the dive of a whale, and the screw "raced"--that is, whirled round high above the sea-level. The mate said, "She's gone, sir;" the captain replied, "Give her time." Once more she came up and shook herself; but it seemed as though her elasticity was gone. In truth, her deck had an ugly slant. During all this time the wind was growing, and the sea was gaining speed and strength. It could not very well last, and nobody knew that better than the captain. A blinding scuffle of cross-seas came and the "Coquet" was smothered for a while; the captain heard a crashing sound, and when he looked round the starboard boat was smashed and hanging in splinters, while the port boat was torn clean away. These were the only two boats that the vessel had. The slant or "list" grew more pronounced, for the cargo had shifted; and the steamer was now like a boxer whose left hand is tied behind his back. She seemed to take the blows passively, only lungeing doggedly up when the wild welter had flowed over her, and still keeping her nose to the sea. All night long the captain hung on the bridge. It was his second night, and in that time he had only had one biscuit, that the mate gave him. His legs were very tired, and every muscle was strained in the effort to cling fast. He could, of course, see nothing; and it was only by the compass that he could tell how to keep her head. At midnight a wave swept everything; the compass amidships and the one astern both went, and a man was taken overboard. Still the wind kept on, and the only light to be seen was the flash of the curling spray. The dawn broke, and still the sea was bad. At seven o'clock a tremendous crash sounded, and the vessel staggered: there was a long ripping grind, and the port bulwark was gone; so all the seas that came aboard after this had their own way, and as the vessel "listed" to port the deck was a very dangerous place. The mate managed again to get near the captain. He said: "The men want you to put her before the sea, sir; so do I." The captain replied: "If you propose such a thing again, sir, I'll break your head as soon as I can get loose from here. Keep the men in heart." At noon the second mate came forward with a white face, saying: "The tarpaulin's gone off the after-hold, sir." The captain was badly put out by hearing this, but he shouted: "Lash the men how you can, and try to make fast again." While the men (with ropes round their waists) were wrestling with the tarpaulin, a wave doubled over the ship, making her shake; and, as the captain afterwards said, "the fellows were swimming like black-beetles in a basin of water." One poor "ordinary" went overboard in the wash of this sea, and nothing could be done for him. At four o'clock the chief engineer came up, and managed to tell the captain that two fires were drowned out, and that the firemen would stay below no longer. The captain asked, "Have you the middle fire?" and receiving an affirmative answer, he said, "Give the men each half a tumbler of brandy to put some pluck in them." A merry Irish fireman was so influenced by his dose of spirit that he joked and coaxed his mates down below again, and once more the fight was resumed. The sun drooped low, and threw long swords of light through rifts in the dull grey veil. The captain knew it was now or never, so he managed to get the men called where they could hear him, and shouted: "Now, when that sun dips we'll have the warmest half-hour of all. If she lives through that and the gale breaks, I can save her. If she doesn't, you must die like men. You should say your prayers." When the "warm half-hour" came it was something beyond belief. The "Coquet" was as bare as a newly launched hull before it was over; then came a kind of long sigh, and the wind relaxed its force. All night the sea lessened; and at dawn there was but a light air of wind, with no breaking waves at all. The captain then dared to run before the sea; he got his vessel round, and she went comfortably away on the steady roll. He had known all along that if he tried to fetch her round she would assuredly share the fate of the "London." That steamer was smashed in by a doubling sea that came over her stern while the captain was trying to take her about. The master of the "Coquet" had been seventy-two hours on the bridge, and he was nearly asleep as he walked. In trying to get to his berth he fell face foremost, and slept on the cabin-floor in his wet oilskin suit. When he woke he had a nastier problem than ever, for his compasses were gone, and the ship had a dangerous "list." However, he soon bethought him of a tiny pocket-compass which he had in his state-room. Working with this, and managing to get a sight of the sun, he contrived to get within fourteen miles of Gibraltar--which was very fair seamanship. He reached Genoa; but the ship was sixteen days overdue, and the people at home were alarmed. On the morning after the "Coquet's" arrival one of her owners looked through a local journal, and, finding no good news, went and got his shares under-written 60 per cent. more. On coming out of the office he was met by a friend, who heartily congratulated him on his good luck. When he asked wherein the good luck consisted, he was shown a paragraph in another local journal which stated that "The steamship 'Coquet' arrived at Genoa, sixteen days overdue. Boats gone, port bulwark gone, compasses gone, and two men lost overboard." The lesson to be learned from the "Coquet's" escape is simple. In that very gale as many men were killed at sea as would have fallen in a moderately important battle. The number of missing steamers was great, and there is no doubt but that most of these vessels foundered. The "Coquet" was built under the eye of a critic who did not suffer champagne to bias his ideas of solid workmanship. She is still earning heavy dividends for her owners. The steamers that broke in two and went down were not superintended on the stocks by a shrewd and vigilant overlooker: so they drowned their crews. THE SIBYL. An old woman lived in a one-roomed cottage among the sand hills bordering the sea. Her place was only a hut with thatched roof and stone floor, but coals were plentiful, so Mary was able to make herself very comfortable. The wind made a great noise with moaning and shrieking among the bents, but Mary was not learned enough in romantic literature to be moved by weird sounds. She did not like to hear a fox howl on the hill, because that woeful cry boded ill fortune; but the tumult of ordinary winter evenings never affected her. All day she crouched over her fire, filling her pipe at intervals with coarse tobacco, and smoking sedately. She did not look up when people entered, for her sight was dim; yet she knew the tread and the voice of every lad in the village who had once been in her company, and she very rarely made mistakes in bestowing her greetings. Her face was like a walnut-shell, so deep and intricate were the creases in her brown skin; and the broad outlines of her features were massive and strong. At the end of the last century she had been a strapping girl with a fine gait, and she liked to tell how the young Squire used to admire her, and how he stopped his horse and spoke with her by the wayside. The young Squire had grown into an old man, but Mary always remembered him as he was when he cantered through the village on his croptailed roadster, and displayed his brass buttons and his neat buckskins for the admiration of the fisher-girls. No one knew how old Mary was: she herself fixed her age at "about a thousand," but even those who believed in her most regarded this estimate as exaggerated. She always spoke of the Squire as being younger than herself, and as she was still living when he was within five years of one hundred, she must have been very old indeed. Her chance allusions to past events were startling. She could remember the talk of her own grandmother, and when she repeated things which she had heard as a child, it seemed as though a dim light had been thrown on antiquity. She liked to speak about a mysterious French privateer that had landed men who "went and set up their gob to old Mrs. Turnbull at the Bleakmoor Farm, and tyok every loaf oot o' the pantry;" but no one could ever tell what privateer she meant. She had heard about Bonaparte, and she remembered when Big Meg, the village cannon, was brought down to the cliff and planted ready for invaders. Her grandmother had spoken often of the time when all the men from the Ratcliffe property, away west, had followed somebody that wanted to send the King away, but Mary's knowledge of this circumstance was severely indefinite. The lads in the place would have followed their Squire had he chosen to imitate "Ratcliffe," but the Squire of that day was a quiet man who liked the notion of keeping his head on his shoulders. Mary knew of one country beyond England, and she conceived that Englishmen were meant to thrash the inhabitants of that country on all possible occasions: beyond this her knowledge of Europe and the globe did not extend. Her function in the village was that of story-teller, and her house was a place of meeting for all the lads. She taught aspiring youths to smoke, and this harmful educational influence she supplemented by teaching her pupils many wild stories of a ghostly character. Her own sons had been four in number; one of them survived as an old one-armed man; the others were drowned. But when Mary got her little school of listeners about her, she said it made her feel "as if Tom and the other bairns were back agyen." Smart lads used to leave the village and come back after many days with flat caps and earrings, and a sailorly roll. Mary would say, "That should be Harry's Tommy, by the voice. Is that so, hinny?" and when Harry's Tommy answered "Yes," Mary would say, "Your awd pipe's on the top o' the oven; sit thee doon and give us your cracks." Mary's pupils all had pipes which were kept on the oven-top for them, and she was much distressed if she found that anyone smoked a pipe belonging to a lad who had been drowned. When the school gathered in the dark evenings, Mary liked to scold a little about the decay of manly spirit. In her time the men used to watch at night till the low black lugger stole into the bay. Then some discreet farmer would hear a trampling of horses in his stables, and if in the morning Bet and Ball and Matchem were splashed a good deal, and tired, there was always the keg of sound spirits at the kitchen door or in one of the mangers. Mary had often gone down the north road and up the Dead Man's Trail to listen for the Preventive men, and she spoke with glee of the fun, for she had been swift of foot, and her imitation of the Jenny Howlet's cry was perfect. The old woman liked to frighten her hearers. She knew that most of the villagers believed profoundly in ghosts and bogles, and she was never so well pleased as when she knew that not one of her school cared for going home alone. Old George, the organist, had once seen the white lady from the tower, but he could not be induced to tell his experience. George's musical duties were restricted to turning a handle, for the tunes played by the organ were put in on separate rollers, and thus the musician's function was limited. But the fishermen regarded him as a fine player, and he did not care to imperil a serious reputation by telling frivolous ghost stories. So Mary, who had heard the story long ago from George's own lips, did duty as narrator:-- George was coming through the woods on a dark night. He came to a part of the walk where the path makes a descent to a hollow shaded by thick, arching branches. Suddenly (said Mary) George's collie ran back howling, and tried to snuggle its head under its master's coat. George patted the beast and laid him down, but the dog still clung about his master's feet, and moaned. George turned the poor animal round, and tried to force him forward. The collie gave one very loud cry, and died. Then George became mysteriously cold, and presently he saw a lady standing among the shrubs. She waved to him, and he saw that her eyes were white; then she moved through the trees and passed away. The sceptical shepherd said that the collie had eaten some phosphorus which had been spread for the rats, but Mary never gave this prosaic explanation. She and George believed that the dog died of fright, and that the grave organist had seen the lady from the tower, so many youths grew up believing that the grim square building was haunted. On one night of 1859, Mary had told some of her stories with much effect. A gale was blowing from the east, and the hoarse roar of the wind sounded very strangely. The "school" was in the goose-skinned condition which must be attained by all who wish to catch the true flavour of a ghost story. There came a scraping sound at the door, and a gasping moan. The lads huddled together and dared not look round. The moan was repeated, and Mary ordered one of her pupils to go at once and open the door. But discipline was forgotten, and the young gentleman who was deputed to solve the mystery stayed open-mouthed in his seat. The old woman hobbled to the door, and found a man lying on his face. The poor fellow was a Portuguese sailor. He had swum through the surf from a vessel that was hard-and-fast on the rocks below the house, and it was his last exhausted effort that startled the assembly of youths. Mary told this story (with supernatural additions) until her death. There are captains, mates, and sailor-men in all parts of the world who remember the old story-teller, for it is pretty certain that her influence had a good deal to do with sending many a tall fellow away southward to the great seaports in quest of adventures. Her cottage is still standing, but a sulky hind reigns there, and the unique collection of pipes is dispersed. A VOLUNTEER LIFE-BRIGADE. There is generally very heavy weather in winter time on the north-east coast. From North Sunderland the Farne Islands can hardly be seen, for the tumultuous waves in the narrow channels throw up clouds of spray. At the mouth of the Tyne the sea runs strongly, and the great piers have to meet endless charges of green masses that break on the stone-work and pour along the footway in foaming streams. As the evening comes, knots of men stroll toward the pier. They are all clothed in thick guernseys and business-like helmets, and on their breasts they have the letters V.L.B. They are the Volunteer Life Brigade. The brigade is very mixed in composition. There are carpenters, bankers, pilots, clerks, lawyers, tradesmen of all grades, and working men of all trades. At the middle of the pier stands a strong wooden house, in which there is one great room where the watchmen sit, and also numerous small boxes with berths where rescued men are laid. Hot-water bottles are constantly ready, and a mysterious array of restoratives rest handy on a side-table. Since the great piers were run out to sea the water in the Tyne has been much deepened; but this advantage has its drawback in the fact that the sea pours through the deepened channel like the swirl of a millrace. As soon as the tiers of shipping begin to creak and moan with the lurching swell the people know that there may be bad work. The brigadesmen sit chatting in their warm shed. They know that they must go to work in the morning; they know that they may be drenched and aching in every limb before the dawn whitens: yet they take everything as it comes with cheerful stoicism. During the winter of 1880 scores of men travelled to business at Newcastle for a week at a stretch without having lain once in bed. They went out when their services were required; stood to their ropes, and were hustled about by the sea: they brought crew after crew ashore, and in the mornings they fared without grumbling to office or warehouse or shop. Snatches of sleep on the hard benches made their only rest, yet they stood it out. The stormy nights are passed much in the same way. The men who are not looking out sit smoking and gossiping; the foam piles itself softly to the weather side of the house, and the spray falls with a keen lashing sound on the stones outside. Towards the end of the pier there is nothing to be seen but a vague trouble, as though a battle were going on in the dark, and to the north the Tynemouth light throws a long shaft of brightness through the mist. Presently a light is seen away southward or out to the east, and all the men are on the alert directly. If a ship from the south can only weather the end of the pier and escape the wash from the north, she soon gets into the fairway, but it is not easily done in stormy weather. The light makes long lunges and describes great arcs on the background of the darkness; then the brigadesmen know that the ship is in the stream that pours up the gulf made by the piers. If she keeps her red light open till she is nearly abreast of the House, there is only one more danger for her. She may strike on the Black Middens (a heap of snaggy rocks lying under Tynemouth), and in that case the south-side men have nothing to do with her. But sometimes the vessel shows all her lights and rushes upon the South Pier. Then the men wait for the last lurch and that wallowing crash that they know so well. The rocket is laid, and flies out over the rigging; the brigadesmen haul on their rope, and the basket comes rocking ashore along the line. It is not child's play to stand in the open and work the rocket apparatus; sometimes a whole row of men are struck by a single sea, and have to hang on wherever they can. Sometimes a careless man is carried along the pier like a cork, and sometimes one is washed clean over the side. A lucky young gentleman was taken into the sea one winter and buffeted smartly until a chance wave landed him again. The buffeting and drenching are taken as part of the day's work, and the young fellows joke about it just as soldiers will joke under fire. There is much curiosity as the basket is hauled in. On one occasion a cat and her kittens were the first rescued of a ship's company, and on another occasion a dog came ashore looking much surprised at his position. At various times all sorts and conditions of men have to slide along that friendly rope. Stolid Dutchmen, gesticulating Italians, cool north-country sailors are landed, and all are treated alike. A solemn man with a rum-bottle awaits them as they pass into the friendly light of the House: like some officiating priest he gravely pours out a glassful and silently hands it to the rescued seafarer; then the berth and the hot-water bottle are made ready, and the fortunate sailor is warmly wrapped up. It sometimes happens that the rocket cannot be used--perhaps on account of the position of the vessel, perhaps through the stupidity of the crew. In that case other means must be employed. Last winter a ship came on the shore; the sea broke heavily over her, and her crew had to take to the rigging. A plucky brigadesman swam off through waves that might have stupefied a bulldog; he had to watch his chances, and breathe when the crest had rushed on so that he might make his next plunge through the combing crest; and he managed to make his rope fast and save the people. Southward of Shields a ship got into a still more awkward place than the one last mentioned. She was carried in by a terrific sea, and jammed on the stones at the foot of a cliff. The captain's wife and child were lashed to the mast, and the captain himself was made fast somewhere; all the other poor souls were washed overboard. No boat could live in the breakers; no rocket was handy. But a sailor called Matthews got some friends to lower him down the face of the scarp. The wind knocked him against jutting points; the rope twirled and spun him about; but he got foothold on the deck and managed to hang on. By working cautiously he dodged up to the mast and fastened the little child in a comfortable bight of the rope; then he sent the woman aloft; then he sent the captain, and was hauled up safely himself. Matthews had no reward for this piece of work, and is now a poor pitman. There is no end to the bravery of these amateur life-savers. Only a very little while ago a ship came on shore. The sea was like a huge pouring cataract, and the wind pressed like a solid body. The dandy new lifeboats were beaten back; the men on board tugged and strained till they were exhausted. The oars were double-manned, but nothing would avail; and all the time the cry of the men on the wrecked vessel sounded through the storming of the gale. At last one man said, "Let's have the old 'Tyne.'" The "Tyne" is a superannuated lifeboat which is kept under lock and key. The key was refused, and the men who demanded it were implored not to tempt Providence. Thereupon they coolly formed themselves into a phalanx, rushed against the door, burst it in, hauled the old "Tyne" down, and saved eight lives. KEELMEN. The keel is a strange kind of barge which is only seen on three of our northern rivers. She is sharp at both ends, and her lines are extremely fine. When loaded her deck is flush with the water; yet, under sail, her speed is very great, and she is as handy as a skiff. These boats are principally used for carrying coals to and from vessels that lie out in the river; but they are often employed in conveying various sorts of goods from town to town. In the old times, when the Tyne was very shallow, the colliers were loaded from keels, and the river then swarmed with the low black craft. The keelmen formed a little commonwealth by themselves; their dress, their language, their customs were all peculiar, and they were like a foreign race planted among English neighbours. In the town of Shields alone there were three dialects--Keelish, Sheelish, and Coblish. The Keelish was spoken by the keelmen, Sheelish by the tradespeople, and Coblish by the pilots; but Keelish was the most remarkable of the three tongues. Its idiom, pitch, and pronunciation were so odd that nobody from south of the Wear could understand it well without long practice, any more than he could understand the social customs of the men who spoke it. The "Keel Row," which is the great Northumbrian song, is written in very fair Keelish, and no south-countryman can read the original. The old-fashioned keelman began his week on Saturday afternoon. He washed himself thoroughly, and then appeared dressed in a white flannel coat with horn buttons, loose knee-breeches, and blue worsted stockings. He it was, and not the pitman, who had a chaste fancy in the matter of bulldogs, and he rather liked seeing those interesting animals fight. He himself liked fighting too, and the keelmen's quarter on a Saturday night used to be a very warlike region; for champions from the various streets fought for the honour of their respective districts, and the women encouraged the combatants with much energy and enthusiasm. When the new police-force was organized, it was as much as a constable's life was worth to venture alone into Sandgate on a Saturday evening; but the place is more civilized now. After the Saturday's drinking bout and incidental combat the keelman had Sunday in which to cultivate the graces. He lounged on the quay and made witty remarks about the passers-by; or he strolled to the Moor, in all the glory of flannels and gay stockings, to see a dog-fight. When Monday came his pleasures were at an end. His black boat was laid alongside of some grim collier, and the baskets were plied until the keel sank to the water-level. If there was any wind the sail was run up, and the keel went away merrily enough; if it was calm the sweeps had to be handled, and the craft travelled at about one mile per hour. The deepening of the rivers has altered the conditions of life a good deal for the watermen; but the race is much the same in every respect as it was eighty years ago. The Saturday combats are not so violent, and the dog-fighting is a thing of the past; but the men are like their forefathers in habits and speech. The keelman has many points in common with the pitman. He is more ignorant, because his life on the water begins very early and he is isolated for the better part of every week; so he is very simple and innocent of the world's ways. His horizon is bounded by the black banks of his river. Of nature he knows nothing, excepting that rivers run into the sea, and that tides have to be watched. In the daytime he toils on the brown flood of the Tyne; and at night he still toils on the same flood, which is then lit into lurid brilliance by the fires of the low factory chimneys and furnaces. People who work on crowded waterways seem to acquire an extraordinary proficiency in the art of abuse, and in the said art a keelman is much superior to the Thames bargeman. His collection of epithets is large, and, since he is combative by nature, he engages freely in the war of words when engagements at close quarters are impracticable. He is no respecter of persons. The most dignified captain that ever stood on the deck of a clipper is not safe from his criticism, and even her Majesty's uniform is not sacred in his eyes. A keel once drifted against the bow of a man-of-war, and the first lieutenant of the vessel inquired, "Do you know the consequences of damaging one of her Majesty's ships?" The keelman was unprepared with an answer to this problem, but with characteristic flippancy he inquired, "Div ye knaw the conseekue of a keel losin' her tide?" The keelman's ignorance of all objects not to be seen on the river is really strange. Two worthies wanted to go on board a brig called the "Swan." The vessel had a figure-head representing the bird after which she was named, so the keelmen hailed in the following terms, "Like-a-goose-and-not-a-goose, ahoy!" They were much disappointed by the inattention of the crew. The keelman is religious in his way, but his ideas lack lucidity. Two friends had left their keel aground up the river and were walking across a field, when they were chased by a savage bull. They fled to a tree, and the fleeter-footed man got to the first fork. The second had swarmed a fair distance up the trunk, when the bull arrived and began butting with such vigour that the tree was shaken. The climber could not get up further; so his friend, seeing the imminent danger, said, "Canst thou pray, Geordie?" The panting unfortunate answered, "Yes." Whereupon his mate said, "Gan on then, for he'll have thee in a minute." The bull kept on pushing the tree; so the keelman tried a totally irrelevant supplication. He said, "For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful." Teasing urchins sometimes shout after the keelman, "Who jumped on the grindstone?" and this query never fails to rouse the worst wrath in the most sedate; for it touches a very sore point. Two men were caught by a heavy freshet and driven over the bar. The legend declares that one of these mariners saw, in the dusk, a hoop floating by. The hoop was full of foam; and with swift intuition the keelman said, "We're saved; here's a grindstone swimming!" He followed up his discovery by jumping on to the grindstone--with most unsatisfactory results. His error has led to much loss of temper among his tribe. In the matter of sport the keelman's ideas are narrowed to one point. He is only interested in boat-racing; but he makes up by fervour for his want of extended views. For weeks before a great race the Sandgate quarter is in a state of excitement, and wagering is general and heavy. The faith which the genuine keelman has in his athletic idol is almost touching. When the well-known Chambers rowed for the championship of England in 1867, an admirer shouted as the rower went to the starting point, "Gan on, Bob; I've putten everything I have on you." Chambers shook his head mournfully and said, "Take it all off again, my man; I cannot win." But the enthusiast would not accept even that excellent authority. For a long time before the last championship race the sporting keelmen put by money every week to back the Tynesider, and the melancholy result of the race desolated Sandgate. Perhaps it was well that the Englishman was beaten; for in the event of any athletic success the whole Tyneside population become very arrogant, and the keelmen insufferable. Each one of them takes credit for the victory, and the community of Sandgate becomes a large mutual admiration society. In politics the keelman's notions are crude. If a stranger spoke disrespectfully of the present member for Newcastle in the hearing of a keelman it is not improbable that a crowd would be called, and the critic would be immersed in the river: but the crowd could not explain lucidly their reasons for such strong political action. The fact is that the keelman has no interest in the affairs that occupy people ashore. The brown river, the set of the tides, the arrival and sailing of the colliers, the noisy gossip of water-side characters on Saturday night--these things fill up the measure of his observation. He lives out his hard-working, hard-drinking life like the stupid Englishman he is; and when he dies his fights are remembered and his prowess lauded by generous mourners. BLOWN NORTH. The brig "Wansbeck" sailed on a February day at about four in the afternoon. She was a fine little vessel, but very badly found in sails and running-gear. The crew had signed for a voyage to Malmo; and the owner hurried the ship away because he feared she might be "neaped" in the little river, as the tides were taking off. The cargo was very badly stowed; and when the pilot came on board it was discovered that part of the pump-gear had not arrived. The captain told the owner of this; and that gentleman said the ship should go to sea without any pumps at all rather than he would see her lie on the mud. So the moorings were cast off, and the tug took the tow-rope on board. Luckily, just as the stern-rope was cast off, the missing pump-gear came to hand. The sky was heavy and grey; a snoring breeze blew from the E.N.E., and the vessel went away on a south-east course under double-reefed topsails and foresail. Everything moveable about the decks was secured, and the pumps were set on; but after pumping for an hour, and not getting even a rolling suck, the mate gave orders to sound; when, to the dismay of the crew, it was found that nine inches of water still remained in the well. The men had been hard at work all day; there was every sign of a heavy easterly gale; yet the dismal work of pumping had to go steadily on. At midnight the gale increased, and the watch was called out to close-reef the topsails. The owner would not have been pleased had he heard the language that was used by the men on the yard-arms. One speaker went so far as to express a wish that his employer was lashed under the cathead; and, since the cathead was never above water, the suggestion was received with much applause. The "Wansbeck" had sailed on the 8th of the month, and until the 11th the pumps were kept constantly going. The morning of the 12th broke with a wan glare in the sky, and a tremendous sea came away. The captain was obliged to veer the ship with her head to the north, and she went away fast before the gale under two close-reefed topsails. The men's hands were beginning to get badly damaged by the constant labour, but no rest was possible. On the 13th the wind rose to a hurricane; and masses of water were flung bodily down on the vessel, so that she was immersed most of the time and the sailors worked on up to their waists in pouring water. As one of the crew said, "things was no mistake dreadful." At the end of every watch the men who should have gone below were forced to take a two hours' spell at the pump; they then wrung their clothes, hung them up before the little fire in the forecastle, and turned in naked. Then, after a brief snatch of sleep, they jumped out, put on their steaming clothes, and went to the pumps once more. At 6 a.m. on the 14th the handspike was thumped on the deck, and a sailor said, "Turn out, boys; she's going down!" Worn out with want of rest, their hands and feet half flayed, the men staggered out and went desperately to work again. The brakes of the pumps hung far above their heads, and after toiling for three hours one of the standards broke and things looked hopeless. By six o'clock next day there were four and a half feet of water in the hold, and still the struggle was kept up with dogged resolution. At ten o'clock the water had risen to six feet, and all the time the hurricane blew with unabated force. The ship was plunging away northward, and not a sail could be seen on all the grey waste of the sea. Now the crew went aft and told the captain that they could not keep the "Wansbeck" floating much longer; they thought the flag should be put in the main rigging, "union down." The captain said, "All right, my lads. There's but poor hopes for us, I know, whether we take to the boat or stick to the ship. Take your own way and do what you think is best. Our time will soon be over." So the flag was hoisted, and the men prepared for the end--without fear, for sheer physical misery had made them dull and silently reckless. The captain told a young hand to go into the forepeak and see if the water had reached far up: the same hand was ordered to clear away the longboat. Now the fore-trysail bad come down on the boat; and when it was flung down the young seaman noticed that it seemed to be sucked down into a kind of eddy. There had been so many false alarms that the lad did not say anything until he had examined this new phenomenon carefully. Wading forward, he felt cautiously with his bare feet and found that his toes went into a large hole. He called out, "Here's the big leak; our decks are stove in!" and indeed it was this hole, through which the constant burden of water on deck had poured, that had caused the pumps to be mastered. After some very hard work the leak was stopped, and the men began to labour with new heart. The courage of the men had revived, and they cheered each other on. For four hours the whole crew went at it with a will; torn and bleeding hands were unheeded, and the thought of death was put away. All the same the boat was kept ready for leaving the ship; but just as the night came down and the white crests began to lighten on the following seas, the pump sucked slightly, and the crew knew that they might stand by the vessel. For six-and-twenty hours they had been on deck without a spell; they had been working in an incessant flood of water; their sleeves had been doubled up, and every man had ugly salt-water boils on his arms. The little cabin-boy had stuck gallantly to work with the rest, but both his feet were frost-bitten, and he could not stand alone. A more deplorable ordeal was never undergone by men, and nothing but indomitable hardihood could have kept them up. On the 17th of the month they had got so far north that there was scarcely any daylight in each twenty-four hours. At noon on that day the poor fellows saw a thing which was not calculated to cheer them. They were looking gloomily out, when a little brig like their own seemed to start up amid the driving haze. She laboured past them; and then they watched her stagger, stop, and founder. Next day they ran into a comparative calm; and when the "Wansbeck" reached latitude 65 degrees north, the sea fell away, and the brig was safe. Then the men felt the misery of their sores; for after they slept for a while the act of unclosing the hands was terribly painful. The poor boy was very resigned and brave. He could not be helped in any way, and both his feet had to be cut off when the vessel reached Malmo. A few days' fine weather enabled the crew to repair sails and broken gear; then the "Wansbeck" clawed her way down the Norwegian coast and got into the "Sleeve." What the men longed for most was tobacco; and when at the end of some days' sailing they sighted a Dutch galliot they boarded her, and the poor English scarecrows were helped liberally. That night was passed in smoking and a blessed forgetfulness of pain. The "Wansbeck" was given up at home, and some women had put on mourning before she was heard of. Nothing could have saved her had not the young seaman seen that ugly dangerous place where the falling yard had smashed the dock in; and the owner had to thank the dogged hopeless bravery of his men for saving the brig even after the great leak was discovered. The "Wansbeck" is still running; but she has patent rigging and serviceable pumps, and probably her owner is not so much the object of unfriendly wishes. NORTH-COUNTRY FISHERMEN. The men who go away in the great smacks and remain at sea for many weeks at a time are used to call themselves fishermen; but the long-shore fisher does not consider these smacksmen as being members of his profession at all. A person who leaves his own village, and never comes home in the morning like a decent citizen, is regarded with much condescension by the owner of a coble. The bolder voyager calls himself a fisher, but he is really only a kind of sailor; and as such he is a being to be patronized by the true craftsman. Right up the coast, from the Tyne to Berwick, little villages are planted at intervals of about four miles; and these villages are mostly inhabited by men who only use open boats. The ethnologists say that, as regards height, chest measurement, and strength, the population of this strip of coast shows the finest men in the world. The Cumberland dalesmen are often very tall; but in weight and girth of chest the mountaineers are not equal to the Northumbrian fishers. Dr. Brown has published some curious statistics bearing on this point; and he is of opinion that the flower of the English race may be found within a circle of two or three miles around the village of Boulmer. The villages are much alike in every respect. The early settlers seem to have looked for places where a range of low rocks lay like the string of a bow across the curve of a bay, or where a cove nestled under the southerly steep of a jutting point. The beaches shelve very gradually, and are never shingly; so that a special kind of boat gradually had to be contrived in order that the peculiar nature of the landing might be suited. The early fishermen saw that the boat must have a very light draught of water, and yet be sufficiently weatherly to face the open sea. Thus, after years of experiment, the "coble" was designed in its present form; and these craft are as much the product of their special locality as are the men who man them. The coble has an exceedingly deep bow, which grips the water to a depth of some three feet, and which resembles in contour the breastbone of a grebe or northern diver. This great curve is rimmed with iron. But from the bend the lines slope upward, until at the stern the boat is quite flat-bottomed and only about three feet in depth. She is poised so that while her bow draws three feet of water her stern will float in one or two inches; and she will come so near the shore that one can climb over her stern nearly dryshod. In smooth water she may be rowed about very easily and safely; but it would be impossible to carry sail on a craft of which really only one-half of the keel is submerged: she would capsize instantly in a very light wind. This difficulty is cleverly met. As soon as the coble is put under sail her great rudder is fixed; and this rudder, which is very broad, goes under water to a depth of three feet or so. When the wind is on the beam the rudder acts exactly like a centre-board: if it breaks, nothing can save the coble; but so long as it holds the vessel will lie well over and sail with amazing swiftness. Years upon years of apprenticeship are needed before a man can manage one of these crank boats; in fact, the fishermen's proverb says, "You must be born in a coble if you want to learn anything about her." The race of men who work in the cobles have good chances of becoming skilful, for they begin very early. When the fisher-boy has passed the merest infancy his steps tend to the water-side as naturally as though he were a young sea-bird. He carries the water-bottles down to the boats in the afternoon, and sees his father and the other men hauling off out of the shallow cove. The evening comes down, and he watches the race northward until the last brown sail has passed around the point. In the morning he is ready for the boats as they come home, and he can distinguish each craft exactly, although an outsider would be able to see not a whit of difference. He sees the fish carted, and then goes home with the stolid heavy-footed men. All the morning, while the fishermen are sleeping, the fisher-lad is busy helping the women to bait lines or spread nets, according to the season. He goes in an amateur way to school, but he is the wildest and most gipsy-like of scholars. His thoughts have suffered a sea change, and he takes badly to books and slates. A studious fisherman is hardly to be found, and it is only within the last twenty years that the accomplishment of reading has become known in the smaller villages. Since the Government school system spread, many little places have been established; but what can a poor schoolmaster do with a pupil who is wanted nearly every morning to gather bait on the rocks, and who must see the trouting boats off on the summer afternoons? The fisher-boy always goes barefooted. Big sea-boots suit him when he grows up, but the shabby compromise of shoes or "bluchers" is totally unacceptable to him. When he goes to school he sometimes puts the hated footgear on; but as soon as the prison-doors are passed he slings the boots round his neck and goes merrily home with his brown feet moving freely. He will charge through a clump of nettles quite indifferently; and this wondrous power strikes civilized children with awe. The fisher-boy's language is a strange mixture. No southerner can understand him; for, besides using old words, the fisher speaks with harsh gutturals that make a burring sound in his throat. He calls a wild cherry a "guigne;" he calls a swede turnip a "baygee," a gooseberry a "grozer," mud "clarts," a horse-collar a "brime." If he had to say "I fell head over heels," he would remark, "Aw cowped me creels." The stranger is puzzled by this surprising tongue, but the fisher is proud of it. No words can express his scorn for a boy who learns to talk "Massingem" (which is the fisher's word for English): he scouts that degenerate boy and refuses to consort with him. When the fisher-lad gets measured for his first oilskins he is very proud. To "get away Norrad" is the right of men; and he feels himself manly as he sits amidships while the coble skims out into the bay. He is usually sent to the trouting first; and then all night long he glides about on the dark bay and hears the sounds from the moor and the woods. It falls cold toward the dawn, and the boy grows hard and strong through his nightly ordeal. When his hands are properly hardened like his horny feet, he is allowed to row the coble with crossed oars; and then he becomes very useful, for the men are left free to haul nets and plash on the water to frighten the trout. When he reaches the age of sixteen, the fisher-lad clothes himself in thick pilot-cloth and wears a braided cap on Sundays. He pierces his ears too, and his thin golden rings give him a foreign look. The young fisher-folk are very shamefaced about sweet-hearting. A lad will tramp eight miles after dark to see his sweetheart; but he would be stupefied with shame if anyone saw him walking with her. The workman of the towns escorts his lover on Sunday afternoons, and is not ashamed; but the fisher-folk never walk openly in couples. Courtship is a very unpoetic affair with them. No one ever heard a fisher use such a word as "love:" he would not consider himself a man if he once learned such a fragment of "Massingem." If by any chance the village grows crowded and some of the young men have to go southward to the seaports, then those who return may bring sailor-like ways with them; but the natives always remain hard and undemonstrative. It is difficult to say when the fisher-lad is considered to have reached man's estate. A good deal depends on his physical development. The work to be done at sea is so very heavy that only a very powerful fellow can perform it. It sometimes happens that a very strong lad of eighteen can do a "man's turn;" but usually a fisherman must be thoroughly "set" before he is counted as one of the elect. He then begins to think of marriage, and his long Sunday evening journeys become frequent. He must marry a fisher-girl; for if he chooses a hind's daughter he is as badly off as a one-armed man. The work done by the fisher-women needs long and special training: the baiting of lines is a delicate and subtle operation, while the business of seeking bait is one which no country-woman ever learns properly. Moreover, a country girl who has been used to wearing long dresses and shoes can never take kindly to bare feet and brief petticoats: the cold and exposure are too much for her. A fisherman who marries a girl from inland is considered to have wrecked his chances in life, and the gossips bewail his fate. He is shut off from social intercourse; for his wife, even though she may have lived within two miles of the sea, cannot meet the clannish fishers on equal terms. If, however, the fisherman marries according to natural law, he and his wife begin their partnership without any of the frivolities of wedding trips and such like. The girl settles down quickly; and in a week she is baiting lines in the stone-floored kitchen, or tramping inland with her great fish basket slung round her forehead. She bows her strong figure under her burden, and the great pad which prevents the rope from cutting her brow looks like a strange head-dress. Her husband is too secretive to exhibit any pride, but he is satisfied with his helpmate. The fisherman has no amusements. In the afternoons, when his sleep is over, he walks up and down in the Row and gazes around; but he rarely laughs, and few things interest him unless he is religious. Fishermen seldom gossip like rustics. Sometimes they have a queer dry humour which comes out in short phrases, but they never carry on sustained conversation. The faculty of expression is granted them in very sparing degree. The fisherman's courage is perfect, yet he cannot speak of his own actions. He will do the most brave things in a stolid, unconscious way; but he could not frame a hundred consecutive words to tell anyone what he had done. He never shows any emotion excepting when under the influence of religious excitement. The melancholy of the sea seems to have entered his nature, and his chief efforts aim at self-restraint. When the little Methodist chapel resounds with the noise of appreciative groanings and sighing, it is very rarely that anything like gesticulation or vivid facial change is seen. Deep-chested men utter sonorous ejaculations and the women sigh, but there is no shuffling of feet and no movement. As a class, the fishers have grown to be more religious than almost any other body of men, and they like powerful excitement; but they are always severely decorous. In his behaviour toward his social superiors the fisherman is rugged--perhaps morbidly rugged--but his brusque familiarity is not offensive. To touch his cap would be impossible to him, but his direct salute is neither self-assertive nor impolite. The fisherman toils on till the time comes for him to stay ashore always. His life is a very risky one, and the history of every village is largely made up of stories about drowned men, for the coast is an ugly place, and the utmost skill and daring can hardly carry a man through a lifetime without accident. If the accident is fatal, there is an end of all: the bruised bodies are washed up; the women wring their hands, and the old men walk about silently. But if things go well, then the fisherman's old age is comfortable enough. The women look after him kindly, and on sunny mornings he enjoys himself very well as he nurses the children on the bench facing the sea. A LONG CHASE. The "Halicore" ran into harbour one October morning and took up her berth at the quay. The brig had come from a nine months' voyage and the men were regarded as heroes when they came ashore, for most of our vessels were merely coasters. When all was made snug on board, the sailors went to their homes and received the admiring homage of the neighbours. One young man whose parents lived in a cottage away to the north was very keen to get home. He had a weary stretch of moorland to pass, and the evening was wild, with only fitful gleams of moonlight to brighten the dark, but the young sailor would not stay. He knew the old people would be sitting by the fireside till half-past ten or eleven, and it delighted him to think how they would start with joy when he rattled the latch on the door. An innkeeper warned him about the state of the roads, but the sailor was a light-hearted fellow, and paid no heed to the talk about "muggers," or gipsies. He had been very careful during the voyage, so that his leather belt under his waistcoat was well filled with sovereigns and silver. Of course he knew that the "muggers," (or travelling potters), were sometimes nasty customers to meet on a dark night, but he reckoned that he could hold his own anywhere. Jack was well-built, and very swift of foot, and he strode fast over the dark and misty moor. The furze bushes roared as the wind went through, and the heather made a mysterious whispering, but Jack did not mind the noises that affect the nerves of cultured persons. A poacher bade him a kindly good-night, and added, "Mind there'll be some queer fellows along by the Dead Man's Trail," but Jack did not turn back, although he felt the poacher's warning a little. Rabbits scampered past him, and an owl beat steadily over the heather like a well-trained setter. When the dark grew thicker the wail of the curlews as they called from overhead was strange. The howl of a fox, that weirdest of all sounds, came sharply from among the brown brackens, but Jack was not impressed: he was home again, and the piercing cry of the fox was only a pleasant reminder of good fortune. Presently three men stopped the traveller, and asked the road to the port from which he had just come. One of them struck a match and managed to throw a gleam on Jack's face before the wind put the flame out. By the same light, the sailor saw that the three men were muggers, and that they were not pleasant-looking people. He disengaged himself and walked swiftly north for about thirty yards. A thud of feet made him turn, and from one brief glance he knew that the men were making a rush for him. He gathered his energies instantly, and struck off at his best speed. He was an excellent runner and a good jumper, so that he gradually drew away from his pursuers until he lost the sound of their feet; but he knew that they were doggedly following, and that his only chance was to reach the ferry, and get the ferryman to help him. Now this same ferry plied across a swift stream that ran into the sea about two and a half miles north of the place where he met the men. The current was so very strong that no boatman could possibly row from bank to bank: the boat would have been swept out to sea. So a strong chain had been run across the river, and the boat was fastened to a ring which ran along this chain. The ferryman simply stood in the bow of the wherry and hauled her across by main force, passing the ring along as he went. Every night the chain was lowered into the water, and the man left his little boat, and went westward to his proper home. It should be said that the chain could be wound from either bank, for a winch was placed at each side. Jack was badly out of breath when he reached the ferry, and he felt minded to lie down, but there was no time for resting. He ran to the water's edge, and found the man and boat gone, the hut dark, and the chain lowered. The stream poured past like a millrace, and he looked hopelessly on the swift water. At first he thought of turning to take his fate. He had his clasp knife and he could die fighting if they really meant to murder him. Then he thought of his money and the good it would do at home, and he determined to try once more. He ran to the winch and bent himself at it; the chain came up and gradually tightened until he saw dimly that the long arc was quite clear of the water. Just as he had clenched the winch the foremost of the footpads came down the hill and shouted as he saw the sailor. Jack got underneath the chain, took firm hold with his hands and twisted his legs round as though he were climbing a back-stay; then he began to haul himself across. Before he had gone forty yards he felt that there was someone else clambering along that awkward support, but he knew that forty yards more would make him safe. He was nearly smothered at the place where the chain dipped lowest, for the water was coming in freshets; but he hung on, and landed panting and with grazed limbs on the north bank. By the shaking of the chain he knew that the mugger was coming along, and he decided in a flash to take strong measures. There was a good surplus to run out, so he set the winch free. He heard one loud cry, and then there was silence. He had drowned the footpad. The best swimmer on the coast could not have got to the shore in that place. Jack's nerve was completely gone, and he could hardly raise a trot. He used to laugh much about the terrors that he suffered during the remainder of his journey. First of all he trod on a young rabbit, and the shrill squeak that came sent his heart to his mouth; then, just as he neared his home, the shepherd's donkey took the fancy to bray with vigour, and Jack thought for one moment that another enemy was upon him. Presently he saw the light in his own window, and he knew that he was in honest regions once more. The old people were much amazed when their son came in, bare-headed, wet, and covered with red rust from the friendly chain, but they were glad to see him in any plight. The moor is in much better order now-a-days, for the muggers are all driven away north to Yetholm and Wooler. A stately policeman traverses the bank once every night, and no one is ever molested. The first policeman was stabbed from behind, and flung over the cliff, but there has been no mischief since that time, and the district is very quiet indeed. HOB'S TOMMY. The moor was blazing in the sun. Bright gorse flamed above the pale green grass, and little pools flashed white rays up to the sky. Hob's Tommy stepped out of doors, and took a long look round. He was not impressed by the riot of colour that spread around him; he looked over the pulsing floor of the sea, and thought, "It will be a fine night for the trouting." Tommy was a large man, who seemed to shake the ground as he trod. His face was devoid of speculation, and his dull blue eyes looked from under heavy and unamiable brows. His hair was matted, and his mode of dressing his big limbs showed that he was careless of opinion. He was called Hob's Tommy because the villagers had a fancy for regarding sons as the personal property of the father, and thus a man called Thomas, who happened to be the son of a man called John, never received his surname during his whole life, excepting on the occasions of his baptism and marriage. He was known as Jack's Tom. If he, in his turn, happened to have a son whom he chose to name Henry, the youth was known as Jack's Tom's Harry. Our friend Tommy's father had been called Hob, and hence the name of the ill-tempered lout who was gazing on the unsullied sea. Tommy watched the green water breaking over the brown sand, and far out at sea he saw the thick haze still brooding low. He knew the evening would be fine, and he knew that he would have a good basket for next day's market. He put his hands in his pockets, and strolled away from the unsavoury neighbourhood of the Fishers' Row on to the glistening moor. His eyes were fixed on the ground, and into his mind entered no thought saving calculations about money and drink. Any stranger who had met him walking over the thyme, with his fierce face bent downward, would have gained a bad notion of the local population. A sudden jangle of bells filled the air, and the ringers went to work gaily. Quaint farmers went along dressed in creased suits of clothing; quiet country women nodded as they passed, but Tommy heeded none of his neighbours. He was a brutal man, whose presence seemed an insult to the holy morning. He walked mechanically on over the moor, and let the sound of church bells die away in his ear. Presently he came to a beautiful slope, which was starred with pink geraniums. The sun shone warmly upon it, and a lark flashed from amid the flowers with a sound of joy, and carried his rejoicing up into the sky. Tommy thought, "This is a nice warm place to lie down on. I'll light my pipe." And he stretched himself amid the tender flowers. The glow and the colour of the life around him, and the sparkle of the sea, seemed at last to make some dim suggestion to his mind. He said, half aloud, "Wonder what I'm here for. I don't know. I only wish it was seven o'clock and the sun droppin';--he was a lazy man that invented Sunday;--another day I'll away to the fishin' i' the mornin', and the folks can say just what they like. I'm not goin' to waste my time and my baccy lyin' on sand hills." So he smoked on until the sun reached its greatest height, and the afternoon shadows lay like dark pansies in the hollows. Now it happened that in the neighbouring village it was usual to hold an afternoon service and an evening service in the Wesleyan chapel. The services followed close on each other, and there was great competition among the villagers as to who should give the preacher his tea in the interval. Tommy presently found himself looking sleepily at a man who was bent over the moor to attend the chapel. If you had met the new-comer you would have been compelled to look back at him. He was tall and spare. His shoulders were very broad, and he walked with a kind of military tread. His face was good to see; the calm and joy of the bright day seemed to have entered his soul, and his eyes looked as though he were thinking of things too deep for words. His mouth was sternly closed, and yet despite its tension the delicate lines at the corners seemed to speak of humour and tenderness. His hat was thrown back a little, and showed a large forehead marked by slight lines, which spoke not so much of temper as of placid musing. He was murmuring to himself as he walked, and he seemed to be in communion with a multitude of exquisite thoughts. When he reached the bank where the geraniums grew, his placidity quickened into alertness as he saw the figure of Tom stretched upon the grass. He stepped up to the lounger and said, in a low cheery tone-- "Well, Thomas, my man, and what takes you out at this time of day? I suppose you are having a bit of a rest after yesterday?" Thomas answered in the following terms:-- "I don't know what business it is of yours what I am doing. If you want to know what I am here for, I'll tell you. I am thinking how I can cheat the Conservancy men to-night. I wish you good-day." The tall man was not by any means surprised by the uncourteous answer. He was used to the homely insolence of the fishermen. So he said-- "Well, Thomas, I was young myself once, and I liked to lounge on the Sunday as well as anybody; but it's God's Sabbath, and after all, you know, my lad, you are not a pig, and I think you might be doing ever so much better things than lying here. I am not a bit of a saint, and I am not going to bother you about religion, but it struck me, as I came across the moor, that I was happy, and you are not. Now I'll tell you what I am going to do, Thomas--you won't throw me over the rock-edge, because I am rather an awkward hand at that sort of thing. I am going to sit down and have a pipe beside you. Will you give me a light?" Tommy could not condescend to a grin, but he observed-- "Sit down and smoke as many pipes as you like, so long as you leave me alone, Mr. Musgrave." Musgrave knew his man, and answered smilingly-- "But I am not going to sit down to smoke and keep quiet. I want to have a bit of talk to you; and as soon as I am done I am going to take you with me. What do you think of that, Thomas?" And thereupon the old man lighted his pipe, and sat smiling for a little and moving his long fingers daintily. "When the two queer companions had taken puff by puff together for some time, Musgrave said-- "Thomas, my lad, you are very unhappy. I am happy, and I think a man has no more right to keep happiness to himself than he has to keep money to himself. I am going to share with you. Now, I'm an old fellow that's got near done with the world, and you are a slashing young chap, and the girls look after you. But still, though I am parting with the world, and you have got a long time to stay in it, I am better off than you. The sight of these flowers makes me joyful, but it only seems to make you dour. Now, shall I tell you how it is that I am so happy?" "I don't want to be happy. What's that got to do with the thing? If you tell me that there's fifty sovereigns buried at the bottom of Lyne Hill there, I'll go and try to dig the hill away and get at them, because the trouble's worth taking; but I don't see the fun of seeking for what you call happiness." "Well, then, Thomas, how much do you expect to make by trouting to-night?" "Well, if there's any luck, Jem and me will divide fifteen shillings between us." "Very good; then I'll give you seven-and-six-pence now. Here are your three half-crowns. Will you come with me?" The sulky giant smiled sourly and said, "I don't see why I should not. Where are you for?" "Well, I am going to preach at the chapel, Thomas, and I would like you to hear me and walk home with me, and I think that when I have landed you at your house that you won't be sorry for missing the trouting." Tommy rose heavily up, shook the fragments of dry grass from his patched garments, and signified that he was ready. Musgrave took his arm, and at once assumed an attitude of companionship and equality. He talked with this churl about all manner of trivialities, flattered him, appealed to his sense of shrewdness, made little jokes suitable to his wit, and finally succeeded in making him feel himself to be rather a clever and entertaining person. The afternoon sun sloped lower and lower as the two strolled over the moor. Musgrave's thoughts were high, although his words ran upon childish things. He had no particular artistic sense, but the joy of colour, the blaze of the sky, the warm and exhilarating air, made him feel as though he must utter praises. After passing some miles of strange moorland, covered with the blaze of gorse, and the multitudinous flash of marshy pools, the two arrived at a curious square building, which stood a little outside the fishing village. Musgrave said, "Now, Thomas, come in, and I'll find you a pew," and the two entered a low room. The congregation was already collected. There were fierce faces, bronzed by wind and sun. There were quiet faces that bore the marks of thought and the memories of toil. The men were all rudely dressed, and the women wore the primitive clothing which for three hundred years past has served for the simple tastes of the villagers. After a pause of a few minutes, Walter Musgrave's tall figure loomed in the shadowy corner where the pulpit stood. A simple hymn was dictated and sung in strong nasal tones. The old man who led the singing prided himself upon the volume of sound which he could at any instant propel through his nose. Strangers were sometimes a little disconcerted by this feat, for it seemed as if some wholly new description of trumpet had been suddenly invented. This man of the trumpet voice was wont to close his eyes and turn his face towards the ceiling. When once the preliminary blast had been blown from his nostrils, no power on earth could stay the flood of song. He became oblivious of time and space and the congregation. Considerations as to harmony did not enter into his scheme of the universe. If he got flagrantly wrong, he simply coughed and took up the thread of the musical narrative where he left off. The congregation had a great notion of his powers. They considered that the terrific drone with which he opened a hymn could not be equalled in any church or in any chapel for twenty miles round. Musgrave suffered a good deal under the storm of harmony, but he always bore it bravely, and, when possible, lent the aid of his own high, sweet tenor, to the nasal clamour. After the hymn came a short prayer, delivered as though the speaker really believed that his God was at hand, and would instantly listen to any petition humbly proffered by frail creatures. At the end of a short pause, Walter Musgrave stood up to speak. He broadened his chest and straightened himself, unconsciously hinting at his physical power. He then read his text in a low voice: _"Why is life given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?"_ Musgrave was an uneducated man, with strong logical instincts. Perhaps, had he been educated thoroughly, the poetic vein, which gave the chief charm to his mind and conversation, would have been destroyed. As it was, he invariably confined himself to logic so long as his emotions remained untouched; but there were moments when his blood seemed to catch fire, and he broke away from the calm reasoning which serves for placid men. He then spoke with poetry, and with an accent which affected the nerves of all who heard him. On this afternoon he began with a little sketch of the history of Job, and he then detailed his notion that the Arab, who wrote the most wonderful book in the world, was really the type of the modern man, and lived hundreds of generations before his time. He pointed out that all around us in Britain were men of deep thoughts, and wise thoughts, who had grown discontented with the world, and had set up their own intelligence in an endeavour to grasp the purpose of an intelligence infinitely higher. The existence of evil, the existence of pain, the existence of all the things that make men's pilgrimage, from dark to dark, mysterious and awful, can never be probed to any purpose by one creature created by the great Power who also created the mystery of pain and the problem of evil. Dwelling in the desert, and seeing day by day the movements of the world, and the strange progress of the stars, Job had grown to cherish the pride of intellect. So long as his prosperity was unbroken, he was contented, and busied himself day after day in relieving the wants of the poor and in succouring the oppressed. But when the blast of affliction blew upon him, his kindly disposition forsook him for a little, and he only thought of his own bitterness; he only thought of the puzzles that have faced every man who has a heart to feel since first our race appeared in this wondrous place. Musgrave thought that every man who has faith, every man whose heart has been torn by the wrenches of chance, must sympathize with the yearning of Job; but at the last every man, like Job, comes to see that there are things beyond our minds. Each of us learns that there are things before which our intelligence must be abashed, and that the only safe rule of life is to fall into the attitude of trust, and question no more. He felt it necessary to touch his homely hearers, and he said: "Only last week the wind woke from the sky, and the storm swept over the moor, and swept over this little place where two or three are now gathered together to worship. Many of our friends put forth in the morning in the joy of strength, in the pride of manhood, and no one of them fancied the sea that now fawns upon the shore would wake up into fury, and would dash its claws into cliff and sand, and rend the works of man into nothingness. We stood together on these cliffs--wives whose husbands were wrestling with the storm, mothers who were yearning for the sons they had borne. We saw the boats fight nearer and nearer through the mad spray and the tearing blasts. One after another we saw them crushed and sunken by the hand of the wind. Many of us went to our homes with bitterness at heart. We could not tell why those innocent men should have been snatched out of life; we could not tell why the innocent sufferers who remain should bear their sorrow through all the years until the release of death comes. Our thoughts were the thoughts that Job cherished in the black depths of his agony. But let me counsel you; let me ask you to remember that although death is here and pain is here--although every moment of our lives brings some new mystery--yet in the end there shall be peace. Our little sufferings count as nothing in the sum of the universe. The ills that we cry out against are only but as the troubles of children, and over all watches the Father who cared for Job in the desert, and who took to His own breast the souls of those who went down in the storm that crushed so many hopes of so many men and women in this our little village. I ask you only to trust. I give you no arguments. I only beg you to feel. Crush your questionings. Force yourself to believe in your own insignificance; force yourself to think that suffering has a wise end, and that even our pains, which are so great to us, are part of the scheme of a Master who is moulding the universe to His own plans. When once you have attained this central attitude of calm and trust, then for the rest of your life you will know nothing but joy. The thought of death will be no more like to the horror of a nightmare, but you will meet the great change even as you meet the deep black sleep of tired men. You will know, while thought remains, that you have not lived in vain, and you have not died in vain, for somewhere in God's providence there shall be rest for you, and immortal peace." The thin frame of the speaker quivered as he spoke, and his long fingers writhed with a motion that gave emphasis to his ringing tones. Hob's Tommy had never heard anything like this before. He sat stupefied, and felt as though some music not heard of hitherto were playing and giving him gladness. The congregation broke up, and old William Dent said to one of his cronies, "Watty was grand this afternoon. Ay, they may talk about the fine preachers with the Greek and the Latin, but I want to hear a man like that." Musgrave and Hob's Tommy walked back over the moor in the twilight after the second service, and the giant spoke not a word all the way until they reached the bridge that crossed the little river. The dying twilight made the sluggish water like silver, and the trees were just beginning to moan with the evening wind. Tommy stood in the middle of the bridge, and looked--looked into the dark depths of the water, and then let his eye trace the silver path of the river where it vanished in the soft purple tints of the wood. He said, "If I was to drop over here now, Mr. Musgrave, do you think God would take me?" And Musgrave said-- "Don't talk nonsense, Thomas; come along with me. When God wants to take you, He will take you; but you must not be trying to put your opinions in place of God's. Turn back, my man, and look at the Point there where the Cobbler's Stone stands. Now forget that you are looking at the calm stream, and think what you would feel like one dark night, with a northerly gale, if you had to fight your way round the Cobbler, and expected the sea to double over your boat every minute. You are not in danger now, and your business is to worship. Try to think, my lad, what you would feel if you expected that every sea would be the last one. Now come away, and talk no more nonsense to-night." So Hob's Tommy did not go trouting on that Sunday evening. The next day, when he woke up, he had a sense of strangeness, and it suddenly flashed upon him that he ought to pray. He did not exactly know how to begin, but he managed to produce a curious imitation of the prayer he had heard Musgrave deliver the day before. He then put on his sea-boots and sou'-wester, and strolled into the kitchen. When his mother heard his foot in the passage, she trembled a little, because Tom was not over civil as a rule. To her utter astonishment, the ruffian whom she loved said, "Good morning, mother. Is the coffee ready?" He then stepped up to her, and placed his arm round her shoulders. He had never kissed anybody in his life; so that form of endearment did not occur to him; but he bent his bearded face, and laid his cheek clumsily against his mother's. The draggled woman was so startled that she was unable to form any idea as to the possible cause of this transformation. She only said, "Sit down, my bonny man, and your bacon will be ready for you in two minutes. I have never seen you look so well in my life. Will I be sending to the town for some bottled beer for you by the time you get back?" "No, mother; I am going to try and do without the drink for a bit. I hit you last Saturday night, didn't I?" "Well, don't speak about that, my bonny man." "Show us the mark, mother." She bared her arm to the shoulder, and there, sure enough, was a black bruise. He ate his breakfast and went out, leaving his mother in a condition of exaltation which she had not known for many years. All the day, while the lines were over the side, Tommy sat with his face in his hands. His two mates joked with him, swore at him, tried all kinds of clumsy inducements to make him revert to his ordinary saturnine and entertaining mode of conversation; but he would not be tempted from his silence. Towards evening a chill blast struck off from the shore, and Mary's Jem, who was Tommy's mate, said-- "My man, we'll have the white horses in half a minute!" A short, jumping sea sprang up as if by magic; the men hauled in their lines, took three reefs in the coble's mainsail before hoisting, and then laid the boat's head for the land. Minute by minute the blast grew heavier; quick gusts shook the bents on the sandy hills, and screamed away over the moaning floor of the sea. The boat had to beat very near the wind, and, as she ducked and plunged to the short rollers, clouds of spray came aboard, varied by plunges of green water. Sailing within three and a half points of the wind, and with her three reefs in the lug, she made at least four knots, and the water roared under her rudder. Jemmy lit his pipe, and said-- "We'll have to run north, my man." Tommy said, energetically,-- "No, I'll not. The old woman is going to make my supper for me, and I'll not disappoint her, if I'm drowned in trying." So the boat raced towards the bay, bows under. Nearing the Carr, where a narrow passage opens into smooth water, a strong back-wash came from the jagged rocks. One curling black sea came foaming back, and met the green sea that was plunging on to the reef. A mountain of water rose and fell with a heavy crash over the sail, and the boat turned slowly over. All three men were encumbered with their heavy sea-boots, but they managed to struggle out and fasten themselves on to the high keel. Four or five seas came in quick succession; the boat reached shallow water; the mast snapped with a loud crash, and within a few seconds Tommy said-- "Jump now, men, for it." Up to their waists in water, the men clambered on to the sand and looked round, only to see the wreck of their coble beating herself to pieces with heavy lunges twenty yards from the shore. Tommy spat the salt water out of his mouth, and fell upon his knees. He then walked up to the village, changed his clothes, behaved with elephantine tenderness to his mother, and walked out in the darkness to see his friend, the gardener. He sat on the settle in the low kitchen, and smoked solemnly without speaking. The next night he appeared at the same hour, and spent his evening in the same composed manner. For three weeks he never missed a night, and the gardener's family were puzzled to an extraordinary degree by the sombre expression of his face, and by his abstinence from the rude remarks which were wont to characterize his conversation concerning his friends and neighbours. Mrs. Wray, the gardener's wife, said one evening, "I wonder what the lout comes doddering about here for. He sits as if some of the lads had cutten his tongue out." The very next night Tommy solved her obstinate questionings. He said, "Mary, my hinny, I have found God;" and the next afternoon Walter Musgrave was astonished and pleased to see the fierce face of Tommy glaring from the seat opposite the pulpit. This dumb man had no means of expressing the feelings that were taking possession of him. He only knew that he felt kindly towards all living things, and, above all, he felt as though he must manifest a feeling akin to worship when he was in the gentle presence of Musgrave. Year after year, until his mother died, he never failed in his kindness towards her, and the old dame was wont to express a kind of comic surprise at the womanish demeanour of her son. He caught fish for his living, but a cramped piece of reasoning forced him to the conclusion that it would be wrong for him to shoot any more birds. He said, "The birds was made by God, and God's been good to me, and I am not going to hurt them." Sunday after Sunday in all weathers he strode off to the moor. Wayfarers would meet him at night when the wind was hurling down from the Cheviots and bringing clouds of snow. He had but one salutation for all who met him: "Good night, my man; God bless you till the mornin'." Sometimes, when the paths were so foul that nothing but wading would take a man over the moor, Tommy was greatly puzzled about finding his way, and one night he and Musgrave walked unsuspectingly over a low cliff, and fell softly upon a great ridge of sand. But these little misadventures did not by any means daunt Tommy. His new religion was that he must be at chapel twice every Sunday, and at prayer-meetings as often through the week as Musgrave chose to take him. To this he held. The Squire's pheasants suffered no longer, and Tommy's big lurcher displayed a tendency towards virtue which earned him the admiration of all the gamekeepers on the estate. Efforts were made to get the big man to pray at the ordinary love-feasts that were held in connection with the chapel, but he always said, "No; my Father and me has all our conversations to ourselves. It is not as if God didn't know; but I don't think a blackguard like me should address Him face to face after the life I have led." The years went by, and Tommy's shaggy beard showed signs of grizzling. His huge limbs were more deliberate in their movement, and his low forehead had somehow or other acquired a certain spiritual aspect. He wrought at his trade, saved money, and spent some in decorating his mother's grave. One night, when he was smoking his pipe with Musgrave, he said-- "Christ died for all the lot of us, didn't He? That was a rare thing to do. Now, suppose He says, when I meet Him, 'What are you doing here? You have done nothing but go to chapel.' Now, Mr. Musgrave, will you tell me this: what should I say in a case of that sort?" Old Musgrave wrinkled his wise brows and replied, "Thomas, my man, He knows your heart. I suppose you think you ought to save life, or something of that kind, don't you?" "Yes, sir, that's just what I do think," said Thomas. "Well, believe me, your chance will come. Now let's light up our pipes, and walk over the moor home, Thomas, and puzzle yourself no more about these things." A bad winter came, and the thundering seas broke so continually over the rocks that it was impossible for the men to get bait on their own rocks. All day long the loungers walked the cliff edge, and watched the columns of spray hissing up from the black rocks. Day after day the clouds seemed to mix themselves with the sea as they laid their grey shoulders to the water. Money became scarce in the village, and the men who had savings had to help those who were poorer. When things got almost too bad for bearing, Billy Armstrong said to one of his friends-- "Look here, you and me and Hob's Tommy will run round to the Tyne, and get some mussels, or else the whole place will be starved when the fine weather comes." A big coble was got out, and ran down to the Tyne with a northerly wind through the shrewd and vicious sea. The men got the cargo of mussels, and at four in the afternoon prepared to beat their way northward. It was then blowing half a gale, but the wind had shifted round from the shore, so that very little tacking was required. As the shades fell lower and lower, the wind rose higher and higher. The blasts galloped down through the hollows, and struck the brown sail of the coble like the sound of musketry. The boat lay hard over, and the water leaped in spurts over her lee gunwale. They reached the point where the Cobbler's Stone stood. Tommy was in a strange state of exaltation. He pointed to the misty shore, then to the black stone round which the water was seething. He said quietly, "Yonder, my lads!" They rounded the point, and put the boat's head nearer to windward. A harsh ripping sound was heard under the bottom. She lay hard over until a blast came and tore her clear. Billy Armstrong said-- "You have taken her in a bit too near, my son. The bilge chocks is both pulled off; look you, they're gone away astern." And, sure enough, two long planks drifted away behind the boat. They had been torn off by the force with which she rushed upon the outlying rock. Tommy said, "Let's have another reef in, mates." But before the sail could be half lowered, a storming gust swept out of the bay, and struck the boat with a roar. The long rudder smashed; a green sea doubled up behind her, and she turned over exactly as the coble had done when Tommy first prayed. In the wild waves it was hard for the men to get hold. The bilge chocks were gone, and thus all chance of a hand grip was lost. Half-way down the square stern of the boat a hole had been bored, through which a rope had been passed and knotted at both ends. This rope served the men in hauling the boat down to the sea. Only one could hold on to this short scrap, and Tommy, who was the first to think of it, seized it, and held on with the strength of his despair. The boat lunged and struck the faces of the two men who were holding on to her sides. Billy Armstrong was bleeding from the mouth, and his front teeth were gone--dashed out by one stroke which had met him as he tried to climb and catch hold of the deep iron keel in the fore part of the coble. The other man said suddenly, "I have got a broken arm, Tommy." A few minutes went by, during which the men dared not speak--only Tommy was perfectly safe. The others were slipping and writhing in their efforts to hang on to the smooth planks. The man with the broken arm had the nails of his sound hand torn, and the blood streamed down as he clutched again and again at the slippery seams. At last he said, "I cannot do it any longer. Tell Mary the money is under the bed at the right-hand side next the wall, and ask my grandfather to take little Adam for me and keep him." A thought came into Hob's Tommy's mind. He cried out, "Don't let yourself go down. Edge yourself round here to the stern, and you shall have this rope." The maimed man came slowly round, and took the rope as Tommy let go. For a single minute the bruised giant rested his hands on the lunging stern of the little vessel. He did not look up, and his face had no devotional aspect, but the two men who were saved remembered his words to the end of their lives. He said, "O Lord Jesus, I am even with you now. I am going to die." The stern of the boat flew up into the air as a short sea hit her, and Hob's Tommy lost his grip. He lay back quietly on the water, and the men said that he even smiled. Presently the foam covered him over. THE FAILURE. To the southward of the Chibburn Stream a flat space, covered with rushes and grey grass, stretches away towards the Border. On the seaward side it is walled in by low hills, whilst on the landward side a sudden rise of the ground forms another boundary which makes the waste resemble the bed of an ancient river. It was a favourite place with me in the summer time, because the brackens grow here and there, and to one who wants perfect seclusion nothing can be more delightful than to creep under the green shade and listen, hour after hour, to the wind flying over. I had wanted to spend the whole morning in this lazy way, so I put my Keats in my pocket and walked along the sand until the time came for me to climb the seaward barrier. I often noticed a deserted cottage which stood at the northerly end of the great waste, and which was sometimes used in winter by the rabbit-catchers who had to remain by their traps all night. Twice or thrice I had peeped through the open door and seen the blackened hearthstone, but I had never gone inside. The remains of a turf wall surrounded the cottage, but the low garden that this wall enclosed was overrun with ragwort and nettles and hemlock. My terrier was fond of investigating the garden, because among the thick undergrowth he invariably found either rabbits or water-rats, or a stoat. On this bright morning I was much surprised to find the whole of the enclosure cleared. Outside of the boundary was a great heap of ashes, from which clouds of dust drifted hither and thither. A light smoke arose from the chimney, and as my dog and I approached, a heavy bark came from a mastiff that was chained inside the low wicket. A sudden sense of companionship almost frightened me. It seemed as though the brownie had come from his clump of rushes to set things in order. A chair stood in the centre of a patch of grass that crowned a little hillock near the cottage, and while I waited and wondered a bowed figure stole forth and walked slowly towards the chair. The man did not appear to notice me, but sat down and picked up a book which had lain on the grass. He then took off his hat, drew a deep breath, and I caught sight of his face. His grizzled hair hung over a careworn forehead. The eyes were sunken under deep and wrinkled brows, and the lips were drawn. I felt like an interloper, and determined to rid myself of all unpleasant feeling by stepping forward and speaking at once to the stranger. I could not think of anything better to say than "Good morning, sir. We have another fine day, have we not?" The man looked up, and his tired eyes brightened with a kind smile. I took to him from that first glance. We had a little commonplace chat, and then I said, "I see you are a reader." My new friend answered, "Oh, yes, I find books serve well to prevent anyone from thinking." "But do you never think, then?" "Never, when I can help it; I take reading as an opiate. I press other men's thoughts down upon my own till mine cannot rise." The queer smile with which the speaker delivered his paradox made me curious, and I determined to draw him further into conversation. I continued, "May I ask what book you are using just now to batten down your own thoughts?" He showed me the "Purgatory," and I saw that he was reading the Italian. Here was a discovery! In the village I had been regarded as a remarkable being because I could read the Bible at six years old. The only persons who were reputed to possess learning of any sort were the Squire, the Rector, two local preachers, and myself. And now, suddenly, there had descended among us a scholar who positively read Dante for pleasure! I continued the talk. "You will not think me rude if I ask why you should choose that book." "I am afraid I must be more confidential than is seemly if I answer your question. Promise not to think me a babbler, and I will tell you. Dante is the poet for failures. I happen to be a failure, and as my life is broken I go to him for consolation." This was a new vision of life to me, for generally our village talk was of crops, and the Squire's latest eccentricities. When we had gossiped for a while about poetry and books in general, and when I had found that my acquaintance was far my superior in every possible respect, I prepared to move. He stopped me by saying "May I ask you, in turn, what book you are carrying?" "I read Keats. He is my Sunday luxury. I do not read him on the week-days for fear I should get him by heart, and every Sunday I start as though I were dipping into a new book." "Ah! then you still care for beauty. I used to feel positive physical luxury years agone while I read Keats, but now it seems as if the thought of beauty came between me and the grave. I am, like all the failures, a student of deformity. Strong men love beauty, futile men care only for ugliness. I am one of the futile sort, and so I care most for terror and darkness. Come inside, and perhaps I shall not talk quite so madly then." The mastiff civilly let us pass, and I went into the low room of the cottage. One side was entirely taken up with books, and amongst the books were five editions of Dante. The fire blazed on the clean hearth, and everything looked neat and well-kept. A narrow trestle bed stood in the corner, and a table and chair completed the furniture of the room. I said, "You will find it horrible here when the winter comes on. The wind comes down from Chibburn Hollow, and when I was a boy I used to like to sit on the leeward side of the hills only to hear it scream." "The wind will serve me for company." I began to doubt my companion's sanity a little, and I said, "I am afraid talking has disturbed you. I must say good-bye." I did not read that day, and the strange face with its bitter mouth and keen eyes was in my memory for a week after. I set myself to inquire how this man, who could talk with such evident intelligence, came to have chosen the moor for an abiding-place, and it happened that by chance I learned his whole history. I was walking across the moor with my friend the district local preacher, when a sudden whim prompted me to ask him to meet the strange creature whom I had seen. We went to the cottage, and were received by the deep baying of the dog. The stooping figure came out into the sunlight, and my friend the preacher said, "Bless my soul! Henry Desborough! What in the name of mercy has brought you here?" Not a sign of emotion crossed the face of the Failure. He said, "You ought to know, Musgrave. I was always a creature of whims." "That is exactly what I do not know," said Musgrave. "You are thinking of the times before I was twenty-five. Several centuries have passed over me since then." Musgrave seemed unable to carry on the talk. He only said, "I take it very unkindly that you did not let me know you were here. I will come back and see you alone the next time. You have given me a sad heart for this day." I knew now that there was a history in the case, and I learned it all from the man most concerned. A long time ago a concert had been given in a small town somewhere down the coast. An imposing musician had been brought from London especially to train the choir, and the rustic mind was awed by preparations. On the night of the concert Desborough, who was the son of a man of independent means, strolled in and took a seat on one of the front benches. Chairs had been pressed into the service from all over the town, and the platform, with its decorations, was a fine imaginative effort. The Squire was there, and Sir John, the county member, brought his wife and her diamonds. After the imposing musician had conducted one or two glees, there was a little rustle of preparation, and a girl stepped forth to sing. To the tradesmen of the town she was simply Polly Blanchflower, but to the thinking of one young man, who sat within a few yards of her, she ought to have been throned among stars. He had mixed little in company, and from the first time that the girl's eyes fell upon him he was a changed man. She sang the "Flowers of the Forest." Where she had learnt her art I do not know, and the imposing musician from London could not guess. As she sang, Desborough fancied he could hear the cry of bereaved women. When the last verse came, the singer seemed to harden her voice to a martial tone, and the young man felt as though he must rise to his feet. As the last sound died, the great musician himself stepped forward and escorted the girl to the improvised seat at the rear of the platform. The audience had heard nothing of the kind before. They did not think Mrs. Blanchflower's girl could work musical miracles. They clamoured until the singer came forward and sang them, "What's a the steer, Kimmer?" and she finished the song with triumphant archness. In the interval between the first and the second part of the concert, Sir John imperatively demanded that the young lady should be brought to him, and he grumbled out words of approval which he considered very valuable. Desborough went home and sat thinking hour after hour. His table was covered with papers. He looked at one sheet of manuscript and said, "What a fool I must have been to think that I could write! I have never begun to live until now. I will burn this last chapter and open a new one." Tho other young men who had heard the songs were pleased, but they soon forgot, and thought only of Miss Blanchflower as a pretty girl who had a nice voice. Desborough was weak. His passion took complete command of him, and he was ready for any of those things that mad lovers do, and that staid people find so incredible. Within a month he had managed to meet the girl. Within two months she had learned that he was her slave. With the intuition that the most commonplace girls possess, she saw that he was never the man to be master, and she amused herself with him. The acquaintance ripened as the summer came on, and before the autumn the young fellow was ready to fetch and carry for his idol, and had surrendered his soul to her with tragic completeness. There is something a little gross in this descent into slavery, but poor Desborough did not see it, for he was not given to self-introspection. He only knew that he was happy. A word exalted him, and he never felt a rebuff. Miss Blanchflower's mother was a commonplace woman, who looked with a business eye upon the odd courtship that was passing in her household day after day. One evening she said to her daughter, "Marion, had not you better settle matters one way or the other?" The girl needed no explanation of particulars. She very well knew what were the matters referred to. She tossed her head and quietly replied, "Not with him, mother. When I marry a man, I marry my master. I like that poor fellow well enough. He looks nice and he talks prettily, but I always associate him with a poodle." "But don't you think a man had better use his knees to kneel to you than use them to walk away from you?" The girl said no more. Her mother had told her Desborough's income, and she knew that to break off the connection would bring about an ugly family quarrel. On the very next night after this conversation Desborough called as usual, and began the ordinary pleasant and trifling gossip with which the simple people passed the evenings. Towards nine o'clock the mother rose. "I shall have to leave you for about half an hour," she said, and the girl at once knew that that half hour was meant for decision. A few awkward minutes passed, and then Desborough made up his mind to speak, "I won't hint, and I won't spend time in words with you, Marion. You know all that I could say, and I should only vulgarize love if I talked." The girl replied very quietly, "Well, we will take that as understood," and gave him her hand. She liked him at that moment. Everybody in the town had known what was coming, and the engagement was taken as a matter of course. When things had gone too far to allow of drawing back, Miss Blanchflower set herself to act a part. She did not really care for the man to whom she was engaged. In her heart she despised him a little, yet her artistic instinct allowed her to play at being in love, and she carried the comedy through with dexterity. The unequal companionship grew closer and closer, and Desborough was drawn deeper and deeper into forgetting himself, and forgetting all finer ambitions. He only sought to please the creature to whom he was slave, and the recognition which the girl now gave him made his happiness too deep for words. But all the time Miss Blanchflower was weary. She cared for gaiety, and Desborough's mind was of a sombre cast; her artistic temperament made her sensuous, and Desborough's reserve was almost forbidding. He never spoke out, and the girl, who was always longing for violence of sentiment and sudden changes of emotion, found herself condemned to a dull, level life. Desborough would talk to her about poetry, but their tastes did not agree. He would even tease her with futile metaphysical talk until she scarcely knew whether to laugh or to flout him. Another winter wore on, and the time for the wedding drew near. It happened that in the Spring a ball was given on the eve of a general election. A quarter of a mile of carriages stood in front of the Town Hall, and the county gentry mingled on terms of affability with the tradespeople and farmers of the neighbourhood. Desborough and Miss Blanchflower were there, and the girl was strangely attractive, in spite of her somewhat faulty taste in dress. She gave Desborough one dance, and spent the rest of the evening in distributing favours. A quiet conversation passed in one corner of the room which would have interested Miss Blanchflower very much could she have heard. Two men were standing together. One was a young fellow of about twenty-five. He was unspeakably slim, yet he carried himself with an air of lithe strength. His face looked as though it were carven out of steel, so smooth and clean cut were his features. His hair was of unfashionable length, and his dress was negligent, and yet no one could have mistaken him for anything but a man of high breeding. His eyes were brown, and had that velvety texture of the iris which one sometimes sees among the women of the New Forest, and sometimes among the girls of the district round Bordeaux. His whole appearance was feminine, and the unstable glance that he flashed from side to side spoke of vanity. He said to his companion, "Who is the prim virgin with the fair hair?" "She is the daughter of a widow in the town. Blanchflower, I think the name is." "Do you think you could contrive an introduction? There is a sort of savage innocence about that dress which rather attracts me." Within half an hour Miss Blanchflower was conversing easily with the slim young gentleman who had criticized her so pleasantly. The girl was pleased to find this young fellow, who was a sort of literary celebrity in his way, talking to her on equal terms. When he proposed a stroll in the improvised conservatory after the next dance, she was glad, although she felt that Desborough must be ill pleased. When the last of the carriages had rolled away, and when the Town Hall was darkened, Marion Blanchflower was still sitting and thinking about the slim young man. Desborough was forgotten, and the girl only had thoughts of this new acquaintance who suggested to her mind nothing but vivacity, and colour, and brilliant life. In four days from that time Miss Blanchflower was strolling down a deep hollow which was known as the Dene. The whole place was ablaze with hyacinths. Far as one could see along the deep cliff, where the murmuring stream had carved itself a bed, the flowers spread like sheets of blue fire. In the more distant hollows the delicate masses of colour lay like clouds of gorgeous mist. Shooting straight up from the beds of hyacinths, tall elms met overhead, and the rooks kept up a clamour that dulled the senses without causing anything like irritation. The girl stepped down the path, and the light from the green leaves floated around her and touched her face and figure with delicate shadows and flickering brightness. She looked a joyous and beautiful creature, and the slim young man who met her by accident thought that he had never seen any picture so full of youth and delight. The meeting was a pure coincidence. The days passed on, and again and again Miss Blanchflower walked in the Dene amid the flame of the hyacinths. Her mother trusted her greatly, and Desborough was too simple to have any afterthought when he found that his morning visits were discouraged. He was grateful for every moment of her company, and he placidly looked forward to the time when his quiet life should be crowned. Sometimes he chatted quite contentedly with Mrs. Blanchflower until Marion returned. Several people in the town could have told him things that would have surprised him, but he held so much aloof from all company that nobody ventured on familiar talk with him. The one man who had his confidence was the Wesleyan local preacher; but Musgrave lived a long way from the town, and Desborough saw him seldom. One morning Desborough went down by the end of the stream. The water was low, and underneath the roots of a great tree there was a deep hollow that had been scooped out by the torrents of winter. An odd fancy made Desborough climb down and creep into this cavity under the network of roots. From the place where he was seated he could not only see the clear water running away seaward, but he could look right up the path that ran among the tall elms. He was gazing mechanically on the ripples, and had allowed his mind to be hushed into complete vacuity by the delicate babble of the water over the pebbles, when suddenly a flash of colour seemed to grow upon his consciousness, and he saw a man and woman walking together down the very path that led to the cave where he had been dreaming. He placed his hand to his forehead and tried to think. It seemed as though his heart had been touched with ice. He would have called out, but he was stupefied. After a few long minutes he saw Miss Blanchflower make a sudden movement and give both her hands to her companion. The two stood face to face, and seemed to be speaking passionately. Desborough covered his eyes, and would see no more. How long he sat he never knew; but when he was able to realize his place and to realize the fact of existence, he was alone. He moaned, and then by one of those revolutions of feeling common to men of his temperament, he broke into laughter. As he climbed out from his retreat his sense of the tragic turn of things left him, and he laughed still more. "And I am an eaves-dropper, am I? Mr. Hamlet Desborough. And Ophelia's not talking to her father this time. What a nice young Polonius we have got--ambrosial curls Polonius has--And Ophelia! Oh! Ophelia's very fair--chaste as an icicle, and pure as snow." He walked towards a deep pool that lay further down towards the sea. The pool was very sullen and cool under the dank shadow of the hanging trees. Desborough looked a minute into the dark depths. "Now, Hamlet, let us finish up. Let me see. What are the puzzles that I have to solve? Death? That's soon done. Three minutes, they say, it takes under water. And that other country where the travellers go and never return? Well, I don't see particularly why I should return, and oh! Ophelia, Ophelia." He sat down and looked at the water until gradually his impulse wore off, and his face grew stern. He muttered no more as he walked home; he passed people in the street, but made no sign; he had revenge, fear, rage, pity, and love in his heart, and his passions were too strong for his will. Had he not been able to gain solitude there is no knowing what he might have done, for no man does such terrible things, and no man is so utterly reckless as a thoroughly weak individual who is suddenly cast adrift from all his mental holdfasts. Before night he had written a little note. These were the words that he wrote:-- "My dearest, I have been thinking bad thoughts of you all day. Now I have come to myself. I know where you were this morning, and I know that my life is broken. I will not thrust my claim upon you, and I cannot ask you for pity. You will not see me again. I give you up without one reproach. I only reproach myself for wearying you, and for trying to entrap you into a life that would have been misery to you. I was meant for a failure; I was meant to pass through the world unknown and unheeded, saving by those near to me. You require larger interests. I am glad I have loved you, I am sorry I led you into treachery. Good-bye." The town's folk missed Desborough for a long while after this, and then it gradually oozed out that he had broken off his engagement. Anyone who knows what the gossip of a provincial town is like, will understand the wrath and indignation that followed this proceeding. Poor Desborough fancied he had been sacrificing himself, and, if the truth must be told, felt a little proud of his own nobility. Yet all the while many tongues were tearing his reputation to shreds. He had come to London, thinking the rush and hurry of crowded life would brighten his thoughts, and he was walking dreamily down the turbulent Strand one evening when he met a man from his own town. He stepped up to his acquaintance and stopped. The man looked him in the face and passed on. Desborough turned and walked alongside, saying with quick breathing, "Why do you refuse me your hand? I have not seen a face I know for days, weeks--I don't know how long." The man replied, "Look here, Desborough, I don't like cutting any fellow, but I wish you had not tried to speak to me." "What do you mean?" "It is very shabby of you to ask what I mean. I do not pretend to be a saint at all, but there are things no fellow can stand. I wish you would let me say good day." "But I insist upon knowing." "Knowing what? You know what you have done, and I should think that ought to be enough to serve you. I shall tell you nothing more." "Turn down into one of the quiet streets; and for pity's sake tell me what you mean." They walked into the Adelphi, and Desborough's friend said, "I thought you had a bit of the man about you. Why do you thrust yourself on me? You pretend to know nothing about the girl, and I call it shabby, there now!" Presently Desborough found himself standing alone. The whole position flashed upon him. He could not go back. He saw that his character was gone, and he saw that he was blamed for destroying a character that he had held more precious than his own. He went to his chambers and wrote to a relation for money. He intended to sell all that he owned, and he simply asked for an advance so that he might get out of the country quickly, and place the greatest possible distance between himself and his home before he finally parted with all that belonged to him. He waited for two days, and the reply came:-- "Referring to your letter of the 20th, I beg to state that I cannot do what you wish. I am sorry that you have been in any way connected with me, and I can only ask you now not to remind me of an intimacy and of a relationship which I have cause to consider disgraceful. Your name is mixed with the worst scandal that we have had in the town for years. The girl would not speak a word against you, but her mother has said enough." The same relation furnished Desborough's address to Mrs. Blanchflower, and a letter from the lady reached him: "I have no reproaches to make, excepting that I am sorry you should think that we would pursue you." Desborough wrote back: "I cannot do more than guess the accusation you lay against me. I acted as I thought was best, and I give you my word that I would die before hurting you or yours. I have a suspicion of the real cause of your cruel letter, and the suspicion almost kills me. I cannot come back to mix myself with the sordid scandal, and I can only say that, whatever you may think of me, I deserve nothing but your kindest thoughts." His innocent precipitancy had involved the poor fellow in a web which he had not nerve or insight enough to break. He saw that the woman he loved had allowed an accusation to be laid against him, and he saw that she wanted to shield her real lover, yet he would not baulk her by clearing himself. How he spent the next year of his life it would be useless to tell. At first he drank, but the blank misery that follows the wretched exaltation of drunkenness was too much for him, and he tried no more to seek relief that way. It was then said that he tramped the country for many months, and that he worked as a common blacksmith with a man who travelled the roads in Cheshire. Then one of his letters bore the post-mark of a small Norman town, and so from time to time rumours of him reached the place where his name was mentioned with anger by women and contempt by men. Marion Blanchflower died, and the news of her death reached Desborough by the merest chance while he was prosecuting one of his aimless journeys among the hamlets of the Black Forest. But it was then too late for him to go back. For ten years all news of him ceased. He never told anyone what he had done during these years of his life. One after another the people who had known him in the old town died off, and when, at last, an impulse that he could not restrain forced him to see the place where his happiness had blossomed and died, no one knew that the bent figure with grizzled hair was that of Desborough. The same indecision prompted him at last to hire the old cottage that stood on our moor, and thus it was that I came to see him. A year afterwards I heard Desborough speak some very simple and touching words to a rough audience of fishermen. The gnarled faces looked placid as the clever, broken man talked on, and Desborough's own face seemed to have grown spiritual. His eye had an expression of quiet sadness, but I liked him better as a preacher than as a philosopher. He seemed to be happier too, and before death came on him, like a summer night falling over the stress of daytime, he had become very reverend, and very lovable. MR. CASELY. I. Young Mr. Ellington strolled down the narrow walk that led through the woods from the Hall to the sea. The morning had lain heavy on his hands, for he was without companionship, and he was not one of the happy folk who can make resources or who find a sufficient delight in mere living. A few sharp commonplaces delivered with dry imperiousness by the old Squire; a little well-meaning babble from a couple of timid maiden aunts--such was the range of his converse with his kind from day to day. And this quiet dreariness had lasted for months past, and seemed likely to last as far into the future that young Ellington faced his prospect with a sort of pained confusion of mind, and began by slow degrees to understand the bovine apathy of the ploughmen. Old Mr. Ellington was a magnate who would have been commended by Mr. John Ruskin. The fashions of other country people did not influence him to imitation, and he steadfastly performed that feat of "living on the land" which is supposed to bring such blessedness to all whom the land supports. For fifty years he had never been twenty miles beyond the bounds of his southernmost farm, and for fifty years the ugly Hall had never opened its doors to an invited guest. People talked a good deal, and made theories more or less malignant, but the hard old man minded them no whit. He went on his own road with perfect propriety, outraging every convention in the most virtuous manner, and opposing a dry reticence to the curiosity and wonderment of the few neighbours who continued to have any vivid remembrance of his existence. In fine weather his stout and opinionated cob bore him gravely along the lanes. The cottagers' children ceased their play and looked respectfully sheepish as he rode by; the farm girls dropped their elaborate curtseys, and the labourers at the roadside made efforts to appear at their ease. These and the farmers were the only people who saw his daily progress, and they all held him a good deal in fear. Nothing escaped his steady eye. If anything displeased him he did not use words, for he had not talents of the vocal description, but he took very sudden means of making his displeasure felt. Within his domain he was absolute master. He disliked the intrusion of even passing strangers, and the harmless bagmen who sometimes travelled along the coast road found no hostelry on the estate. It was said that he once met an alien person walking in the woods, and that this erratic foreigner was smoking a pipe. The most learned purveyors of myths were never able to detail exactly what happened, but the incident was always mentioned with awe. The inhabitants of the district never managed to get up any personal feeling about the Squire;--they regarded him as an operation of Nature. So he lived his life in his colourless fashion, rousing no hate, gaining no love, and fulfilling his duties as though his own epitaph were an abiding vision to him. He cared for no enjoyments, and did not particularly like to see other people enjoying themselves. He seemed to fancy that laughter should be taken like the Sacrament, and, for his own part, he preferred not being a communicant. When his only son was killed in a pitiful frontier skirmish, the old man rode out as usual on the day following the receipt of the ill news. The gamekeeper said that he drew up his cob alongside the fence of a paddock wherein was kept an aged pony that the heir had ridden long ago. He watched the stumbling pensioner cropping the bright grass for a few minutes, breathed heavily, turned the cob into the road again, and went on with sharp eyes glancing emotionless. His daughter-in-law died soon after, and he assumed sole charge of the young Ellington whom we have seen making a forlorn pilgrimage under the trees. The young man had received a queer sort of nondescript education. All the Ellingtons for a generation or two back had gone in due course to Eton and Oxford, but no such conventional training was vouchsafed to the latest of the family. The hand of the private tutor had been heavy upon him, and he was brought up absolutely without a notion of what his own future might be. He had mooned about among books to some trifling extent, but the taste for study had never taken him. The silly mode of culture which he had undergone availed nothing against the instincts of his race. His grandfather was a sort of living aberration--a queer variety such as Nature will sometimes interpolate amid the most steady of strains; but young Ellington's moods, and tendencies, and capabilities reverted to the old line. Yet, despite his restless energy, despite his incapacity for that active thought which makes solitude bearable, he was crushed into the mould that the Squire had prepared for him. His distractions were few, and in his vigorous mind, with its longing for instant action, its continual revolt against self-contained speculation, there arose a dull fear of the future, a longing for deliverance. It was not a merry existence for a young man who heard the brave currents of life sounding around and calling him vaguely to come and adventure himself with the rest. He knew that the sons of the men who laughed at his grandfather laughed also at him, and regarded him with a somewhat impertinent wonder, but he dared explain himself to none, and dared seek companionship with none. This is why he looked so listless as he lounged toward the sea that fine afternoon. There was enough all round him to please anyone with an eye for the quiet beauty of inanimate things. The lights slid and quivered on the golden windings of the walk. Here and there the beams that came through were toned into a kind of floating greenness that looked glad and tender. The light wind overhead set the leaves talking, and their silky rustle sounded sharp through the low murmur of the near sea. Now and then came other sounds. A cushat would moan from her high fir-top, or a pheasant deep in the shadows would call with his resonant guttural. But young Mr. Ellington did not heed the sounds and sights that asked his attention; he hardly heeded his own being, and his footsteps grated on till the veil of the trees seemed drawn back, and he saw the shining sea glimmering under a light haze. Far out toward the centre of the blue circle, a fishing-boat lunged heavily as the deliberate rollers came shoreward, and upon this boat he fixed his eye with that meaningless intentness born of weariness. He had begun to time his vague thought by the regular swing of the black boat, when his attention was called by a clinking sound. Someone was trying to open a wicket which opened from a by-road to the left of him. He caught a glimpse of bright colour through the bars, and stepped smartly forward. The wicket was easy to open from his side, and he soon released the wayfarer from trouble. She took one slight pace back, curtsied, and said, "Thank you, sir." It was not a very remarkable speech, but coming upon Ellington's ear in his blank mood, it sounded friendly and pleasant to a strange degree. He wanted to hear the voice again. He rested for a brief space--not long enough to make the interval seem awkward--and glanced swiftly at the girl whom he had aided. His faculties did not rise readily into keenness after his recent hour of lethargy, but he saw in an indefinite way that she was tall, and the elastic pose of her figure as she prepared to pass by him gave him somehow an impression of power. After an instant of hesitation he met the clear look of a pair of brown eyes, and he felt that he must say something. He fancied his slight pause had made him appear a trifle clumsy, and he sought to effect a graceful parting. But, alas! for the grace of solitary young men! The one right phrase, the one right gesture would not come, and so, although his manner was sufficiently easy at ordinary times, he could only say, "I'm very glad I happened to be by." The girl was not sophisticated enough to regard him with anything like humour. She smilingly accepted his remark as cogent, and replied, "Yes. Old Trumbull has funny notions about fitting on latches, hasn't he?" Here was a distinct opportunity for further pleasing conversation, and the unfortunate Mr. Ellington was feeble. "Oh, you know Trumbull?" he said, with alacrity. "He and I are great friends, but I don't interfere with his professional matters. I'm afraid he would discharge me if I did." This was an unmistakably humorous allusion, and the girl once more flashed her white teeth in a pretty smile. Such a reception of his not very striking remarks put the young man at his ease, and he became composed enough to observe delicately the face of his new acquaintance. He had but little time, for of course he could not stand for long babbling stupidities with a country girl. The face was strong and dark, with composed, full lips, and a dusky glow in the cheeks. The eyes which had at first put him to such confusion looked liquid and strangely attractive when the light of laughter was in them. Mr. Ellington had fallen in with a beautiful girl. He did not formulate any opinion on the subject all at once, but he prolonged the conversation into the second five minutes. Then he said casually, "I've not seen you passing this way before," and the dark young lady made answer, with complete simplicity, "No, but I always come through here on Thursday afternoons as I go to my aunt's over at the Dean." Mr. Ellington said "good-bye" at last, and the tall, strong figure of the girl disappeared round a bluff of the shrubbery, her feet lighting on the gravel with crisp, decided firmness. It was not an exciting incident, but in truth the things that alter lives, and give us our strongest emotions, do really happen in fashions the reverse of picturesque. A couple of young folk had exchanged a score or so of vapid words, yet before many weeks had gone several people had reason for wishing the trivial interview had never been. The girl thought but once more about the matter. On her way back the clink of the closing wicket brought young Ellington to her mind again, and she said to herself, "What a nice free lad the young squire is! They were saying he was a kind of close fellow with a bad temper. He doesn't look like that. I wonder what makes him flatten his hair down so funny? He asked me about next Thursday." And there Miss Mary Casely ceased her maiden meditations, and walked on with her sharp step, and with a mind vacant of all coherent thought, as only the truly rustic mind can be. Presently she passed a row of one-storied cottages which ran along the edge of the low cliff, and she tapped at the door of a somewhat larger house which stood in a dignified manner a little apart from the fishermen's cottages. She heard a strong voice say, "Oh! It's her, back again." Then a heavy step crunched the sand of the flooring, and made the windows rattle in their frames. The door opened, and the same deep voice said, "Ye've getten here then, hinny. What kind of a night is it?" The man stooped low to escape the lintel, and then straightened himself up in the road. If you had searched from Yarmouth to Berwick the whole coast along you could not have found a more superb creature. He stood six feet four, but his limbs were so massive, and the outward arch of his broad chest was so full, that you might easily have guessed his inches wrongly. As he turned westward toward the last light that still glowed in dim bars from behind the hills, his face showed with a noble outline. He looked round for a space, said, "Ay, the lads'll be having a bonny night," then strode heavily to his "settle" once more, and prepared to chat with his daughter. When the lamp was lit, the grandeur of his face became finely apparent. His hair was coarse, and black, and lustreless; it hung heavily over a heavy brow. His jaw was square and powerful, but its firmness was saved from seeming absolutely cruel by the kindly lines of the mouth. Not a feature of the man was unmarked by signs of keenness and strength. You would not have chosen him for an enemy unless you happened to be a thought inexperienced. This was Mr. Thomas Casely. For fifty-four years he had dwelt in that house on the cliff-edge; his father still lived in one of the small cottages near by, and his grandfather and great-grandfather had spent their lives in the same village before him. Probably the progenitors of the Caselys and the Ellingtons came over together on a thieving expedition, and, finding the natives of the region amenable to emphatic arguments, settled quietly and used their long vessels henceforth for comparatively honest purposes. A deal of very curious talk is spent over the ancient Scandinavians who used to harry the peaceful farmers long ago. We learn that these rapacious gentlemen were above all things "deep-thoughted," and that they had rather fine notions about poetry and the future life. They were, in short, a species of bloodthirsty �sthetics. Instead of devoting themselves to intense amours and sonnets, they were the Don Juans of Death, but in no other point did they differ materially from the cultured creature who lives up to his blue china. This notion seems wrong. From all observations, I should incline to say that the earliest Ellington who settled in England was a big ruffian who disliked work, and who had a sharp eye to business; whilst the earliest Caselys were probably thievish fellows, who loved moonless nights, and objected to the use of cold water. Under the influence of softening generations, the Caselys and Ellingtons had dropped their predatory tendencies, and lived peaceful lives. Furthermore, it is certain that the heartiest amity had prevailed between the houses for more years than I care to reckon. Travel and town life had given polish to some of the aristocrats, and taught them to use reasonable haughtiness toward inferior creatures; but even a haughty greeting is better than a remonstrance delivered with a mace. At any rate, all the Caselys were brought up to offer reverence to the Squire, and the tradition of mutual esteem and distant respect had never been broken. A correct notion of the rights of labour had not been expounded anywhere near the estate, and the roughest fellow on Mr. Ellington's land probably felt loyalty towards the Family. This state of things cannot withstand the advance of culture for very long, but meantime it offers even unto this day an interesting specimen of ancient usage. When his daughter had got out her knitting, Thomas Casely drew down his shaggy brows, and looked at her with a queer twinkle of kindness. "You'll have had a grand talk with them over at the Dean?" "No, father. The old Squire rode round, and he wanted to see so many things about the stackyard, aunt couldn't get away. Bob was in for a minute." "What for didn't Bob see you home?" "Oh, I cannot be fashed with him. When he's dressed to come out, he looks just like as if he'd got mixed suits of other folks' clothes on." "You'll not have to be proud, my woman. He's just as good, and better, than the most of the lads round here. I never knew no good come of pride." "I never knew what pride meant; but if I walk with a lad I like him to be bonny, and I want to see him not look like a countryman altogether. Bob isn't bonny." "Ay, well, hinny, if you want fine clothes, I doubt you'll get nobody but the young squire." This Mr. Casely said with a slow smile, and Mary thought suddenly, "Next Thursday afternoon." The reader will see that these rustics had not attained that quaint sententious wisdom proper to the rustics of fiction. In their ungrammatical way they talked much like human beings. II. When Mr. Ellington turned once more to the sea, after Mary Casely had passed out of sight, the look of things had somehow altered in his eyes. He went to the edge of the rocks, and looked down on the short ripples that broke into whiteness below him. He was taken with the beauty of the clear green water that moved over the shallows, and he found himself watching the swift changes of shade caused by the passage of the light breeze with something like active interest. The ragworts and the wild geraniums made a yellow and purple fretwork all around him, and the colour gave him a sense of keen gladness. He faced round and entered the quivering gloom of the woods again, but his step on the gravel was sharp and firm. Every faculty of him seemed to have waked. A blackbird bugled cheerily in the underwood, and Ellington felt a strange thrill. He reached the Hall, and sat down to wait for the dressing-bell, but the hour before dinner, usually so heavy to him, went by briskly. During dinner he made no attempt at sustained conversation, yet he answered his grandfather's few short questions with a ready cheerfulness and fluency which made the old man regard him with narrowed eyes. When the night came fairly on, he sat looking out of his window into the scented darkness. Had you asked him what he was thinking of, he could not have told you, yet I suppose something unusual must have been passing through his mind, for, when he had finally risen with a sigh of content to close the window, he stepped up to the looking-glass and regarded himself with curiosity. Once he smiled, as if by way of practice, and then a sudden sense of shame seemed to come over him, for he reddened and turned away. Most people will be able to guess what ailed him, but he himself did not know at the time. The week went away but slowly. On the Wednesday evening the old Squire said: "You'll go over to Branspath to-morrow morning early. Richards will drive you in, and you must call on Chernside and tell him I wish to see him in the afternoon about Gibson's lease. He'll know what you mean." The young man shifted uneasily. "Couldn't you send a note by Richards?" He felt his face hot as he asked the question. "Well, yes, I could, if I chose, but I want Richards to order a few things in the High Street. He'll pick you up when you've done with Chernside." At two o'clock next day young Mr. Ellington was back again at the Hall. As he stepped down from the dog-cart, Richards pointed to the horse. "I doubt we've done him some harm, Sir. Forty-five minutes from the High Moor--the black mare couldn't do it no quicker. Matchem here hasn't been driven for three weeks now." The horse was drooping his head, the lather slid down his flanks,--so I fancy there had been hard going. The young Squire gave an indifferent look and hurried indoors. Within an hour he was walking rather quickly toward the sea, without one sign of the dreaminess that overweighed him when last he took the same road. Presently (he knew it would come) a firm step came over the gravel, and his heart went fast. Before he had got rid of his momentary dimness of sight, he found himself obliged to stammer out something: "You managed the wicket by yourself this time." The girl laughed brightly. Ellington felt bound to go on speaking-- "You are going over to the Dene?" "Yes; I think I'll take the short cut through the Ride." "I think, if you don't mind, we may as well go by the Three Plantations." He said "we" with the utmost ease, and, noticing no sign of dissent, he walked on by the side of the girl, and a new chapter of his life began. Neither of them could tell exactly how they came to be walking together, yet each of them would have been disappointed had it not fallen out so. Neither of them had made a definite resolve to meet the other, but the girl had made most calculations on the event. Within a month from that day the pair were strolling under the gloom of the firs in the Three Plantations. This time young Mr. Ellington had his arm round his companion's waist; her tall figure was leaned towards him. They were talking low, and the rustling sound of their whispers echoed a little beneath the sombre arch of the trees. They came to the little bridge which crossed the head of the Dean, and then he took both her hands and said, "Now, good-bye; to-morrow at the high end of the New Plantation." They had got to daily meetings within that short month. "I'll be there. You won't mind if I'm a bit behind time? Sometimes they want me, and I don't care for my father to ask where I'm going." "I've promised to wait for you, darling, half a lifetime, if need be. Why should I grudge an hour?" This question was not articulately answered, but the reply was satisfactory. Then the couple parted. So it happened that in a few brief weeks this quiet young man had drifted into a disgraceful intrigue. He did not think it disgraceful, because he had not reflected at all. The future was barred to him, and he lived from one day to another content with the joy that the day brought. He had made promises with rash profusion, and his promises had been believed. Further and further he had been drawn, till the fire of his blood made him fancy that he was proceeding voluntarily. To Mary Casely the whole affair seemed quite natural. She knew nothing about the pitiful stories of village maidens which make so much of the stock of fiction. She had never read a story, so she fancied that her secret meetings were part of the fixed order of life. She happened to have a sweetheart who dressed well and spoke beautifully, and that was all the difference between her and other girls. Besides this, she was a singularly determined young woman. She had made up her mind to marry the young Squire; he in his folly had given no single hint of the vast, the insuperable difficulties that lay in the way; and so the bitter business went on. The summer passed into autumn, and late November came. Such an affair as that of Mary Casely and the young Squire could not be long kept out of the reach of acrid village gossip. Once or twice, as young Ellington walked out of church from the pew by the chancel, he fancied he saw the gardeners and farm-people looking at him with intelligence, and he felt something catching at his throat. When December came in, his misery had grown to acuteness. His old passive wretchedness had given way to a settled nervous dread which wore the brightness from his comely face. One grey afternoon he took the old road to the sea again. The wind was crying drearily, and the trees creaked as they swayed to each swift gust. He shivered when he came in sight of the sea, for the low sky was leaden. The very foam looked dull. Every few seconds came a muffled boom, as a roller shattered itself against the rocks, and a tower of spray shot up and fell on the sodden grass. The wild flowers were gone, and the bents bowed themselves cheerlessly. How many things else were gone! How many things else were cheerless! He turned round when he could bear waiting no longer, and prepared to carry his miseries home. Something ill must have happened. At the bluff of the shrubbery where he had first seen Mary pass out of sight he heard a step, but it was not that sharp, steady step he had learnt to know so well. He was face to face with Mr. Casely. It had come at last. For weeks he had foreshadowed this meeting in his dreams, and the fear had so worked on him that he had learned a trick of glancing suddenly over his shoulder. Casely looked steadily down at the young Squire for a time that seemed long, and then, unclenching his tense jaw, said quietly-- "It wasn't me you were expecting to meet." "I didn't expect to meet you. No; how do you come to be passing this way?" "I've been up to the Hall seeing your grandfather. You know what I've been for very near as well as I do. And now I have to talk to you. Speak straight, or I'll break you in two across my knee." Ellington was not more of a coward than other men. But he didn't heed the threat. His grandfather know. Nothing else was in his stunned mind. He stood staring--unable to get a word past his lips. Casely spoke, louder-- "What ails you? Have I to hit you?" Then the young fellow found his voice. "I wish you would. I wish you would kill me where I stand. I'm all in the wrong, and I have no right to answer you. It began well--I mean, I meant no harm. Never any man dared offer one of us a blow before, but it has come to that now. I wouldn't lift a hand to stop you. I haven't an excuse to give you." "A nice thing it is for your father's son to be standing slavering there and cowering to me like a whelp. I don't despise you for it, for I know what you mean; but isn't it bonny? You haven't an excuse! Have you nothing else--not a promise like them you've made to the lass?" "I'd marry her now, but I know it would be a hundred thousand times worse for her than if she married a common sailor man. I'm past wretchedness. It couldn't be." "And what about her? And, what about me? How is it for us? Now, look you, my fine young man! I'll not stop a minute longer, or else there'll be murder. But I'll tell you this much. I know as well as you there can be nothing more. I'm not mad. She can't marry you, and you knew that before you started lying to her. It's all over, and we must face the folk in the place the best way we can. You're sorry, I see you are; but understand this--sorry or not, if it wasn't that me and my forebears has had nothing but good from them that went before you, and was better than you, I'd kill you now, and reckon you no more than a herring. You'd better get away out of my sight." Then Mr. Casely tramped towards the wicket, and went home. He sat long into the night, and when he went to bed he flung himself on the coverlid with his clothes on. Towards morning he said aloud--"I'm glad he didn't think to offer me money. If he had, I would have pulled his windpipe out." The young gentleman thus alluded to by Mr. Casely had gone home in a state of stupefaction. He did not attempt to frame a thought. His limbs took him along mechanically. He passed one of his aunts as he went to his room, but he did not make any sign. When he had settled down, a tap came at his door. "Mr. Ellington'll have dinner laid for him in his study. He wants to see you, Sir, in the study as soon after dinner as possible." Young Ellington heard this without any fresh shock. The worst had passed, and nothing henceforth could hurt him. He could eat nothing. He found himself adding up the number of glasses; dividing it into couples; counting the squares on the wall-pattern; going through all the forlorn trivialities that employ the mind when suffering has passed out of the conscious stage. When his time came for meeting the terrible old man, he stepped straight into the study without knocking, and stood stupidly waiting for the voice that he knew would come. A thought of dignity never occurred to him. Had he been a mere libertine he would have brazened it out, and would have tried at flippancy. But he was not a libertine; he was simply an inexperienced young man who was suffering remorse at its deadliest. "You had better sit down." He sought a chair, took his seat, and once more waited. "Need we exchange any words about this business? You can have nothing to say, so perhaps you had better leave the talking to me. You have behaved like a scoundrel. You have crippled my hands. Only a year ago I turned Thomson's girl off the estate, and gave her father notice to quit the cottage after her. I got some newspaper chatter aimed at me then, and now, by God, you've done worse than the fellow who ruined poor Thomson. Look up there, and you'll see your father's portrait. He was a merry lad in his day, but he wouldn't have intrigued with a washerwoman. That's about what you have done. However, we'll have no more scolding. Of course, you understand that the affair is to be done with?" "It depends upon you, Sir. If you will, I dare marry her." "I thought you were a little mad. Go! I wish I could say go for altogether. I have some time to live though, and you shall know something meanwhile. Go!" The unfortunate had not a word to say even against his grandfather's brutal insolence. He went, and passed the night in much the same way as did Casely, save that where Casely's pride was still stubborn, Ellington's pride was broken. III. When the spring came there were gay doings at the Hall. Old Mr. Ellington had taken a sudden turn, and the housekeeper was near bidding good-bye to her reason. There were extra men engaged in the stables, and the black mare, Matchem, and the Squire's cob had very grand company indeed. Things went so far that one morning the Branspath hounds met on the Common by the Hall. For fifty-five years such a thing had not been seen. The great dappled dogs stood in a clump by the high north wall of the fruit garden, and the villagers stared round in wonder. The gorse to the southward of the House was drawn, and a fox was found. There was a wild crash and clamour for a few minutes in the plantation where Mary Casely used to meet her lover, and then I am sorry to say that the Huntsman began to use very bad language. Nothing had been attended to; the hounds might as well have been entered at rabbits. The fox never even had occasion to break covert, and the gay assemblage rode away towards Branspath before two o'clock in the afternoon. The science of earth-stopping had not been pushed to its final term on the Ellington estate, but still there was hope now that the hounds had once been permitted to cross the border which divided Squire Ellington's property from that of the next sporting landowner. After the abortive intrusion of the hounds there were still other attempts at gaiety. The village began somehow to look brisk; the ancient stagnation passed away, and grey cottagers spoke fondly of the old times. Throughout all this liveliness Mr. Casely kept to the mode of living he had adopted ever since the night when he made allusions to Mr. Ellington's windpipe. He went about his work as usual, but he spoke to no one. He dropped going to church, and he never, as in past times, drove his cart into Branspath. Mary had been sent to a relation's in the South. Her father would not mention her name, and his family and neighbours were particularly careful to say nothing about the girl who had gone. Sometimes Casely would think about his pet, but he spared words. Once a neighbour stepped in unawares, and found the strong man stretched with his face on the settle, and sobbing hard; but he sat up when he found he was not alone, spoke an oath or two, and was ready for everyday chat. In the autumn Casely happened to be out on the green, watching the women spreading the nets to dry. It was a lovely day, and the larks were singing wildly one against the other far up toward the sky. Suddenly the chattering women grew quiet. A slender young lady, daintily dressed, walked gracefully along the road that bordered the green. There was silence while she passed, save for the larks' sweet jargoning. As soon as the neat tall figure was sufficiently far off, one of the women said-- "Who's that?" Another made answer within Casely's hearing-- "Oh, it's the young Squire's lass. She's a daughter of some big man away down South. They're to be married come the spring o' the year." Casely watched the graceful young lady over the crest of the next rise, then turned homeward and sat down silent as usual. Now it happened that the lady when she passed the gossiping fishers was going to meet young Ellington. That gentleman had lately persuaded his grandfather to buy a light boat for the better navigation of a heavy dull stream that ran deep and silent round the southerly border of the home farm, and the individual undutifully referred to as "the young Squire's lass" was about to trust herself in the new craft with her lover. Ellington had everything ready when the girl reached the stream. When she had stepped aboard, he said-- "You called at Marchman's for Aunt Esther and Miss Marshall?" "Yes! But they teased. They said they were having such an interesting gossip with poor old Hannah, they would prefer following me. They thought we might employ our time till they came up." "It's just as well. I'm sure, if you don't mind, I don't. Which way shall we go?" "I cannot tell. The stream is so slack I could hardly guess where the sea lay if I didn't know." "Well, now, I'll tell you what I propose doing. We can slip over the bar as the wind is just now. There's always a little rough water just where the burn joins the sea, but when we get over that the sea outside is quite smooth. Then we can sail, and save the bore of pulling." So the confident young man pointed the boat's stem down stream, and after a little jerky work on the bar stood clear out into blue water. He was used to sailing, so that he really took his boat rather cleverly round to the north-east. Then he made fast the sheet, since he wanted one hand free; the boat lay prettily over till the water gurgled again under her sharp bows, and Mr. Ellington felt the contentment and exhilaration born of swift movement. But of course he must needs proceed in this matter as in all others without thought of the future. The tide was running fast out, and a surface current which always skirts the bay set the boat ever more eastward. The rocks grew a little dim before Ellington looked round and considered the situation. He felt quite easy in his mind, however, and, stepping forward, let go the tiny halliard, whereupon the sail came down. "Now," he said, "we're just going to let her take her own way for an hour." This sailor-like resolution pleased his companion mightily, so the boat was allowed to wheel lazily, and curtsey to the slight waves as they set to the shore. Then the young people chatted softly, and forgot the time. Now those who have watched the humours of autumn weather by the coast will have noticed that very often after a warm breeze has been blowing for hours, there will suddenly come a chill easterly waft. This will be followed by a steady cold wind. The trees are blown white, the grass is black with shadows, and the sea springs up like magic into a short nasty "lipper." Within half-an-hour the lipper has gathered size, and in a terribly short time there are ugly, medium-sized waves bowling fiercely and regularly westward. The change mostly comes just about an hour after the tide has turned. Ellington and his companion were talking on heedlessly, when the girl, interrupting him in the middle of a speech, said, shivering, "How cold it has turned!" "Yes," returned Ellington, "it often comes like that. Do you see how she's beginning to caper? So, there! Softly, softly!" he cried, as though he were talking to a horse. A spirt of water had jerked over the boat's side. He ran up his sail, and as the little craft swung on her light heels, and drew away to the west, he said, "I wish I hadn't got you into this mess. But never mind, I don't think it's more than a wetting and a fuss when we get home, at the worst of it." Mr. Casely was sitting by his fire in the sanded kitchen. Excepting two very old fellows, he was the only man left in the village that afternoon, for all the other men and lads had gone north on the morning tide. His noble face had got the beginnings of a few new lines since we first saw him; his mouth was sorrowful, and his brows fell heavier than ever. A woman came in rather hurriedly, and said, "Thou'd better come out a minute, honey. The sea's come on very coarse, and the young Squire's boat's gettin' badly used out there, about a mile to the east'ard." "Who's in her?" "The young Squire and his lass." "I'll be out directly. Has he ever made the landin' before?" "Yes, but Tom's Harry was always with him." When Casely stepped to the cliff edge, he saw that matters were a little awkward. The boat was as yet in no very great danger, but the real pinch would not come till Ellington tried to land. For two miles along the coast there was not a single yard of shore where you dared beach a boat, excepting just opposite the village. Here there was a broad gap through the jagged reef which fringed the shore, and through this gap the fishermen's boats had shot in fair or foul weather for more generations than men could remember. Casely said to one of the women-- "He'll be all right if he comes in to the north of the Cobbler. If he doesn't, it's a bad job." The Cobbler's Seat was one of a pair of huge rocks, which lay right in the very gap wherethrough the boats had to run in. A progressive people would have had the impediments blasted away, but the fisher-folk were above all things conservative, and so the Cobbler remained year after year to make the inward passage exciting. When the tide was running in hard, a boat attempting the south passage was certain to be taken in a nasty swirling eddy, and dashed heavily against the big stone. When any sea was on, the run in required much nicety of handling. Ellington had been told long ago that he must keep the church tower and the flagstaff in one if he wanted to hit the gap fairly. He carried out his instruction as well as he knew how. The boat came dashingly in, flinging the spray gallantly aside as she ducked and plunged in the short sea. Casely saw that Ellington was going wrong. For an instant he had an ungenerous thought. "Should I save him?" He shook himself as though he were shaking off water, and sang out with all the strength of his tremendous voice--"Hard down with it!" He waved to the northward with passionate energy. But it was too late. The boat staggered as the eddy hit her, swerved sharp to starboard, and took in a great plash of water, then she struck the Cobbler, and kept repeating the blow with vicious, short bumps that stove in her head. Ellington sprang out, and got a foothold. He seized the girl, and dragged her beside him. The boat turned clumsily over, and swirled away past. Then the wrecked couple climbed out of reach of the lunging waves, and stood breathless. Casely said, "That's a bad job, Jinny. The Cobbler'll be covered half a fathom in forty minutes' time." The woman he spoke to was his cousin. She said, "Can he swim?" "Him! The big baby! He never could do anything like a man since the day he was whelped. Old John Ellington would have had the lass half-way ashore by this time." "Let him drown!" This unladylike speech came from Jinny, who had been very fond of Mary Casely. "No! no!" said Casely, frowning heavily, "I'll not do that, Jinny. Tell Hannah to fetch a rope, and call the other women. If we could only have got a coble out it would have been all right, but there's nobody to pull except a few daft wives and old Adam." "What are you going to do?" "I'll swim off, and you women folk can haul me in with the lass. After that I'll maybe try for _him_." Then this rare fellow had the rope fastened under his armpits, flung off his sea-boots and his sleeve-waistcoat, and struck off with a breast stroke that made never a splash. The spray cut his face, the lashing feathers on the tops of the waves half-blinded him, but he held doggedly on, and presently hung on to the bladderweed that fringed the Cobbler's Seat. He climbed lightly up, and spoke to the girl. "You'll lie quiet, my bonny woman, and don't be frightened if you get a mouthful or two. Let me have you under the arms, and look smart." He waved and shouted, then let himself lightly down into the sea, while the women ran up the beach with the straining rope. When his feet ground in the shallow water, he was bleeding at the mouth, but he carried the girl past the foam. "Take her up to our house, and send for Bella to put her in bed. She's nigh done for. And now, my lasses, give us that dry rope; this one's over stiff." He struck off again, and was not long in getting to the stone; but it was difficult work to climb up, for the wind was fairly whistling by this time, and the waves had got a heavy impetus. Ellington was blue with cold, and chattering at the teeth. He had cramped his fingers in a hole bored by the common mollusc, which honeycombs the rocks, and as he crouched he looked not particularly noble. "Now, my man, there isn't much time, or else this would be a fine place for us to have a talk. I've saved your lass for you, and I wish you had done the same to mine for me. Now, come on; and mind, if you struggle, I'll fell you like a stirk." Once more the women ran to the high end of the beach, and then Ellington was handed to them, limp and sick with sea water. This was how Mr. Casely revenged himself. * * * * * Chiswick Press:--C. Whittingham and Co. Tooks Court, Chancery Lane. * * * * * 
6041	----	STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS THE SEA THE EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE OF A CHIEF MATE BY W. CLARK RUSSELL QUARANTINE ISLAND BY SIR WALTER BESANT THE ROCK SCORPIONS ANONYMOUS THE MASTER OF THE "CHRYSTOLITE" BY G. B. O'HALLORAN "PETREL" AND "THE BLACK SWAN" ANONYMOUS MELISSA'S TOUR BY GRANT ALLEN VANDERDECKEN'S MESSAGE HOME ANONYMOUS THE EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE OF A CHIEF MATE BY W. CLARK RUSSELL In the newspapers of 1876 appeared the following extracts from the log of a merchantman: "VOLCANIC ISLAND IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC. --The ship Hercules, of Liverpool, lately arrived in the Mersey, reports as follows: March 23, in 2 deg. 12' north latitude, 33 deg. 27' west longitude, a shock of earthquake was felt, and shortly afterward a mass of land was hove up at a distance of about two miles from the ship. Michael Balfour, the chief officer, fell overboard. A buoy was thrown to him, the ship brought to the wind, and a boat lowered within fifteen minutes of the occurence. But though the men sought the chief mate for some time, nothing could be seen of him, and it is supposed that he sank shortly after falling into the sea. Masters of vessels are recommended to keep a sharp lookout in approaching the situation of the new island as given above. No doubt it will be sighted by other ships, and duly reported." I am Michael Balfour; I it was who fell overboard; and it is needless for me to say here that I not drowned. The volcanic island was only reported by one other ship, and the reason why will be read at large in this account of my strange adventure and merciful deliverance. It was the evening of the 23d of March, 1876. Our passage to the equator from Sydney had been good, but for three days we had been bothered with light head winds and calms, and since four o'clock this day the ocean had stretched in oil-smooth undulations to its margin, with never a sigh of air to crispen its marvellous serenity into shadow. The courses were hauled up, the staysails down, the mizzen brailed up; the canvas delicately beat the masts to the soft swing of the tall spars, and sent a small rippling thunder through the still air, like a roll of drums heard at a distance. The heat was great; I had never remembered a more biting sun. The pitch in the seams was soft as putty, the atmosphere was full of the smell of blistered paint, and it was like putting your hand on a red-hot stove to touch the binnacle hood or grasp for an an instant an iron belaying-pin. A sort of loathing comes into a man with a calm like this. "The very deep did rot," says the poet; and you understood his fancy when you marked the blind heave of the swell to the sun standing in the midst of a sky of brass, with his wake under him sinking in a sinuous dazzle, as though it was his fiery glance piercing to the green depths a thousand fathoms deep. It was hot enough to slacken the nerves and give the imagination a longer scope than sanity would have it ride by. That was why, perhaps, I found something awful and forbidding in the sunset, though at another time it might scarcely have detained my gaze a minute. But it is true, nevertheless, that others besides me gaped at the wonderful gushings of hot purple,--arrested whirlpools of crimson haze, they looked,--in the heart of which the orb sat rayless, flooding the sea with blood under him, so magnificently fell was the hue, and flushing the sky with twenty dyes of gold and orange, till, in the far east, the radiance fainted into the delicacy of pale amber. "Yon's a sunset," said Captain Matthews, a North of England man, to me, "to make a fellow think of the last day." "I'm looking at it, sir," said I, "as though I had never seen a sunset before. That's the oddest part of it, to my mind. There's fire enough there to eat a gale up. How should a cat's-paw crawl then?" And I softly whistled, while he wetted his finger and held it up; but to no purpose; the draught was all between the rails, and they blew forward and aft with every swing of the sails. When the dusk came along, the silence upon the sea was something to put all sorts of moods into a man. The sky was a hovering velvet stretch of stars, with a young moon lying curled among them, and winkings of delicate violet sheet-lightning down in the southwest, as though some gigantic-tinted lantern, passing, flung its light upon the dark blue obscure there. The captain went below, after a long, impatient look round, and I overhung the rail, peering into the water alongside, or sending my gaze into the frightful distance, where the low-lying stars hung. With every soft dip of the ship's side to the slant of the dark folds, there shot forth puffs of cloudy phosphor, intermixed with a sparkling of sharper fires now and again, blue, yellow, and green, like worms of flame striking out of their cocoons of misty radiance. The noise of the canvas on high resembled the stirring of pinions, and the cheep of a block, the grind of a parrel, helped the illusion, as though the sounds were the voices of huge birds restlessly beating their pinions aloft. Presently the man at the wheel startled me with an observation. I went to him, and he pointed upward with a long, shadowy arm. I looked, and saw a corposant, as it is called at sea,--a St. Elmo's fire,--burning at the end of the crossjack-yard. The yard lay square, and the polished sea beneath gave back the reflection so clearly that the mystic fire lay like a huge glow-worm on the black mirror. "There should be wind not far off," said the helmsman, in a subdued voice; for few sailors can see one of these lights without a stirring of their superstitious instincts, and this particular exhalation hung close to us. "I hope so," said I, "though I don't know where it's to come from." As I spoke, the light vanished. I ran my eye over the yards, expecting its reappearance; but it returned no more, and the sails rose pale and phantom-like to the stars. I was in an odd humour, and this was an apparition not to brighten one up. Of course one knows all about these maritime corpse-candles, and can explain their nature; but nevertheless the sudden kindling of them upon the darkness of the night, in the dead hush of the calm or amid the fury of the shrieking hurricane, produces feelings which there is nothing in science to resolve. I could have laughed to find myself sending a half-awed look aloft, as if I expected to see some visionary hand at work upon another one these graveyard illuminations-with a stealing out of some large, sad face to the melancholy glow; but I returned to the side very pensive for all that, and there stood watching the fiery outline of a shark subtly sneaking close to the surface (insomuch that the wake of its fin slipped away in little coils of green flame) toward the ship's bows. Half an hour later the dark curl of a light air of wind shattered the starlight in the sea, and our canvas fell asleep. I called to the watch to trim sail, and in a few moments the decks were busy with the figures of men pulling and hauling and surging out at the ropes in sulky, slumberous growlings. The captain arrived. "Little worth having in this, I fear," said he. "But make the most of it--make the most of it. Get the foretopmast stunsail run up. If she creeps but a league, it is a league to the good." The sail was sleepily set. Humbugging about with stunsails to the cat's-paws little pleased the men, especially at night. For three days they had been boxhauling the yards about to no purpose, and it was sickening work running stunsail-booms out to airs that died in their struggles to reach us. However, here was a draught at last, and the old gurgling and moaning sounds of the breathless, sluggish swell washing heavily like liquid lead to the sides were replaced by the tinkling noises of waters parting at the bows with a pretty little seething of expiring foam, and the hiss of exploding froth-bells. At eleven o'clock the light breeze was still holding, and the ship was floating softly through the dusk, the paring of moon swaying like a silver sickle over the port mizzen topsail yard-arm, everything quiet along the decks, no light save the sheen from the lamps in the binnacle, and nothing stirring but the figure of a man on the forecastle pacing athwartships, and blotting out at every step a handful of the stars which lay like dust on the blackness, under the yawn of the forecourse. On a sudden a steamer's lights showed on the starboard bow--a green beam, and a yellow one above, with the water on fire beneath them, and sparks floating away upon her coil of smoke, that made you think of the spangles of a falling rocket. She went past swiftly, at no great distance from us. There was not a moan in the hot breeze to disturb the wonderful ocean stillness, and you almost thought you caught the beating of the iron heart in her, and the curious monotonous songs which engines sing as they work. She swept past like a phantom, running a line of illuminated windows along, which resembled a row of street-lamps out in the darkness; and as she came on to our quarter she struck seven bells (half-past eleven), the rich metallic notes of which I clearly heard; and with the trembling of the last stroke upon the ear her outline melted. At that instant a peculiar thrill ran through the ship. It may be likened to the trembling in a floor when a heavy waggon passes in the street outside. It was over in a breath, but I could have sworn that it was not my fancy. I walked aft to the wheel, and said to the man, "Did you notice anything just now?" "Seemed to me as if the vessel trembled like," he replied. As he spoke the ship shook again, this time strongly. It was something more than a shudder; the sensation was for all the world as though she had scraped over a shoal of rock or shingle. There was a little clatter below, a noise of broken glass. The watch, who had been dozing on deck, sprang to their feet, and their ejaculations of surprise and fear rolled in a growl among them. The captain ran out of the companionway in his shirt and trousers. "What was that, Mr. Balfour?" he bawled. "Either the shock of an earthquake," said I, "or a whale sliding along our keel." "Get a cast of the lead! get a cast of the lead!" he shouted. This was done to the full scope of the hand-line, without bottom, of course. By this time the watch below had tumbled up, and all hands were now on deck, staring aloft or over the side, sniffing, spitting, muttering, and wondering what had happened. "There's that bloomin' compreesant come again!" exclaimed a hoarse voice; and, sure enough, a light similar to the one that had hung at the crossjack yard-arm now floated upon the end of the upper maintopsail-yard. "The devil's abroad to-night!" exclaimed the captain. "There's sulphur enough about," and he fell a-snuffling. What followed might have made an infidel suppose so; for scarce were the words out of his mouth when there happened an astonishing blast of noise, as loud and violent as that of forty or fifty cannons fired off at once, and out of the black sea no farther than a mile broad on the starboard beam rose a pillar of fire, crimson as the light of the setting sun and as dazzling too; it lived while you might have counted twenty, but in that time it lighted up the sea for leagues and leagues, put out the stars, and made the sky resemble a canopy of yellow satin; we on the ship saw one another's faces as if by daylight; the shrouds and masts and our own figures cast jet-black shadows on the deck; the whole ship flashed out to that amazing radiance like a fabric sun-touched. The column of fire then fattened and disappeared, and the night rolled down upon our blinded eyes as black as thunder. There was no noise--no hissing as of boiling water. If the furious report that preceded the leap of the fire had rendered its coming terrible, its extinction was made not less awful by the tomb-like stillness that attended it. I sprang on to the rail, believing I could perceive a dark mass--like a deeper dye upon the blackness that way--upon the water, and to steady myself caught hold of the mizzen loyal backstay, swinging out to my arm's length and peering with all my might. My excitement was great, and the consternation that posessed the ship's crew was upon me. As I leaned, the vessel heeled violently to a large swell caused by the volcanic disturbances. The roll was extraordinarily severe, heaving the vessel down to her covering-board; and the great hill of water running silent and in darkness through the sea, so that it could neither be viewed nor heard, made the sickening lurch a dreadful surprise and wonder. It was in that moment that I fell overboard. I suppose my grip of the backstay relaxed when the ship lay down; but, let the thing have happened how it would, in a breath I was under water. It is said that the swiftness of thought is best shown by dreams. This may be so; yet I cannot believe that thought was ever swifter in a dream than it was in me ere I came to the surface; for in those few seconds I gathered exactly what had befallen me, wondered whether my fall had been seen, whether I should be saved, realised my hopeless condition if I had not been observed, and, above all, was thinking steadfastly and with horror of the shark I had not long ago watched stemming in fire past the ship. I was a very indifferent swimmer, and what little power I had in that way was like to be paralysed by thoughts of the shark. I rose and fetched a breath, shook the water out of my eyes, and looked for the ship. She had been sliding along at the rate of about four knots an hour; but had she been sailing at ten she could not seem to have gone farther from me during the brief while I was submerged. From the edge of the water, where my eyes were, she appeared a towering pale shadow about a mile off. I endeavoured to scream out; but whether the cold of the plunge had bereft me of my voice, or that I had swallowed water enough to stop my pipes, I found I could utter nothing louder than a small groan. I made several strokes with my arms, and suddenly spied a life-buoy floating almost twenty yards ahead of me. I made for it in a transport of joy, for the sight of it was all the assurance I could ask that they knew on the ship that I had tumbled overboard; and, coming to the buoy, I seized and threw it over my head, and then got it under my arms and so floated. The breeze, such as it was, was on the ship's quarter, and she would need to describe a considerable arc before she rounded to. I could hear very faintly the voices on board, the flinging down of coils of rope, the dim echoes of hurry and commotion. I again sought to exert my lungs, but could deliver no louder note than a moan. The agony of mind I was under lest a shark should seize me I cannot express, and my strained eyeballs would come from the tall shadow of the ship to the the sea about me in a wild searching of the liquid ebony of it for the sparkling configuration of the most abhorred of all fish. I could have sworn that hours elapsed before they lowered a boat from the ship, that seemed to grow fainter and fainter every time I looked at her, so swallowing is the character of ocean darkness, and so subtle apparently, so fleet in fact, the settling away of a fabric under canvas from an object stationary on the water. I could distinctly hear the rattle of the oars in the rowlocks, and the splash of the dipped blades, but could not discern the boat. It was speedily evident, however, that they were pulling wide of me; my ear could not mistake. Again I tried to shout, but to no purpose. Manifestly no one had thought of taking my bearings when I fell, and I, who lay south, was being sought for southwest. Time passed; the boat never approached me within a quarter of a mile. They must instantly have heard me, could I have halloed; but my throat refused its office. I reckoned that they continued to row here and there for about half an hour, during which they were several times hailed by the captain, as I supposed; the sound of the oars then died. A little later I heard the very faint noises made by their hoisting the boat and hauling in upon the braces, and then there was nothing for me to do but to watch, with dying eyes, the shadow of the ship till it faded, and the stars shone where she had been. The sky shed very little light, and there was no foam to cast an illumination of its own. However, by this time, as you will suppose, I was used to my situation; that is to say, the horror and novelty of my condition had abated, and settled into a miserable feeling of despair; so that I was like a dying man who had passed days in an open boat, and who languidly directs his eyes over the gunwale at the sea, with the hopelessness that is bred by familiarity with his dreadful posture. It was some time after the ship had melted into the airy dusk that I seemed to notice, for the first time since I had been in the life-buoy, the lump of blackness at which I had been straining my eyes when the vessel heeled and I fell. It had the elusiveness of a light at sea, that is best seen (at a distance) by gazing a little on one side of it. It lay, a black mass, and whether it was a vast huddle of weeds, or a great whale killed by the earthquake, or solid land uphove by the volcanic rupture, was not conjecturable. It hung, still and not very tall, for I could not see that it put out any stars, and was about a mile distant. Whatever it might prove, I could not be worse off near or on or amid it than I was here; so, setting my face toward it, I began to strike out with my legs and arms. The water was so fiery, it chipped in flashes to every blow of my hands. I swam in the utmost terror, never knowing but that the next moment I should be feeling the teeth of a shark upon my legs, for the sparkling of the sea to my kicks and motions was signal enough for such a beast if it was a league distant; but I may as well say here that there is no doubt the shock of earthquake and the flame effectually cleared the sea in its neighbourhood of every kind of fish that floated in it, though the hope of such a thing could yield me but very little comfort while I swam. I continued to make good progress, and presently approaching the block of blackness, for so it looked, perceived that it was certainly land,--a solid rock, in short,--the head of some mountainous submarine formation lifted ten or twelve feet above the sea. I could now discern a faintness of vapour circling up from it and showing like steam against the stars. Its front stretched a length of a few hundred feet; how far it went behind I could not tell. A small sound of creaming waters came from it, produced by the light swell washing its shelter side. It lay all in a line of grayish darkness even when I was quite close, and I could see nothing but the shapeless body of it. Of a sudden my feet struck ground, and I waded thirty paces along a shelf that was under water till my paces lifted to the dry beach. But by this time I was fearfully exhausted; I could scarcely breathe. My legs and arms were numbed to the weight of lead. The atmosphere was warm, but not unbearably so--not hotter than it had been at noon in the ship. Steam crawled up from every pore, like the drainings of smoke from damp straw, but it did not add to the distress of my breathing. I made shift to stagger onward till I had gone about fifty feet from the wash of the sea. Nature then broke down; my knees gave way, I stumbled and fell--whether in a swoon or whether in a death-like slumber, I cannot say; all I can tell is that when I awoke, or recovered my senses, the sun stood fifteen degrees above the horizon, and I opened my eyes upon a hot and dazzling sky. I sat up in the utmost amazement. My mind for some time was all abroad, and I could recollect nothing. Memory then entered me with a bound, and I staggered to my feet with a cry. The first thing I took notice of was that my clothes were nearly dry, which was not very reconcilable with the steam that was still issuing from the island, though it was as I say. My bones ached cruelly, but I was not sensible of any particular languor. The brilliance was so blinding that I had to employ my eyes very warily in order to see; and it was not until I had kept opening and shutting them and shading them with my hands for some minutes that they acquired their old power. The island on which I stood had unquestionably been hove up in the night by the earthquake. I cannot figure it better than by asking you to imagine a gigantic mass of pumice-stone, somewhat flat on top, and shelving on all sides very gently to the water, lying afloat but steady on the sea. It was of the hue of pumice, and as clean as an egg-shell, without a grain of calcined dust or any appearance of scoriae that I could anywhere observe. It was riddled with holes, some wide and deep--a very honeycomb; and that I did not break my neck or a limb in staggering walk from the beach in the darkness, I must ever account the most miraculous part of my adventure. But what (when I had my whole wits) riveted my attention, and held me staring open-mouthed, as though in good truth the apparition of the devil had risen before me, was the body of a ship leaning on its bilge, at not more than a gunshot from where I stood, looking toward the interior. When my eyes first went to the thing I could not believe them. I imagined it some trick of the volcanic explosion that had fashioned a portion of the land or rock (as it may be called) into the likeness of a ship, but, on gazing steadfastly, I saw that it was indeed a vessel, rendered extraordinarily beautiful and wonderful by being densely covered with shells of a hundred different kinds, by which her bulk was enlarged, though her shape was preserved. Bright fountains of water were gushing from fifty places in her, all these waterfalls shone like rainbows, and showed surprisingly soft and lovely against the velvet green of the moss and the gray and kaleidoscopic tints of the shells upon her. Lost in amazement, I made my way toward her, and stood viewing her at a short distance. She had three lower masts standing--one right in the bows, and the mizzen raking very much aft. All three masts were supported by shrouds, and that was all the rigging the sea had left. She looked to be made of shells and moss; her shrouds and masts were incrusted as thickly as her hull. She was a mere tub of a ship in shape, being scarce twice as long as she was broad, with great fat buttocks, a very tall stern narrowing atop, and low bows with a prodigious curve to the stem-head. I am not well versed in the shipping of olden times, but I would have willingly staked all I was worth in the world that the fabric before me belonged to a period not much later than the days of Columbus, and that she had been sunk at least three centuries below the sea; and it was also perfectly clear to me that she had risen in the daylight, out of her green and oozy sepulchre, with the upheaval of the bed on which she lay to the convulsion that had produced this island. But my situation was not one to suffer me to stand long idly wondering and staring. The moment I brought my eyes away from the ship to the mighty desolation of the blue and gleaming ocean, a horror broke upon me, my heart turned into lead, and in the anguish of my spirits I involuntarily lifted my clinched hands to God. What was to become of me? I had no boat, no means of making anything to bear me, nothing but the life-buoy, that was no better than a trap for sharks to tear me to pieces in. I was thirsty, but there was no fresh water on this steaming speck of rock, and I tell you, the knowing that there was none, and that unless rain fell I must die of thirst, had like to have driven me mad. Where the ship was, and beyond it, the island rose somewhat in the form of a gentle undulation. I walked that way, and there obtained a view of the whole island, which was very nearly circular, like the head of a hill, somewhat after the shape of a saucepan lid. It resembled a great mass of sponge to the sight, and there was no break upon its surface save the incrusted ship, which did, indeed, form a very conspicuous object. Happening to look downward, I spied a large dead fish, of the size of a cod of sixteen or eighteen pounds, lying a-dry in a hole. I put my arm down and dragged it out, and, hoping by appeasing my hunger to help my thirst somewhat, I opened my knife and cut a little raw steak, and ate it. The moisture in the flesh refreshed me, and, that the sun might not spoil the carcass, I carried it to the shadow made by the ship, and put it under one of the waterfalls that the play might keep it sweet. There was plenty more dead fish in the numerous holes, and I picked out two and put them in the shade; but I knew that the great heat must soon taint them and rot the rest, whence would come a stench that might make the island poisonous to me. I sat down under the bends of the ship for the shadow it threw, and gazed at the sea. Perhaps I ought to have felt grateful for the miraculous creation of this spot of land, when, but for it, I must have miserably perished in the life-buoy, dying a most dreadful, slow, tormenting death, if some shark had not quickly despatched me; but the solitude was so frightful, my doom seemed so assured, I was threatened with such dire sufferings ere my end came, that, in the madness and despair of my heart, I could have cursed the intervention of this rock, which promised nothing but the prolongation of my misery. There was but one live spark amid the ashes of my hopes; namely, that the island lay in the highway of ships, and that it was impossible a vessel could sight so unusual an object without deviating from her course to examine it. That was all the hope I had; but God knows there was nothing in it to keep me alive when I set off against it the consideration that there was no water on the island, no food; that a ship would have to sail close to remark so flat and little a point as this rock; and that days, ay, and weeks might elapse before the rim of yonder boundless surface, stretching in airy leagues of deep blue to the azure sky at the horizon, should be broken by the star-like shining of a sail. Happily, the wondrous incrusted bulk was at hand to draw my thoughts away from my hideous condition; for I verily believe, had my eye found nothing to rest upon but the honeycombed pumice, my brain would have given way. I stood up and took a long view of the petrified shell-covered structure, feeling a sort of awe in me while I looked, for it was a kind of illustration of the saying of the sea giving up its dead, and the thing stirred me almost as though it had been a corpse that had risen to the sun, after having been a secret of the deep for three hundred years. It occurred to me that if I could board her she might furnish me with a shelter from the dew of the night. She had channels with long plates, all looking as if they were formed of shells; and stepping round to the side toward which she leaned, I found the fore channel-plates to be within reach of my hands. The shells were slippery and cutting; but I was a sailor, and there would have been nothing in a harder climb than this to daunt me. So, after a bit of a struggle, I succeeded in hauling myself into the chains, and thence easily dragged myself over the rail on to the deck. The sight between the bulwarks was far more lovely and surprising than the spectacle presented by the ship's sides. For the decks seemed not only formed of shells of a hundred different hues; there was a great abundance of branching corals, white as milk, and marine plants of kinds for which I could not find names, of several brilliant colours; so that, what with the delicate velvet of the moss, the dark shades of seaweed of figurations as dainty as those of ferns, and the different sorts of shells, big and little, all lying as solid as if they had been set in concrete, the appearance of the ship submitted was something incredibly fantastic and admirable. Whether the hatches were on or not I could not tell, so thickly coated were the decks; but whether or not, the deposits and marine growths rendered the surface as impenetrable as iron, and I believe it would have kept a small army of labourers plying their pickaxes for a whole week to have made openings into the hold through that shelly coating of mail. My eye was taken by a peculiar sort of protuberance at the foot of the mainmast. It stood as high as I did, and had something of the shape of a man, and, indeed, after staring at it for some time, I perceived that it had been a man; that is to say, it was a human skeleton, filled up to the bulk of a living being by the shells and barnacles which covered it. Ashore, it might have passed for some odd imitation in shells of the human figure; but, viewing it as I did, in the midst of that great ocean, amid the frightful solitude of the great dome of heaven, in a ship that was like the handiwork of the sea-gods at the bottom of the deep--I say, looking at it as I did, and knowing the thing had had life in centuries past, and had risen thus wildly garnished out of the unfathomable secret heart of the ocean, it awed me to an extent I cannot express, and I gazed as though fascinated. In all probability, this was a man who, when the ship foundered, had been securely lashed to the mast for safety or for punishment. I turned away at last with a shudder, and walked aft. The wreck was unquestionably some Spanish or Portuguese carrack or galleon as old as I have stated; for you saw her shape when you stood on her deck, and her castellated stern rising into a tower from her poop and poop-royal, as it was called, proved her age as convincingly as if the date of her launch had been scored upon her. What was in her hold? Thousands of pounds' worth of precious ore in gold and silver bars and ingots, for all I knew; but had she been flush to her upper decks with doubloons and ducats, I have exchanged them all for the sight of a ship, or for a rill of fresh water. I searched the horizon with feverish eyes; there was nothing in sight. The afternoon was advancing; the sun was burning unbearably midway down the western sky, and my thirst tormented me. I dropped over the side and cut another steak of fish; but though the moisture temporarily relieved me, the salt of the water flowing upon it dried into my throat and increased my sufferings. There was a light air blowing, and the sea trembled to it into a deeper hue of blue, and met in a glorious stream of twinkling rubies under the setting sun. I counted half a score of wet black fins round about the island, and understood that the sharks had recovered from their scare, and had returned to see if the earthquake had cast up anything to eat. When the sun sank, the night came along in a stride; the curl of the moon looked wanly down upon me, and the sky flashed with starshine, so rich and magnificent was the glow of the nearer luminaries. I reentered the ship and stepped to the cabin front, over which extended a "break" or penthouse, under which I might find some shelter from the dew that was already falling like rain, and squatted down, lascar-fashion, with my back against the shell-armoured bulkhead. Great Father! never had I known what solitude was till then. There was no sound save the quiet foaming of waters draining from the wreck, and the purring of the very light swell softly moving upon the beach, and the faint, scarce audible whispering of the dew-laden draught of air stirring in the stony, fossilised shrouds. My throat felt like hot brass; I tried to pray, but could not. Imagination grew a little delirious, and I would sometimes fancy that the terrible shape at the foot of the mainmast moved as if seeking to free itself and approach me. There was a constant glancing of shooting stars on high, swift sparklings and trailings of luminous dust, and, as on the previous night, here and there upon the horizon a dim violet play of sheet-lightning. It was like being at the bottom of the sea, alive there, to be in this black, shelly, weed-smelling ship. Whether my thoughts came to me waking or sleeping I cannot tell, but I know some mad fancies possessed me, and upon the sable canvas of the night, imagination, like a magic lantern, flung a dozen febriletinctured pictures, and I particularly recollect conceiving that I was my own soul at the bottom of the ocean in the ship; that, in the green twilight of the valley in which I was, I saw many forms of dead men standing or lying or sitting, preserving the postures in which they had come floating down into the darkly gleaming profound--figures of sailors of different centuries clad in the garb of their times, intermixed with old ordnance making coarse and rusty streaks upon the sand, the glitter of minted money, the gleam of jewels, and fish brightly apparelled and of shapes unknown to man floating round about like fragments of rainbow. My dreams always wound up with imaginations of babbling drinks, and then I'd wake with the froth upon my lips. However, I got some ease by leaving my handkerchief to soak in the dew and then sucking it. Several times during the night I had got on to the upper poop--the deck above the poop anciently termed the poop-royal--and looked around me. But there was nothing to see, not a shadow to catch the eye. The breeze freshened somewhat about midnight, and the air was made pleasant by the musical noises of running waters. I fell asleep an hour before dawn, and when I awoke the early ashen line was brightening in the east. The birth of the day is rapid in those parallels, and the light of the morning was soon all over sea and sky. I turned to search the ocean, and the first thing I saw was a brig not above half a mile from the island. She had studding sails set, and was going north, creeping along before the breeze. The instant I saw her I rushed on to the poop, where my figure would be best seen, and fell to flourishing my handkerchief like a maniac. I sought to shout, but my voice was even weaker than it had been after I fell overboard. I have no power to describe my feelings while I waited to see what the brig would do. I cursed myself for not having kept a lookout, so that I might have had plenty of time to signal to her as she approached. If she abandoned me I knew I must perish, as every instant assured me that I had neither mental nor physical power to undergo another day and night without drink and without hope upon the island. On a sudden she hauled up the lee clew of her mainsail, boom-ended her studding sails, and put her helm over. I knew what this signified, and, clasping my hands, I looked up to God. Presently a boat was lowered and pulled toward the island. I dropped over the side, tumbling down upon my nose in my weakness, and made with trembling legs to the beach, standing, in my eagerness, in the very curl of the wash there. There were three men in the boat, and they eyed me, as they rowed, over their shoulders as if I had been a spectre. "Who are you, mate, and what country is this?" exclaimed the man who pulled stroke, standing up to stretch his hand to me. I pointed to my throat, and gasped, "Water!" I could barely articulate. Nothing in this wide world moves sailors like a cry to them for water. In an instant the three men had dragged me into the boat, and were straining like horses at their oars, as they sent the boat flashing through the rippling water. We dashed alongside. "He's dying of thirst!" was the cry. I was bundled on deck; the captain ran below, and returned with a small draught of wine and water. "Start with that," said he. "You'll be fitter for a longer pull later on." The drink gave me back my voice; yet for a while I could scarce speak, for the tears that swelled my heart. "Are there any more of ye?" said the captain. I answered, "No." "But what land's this?" he inquired. "An island uphove by an earthquake," said I. "Great thunder!" he cried. "And what's that arrangement in shells and weeds atop of it?" "A vessel that's probably been three hundred years at the bottom," I answered. "The quake rose it, hey?" "Just as it is," said I. "Well, boil me," cried the worthy fellow, "if it don't seem too good to be true! Mr. Fletcher, trim sail, sir. Best shove along--shove along. Come, sir, step below with me for a rest and a bite, and give me your tale." A warily eaten meal with another sup of wine and water made me a new man. We sat below a long while, I telling my story, he making notes and talking of the credit he would get for bringing home a report of a new country, when suddenly the mate put his head into the skylight. "Captain!" "Hillo!" "The island's gone, sir." "What d' ye mean? that we've sunk it?" "No, by the Lord; but that it's sunk itself." We ran on deck, and where the island should have been was all clear sea. The captain stared at the water, with his mouth wide open. "Nothing to report after all!" he cried. "I saw it founder!" exclaimed the mate. "I had my eye on it when it sank. I've seen some foundering in my day; but this beats all my going a-fishing!" "Well," said the captain to me, "we didn't come too soon, sir." I hid my face in my hands. The Susan Gray was the name of the brig that rescued me. The Hercules saw the first of the island, and the Susan Gray the last of it. Hence, as I said at the start, it was reported by two vessels only. QUARANTINE ISLAND BY SIR WALTER BESANT "No!" he cried, passionately. "You drew me on; you led me to believe that you cared for me; you encouraged me! What! can a girl go on as you have done without meaning anything? Does a girl allow a man to press her hand--to keep her hand--without meaning anything? Unless these things mean nothing, you are the most heartless girl in the whole world; yes--I say the coldest, the most treacherous, the most heartless!" It was evening, and moonlight; a soft and delicious night in September. The waves lapped gently at their feet, the warm breeze played upon their faces, the moon shone upon them--an evening wholly unfit for such a royal rage as this young gentleman (two and twenty is still young) exhibited. He walked about on the parade, which was deserted except for this solitary pair, gesticulating, waving his arms, mad with the madness of wounded love. She sat on one of the seaside benches, her hands clasped, her head bent, overwhelmed and frightened and remorseful. He went on: he recalled the day when first they met; he reminded her of the many, many ways in which she had led him on to believe that she cared for him; he accused her of making him love her in order to laugh at him. When he could find nothing more to say, he flung himself upon the bench,--but on the other end of it,--and crossed his arms, and dropped his head upon them. So that there were two on the bench, one at either end, and both with their heads dropped--a pretty picture in the moonlight of a lovers' quarrel. But this was worse than a lovers' quarrel. It was the end of everything, for the girl was engaged to another man. She rose. If he had been looking up, he would have seen that there were tears in her eyes and on her cheek. "Mr. Fernie," she stammered, timidly, "I suppose there is nothing more to say. I am no doubt all that you have called me. I am heartless; I have led you on. Well, but I did not know--how could I tell that you were taking things so seriously? How can you be so angry just because I can't marry you? One girl is no better than another. There are plenty of girls in the world. I thought you liked me, and I--but what is the use of talking? I am heartless and cold; I am treacherous and vain and cruel, and--and--won't you shake hands with me once more, Claude, before we part?" "No! I will never shake hands with you again; never--never! By heavens! nothing that could happen now would ever make me shake hands with you again. I hate you, I loathe you, I shudder at the sight of you, I could not forgive you--never! You have ruined my life. Shake hands with you! Who but a heartless and worthless woman could propose such a thing?" She shivered and shook at his wild words. She could not, as she said, understand the vehemence of the passion that held the man. He was more than half mad, and she was only half sorry. Forgive the girl. She was only seventeen, just fresh from her governess. She was quite innocent and ignorant. She knew nothing about the reality and vehemence of passion; she thought that they had been very happy together. Claude, to be sure, was ridiculously fond of taking her hand; once he kissed her head to show the depth of his friendship. He was such a good companion; they had had such a pleasant time; it was a dreadful pity that he should be so angry. Besides, it was not as if she liked the other man, who was old and horrid. "Good-bye, then, Claude," she said. "Perhaps when we meet again you will be more ready to forgive me. Oh," she laughed, "it is so silly that a man like you--a great, strong, clever, handsome man--should be so foolish over a girl! Besides, you ought to know that a girl can't have things her own way always. Good-bye, Claude. Won't you shake hands?" She laid her hand upon his shoulder,--just touched it,--turned, and fled. She had not far to go. The villa where she lived was within five minutes' walk. She ran in, and found her mother alone in the drawing-room. "My dear," the mother said, irritably, "I wish to goodness you wouldn't run out after dinner. Where have you been?" "Only into the garden, and to look at the sea." "There's Sir William in the dining-room still." "Let him stay there, mother dear. He'll drink up all the wine and go to sleep, perhaps, and then we shall be rid of him." "Go in, Florence, and bring him out. It isn't good for him, at his age, to drink so much." "Let the servants go," the girl replied, rebellious. "My dear, your own accepted lover! Have you no right feeling? O Florence! and when I am so ill, and you know--I told you--" "A woman should not marry her grandfather. I've had more than enough of him to-day already. You made me promise to marry him. Until I do marry he may amuse himself. As soon as we are married, I shall fill up all the decanters, and keep them full, and encourage him to drink as much as ever he possibly can." "My dear, are you mad?" "Oh no! I believe I have only just come to my senses. Mad? No. I have been mad. Now, when it is too late, I am sane. When it is too late--when I have just understood what I have done." "Nonsense, child! What do you mean by being too late? Besides, you are doing what every girl does. You have accepted the hand of an old man who can give you a fine position and a great income and every kind of luxury. What more can a girl desire? When I die--you know already--there will be nothing--nothing at all for you. Marriage is your only chance." At this moment the door opened, and Sir William himself appeared. He was not, although a man so rich, and therefore so desirable, quite a nice old man to look at--not quite such an old man as a girl would fall in love with at first sight; but perhaps under the surface there lay unsuspected virtues by the dozen. He was short and fat; his hair was white; his face was red; he had great white eyebrows; he had thick lips; his eyes rolled unsteadily, and his shoulders lurched; he had taken much more wine than is good for a man of seventy. He held out both hands and lurched forward. "Florenshe," he said, thickly, "letsh sit down together somewhere. Letsh talk, my dear." The girl slipped from the proffered hands and fled from the room. "Whatsh matter with the girl?" said Sir William. Out at sea, all by itself, somewhere about thirty miles from a certain good-sized island in a certain ocean, there lies another little island--an eyot--about a mile long and half a mile broad. It is a coral islet. The coral reef stretches out all round it, except in one or two places, where the rock shelves suddenly, making it possible for a ship to anchor there. The islet is flat, but all round it runs a kind of natural sea-wall, about ten feet high and as many broad; behind it, on the side which the wall protects from the prevailing wind, is a little grove of low, stunted trees, the name and kind of which the successive tenants of the island have never been curious to ascertain. I am therefore unable to tell you what they are. The area protected by the sea-wall, as low as the sea-level, was covered all over with long, rank grass. At the north end of the islet a curious round rock, exactly like a martello tower, but rather higher, rose out of the water, separated from the sea-wall by twenty or thirty feet of deep water, dark blue, transparent; sometimes rolling and rushing and tearing at the sides of the rock, sometimes gently lifting the seaweed that clung to the sides. Round the top of the rock flew, screaming all the year round, the sea-birds. Far away on the horizon, like a blue cloud, one could see land; it was the larger island, to which this place belonged. At the south end was a lighthouse, built just like all lighthouses, with low white buildings at its foot, and a flagstaff, and an enclosure which was a feeble attempt at a flower-garden. You may see a lighthouse exactly like it at Broadstairs. In fact, it is a British lighthouse. Half a mile from the lighthouse, where the sea-wall broadened into a wide, level space, there was a wooden house of four rooms--dining-room, salon, and two bedrooms. It was a low house, provided with a veranda on either side. The windows had no glass in them, but there were thick shutters in case of hurricanes. There were doors to the rooms, but they were never shut. Nothing was shut or locked up or protected. On the inner or land side there was a garden, in which roses (a small red rose) grew in quantities, and a few English flowers. The elephant-creeper, with its immense leaves, clambered up the veranda poles and over the roof. There was a small plot of ground planted pineapples, and a solitary banana-tree stood under the protection of the house, its leaves blown to shreds, its head bowed down. Beyond the garden was a collection of three or four huts, where lived the Indian servants and their families. The residents of this retreat--this secluded earthly paradise--were these Indian servants with their wives and children; the three lighthouse men, who messed together; and the captain, governor, or commander-in-chief, who lived in the house all by himself because he had no wife or family. Now the remarkable thing about this island is that, although it is so far removed from any other inhabited place, and although it is so small, the human occupants number many thousands. With the exception of the people above named, these thousands want nothing: neither the light of the the day or the warmth of the sun; neither food nor drink. They lie side by side under the rank grass, without headstones or even graves to mark their place, without a register or record of their departure, without even coffins! There they lie,--sailors, soldiers, coolies, negroes,--forgotten and lost as much as if they had never been born. And if their work lives after them, nobody knows what that work is. They belong to the vast army of the Anonymous. Poor Anonymous! They do all the work. They grow our corn and breed our sheep; they make and mend for us; they build up our lives for us. We never know them, nor thank them, nor think of them. All over the world, they work for their far-off brethren; and when one dies, we know not, because another takes his place. And at the last a mound of green grass, or even nothing but an undistinguished strip of ground! Here lay, side by side, the Anonymous--thousands of them. Did I say they were forgotten? Not quite; they are remembered by the two or three Indian women, wives of the Indian servants, who live there. At sunset they and their children retreat to their huts, and stay in them till sunrise next morning. They dare not so much as look outside the door, because the place is crowded with white, shivering, sheeted ghosts! Speak to one of these women; she will point out to you, trembling, one, two, half a dozen ghosts. It is true that the dull eye of the Englishman can see nothing. She sees them--distinguishes them one from the other. She can see them every night; yet she can never overcome her terror. The governor, or captain, or commander-in-chief, for his part, sees nothing. He sleeps in his house quite alone, with his cat and dog, windows and doors wide open, and has no fear of any ghosts. If he felt any fear, of course he would be surrounded and pestered to death every night with multitudes of ghosts; but he fears nothing. He is a doctor, you see; and no doctor ever yet was afraid of ghosts. How did they come here--this huge regiment of dead men? In several ways. Cholera accounts for most, yellow fever for some, other fevers for some, but for the most cholera has been the destroyer. Because, you see, this is Quarantine Island. If a ship has cholera or any other infectious disease on board, it cannot touch at the island close by, which is a great place for trade, and has every year a quantity of ships calling; the infected ship has to betake herself to Quarantine Island, where her people are landed, and where they stay until she has a clear bill; and that sometimes is not until the greater part of her people have changed their berths on board for permanent lodgings ashore. Now you understand. The place is a great cemetery. It lies under the hot sun of the tropics. The sky is always blue; the sun is always hot. It is girdled by the sea. It is always silent; for the Indian children do not laugh or shout, and the Indian women are too much awed by the presence of the dead to wrangle; always silent, save for the crying of the sea-birds on the rock. There are no letters, no newspapers, no friends, no duties--none save when a ship puts in; and then, for the doctor, farewell rest, farewell sleep, until the bill of health is clean. Once a fortnight or so, if the weather permits and if the communications are open,--that is, if there is no ship there,--a boat arrives from the big island with rations and letters and supplies. Sometimes a visitor comes, but not often, because, should an infected ship put in, he would have to stay as long as the ship. A quiet, peaceful, monotonous life for one who is weary of the world, or for a hermit; and as good as the top of a pillar for silence and for meditation. The islet lay all night long in much the same silence which lapped and wrapped it all the day. The water washed musically upon the shore; the light in the lighthouse flashed at intervals; there was no other sign of life. Toward six o'clock in the morning the dark east grew gray; thin, long white rays shot out across the sky, and then the light began to spread. Before the gray turned to pink or the pink to crimson, before there was any corresponding glow in the western sky, the man who occupied the bungalow turned out of bed, and came forth to the veranda, clad in the silk pajamas and silk jacket which formed the evening or dress suit in which he slept. The increasing light showed that he was a young man still, perhaps about thirty--a young man with a strong and resolute face and a square forehead. He stood under the veranda watching, as he had done every day for two years or more, the break of day and the sunrise. He drank in the delicious breeze, cooled by a thousand miles and more of ocean. No one knows the freshness and sweetness of the air until he has so stood in the open and watched the dawn of a day in the tropics. He went back to the house, and came out again clad in a rough suit of tweeds and a helmet. His servant was waiting for him with his morning tea. He drank it, and sallied forth. By this time the short-lived splendour of the east was fast broadening to right and left, until it stretched from pole to pole. Suddenly the sun leaped up and the colours fled and the splendour vanished. The sky became all over a deep, clear blue, and round about the sun was a brightness which no eye but that of the sea-bird can face and live. The man in the helmet turned to the sea-shore, and walked briskly along the natural mound or sea-wall. Now and then he stepped down upon the white coral sand, picked up a shell, looked at it, and threw it away. When he came to the sea-birds' rock, he sat down and watched it. In the deep water below, sea-snakes, red and purple and green, were playing about; the bluefish, who are not in the least afraid of the snakes, rolled lazily round and round the rock; in the recesses lurked unseen the great conger-eel, which dreads nothing but the thing of long and horny tentacles, the ourite or squid: round and round the rock darted the humourous tazaar, which bites the bathers in shallow waters all for fun and mischief, and with no desire at all to eat their flesh; and besides these a thousand curious creatures, which this man, who had trained his eyes by days and days of watching, came here every day to look at. While he stood there the sea-birds took no manner of notice of him, flying close about him, lighting on the shore close at his feet. They were intelligent enough to know that he was only dangerous with a gun in his hand. Presently he got up and continued his walk. All round the sea-wall of the island measures about three miles. He took this walk every morning and every evening in the early cool and the late. The rest of the time he spent indoors. When he got back it was nearly seven, and the day was growing hot. He took his towels, went down to the shore, to a place where the coral reef receded, leaving a channel out to the open. The channel swarmed with sharks, but he bathed there every morning, keeping in the shallow water while the creatures watched him from the depths beyond with longing eyes. He wore a pair of slippers on account of the laf, which is a very pretty little fish indeed to look at; but he lurks in dark places near the shore, and he is too lazy to get out of the way, and if you put your foot near him he sticks out his dorsal fin, which is prickly and poisoned; and when a man gets that into the sole of his foot he goes home and cuts his leg off, and has to pretend that he lost it in action. When he had bathed, the doctor went back to his house, and performed some simple additions to his toilet. That is to say, he washed the salt water out of his hair and beard; not much else. As to collars, neckties, braces, waistcoats, black coats, rings, or any such gewgaws, they were not wanted on this island. Nor are watches and clocks; the residents go by the sun. The doctor got up at daybreak, and took his walk, as you have seen, and his bath. He was then ready for his breakfast, a solid meal, in which fresh fish, newly caught that morning, and curried chicken, with claret and water, formed the principal part. A cup of coffee came after, with a cigar and a book on the veranda. By this time the sun was high, and the glare of forenoon had succeeded the coolness of the dawn. After the cigar the doctor went indoors. The room was furnished with a few pictures, a large bookcase full of books, chiefly medical, a table covered with papers, and two or three chairs. No curtains, carpets, or blinds; the doors and windows wide open to the veranda on both sides. He sat down and began writing; perhaps he was writing a novel. I think no one could think of a more secluded place for writing a novel. Perhaps he was doing something scientific. He continued writing till past midday. When he felt hungry, he went into the dining-room, took a biscuit or two, and a glass of vermuth. Then, because it was now the hour for repose, and because the air outside was hot, and the sea-breeze had dropped to a dead calm, and the sun was like a red-hot glaring furnace overhead, the doctor kicked off his boots, threw off his coat, lay down on a grass mat under the mosquito-curtain, and instantly fell fast asleep. About five o'clock he awoke and got up; the heat of the day was over. He took a long draught of cold tea, which is the most refreshing and the coolest drink in the world. The sun was now getting low, and the air was growing cool. He put on his helmet, and set off again to walk round his domain. This done, he bathed again. Then he went home as the sun sank, and night fell instantly without the intervention of twilight. They served him dinner, which was like his breakfast but for the addition of some cutlets. He took his coffee; he took a pipe--two pipes, slowly, with a book; he took a whisky-and-soda; and he went to bed. I have said that he had no watch; it hung idly on a nail; therefore he knew not the time, but it would very likely be about half-past nine. However that might be, he was the last person up in this ghostly Island of the Anonymous Dead. This doctor, captain-general, and commandant of Quarantine Island was none other than the young man who began this history with a row royal and a kingly rage. You think, perhaps, that he had turned hermit in the bitterness of his wrath, and for the faults of one simple girl had resolved on the life of a solitary. Nothing of the kind. He was an army doctor, and he left the service in order to take this very eligible appointment, where one lived free, and could spend nothing except a little for claret. He proposed to stay there for a few years in order to make a little money by means of which he might become a specialist. This was his ambition. As for that love-business seven years past, he had clean forgotten it, girl and all. Perhaps there had been other tender passages. Shall a man, wasting in despair, die because a girl throws him over? Never! Let him straightway forget her. Let him tackle his work; let him put off the business of love--which can always wait--until he can approach it once more in the proper spirit of illusion, and once more fall to worshipping an angel. Neither nature nor civilisation ever designed a man's life to be spent in monotony. Most of us have to work for our daily bread, which is always an episode, and sometimes a pretty dismal episode, to break and mark the day. One day there came such a break in the monotonous round of the doctor's life. It came in the shape of a ship. She was a large steamer, and she steamed slowly. It was early in the morning, before breakfast. The doctor and one of the lighthouse men stood on the landing-place watching her. "She's in quarantine, doctor, sure as sure," said the man. "I wonder what's she's got. Fever, for choice; cholera, more likely. Well, we take our chance." "She's been in bad weather," said the doctor, looking at her through his glass. "Look; she's lost her mizzen, and her bows are stove in. I wonder what's the meaning of it. She's a transport." She drew nearer. "Troops! Well, I'd rather have soldiers than coolies." She was a transport. She was full of soldiers, time-expired men and invalids going home. She was bound from Calcutta to Portsmouth. She had met with a cyclone; driven out of her course and battered, she was making for the nearest port when cholera broke out on board. Before nightfall the island was dotted with white tents; a hospital was rigged up with the help of the ship's spars and canvas. The men were all ashore, and the quarantine doctor, with the ship's doctor, was hard at work among the cases, and the men were dropping in every direction. Among the passengers were a dozen ladies and some children. The doctor gave up his house to them, and retired to a tent or to the lighthouse or anywhere to sleep. Much sleep could not be expected for some time to come. He saw the boat land with the ladies on board; he took off his hat as they walked past. There were old ladies, middle-aged ladies, young ladies. Well, there always is this combination. Then he went on with his work. But he had a curious sensation, as if something of the past had been revived in his mind. It is, however, not an uncommon feeling. And one of the ladies changed colour when she saw him. Then began the struggle for life. No more monotony in Quarantine Island. Right and left, all day long, the men fell one after the other; day after day more men fell, more men died. The two doctors quickly organised their staff. The ship's officers became clinical clerks; some of the ladies became nurses. And the men, the rough soldiers, sat about in their tents with pale faces, expecting. Of those ladies who worked there was one who never seemed weary, never wanted rest, never asked for relief. She was at work all day and all night in the hospital; if she went out, it was only to cheer up the men outside. The doctor was but conscious of her work and of her presence; he never spoke to her. When he came to the hospital, another nurse received him; if he passed her, she seemed always to turn away. At a less troubled time he would have observed this. At times he felt again that odd sensation of a recovered past, but he regarded it not; he had other things to consider. There is no time more terrible for the courage of the stoutest man than a time of cholera on board ship or in a little place whence there is no escape; no time worse for a physician than one when his science is mocked and his skill avails nothing. Day after day the doctor fought from morning till night, and far on to the morning again; day after day new graves were dug; day after day the chaplain read over the new-made graves the service of the dead for the gallant lads who thus died, inglorious, for their country. There came a time, at last, when the conqueror seemed tired of conquest; he ceased to strike. The fury of the disease spent itself; the cases happened singly, one or two a day instead of ten or twenty. The sick began to recover; they began to look about them. The single cases ceased; the pestilence was stayed; and they sat down to count the cost. There had been on board the transport three hundred and seventy-five men, thirty-two officers, a dozen ladies, a few children, and the ship's crew. Twelve officers, two of the ladies, and a hundred men had perished when the plague abated. "One of your nurses is ill, doctor." "Not cholera, I do hope." "No; I believe a kind of collapse. She is at the bungalow. I told them I would send you over." "I will go at once." He left a few directions, and walked over to the house. It was, he found, the nurse who had been of all the most useful and the most active. She was now lying hot and feverish, her mind wandering, inclined to ramble in her talk. He laid his hand upon her temples; he felt her pulse; he looked upon her face; the odd feeling of something familiar struck him again. "I don't think it is very much," he said. "A little fever. She may have been in the sun; she has been working too hard; her strength has given way." He still held her wrist. "Claude," murmured the sick girl, "you are very cruel. I didn't know--and a girl cannot always have her own way." Then he recognised her. "Good heavens!" he cried, "it is Florence!" "Not always have her own way," she repeated. "If I could have had my own way, do you think I would--" "Florence!" he said again; "and I did not even recognise her. Strange!" Another of the ladies, the colonel's wife, was standing beside him. "You know her, doctor?" "I knew her a long time ago--some years ago--before she married." "Married? Florence is not married. You must be thinking of some one else." "No. This is Florence Vernon, is it not? Yes. Then she was formerly engaged to marry a certain Sir William Duport." "Oh, I believe there was some talk about an old man who wanted to marry her. But she wouldn't have him. It was just before her mother died. Did you know her mother?" "I knew her mother a little when they were living at Eastbourne. So she refused the old man, did she? and has remained unmarried. Curious! I had almost forgotten her. The sight of her brings back the old days. Well, after she has pulled so gallantly through the cholera, we cannot have her beaten by a little fever. Refused the old man, did she?" In the dead of night he sat watching by the bedside, the colonel's wife with him. "I had almost forgotten," whispered the lady, "that story of the old baronet. She told me about it once. Her mother was ill, and anxious about her daughter because she had next to nothing except an annuity. The old man offered; he was an unpleasant old man, but there was a fine house and everything. It was all arranged. The girl was quite a child, and understood nothing. She was to be sold, in fact, to this old person, who ought to have been thinking of his latter end instead of a pretty girl. Then the mother died suddenly, and the girl broke it off. She was a clever girl, and she has been teaching. For the last three years she has been in India; now she is going home under my charge. She is a brave girl, doctor, and a good girl. She has received half a dozen offers, but she has refused them all; so I think there must be somebody at home." "Claude," murmured the girl, wandering, "I never thought you would care so much. If I had thought so, I would not have encouraged you. Indeed, indeed, I would not. I thought we were only amusing ourselves." "Claude is a pretty name. What is your own Christian name, doctor?" asked the colonel's wife, curiously. "It is--in fact--it is Claude," he replied, blushing; but there was not enough light to see his blushes. "Dear me!" said the colonel's wife. A few days later the patient, able to sit for a while in the shade of the veranda, was lying in a long cane chair. Beside her sat the colonel's wife who had nursed her through the attack. She was reading aloud to her. Suddenly she stopped. "Here comes the doctor," she said; "and, Florence, my dear, his name, you know, is Claude. I think you have got something to talk about with Claude besides the symptoms." With these words she laughed, nodded her head, and ran into the salon. The veranda, with its green blinds of cane hanging down, and its matting on the floor, and its easy-chairs and tables, made a pretty room to look at. In the twilight, the fragile figure, pale, thin, dressed in white, would have lent interest even to a stranger. To the doctor, I suppose, it was only a "case." He pushed the blinds aside and stepped in, strong, big, masterful. "You are much better," he said; "you will very soon be able to walk about. Only be careful for a few days. It was lucky that the attack came when it did, and not a little earlier when we were in the thick of the trouble. Well, you won't want me much longer, I believe." "No, thank you," she murmured, without raising her eyes. "I have had no opportunity," he said, standing over her, "of explaining that I really did not know who you were, Miss Vernon. Somehow I didn't see your face, or I was thinking of other things. I suppose you had forgotten me. Anyhow, it was not until the other day, when I was called in, that I remembered. But I dare say you have forgotten me." "No; I have not forgotten." "I thought that long ago you had become Lady Duport." "No; that did not take place." "I hear that you have been teaching since your mother's death. Do you like it?" "Yes; I like it." "Do you remember the last time we met--on the sea-shore? Do you remember, Florence?" His voice softened suddenly. "We had a quarrel about that old villain; do you remember?" "I thought you had forgotten such a little thing as that long ago, and the girl you quarrelled with." "The point is rather whether you remember. That is of much more importance." "I remember that you swore that you would never forgive a worthless girl who had ruined your life. Did I ruin your life, Dr. Fernie?" He laughed. He could not honestly say that she had. In fact, his life, so far as concerned his work, had gone on much about the same. But then, such a man does not allow love to interfere with his career. "And then you went and threw over the old man. Florence, why didn't you tell me that you were going to do that? You might have told me." She shook her head. "Until you fell into such a rage, and called me such dreadful names, I did not understand." "Why didn't you tell me, Florence?" he repeated. She shook her head again. "You were only a little innocent, ignorant child then," he said; "of course you could not understand. I was an ass and a brute and a fool not to know." "You said you would never forgive me. You said you would never shake hands with me again." He held out his hand. "Since," he said, "you are not going to marry the old man, and since you are not engaged to anybody else, why--then--in that case--the old state of things is still going on; and--and--Florence--but if you give me your hand, I shall keep it, mind." "Dear me!" said the colonel's wife, standing in the doorway. "Do quarantine doctors always kiss their patients? But you told me, doctor dear, that your Christian name was Claude; didn't you? That explains everything." The ship, with those of her company whom the plague had spared, presently steamed away, and, after being repaired, made her way to Portsmouth dockyard. But one of her company stayed behind, and is now queen or empress of the island of which her husband is king, captain, commandant, and governor-general, and also resident quarantine doctor. THE ROCK SCORPIONS (ANONYMOUS) The screw steamer Jenny Jones was lying alongside a coal-hulk at Gibraltar one October afternoon. By three o'clock her bunkers were nearly filled, and the captain was getting ready for casting off, when one of the natives came on board. Captain Hindhaugh looked about for something to throw at the visitor, and only the difficulty of selecting an efficient missile from a large and varied assortment prevented him from letting fly at once. The "Scorpion" said, "Ah, no, no, Capeetan! No been throw nothin' at myself. Beesiness! I'se been com' for beesiness. Big thing, Capeetan!" The last phrase was spoken with such a profound wink that Hindhaugh held his hand, and, addressing the man as one would an ill-conditioned dog, said, "Don't keep bowing and scraping there, you tastrel! Get it out sharp!" The Scorpion whispered, "No been talk up here. Keep ship one hour, two hour, three hour. You'se been com' with me, and I speak you somethin' myself." Like many of his tribe, this interesting native spoke a kind of English which is not heard anywhere else on the Mediterranean shore. A few of the people on the Rock learn to talk very well to our men, but most of those who come about the ships use a picturesque lingo in which "myself" takes the place of quite a variety of parts of speech. Hindhaugh invited the man below, and asked him to explain himself. The fellow leaned over the table and chattered on, throwing quick side glances at every few words. "This been big thing, Capeetan. You get away a little; drop your anchor a little. Then three felucca com' alongside, and you'se been hoist bales. Then you 'se go where agent say you. Very big thing. Five thousand sovereign." "What is it? tobacco?" "That been it." "Where for?" "Huelva." "I'm not going out of Portuguese waters at no price." "Ah, no, no, Cheesu, Capeetan--no! Five mile. We have felucca there ready. I 'se been see him myself." "What's the figure? what's the money?" "You com' 'shore and see agent with myself." Hindhaugh put a revolver in his pocket and went on deck; the Scorpion got ashore, and hung about with an air of innocence. The captain was about to follow when the man in charge of the hulk called out, "Do you intend to keep bumping us like this all night? Why don't you cast off? You're knocking us all to flinders." Hindhaugh beckoned. "Look here, my good chap, it won't matter to you for a couple of hours. Let us lie till dusk, and then I'll get away. I've got important business ashore." "That's very well, Captain. But look here; if there's anything on, I'm in it. You understand--I'm in it." "You understand that, do you? Well then, I'll tell you to keep your mouth shut just now, or never another ton of coal will you put aboard of us as long as I run here." "All right, Captain. No need to be nasty. You'll do the square thing, I bet." Then Hindhaugh went ashore, and the Scorpion walked on ahead, gazing on architectural beauties with easy interest. Presently the two men came to a narrow stairway, and the Englishman gripped his revolver. A dark-eyed Spaniard was waiting on a landing, and held up two fingers when the guide passed. The Scorpion knocked at a greasy door, and an ugly fellow, with a cowl on, looked out and nodded. Hindhaugh stepped into a room that reeked with garlic and decay. Two men sat in the steamy dusk at the far side. An oily gentleman rose and bowed. "I'm the interpreter, Captain. You and this merchant must do your business through me. What'll you take to drink?" "Get through your business, mister. I'm not wanting any drink." In brief, jerky sentences the interpreter explained what was wanted. "You steam slowly till you're near the Fleet. Then put all your men on and get the stuff up. This man goes with you, and he'll tell you where to go. Lie five miles off Huelva." "I sha'n't go except to Portuguese waters." "Good. Then the lighters will come and the men will discharge you." "And now," said the captain, "what about me? How much?" "One hundred and twenty pounds." "Can't be done. Make it two hundred and fifty." After some haggling, a bargain was made for two hundred and twenty. Then Hindhaugh went further: "I want one hundred and ten down before we start, and the balance before you take an ounce of tobacco out of us." This was settled; the merchant bowed, and the skipper went away, still keeping his hand on the revolver. Every cranny in the walls seemed fit to hide a murderer--seemed made for nothing else; and Hindhaugh thought what a fool he must have been to venture under that foul arch. On getting aboard, the captain sent for his brother, who sailed as mate with him. He said, "Now, Jack, I'm going to run some risk. You take this pistol, and get her oiled and put right. When you see three feluccas coming alongside, get all the chaps on deck--the Dora's crew as well as ours." (Hindhaugh was taking home a ship-wrecked crew, and he was very grateful just then for that accession of force.) "Whack on everything you know, and get the bales up sharp. Tell the engineers to stand by for driving her, and leave the rest to me. If we're nailed we'll be detained, and I don't know what may happen; so you'll have to look slippy." Jack replied, "All right, sir!" Quarter-deck manners were punctiliously observed by one of the brothers. The shadows fell low, and the crown of the Rock grew dim. The creeping wind stole over the Pearl Rock, and set the sinister ripples dancing; the bugles sang mysteriously through the gloom, and the mystery of the night was in the air. The Jenny Jones stole quietly toward the broad sheet of water where the vessels of the Fleet heaved up their shadowy bulk above the lapping flood. All the English sailors were stripped to the shirt, and a low hum of excited talk came from amidships. Suddenly the raking yard of a felucca started out from amid the haze; then came another, and another. A sailor slipped a cork fender over the side, and there was a muffled bump and a slight scrape. Jack, the mate, whispered, "Now, you cripples!" and a brief scene of wild hurry and violent labour ensued. Bale after bale was whisked aboard; the Englishmen worked as only English sailors can, and the Scorpions excelled themselves under the influence of fear and black wine. When the last bale was up, Hindhaugh said to the man who first boarded him, "Who's got the money?" "Me, Capeetan. All right. Honest man myself. You'se been have every dollar." "Well then, it's neck or nothing. We have half an hour to clear out into the Gut. Come below, and shell out." The Scorpion counted out one hundred pounds in gold, and then asked, "That be enough? Other money all right other end." "Deuce a bit! Down with the other ten or I sliver you." The Scorpion did not know what "sliver" meant, but the gleam of the skipper's cold eye was enough for him. He paid up and went on deck. Hindhaugh had just said to the engineer, "Now, rive the soul out of her," when a low, panting sound was heard, and a white shape appeared gliding over the water. The captain had let the feluccas go, and the Jenny Jones was moving. He waved for the mate. "It's all up. Here's a mess. You must go home overland; suppose you swim ashore. Steady the men down." Jack performed one or two steps of a dance, and placed his finger against his nose. He rather enjoyed a scrape, did this frivolous chief officer. The white shape came nearer, and a sharp whistle sounded. Hindhaugh had known well enough that it was a steam-launch that made the panting noise, and he got ready for the worst. The launch drew right across the bows of the steamer, and then the throbbing of the little engines ceased. Again the whistle sounded; the launch gave a bound forward; then she struck away into the darkness, and Hindhaugh drew a long breath. In an instant every possible ounce of steam was put on, and the Jenny Jones went away at eleven knots toward the Gut. All night long the firemen were kept hard at it, and before morning the Rock was far astern of the driving steamboat. Three of the Scorpions had stayed aboard, and Captain Hindhaugh noticed that they earned their knives. He noticed, too, that the cringing manner which the fellows had shown before the Rock was cleared had given place to a sort of subdued swagger. About noon the engines were slowed down almost to nothing, and the Jenny Jones crept gently on toward the shore. By four o'clock the vessel was well into Portuguese waters, and Hindhaugh was prepared to defy any quantity of Spanish coast-guards. When the sun had dipped low the Scorpion-in-chief came aft, and pointed mysteriously to the northeast. "You'se been look where I point myself. Feluccas! You'se follow them in and drop anchor." Hindhaugh smiled. "Do you think you're talking to a fool? Come you below there, and let me have that other money sharp." "Ah, Capeetan, wait till agent's man come with felucca. I'se been have no money myself." Hindhaugh was not a person to be trifled with. He quietly took out his revolver. "Now, do you see that pretty thing? First shot for you. Look at that block forrad, and see how much chance you'll have if I fire at you." The pop of the revolver sounded, and then Hindhaugh went forward, pulling the Scorpion with him. "Do you see that hole, you image? How would you like if that was your gizzard? Now, no games, my joker." The Scorpion begged for time, and Hindhaugh was so sure of his man that he made no further objection. He had another conference with Jack, and, to that worthy man's great delight, he expressed certain forebodings. "We're going to have a fight over this job," said the skipper. "I'm dead sure of it. Go down and load the two muskets, and give them to the safest men. When the lighters DO come, borrow the fireman's iron rods. I've lent the steward my bowie that I got at Charleston, and you can try and hold that old bulldog straight. We mustn't show the least sign of funking." Then Hindhaugh and his brother called for tea, and fed solidly. The Scorpion whispered down the companion, "They'se been com'," and the captain went on deck. Two large felucca-rigged lighters hove up slowly through the dusk, and the chief Scorpion's signal was answered. Hindhaugh saw both lighters draw near, he felt the usual scraping bump, and then he heard a sudden thunder of many feet. The second mate sung out, "Here's half a hundred of these devils, sir. They're all armed to the teeth." And sure enough, a set of ferocious-looking rapscallions had boarded the steamer. They looked like low-class Irishmen browned with walnut-juice. Each man had a heavy array of pistols in his sash, and all of them carried ugly knives. The Scorpion waved to the gang, and they arranged themselves around the pile of bales that stuck out through the after-hatch. Hindhaugh had fully discounted all the chances, and had made up his mind to one thing: he wouldn't be "done." The Scorpion imperiously observed, "Come below, Capeetan," and Hindhaugh went. Then the defiant native of the Rock put his back against the cabin door, heaved out his chest in a manly way, and said, "Now, Capeetan, you no have more money. You speak much, and I'se been get your throat cut myself." "You've got no money?" "No; not a damn dollar." "You won't keep to your bargain?" "No; you come 'shore for your money if you want him." Hindhaugh made up his mind in a flash. In spite of his habit of wearing a frock-coat and tall hat, he was more than half a pirate, and he would have ruffled it, like his red-bearded ancestors, had fighting been still the usual employment of Norsemen. He marked his man's throat, and saw that the insolent hands could not get at a knife quickly. Then he sprang at the Scorpion, gripped him by the windpipe, and swung him down. The fellow gurgled, but he couldn't cry out. Hindhaugh called the steward, and that functionary came out of his den with the long bowie. "Sit on him," said the captain. "If he stirs cut his throat. Now, you, if you move a finger you're done." The steward straddled across the Scorpion, and held the knife up in a sarcastic way. Hindhaugh went swiftly on deck, and stepped right among the jabbering Spaniards. He smiled as though nothing had happened, but when he saw one man lay hold of a bale he pulled him back. "Tell them I'll shoot the first man that tries to lift a bale till I'm ready." This message brought on a torrent of talk, which gave the captain time. He whispered to Jack, "Sneak you round through the engine-room. That lighter's made fast forrad; the second one's fast here. Get a hatchet from the carpenter, and set him alongside of the second rope. When I whistle twice, both of you nick the ropes, and we'll jink these swindling swine." The engineer also received orders to go full speed ahead on the instant that the whistle sounded. Hindhaugh kept up his air of good-humour, although the full sense of the risk he ran was in his mind. His threat of shooting had made the Spaniards suspicious, although they were used to big talk of the kind. One peep into the cabin would have brought on a collision, and although the Englishmen might have fought, there was nothing to gain by a fight. Everything depended on swiftness of action, and Hindhaugh determined grimly that if rapidity could do anything he would teach the "furriners" a lesson for trying to swindle him. He said, very politely, "We're all ready now. You get your men aboard the lighters, and we'll soon rash your cargo over the side." This was transmitted to the smugglers, and immediately they swarmed aboard their own boats. They had rather expected a quarrel, and this pacific solution pleased them. As Jack afterward said, "They blethered like a lot o' wild geese." All the foreigners were gone but three. Hindhaugh stepped quietly up to the interpreter, and said, very low, "I'm covering you with my revolver from inside my pocket. Don't you stir. Is that other money going to be paid?" The interpreter had been innocent of all knowledge of the wild work in the cabin. He stammered, "I thought by your way it was all right. Where's our man?" "I've got him safe enough. Ask those fellows in the lighters if any of them can pay the freight for the job. If you tell them to fire they may miss me, and I can't miss you." No one, not even the consignee's man, had any money; the smugglers meant to trick the Revenue, and the English captain as well. Hindhaugh whistled, and then roared out, "Lie down, all of you! Ram her ahead!" The hatchets went crack, crack; the steamer shuddered and plunged forward; and the lighters bumped swiftly astern. "Over the side, you animals, or I'll take you out to sea and drown you." The three Spaniards rushed to the side, and took flying leaps into the lighters. Hindhaugh stooped low and ran to the companion. "Let that beggar up," he shouted. The Scorpion scuttled on deck. "Now, mister, I'll let you see if you'll take me in. Over you go. Over the stern with you, and mind the propeller doesn't carve you." Two shots were fired, but they went wild. The Scorpion saw the whole situation; he poised for a second on the rail, and then jumped for it, and Hindhaugh laughed loudly as his enemy came up blowing. Jack performed a triumphal war-dance on the steamer's bridge, and the Jenny Jones was soon far out of pistol range. All that night Captain Hindhaugh did not sleep a wink. He was quite persuaded that he had acted the part of an exemplary Briton. What is the use of belonging to the ruling race if a mere foreigner is to do as he likes with you? But the adventurous skipper had landed himself in a pretty mess, and the full extent of his entanglement grew on him every minute. At twelve o'clock, when the watch was relieved, Jack came aft in a state of exultation that words cannot describe. He chuckled out, "Well, sir, we've made our fortunes this time." Hindhaugh damped his spirits by saying, slowly, "Not too fast; that 'baccy's got to go overboard, my boy." Jack's mental processes became confused. He had been measuring the cubic contents of the smuggled goods, and the thought of wasting such a gift of the gods fairly stunned him. Had it been cotton, his imagination would not have been touched. But 'baccy! and overboard! It was too much, and he groaned. He was ready with expedients at once. "Why not run it to Holland?" "Can't be done; where's our bill of lading?" "Make up one yourself; you have plenty of forms." "And suppose the luck goes the wrong way. What's to happen to me--and to you too for that matter?" "Run to a tobacco port, and warehouse the stuff in your own name." "We're not bound for a tobacco port. What's to be done about the cargo of ore that we are carrying? No, John; the whole five thousand pounds must go over the side." Next morning broke joyously. The sea looked merry with miles of brisk foam, and the little Portuguese schooners flew like butterflies hither and thither. Every cloud of spray plucked from the dancing crests flashed like white fire under the clear sun. It was one of the mornings when one cannot speak for gladness. But Hindhaugh's thoughts were fixed on material things. The rich bales lay there, and their presence affected him like a sarcasm. The men were called aft, and the shovels used for trimming grain were brought up. Then the captain said, "Now each of you take a pound or two of this tobacco, and then break the bales and shovel the rest overboard." The precious packages were burst, and the sight of the beautiful leaf, the richness of the tender aroma, affected the sailors with remorse. It was like offering up a sacrifice. But the captain's orders were definite; so until near noon the shovels were plied smartly, and one hundredweight after another of admirable tobacco drifted away on the careless sea. Hindhaugh watched grimly until at last his emotions overcame him. He growled, "Confound it, I can't do it! Belay there, men; I'll have another think over this job." And think he did, with businesslike solemnity, all day long. He saw that he might make a small fortune by risking his liberty, and the curious morality of the British sailor prevented him from seeing shades of right or wrong where contraband business was concerned. Had you told him that the tobacco was stolen, he would have pitched you overboard; he felt his morality to be unimpeachable; it was only the question of expediency that troubled him. For three days it was almost unsafe to go near him, so intently did he ponder and plan. On the fifth day he had worked his way through his perplexities, and was ready with a plan. A pilot cutter came in sight, and Hindhaugh signalled her. The pilot's boat was rowed alongside, and the bronzed and dignified chief swaggered up to the captain with much cordiality. No one is so cordial as a pilot who has secured a good ship. The two men exchanged news, and gradually slid into desultory talk. Suddenly Hindhaugh said, "Are you game for a bit of work? Do you ever DO anything?" The pilot was virtuously agitated. He drew himself up, and, taking care that the mate should hear, answered, "Me! Not for the wurrrld, Cap'n. I've got a wife and children, sir." "All right, Pilot, never mind; come down and have some tea." Then Hindhaugh gradually drew his man out, until the pilot was absolutely confidential. The captain knew by the very excess of purity expressed in the pilot's first answer that he was not dealing with a simpleton; but he carefully kept away from the main subject which was in his (and the pilot's) mind. At last the man leaned over and gave a masonic sign. "What was that job you was speaking about, Cap'n? We're near home now, you know. Better not go too near." Hindhaugh played a large card. He smiled carelessly. "Fact is, I've just told the fellows to shy the stuff overboard; I shall risk no more." "Mercy me, Cap'n! You're mad. How did I know who you were? I see all about it now, but I did not know what game you might have on with me. I'm in it, you know, if the dimes is right!" "How?" "Why, if the job's big enough. You stand off for a day; go down to the Sleeve, and hang round, and I'll find you a customer." "If you do, I pay you three hundred pound as soon as his money's down." "Done, then. My boat's not gone far. Whistle her, and I'll go slap for Bristol. Never you mind for a day or two. How's your coals?" "They're all right. You scoot now, and fetch your man over this way. I'll go half-speed to the sou'west for twelve hours, another twelve hours half-speed back. You'll find us." In thirty-six hours the pilot cutter came back, and a Hebrew gentleman boarded the Jenny Jones from her. After a long inspection, the visitor said, "Now look here, I must have a hundred per cent. margin out of this. What's your figure?" "Two thousand five hundred." "Won't do. Say two thousand, and you pay the jackal out of that." "Done. And how do you manage?" "I'll split the lot up among three trawlers. You wait off, and give the jackal an extra fifty for bringing the boats down. I risk the rest." Another night passed, and the dawn was breaking coldly when the dirty sails of the trawlers came in sight. Ship after ship had hailed Hindhaugh, and offered to tow him if anything had happened to his engines. He knew he would be reported as lying off apparently disabled, and he was in a feverish state of excitement. The Hebrew speculator watched the last bale down the side, and then handed over the money, had a glass of brandy with the pilot, and departed--whither Hindhaugh neither knew nor cared. The Jenny Jones ran for her port. She had just slowed down, and the great waves of smoke from the town were pouring over her, when two large boats, heavily laden with men, came off to her. The men swarmed up the side, and the officer in command shouted, "Bring up the pickaxes, and go to work!" The hatches were pulled off before the steamer had taken up her moorings, and the men went violently to work among the ore. Hindhaugh looked innocent, and inquired, "What's all this about, officer?" "Fact is, Captain, we've got a telegram from Gibraltar to say you have contraband on board. You may save all trouble if you make a clean breast." "Contraband! Who told you that?" "Oh, we should have known without the wire. That gentleman on the quay there came overland, and he put us up to you." Hindhaugh looked ashore, and saw a dark face that he knew well. He whistled and smiled. Then he said to the officer, "You may just as well stop those poor beggars from blistering their hands. You won't find anything here except what the men have in the forecastle. You're done this journey fairly. Come away down and liquor, and I'll tell you all about it." Then Hindhaugh gave an artistic account of the whole transaction, and put the matter in such a light that the custom-house officer cordially congratulated him on having escaped without a slit weasand. The Jenny Jones went back to Gibraltar, and Captain Hindhaugh was very careful never to go ashore without a companion. One day he was passing a chandler's shop when a sunken glitter of dark eyes met him. His old acquaintance, the chief Scorpion, was looking stilettos and poison at him. But Hindhaugh went by in his big, burly way, and contented himself with setting on three watchmen every night during his stay. To this day he is pleased with himself for having given the foreigners a lesson in the elements of morality, and he does not fear their knives one whit. THE MASTER OF THE "CHRYSOLITE" BY G. B. O'HALLORAN Captain Anderson stood alone in the world. But he was one who COULD stand alone, for his will was strong and his affections were weak. Those who thought they knew him best said he was hardy. The remainder said he was hard, his heart a stone. Still he was a human being, for, like others, he cherished hobbies. His hobbies, however, were not of that class which is compassed about by rest and roses. Instead, they were clothed with a stern delight born of defiance and danger. To work his ship across the Bay in the teeth of an adverse gale; to weather a lee shore; to master a rebellious crew single-handed--these were the wild diversions which satisfied him. Once, in the China seas, his men grew mutinous, said the ship was "leaking like a lobster-pot," and straightway put her about for Singapore; swore they did not care what the skipper thought--in fact, would like to talk to him a bit. The skipper was below when the first mate brought down the news and a very pale face as well. "Tell the men to muster!" So soon as the mate's back was turned, John Anderson took a revolver from a locker and charged it; then, ascending the companion-ladder, he walked to the break of the poop, with his hands buried in the pockets of a pea-jacket. Down below him were the men, lolling about in a sullen crowd on the weather side of the quarter-deck. They were thirty or forty in number, and were a vicious-looking set. "Now then, my men! Half an hour ago we were steering due northeast. Who was it dared to lay the ship's nose the other way?" The burly boatswain swung his way out of the crowd, planted his foot on the first step of the poop-ladder, and stared up at the captain. "I did, and be damned to you!" roared he. There was a loud report. The boatswain dropped, shot in the leg. And the crew shivered under a gleaming eye and a gleaming weapon. "All hands 'bout ship!" cried the master. The wounded boatswain, raising himself for a moment on one hand, piped faintly, and fell back unconscious. But the men were already at their stations, and in five minutes more the Chrysolite was heading northeast again. Such incidents as these gave John Anderson an unenviable reputation among sailors. It was seldom that the same crew served him twice. Two voyages under this tartar were more than could be stood, and from his subordinates, therefore, he gained nothing but hatred and fear. It was very difficult, then, to find out where Captain Anderson's weakness lay. Everybody, of course, has his weakness. But this man appeared to be all strength. His whole life seemed like a rod of burnished steel--a passion-proof life, a fire-proof rod. The owners of the Chrysolite, Messrs. Ruin & Ruin, of Billiter Street, piqued themselves on knowing his tender point. He was avaricious, thought they; he would do much for money, and they would some day try him in the furnace. It was true, indeed, that the old sailor had amassed considerable wealth during his frequent voyages to the East. It was true also that he was sparing and saving; that he drove bargains to the verge of perdition, and clinched them at the crucial moment. But it was equally true that he was free from fraud. His teas were what they pretended to be, his silks unimpeachable, and no man ever came back upon him with complaints of their genuineness. The world allowed that he was at least commercially honourable, but felt fully convinced that he was eaten up with the desire for gold. But the world was wrong. The captain himself was sometimes given to metaphysical speculation, and even HE was puzzled to know if his heart had a whit more feeling than any other pumping-engine. Women he looked upon as frivolities of vanity to which he could not reconcile his stern nature; and men he regarded as instruments to be rigorously disciplined, not failing at the same time to discipline himself. His heart was of no use to him except to circulate his blood. In default, therefore, of loving anything, he fell naturally to pursuing a difficult task--the piling up of a mountain of gold. This was congenial solely because it was difficult, and difficulties overcome were his only sources of satisfaction. Now it happened that a new firm trading to the East, in competition with Messrs. Ruin & Ruin, had made advances to Captain Anderson with a view to engaging him in their service; and as they offered liberal terms, including a handsome percentage, it was not long before the old seaman was won over. Here is a chance, thought he, of heaping up my mountain so much the more quickly, and I am determined that my actions shall not be hampered by sentiment. Notwithstanding this last threat, he found it a very unpleasant thing to break with his old employers, one of whose ships he had commanded for a score of years. But he would get scot-free of them before he finally concluded negotiations with the new people. And so it came to pass that one morning he walked along Billiter Street with his twenty-year-old commission in his pocket. It is curious how fond real old salts are of dress when ashore. Here was John Anderson in a top-hat and kid gloves, looking anything but at home in them. The glossy hat was a mockery to his bold sea-worn face, and his big knuckles were almost bursting through the soft kid with indignation at the affront put upon them. He reached the chambers in which the firm of Messrs. Ruin & Ruin was established, and ascended the staircase, for the office was on the second floor. The senior partner was within, and the captain was admitted into his room without delay. "Glad to see you, Captain Anderson," said Mr. Ruin, in an unusually cordial tone, at the same time shaking hands. "You've made a capital passage, and freighted the Chrysolite well." Mr. Ruin was a big, fat man who spoke oilily. His clean-shaven face was never without the remnants of a smile--a smile, though, which was not remarkable for its sincerity. Still, it had its value,--in the market,--for it was a commercial smile. A pair of small gray eyes were almost hidden by the obese curves of his cheeks; but you learned in a very short time that they kept a sharp and shrewd lookout from behind those ramparts. The two men sat down at opposite sides of the table, the owner guessing from the captain's manner that there was something in the wind, and the captain thinking his employer's exuberance of civility betokened more than was manifest. "Yes, I brought her a quick passage," replied Anderson; then, looking straight at the owner, "and it's the last she'll make under me." The remnants of a smile coalesced, ploughing up Mr. Ruin's cheeks into greasy furrows. "My dear Captain, we could not hear of it! We're too old friends to part like that." "Well, sir, I've come this morning, for private reasons, to throw up my commission," said the captain, simultaneously throwing down his commission before the senior partner's eyes. "I can't accept it, Mr. Anderson; I can't indeed," replied the owner, picking up the parchment. "And I'll tell you why. My brother and I have been thinking matters over, and we've really been obliged to confess, for conscience' sake, that the Chrysolite is getting old." "Devilish old!" muttered the captain, forgetting himself for a moment. "Well, now I think of it again, I believe my brother did say she was 'devilish old'--a strange coincidence. Still she is a fine model of a boat. What d' ye think yourself?" "She has rare lines," said the other, with a slight approach to grave enthusiasm. "The very remark I made myself only yesterday. Yes, we agreed she was a pretty boat; and I admit, from sheer sentiment, I cannot bear to think of her being chopped up for firewood. So inharmonious, don't you think?" The old sailor looked sullen and said nothing. Mr. Ruin leaned his elbows well on to the table in a confidential manner, and reduced his voice to husky whispering. "My brother told me he should not mind seeing her end her days as a picturesque wreck, but to sell her for match-wood was barbarous. I was really of the same opinion. And--and--couldn't it be managed for her, Captain Anderson?" The two looked at each other narrowly. "If you can get any one to do it, of course it can be done. But _I_ would sooner--" "Now before you judge, hear me, Captain. I feel sure you could find that man if you chose. See; the Chrysolite is insured in the Jupiter Insurance Company for nine thousand pounds. Here is the policy. And the man that saves her from the axe, and makes a picturesque wreck of her, will earn the gratitude of Messrs. Ruin & Ruin, and three thousand pounds besides." For once even the remnants of a smile had disappeared from the senior partner's face, and he stood confessed--the type of a cool financial scoundrel. The sailor, on the other hand, was agitated as no one had ever seen him before. The veins stood out on his brawny throat like rope; his eyelids were purple; for a few moments his head swam. Then he righted himself as suddenly, with an emphatic refusal ready on his lips. But the wily partner had left the room. This gave Anderson time to think, and the more he thought the more that pile of gold forced itself before him, until, forsooth, he fell to thinking how such an end COULD be compassed--by another commander. He saw clearly that a skilful seaman might achieve this thing with slight danger to himself and his crew. And all this time the three thousand pounds shone so lustrously that his moral vision was dazzled, and the huge iniquity of the whole affair was rapidly vanishing from sight. When Mr. Ruin reentered, Anderson was looking ashamed and guilty. "Well, Captain, can I help you to a conclusion?" came from the oily lips. "It's this way," replied the old man, turning round, but keeping his eyes fixed on the carpet; "I can't do it. No, I can't." Mr. Ruin eyed him dubiously, and rubbed his chin gently. "I'm sorry--very, very sorry! Three thousand pounds won't go long begging, though. And I shall have to accept your resignation, Captain." Anderson only took up his hat and walked slowly out of the room. He had not descended many steps when he turned back and reopened the door. "No, sir," he said; "it can't be done. I must think it over, and--no--it can't be done." With that he went his way, miserable. The same night he received a letter by post. It contained his old commission, reinstating him in the command of the Chrysolite. Four months later the Chrysolite was unloading a general cargo in Mauritius harbour. Captain Anderson had thought it over. The quay was quickly covered with Manchester bales and Birmingham cases; and it was not long before the tackle at the main-yard arm was set a-clicking, as the baskets of sand ballast were hove up to be poured into the empty hold. No such luxuries were there as steam-winches; not any of those modern appliances for lightening labour. Instead, five or six hands plied the ponderous work at the winch handles, the labour being substantially aggravated by the heat of a vertical sun. A spell at the orthodox hand-winch in the tropics is an ordeal not to be lightly spoken of, and sailors have the very strongest objection to the work. It requires the utmost vigilance on the part of the captain, therefore, to prevent the feebler spirits from deserting. He was able, however, to reckon a full crew as he steered out of Port Louis harbour and shaped his course for Ceylon. Some of the hands had grumbled at not having more liberty to go ashore. In an excess of passion, Anderson made answer: "To your kennels, you dogs! I'll put you ashore soon enough, and I'll warrant you'll stay there longer than you care for." It was indiscreet language, and the men puzzled over it. They concluded that the skipper meant to obtain their imprisonment at the next British port they should touch for mutinous conduct, and, knowing he was a man of his word, they assumed their best behaviour. Captain Anderson had not changed for the better. Hitherto he had maintained a firmness of discipline boarding upon severity, and he certainly had never relaxed from that attitude. Now he had become an incomprehensible mixture of indulgence and cruelty. The two elements were incompatible, and the more intelligent of his officers were not long in perceiving that there was a vicious and variable wind in their superior's moral atmosphere, under which his canvas strained or flapped unaccountably. They imagined, to pursue their own figure, that his hand did not grasp the reason tiller with its customary grip, and that his bark was left more or less to the conflicting guidance of other influences. Many a time since his departure from England had the old sailor been stung with remorse at the unwritten tenor of his present commission. He would frequently try to look the whole thing in the face--would endeavour to account for the acceptance of an office against which his whole self revolted. He would recite the interview in the Billiter Street chambers with his employer, passing rapidly over the preliminary parts until he came to the REWARD. No! he was not false enough or euphemistic enough to call it a reward; he would regard it as a bribe. But he could never get further. He always grounded on his reef of gold, and no tide of indignation or regret, no generous current of honour, had power to sweep him off again into the saving waters. Here the fierce rays of desire shot down upon the resplendent heap, whose reflected glory filled the whole vision of the water with its lustre. Blame him not too much, nor it. For, after all, man is but man, and gold is a thing of comfort. But had Captain Anderson followed his mental inquiries to a conclusion, had he demonstrated to himself the depth of moral degradation into which he must be plunged, his pride would never have allowed him to do anything but redeem his unuttered word. As an illustration of the captain's lately acquired habit of indulgence, the most remarkable was his treatment of the watch on deck during the night. The man on the lookout, for instance, was in the habit of going to sleep if the weather made it at all practicable. The rest of the watch, some fifteen or twenty hands, followed suit, or even skulked back into the fo'castle, there to stretch themselves out on their chests and smoke. These things the captain connived at, and the men were only too glad of the relief to inquire too curiously into his reasons. The main object of a sailing-ship sailor is to gain as much sleep as he can by whatever means, and in pursuit of this end he will evade even those duties which are most essential to the safety of the ship. One night, during the middle watch, the captain came on deck, and took to walking up and down with the second mate. The night was clear, though dark. The Chrysolite was close-hauled on the starboard tack, and was making good headway under a clinking breeze. She was an old-fashioned, frigate-built, full-rigged ship, such as one seldom happens on now, her quarter-galleries, chain-plates, to' gallant bulwarks, and single topsail-yards being all out of date among the ship-builders of to-day. It has been said that she had "rare lines," and the remark was just. A more imposing pile of timber was possibly never floated. She had plenty of beam to cope with the South Atlantic wave-giants, and not too much sheer. Her fiddle-stem was gracefully cut, and harmonised to perfection with the slight rake aft of her lofty masts. Her spars, also, were finely proportioned to the breadth of her hull. So that, with her canvas spread in an unwavering breeze, the Chrysolite was a stately creature and "a thing of beauty." "Mr. Grant," said the captain, addressing his subordinate officer, "be good enough to take a star and work out the ship's position." The second mate quickly brought his sextant, and took the altitude of a star convenient for his purpose. He then went below to the cabin to perform his calculations. The lookout man, a ready sleeper, was in a heavy slumber, upon which the stiffening breeze made no effect. The rest of the watch had disappeared in the customary fashion. Captain Anderson was practically alone on deck. He walked forward, leaned over the weather-rail, and directed his glass. He saw just exactly what he expected to see. There, right ahead in the distance, the binoculars showed a long, thin streak of sparkling silver, appearing like a lightning flash held fast between the darkness and the deep sea. It was phosphorescent water playing on a sand-bank. Anderson put the glass into his pocket. He was sullen and determined. He stood motionless for full half an hour, trying to repress the workings of an aroused conscience; but his thoughts would not let him alone. There was something behind them, some new sensations, which set them buzzing in his mind. These sensations were his finest feelings--ennobling emotions which had been cramped in the grip of discipline for forty years. He could not comprehend it, but he found himself pursuing a train of thoughts of finer sensibility than he had ever experienced, and in which the great bribe had no place. He foreshadowed in his mind's eye the tragic events over which he was now presiding. He foresaw the danger to life and limb with a fresh clearness of vision. He pictured to himself the possible agonies of his fellow-creatures (never once thinking of his own) with a sentiment much akin to pity--strong, too, but not sufficiently strong to overcome that unbending guide which forbade him for honour's sake to go back upon his promise. Then there was the doom of the ship itself-- The man is not angry, much less fearful; but his lips are quivering and his nostrils widening with a passion hitherto unknown. He sees the picture vividly--a majestic, gallant ship done to destruction; a rich, ruined seaman wandering on earth a broken heart in a dishonoured bosom. Not only a gallant ship, but a lifelong pride and the fulness of a heart's desire swept recklessly into limbo. Here, at last, had his love revealed itself. "No, by God, she SHALL not perish!" With a rapid movement he gains the fo'castle, and roars into it, "All hands 'bout ship! Quick now, for your very lives!" There is no mistaking his tone. It is not one of driving tyranny, but of urgent agony, and it goes right home to every man. Up they tumble in a ready crowd, many in their shirts alone. They are all sleepy, but the business on hand will soon cure them of this. They stand by. The helm is put down, and quickly the Chrysolite veers round in process of reaching the other tack. Will she do it? No! She trembles almost in the teeth of the wind, misses stays, and falls off again on to the old tack. Anderson cannot understand it, old sailor as he is; puts the helm down once more; once more she misses. "Back the main-yard! Shiver the foreyard!" Soon every stitch of canvas on the mainmast is swung about to face the breeze, while that on the foremast is hauled in. Although she be going at eight knots, THAT should check her. But it does not. "Mizzen topsail braces, then!" Quick as thought the lee braces are slacked off, and those on the weather side made taut. Still she is not checked. Strange, too, for the breeze is stiff. Anderson feels she is in the stream of a strong current. There had been no need to say what was the cause of danger. The heavy boom of breakers rose above the tread of feet, the clashing of spars, and the chorus of curses. Meanwhile Mr. Grant has finished his calculations below. He has found for a result that the ship is among the Maldive reefs. He is certain there must be some error in his work, and he sets himself to revise his figures. But the breeze sweeps into the cabin with a faint command from the upper air--"Back the main-yard!"--and he shrewdly guesses that his calculations are correct. The captain is everywhere at once, urging and aiding. He sees the whole canvas aback, and yet the Chrysolite drifts on. He cannot 'bout his ship nor back her. The reef is quite within appreciable distance now. The hands can do nothing more, so they gaze at the dancing line of phosphorescent atoms, and curse tremendously--though these may be their last moments. "All hands wear ship!" comes sharply from Anderson. "--you and your orders!" cries some one. "To the boats, to the boats!" Although the Chrysolite carried five boats, no less than four of them were unseaworthy. In those days the examination of an outward-bound ship was slurred over, with the natural consequence that the marine law was more frequently broken than observed. The only boat on board the Chrysolite worth launching was the life-boat, which stood bottom upward between the main and mizzen masts. At the cry "To the boats!" there was a rush for her. But Anderson is first. He carries in his hand a small axe, meant for clearing away light wreckage. With a vigorous blow the life-boat is stove in. The men stop short, daunted. He turns about and faces them, looking like an angry Titan. "Now then, you hell-hounds, wear the ship or sink!" They see he means to be master to the end. It is too late even for imprecation. The men literally spring to their work, with an alacrity begot of desperation. Every moment is of the utmost value, for the reef is very close and the horrible breakers are in all ears. Anderson himself holds the wheel. He has put the helm up, and soon the great ship, with swelling sails, breaks out of the current. He feels the change in an instant; the hands know it too. But the danger is not past. Leaving the wheel to another, he runs quickly forward to lean over the weather-rail. As he passes through the crowd on the fo'castle, the poor fellows cheer him ringingly. The fine old seaman doffs his cap and makes them a grand, manly bow. He glances at the reef and then mutters quietly to himself, "She will never clear it, and God forgive me!" Then, wheeling round, he gives a command. "Let go both anchors; it is our only chance!" Many hearts sink at the order, but in as few moments as possible the cables are smoking through the hawse-pipes. The anchors touch bottom, and hold. All hands clutch the stanchions or shrouds in anticipation of the shock. It comes. The ship, racing on, is brought up with a round turn of such sudden force as to shake every nail in her timbers. Aloft there is crash upon crash, and the lighter spars come showering on to the deck, bringing with them ragged remnants of canvas. One man is struck down. The hawsers hum with strenuous vibration. The timbers at the bluff of the bow crack almost vertically, until the ship's nose is well-nigh torn out. The tension is too great and the port cable snaps. The starboard one is tougher. But were it ever so tough it would not save the ship, for its anchor is dragging. Back she sags, gathered into her doom by the whitening waters; until at length, thus lifted along, her keel rests athwart the bank, and she heels over. Her sailing days are done. As the consecutive seas sweep up the reef, she lifts her head and drops it again and again, like a poor recumbent brute in its death-hour. But the wind must sometime cease, and the waves forget their anger. Then will she take a long repose, leaning on her shattered side--the very type of a picturesque wreck. About this time Messrs. Ruin & Ruin were more than usually interested in the shipping news, and one morning they saw, under the heading of "Wrecks and Casualties," this: "MINICOY (MALDIVE ISLANDS).--The ship Chrysolite, of London, went ashore yesterday night on the southern reefs, and is now a total wreck. All hands saved except John Anderson, master, who was killed by a falling spar." The result of the whole business had far exceeded the owners' expectations. It had been so neatly done; and the greatest comfort of all was that no one was now left who could tell tales. They did not exactly thank God in so many words for the death of their faithful servant. That was very sad, as of course it should be. But they thanked Him in all humility for a certain sum of three thousand pounds, which would have gone elsewhere but for--If he, Anderson, had had wife or children, Messrs. Ruin & Ruin felt almost certain they would have made provision for them. But they thanked God again that he had never married. All that was necessary to be done now was to send in a claim for the insurance money, and, if well advised, retire into private life. Messrs. Ruin & Ruin talked the matter over between them, congratulated themselves upon their prosperity, made no end of choice little plans for the future, and finally decided to forsake the commercial profession. And, indeed, they would have done so, but that the evening papers contained an item of intelligence which, though less expected, and therefore more startling, contained just as lively an interest for them as the report of the wreck. It ran thus: "It is currently reported that the Jupiter Insurance Company has failed heavily, and is only able to meet its liabilities with a composition of sixpence on the pound." Messrs. Ruin & Ruin still carry on business near Billiter Street, but their offices are now on the top floor in a very back alley. "PETREL" AND "THE BLACK SWAN" (ANONYMOUS) "Sail, ho!" Never, surely, did the cry fall upon more welcome ears, save and except those of men becalmed in a boat upon the open sea. For twelve weary days and nights had we, the officers and men of H.M.S. Petrel (six guns, Commander B. R. Neville), been cooped up in our iron prison, patrolling one of the hottest sections of the terrestrial globe, on the lookout for slavers. From latitude 4 deg. north to latitude 4 deg. south was our beat, and we dared not venture beyond these limits. Our instructions were to keep out of sight of land and try to intercept some of the larger vessels, which, it was suspected, carried cargoes of slaves from the ---- coast. The ship, the sea, the cloudless sky--there was nothing else to see, nothing else to think of. Work, study, play even, were alike impossible in that fierce, scorching heat. If you touched a bit of iron on deck it almost burned your hand. If you lay down between-decks covered with a sheet, you awoke in a bath of perspiration. "Sail, ho!" The man, in his excitement, repeated the shout before he could be hailed from the deck. "Where away?" sang out the captain. "Two points on the weather-bow, sir," was the reply. That phrase about the "weather-bow" was a nautical fiction, for there was no wind to speak of, and what there was was nearly dead astern. "Keep her away two points," said Commander Neville; and the order was promptly obeyed. In a few seconds the news had spread through the ship, and the men clustered on the bulwarks, straining their eyes to get a glimpse of the stranger. Even the stokers, poor fellows, showed their sooty faces at the engine-room hatchway. Of course the stranger might be, and probably was, an innocent trader; but then she might be a slaver; and golden visions of prize-money floated before the eyes of every man and boy on board the Petrel. We did not steam very fast, as of course our supply of coal was limited; and it was about two hours before sundown when we fairly sighted the stranger. She was a long three-masted schooner, with tall raking masts, lying very low in the water. All her canvas was set; and as a little wind had sprung up, she was slipping through the water at a fair pace. "She looks for all the world like a slaver, sir," remarked Mr. Brabazon, the first lieutenant, to the commander. Neville said nothing, but his lips were firmly compressed, and a gleam of excitement was in his eyes. "Fire a blank cartridge, Mr. O'Riley," said he to the second lieutenant; "and signal her to ask her nationality and her code number." This was done; and in answer to the signal the schooner slowly hoisted the American colours. "She has eased away her sheets, and luffed a point or two, sir," said the quartermaster, touching his cap. The captain merely answered this by a nod. "Put a shot in your gun, Mr. O'Riley," said he. "Lower your hoist and make a fresh hoist demanding her name." This was done, but the American took no notice. "Fire a shot, Mr. O'Riley--wide, of course," said the commander. Again the deafening report of the big gun sounded in our ears; and we could see the splash of the shot as it struck the water about fifty yards from the schooner. Immediately a flag was run up, then another and another; and we saw that she was not giving us her code number, but was spelling out her name, letter by letter--The Black Swan. "Just look that up in the United States Merchant Registry," said the captain to the first lieutenant. And in half a minute he had reported--"No such name, sir." This was something more than suspicious. And the wind was rising. "Hoist the signal for her to heave to!" cried Commander Neville. "Take a boat and half a dozen hands, Mr. O'Riley," he continued; "board her, inspect her papers, and come back to report. If her papers are not in order," added he, "you may search for slaves; but if they are you had better do nothing further. You know it is clearly set down in the Protocol that we are not entitled to search the hold if the papers are in order; and there have been complaints lately against some over-zealous officers, who have got into trouble in consequence. So be careful. But keep your eyes open. Note any suspicious circumstances, and come back and report." Before Lieutenant O'Riley reached the ship he saw that everything about her had been sacrificed to speed. Her spars, especially, were unusually heavy for a craft of her size. The British officer was received by a little, thin, elderly man wearing a Panama hat and speaking with a strong Yankee accent. "Produce your papers, if you please," said O'Riley. They were handed out at once, and seemed to be perfectly regular. "What have you got on board?" was the next question. "General cargo--dry goods, and so on." "Why isn't your name on the register?" "Ain't it now? Well, I guess it must be because this is a new ship. We can't put our name on by telegraph, mister." "Just tell your men to knock off the hatches. I want to have a look at your cargo." The skipper shook his head. "I've been delayed long enough," said he, "and have lost a great part of the only wind we've had in this darned latitude for a week." "I'll do it myself, then!" cried O'Riley. "Not now, sir; not with six men while I have fifteen. You have no right to search the hold of a respectable merchantman and disturb her cargo. Do you take me for a slaver, or what? Ef you must have the hatches up, send back to your man-of-war for a larger crew, so as to overpower me, you understand, and you may do it with pleasure. Bet I guess there'll be a complaint lodged at Washington, and you folks in London will have to pay for it. That's all, mister. I only want things fair and square, within my treaty rights." And having delivered himself of this long speech, the Yankee skipper turned on his heel. Of course O'Riley could only return to the Petrel and report all this to his commander. "I'm convinced she is a slaver, sir," said he in conclusion. "But you have no evidence of it; and you say the papers were all in order." "Apparently they were, sir." "Then I'm afraid I can do nothing," said the commander. And to the deep disgust of the whole ship's crew, the order was given for the Petrel to return to her course. All that night, however, Commander Neville was haunted by a doubt whether he had not better have run the risk of a complaint and a reprimand, rather than forego the overhauling of so suspicious-looking a craft; and in the morning a rumour reached his ears that the cockswain, who had accompanied Mr. O'Riley to The Black Swan, had noticed something about her of a doubtful nature. The man was sent for and questioned; and he said that, while the lieutenant was on board, the boat of which he was in charge had dropped a little way astern; and that he had then noticed that the name of the vessel had been recently painted out, but that the last two letters were distinctly visible. And these letters were LE, not AN. "The scoundrel said she was a new ship!" cried the commander. "'Bout ship!" "We can't possibly catch her up, sir," said the first lieutenant, drily. "I don't know that, Mr. Brabazon," answered Neville. "There has been hardly any wind, and we know the course she was steering. She could not expect to see us again; so in all probability she has kept to that course. By making allowances, we may intercept her; I am convinced of it." The hope of again encountering The Black Swan, faint as it was, caused quite a commotion in our little world. The day passed without our sighting a single sail; but when the morning dawned Lieutenant Brabazon was forced to own that the commander's judgment had proved better than his own. By the greatest good luck we had hit upon the right track. There, right in front of us, was the American schooner, her sails lazily flapping against her masts. "Full speed ahead, and stand by!" shouted the captain down the engine-room tube. "Signal to her to heave to, and if she does not obey, fire a shot right across her bows, Mr. O'Riley," continued the commander. "Mr. Brabazon, you take a boat and thirty men well armed. Board her, and have her hatches off at once. You'll stand no nonsense, I know." "All right, sir," cried the lieutenant, an active, somewhat imperious officer, of the Civis Romanus sum type. He had been unusually disgusted at his commander's decision to leave The Black Swan without searching her; and he was delighted that a more active policy had been begun. "I say, Brabazon," whispered the commander to him, as he was going over the side, "you know I'm stepping a bit beyond bounds, and I'm just a little anxious. If she turns out to be a slaver, as we suspect, step to the taffrail and wave your handkerchief, will you?" "I will, sir; I'm certain it will be all right," cheerfully responded the first lieutenant. A tall, slim, youngish man, in white linen, received the British officer as he set foot on the deck of The Black Swan. "I am at present in command of this craft, sir," said the young American. "The skipper is not fit just at present. We had a visit from you two days ago, I think. Can I do anything for you?" "Yes; I want you to take off your hatches," said the lieutenant, sharply. "Well, sir," began the Yankee, "I guess your demand is beyond your treaty powers." "I know all about that. I must have the hatches off." "And you are detaining me and overhauling my cargo on no grounds whatever--" "Will you do it at once?" broke in the British officer. "I repeat--ON NO GROUNDS WHATEVER; will cause an in--ter--na--tional difficulty, and may bring re--markably unpleasant con--sequences to your captain. Now--" "Off with your hatches!" cried the lieutenant. "Sir!" "If you don't, by George, I will!" "You know clearly what you're doing, sir?" "I do." "And you know the risk you run?" "I do. No more palaver. Off with them at once, or I'll break them open." Further resistance was useless. The thing was done; and the moment the first hatch was raised the sickening effluvium that issued from the hold proclaimed the truth. Nearly three hundred slaves were packed between-decks, many of the poor creatures standing so close that they could not lie down. With a look of speechless contempt at the young mate of the schooner, the lieutenant walked to the side of the ship and waved his handkerchief. That instant a loud British cheer rang over the water, given by the blue-jackets, who could be seen clustering in the rigging like bees. "I told our skipper judgment would overtake us," said the Yankee. "Say, mister," he added, in another tone, "seeing that the game's up, suppose we have a glass of iced champagne downstairs?" The lieutenant hesitated. To drink with the mate of a slaver! But--iced champagne! Slowly he moved toward the companionway. "I don't mind if I do," he said, at length; "and you may as well bring up your papers with the drinks, for I shall carry them on board the Petrel. Of course you understand that you are my prize." And having set a guard at the hatchways, the lieutenant descended the cabin stairs. The iced champagne was duly forthcoming, and under its genial influence Lieutenant Brabazon began to feel something like pity for the young mate who had been so early seduced into the paths of crime. Probably he had a mother or a sweetheart somewhere in the States who imagined that he was already on his way home, whereas now his character was ruined, even if he escaped a long term of imprisonment. This feeling was strengthened as he saw that his companion was gazing mournfully at his glass without speaking a word. At length the young man lifted his head. "Say, mister, what'll they do to me, do you think?" "I can't tell. Of course you know that what you have been engaged in is a kind of piracy?" "No!" "I believe so. Cargo and crew are confiscated, of course. What they will do with you I can't tell." "They won't hang me, will they?" "Probably not," said the lieutenant; "but let this be a warning to you. You see what it is to wander off the straight course and hanker after forbidden gains. Lead an honest life in future, when you are released from custody. Avoid vicious companions--But what's this?" he cried, as his eye fell on an empty scabbard hanging on the wall. It looked very like a United States service sword scabbard, and immediately the thought darted through his mind that this hypocritical young Yankee (who had been pretending to wipe away a tear as he listened to the lieutenant's good advice) had been doing something worse, or at least more heavily punished, than running cargoes of slaves. The British officer looked round the cabin. A United States navy cap was lying on a plush-covered bench. "Ah! you've been having a brush with an American man-of-war!" cried Lieutenant Brabazon. "You will have to tell my superior officer how you came into possession of these articles. I most place you under arrest!" And, bitterly regretting that he had sat down to table with the fellow, the British officer rushed on deck. "Quartermaster," he cried, "bring up a guard of four men, and take this man," pointing to the Yankee, who had followed him on deck, "to the Petrel. If he tries to escape, shoot him at once!" The quartermaster advanced to seize the prisoner; but before he reached him he involuntarily stopped short. A roar of laughter sounded in his ears. The American mate and his companions were shrieking and staggering about the deck; even the crew of the slaver were, every man Jack of them, grinning from ear to ear. The lieutenant was dumfounded. "Excuse me, sir; but the joke was too good," said the Yankee, coming forward and holding out his hand. "I am the first lieutenant of the United States war-ship Georgia, in command of a prize crew on board this vessel, taking her to ---- to have her condemned. We seized her yesterday. Hearing that you had been on a visit to her the day before, and had gone away without doing anything, I couldn't resist the temptation of taking you in. Hope you don't bear malice? Let's finish that magnum of champagne." It was evidently the best thing to be done; but the lieutenant was not a first-rate companion on that occasion. "Give my respects to your commander," called out the United States officer, as his guest went down into his boat, "and advise him from me not to be so jolly particular another time. And I'll try to take your kind advice and sail a straight course in future!" he cried, as her Majesty's boat shot away for the last time from the side of The Black Swan. MELISSA'S TOUR BY GRANT ALLEN Lucy looked across the table at me with a face of blank horror. "O Vernon," she cried, "what are we EVER to do? And an American at that! This is just TOO ghastly!" It's a habit of Lucy's, I may remark, to talk italics. I laid down my coffee-cup, and glanced back at her in surprise. "Why, what's up?" I exclaimed, scanning the envelope close. "A letter from Oxford, surely. Mrs. Wade, of Christchurch--I thought I knew the hand. And SHE's not an American." "Well, look for yourself!" Lucy cried, and tossed the note to me, pouting. I took it, and read. I'm aware that I have the misfortune to be only a man, but it really didn't strike me as quite so terrible. "DEAR MRS. HANCOCK: George has just heard that your husband and you are going for a trip to New York this summer. COULD you manage to do us a VERY GREAT kindness? I hope you won't mind it. We have an American friend--a Miss Easterbrook, of Kansas City, niece of Professor Asa P. Easterbrook, the well-known Yale geologist--who very much wishes to find an escort across the Atlantic. If you would be so good as to take charge of her, and deliver her safely to Dr. Horace Easterbrook, of Hoboken, on your arrival in the States, you would do a good turn to her, and at the same time confer an eternal favour on "Yours very truly, "EMILY WADE." Lucy folded her hands in melodramatic despair. "Kansas City!" she exclaimed, with a shudder of horror. "And Asa P. Easterbrook! A geologist, indeed! That horrid Mrs. Wade! She just did it on purpose!" "It seems to me," I put in, regarding the letter close, "she did it merely because she was asked to find a chaperon for the girl; and she wrote the very shortest possible note, in a perfunctory way, to the very first acquaintance she chanced to hear of who was going to America." "Vernon!" my wife exclaimed, with a very decided air, "you men are such simpletons! You credit everybody always with the best and purest motives. But you're utterly wrong. I can see through that woman. The hateful, hateful wretch! She did it to spite me! Oh, my poor, poor boy; my dear, guileless Bernard!" Bernard, I may mention, is our oldest son, aged just twenty-four, and a Cambridge graduate. He's a tutor at King's, and though he's a dear good fellow, and a splendid long-stop, I couldn't myself conscientiously say I regard guilelessness as quite his most marked characteristic. "What are you doing?" I asked, as Lucy sat down with a resolutely determined air at her writing-table in the corner. "Doing!" my wife replied, with some asperity her tone. "Why, answering that hateful, detestable woman!" I glanced over her shoulder, and followed her pen as she wrote: "MY DEAR MRS. WADE: It was INDEED a delight to us to see your neat little handwriting again. NOTHING would give us greater pleasure, I'm sure, than to take charge of your friend, who, I'm confident, we shall find a most charming companion. Bernard will be with us, so she won't feel it dull, I trust. We hope to have a very delightful trip, and your happy thought in providing us with a travelling companion will add, no doubt, to all our enjoyment--especially Bernard's. We both join in very kindest regards to Mr. Wade and yourself, and I am ever "Yours most cordially, "LUCY B. HANCOCK." My wife fastened down the envelope with a very crushing air. "There! THAT ought to do for her," she said, glancing up at me triumphantly. "I should think she could see from that, if she's not as blind as an owl, I've observed her atrocious designs upon Bernard, and mean to checkmate them. If, after such a letter, she has the cheek to send us her Yankee girl to chaperon, I shall consider her lost to all sense of shame and all notions of decency. But she won't, of course. She'll withdraw her unobtrusively." And Lucy flung the peccant sheet that had roused all this wrath on to the back of the fireplace with offended dignity. She was wrong, however. By next evening's post a second letter arrived, more discomposing, if possible, to her nerves than the first one. "Mrs. Lucy B. Hancock, London. "DEAR MADAM: I learn from my friend, Mrs. Wade, of Oxford College, that you are going to be kind enough to take charge of me across the ocean. I thank you for your courtesy, and will gladly accept your friendly offer. If you will let me know by what steamer you start, I will register my passage right away in Liverpool. Also, if you will be good enough to tell me from what depot you leave London, and by what train, I will go along with you in the cars. I'm unused to travel alone. "Respectfully, "MELISSA P. EASTERBROOK." Lucy gazed at it in despair. "A creature like that!" she cried, all horror-struck. "Oh, my poor, dear Bernard! 'The ocean,' she says! 'Go along with you in the cars!' 'Melissa P. Easterbrook!'" "Perhaps," I said, tentatively, "she may be better than her name. And at any rate, Bernard's not BOUND to marry her!" Lucy darted at me profound volumes of mute feminine contempt. "The girl's pretty," she said, at last, after a long, deep pause, during which I had been made to realise to the full my own utter moral and intellectual nothingness. "You may be sure she's pretty. Mrs. Wade wouldn't have foisted her upon us if she wasn't pretty, but unspeakable. It's a vile plot on her part to destroy my peace of mind. You won't believe it, Vernon; but I KNOW that woman. And what does the girl mean by signing herself 'Respectfully,' I wonder?" "It's the American way," I ventured gently to interpose. "So I gather," my wife answered, with a profound accent of contempt. To her anything that isn't done in the purest English way stands ipso facto self-condemned immediately. A day or two later a second letter arrived from Miss Easterbrook, in reply to one of Lucy's suggesting a rendezvous. I confess it drew up in my mind a somewhat painful picture. I began to believe my wife's fears were in some ways well grounded. "Mrs. Lucy B. Hancock, London [as before]. "DEAR MADAM: I thank you for yours, and will meet you on the day and hour you mention at St. Pancras depot. You will know me when you see me, because I shall wear a dove-coloured dress, with bonnet to match, and a pair of gray spectacles. "Respectfully, "MELISSA P. EASTERBROOK." I laid it down and sighed. "A New England schoolmarm!" I exclaimed, with a groan. "It sounds rather terrible. A dove-coloured dress and a pair of gray spectacles! I fancy I can picture her to myself: a tall and bony person of a certain age, with corkscrew curls, who reads improving books and has views of her own about the fulfilment of prophecy." But as my spirits went down so Lucy's went up, like the old man and woman in the cottage weather-glass. "That looks more promising," she said. "The spectacles are good. Perhaps, after all, dear Bernard may escape. I don't think he's at all the sort of person to be taken with a dove-coloured bonnet." For some days after Bernard came home from Cambridge we chaffed a good deal among ourselves about Miss Melissa Easterbrook. Bernard took quite my view about the spectacles and dress. He even drew on an envelope a fancy portrait of Miss Easterbrook, as he said himself, "from documentary evidence." It represented a typical schoolmarm of the most virulent order, and was calculated to strike terror into the receptive mind of ingenuous youth on simple inspection. At last the day came when we were to go to Liverpool. We arrived at St. Pancras in very good time, and looked about on the platform for a tall and hard-faced person of transatlantic aspect, arrayed in a dove-coloured dress and a pair of gray spectacles. But we looked in vain; nobody about seemed to answer to the description. At last Bernard turned to my wife with a curious smile. "I think I've spotted her, mother," he said, waving his hand vaguely to the right. "That lady over yonder--by the door of the refreshment-room. Don't you see? That must be Melissa." For we knew her only as Melissa already among ourselves; it had been raised to the mild rank of a family witticism. I looked in the direction he suggested, and paused for certainty. There, irresolute by the door, and gazing about her timidly with inquiring eyes, stood the prettiest, tiniest, most shrinking little Western girl you ever saw in your life--attired, as she said, in a dove-coloured dress, with bonnet to match, and a pair of gray spectacles. But oh, what a dove-coloured dress! Walter Crane might have designed it--one of those perfect travelling costumes of which the America girl seems to possess a monopoly; and the spectacles--well, the spectacles, though undoubtedly real, added just a touch of piquancy to an otherwise almost painfully timid and retiring little figure. The moment I set eyes on Melissa Easterbrook, I will candidly admit, I was her captive at once; and even Lucy, as she looked at her, relaxed her face involuntarily into a sympathetic smile. As a rule, Lucy might pose as a perfect model of the British matron in her ampler and maturer years--"calmly terrible," as an American observer once described the genus; but at sight of Melissa she melted without a struggle. "Poor wee little thing, how pretty she is!" she exclaimed, with a start. You will readily admit that was a great deal from Lucy. Melissa came forward tentatively, a dainty blush half rising on her rather pale and delicate little cheek. "Mrs. Hancock?" she said, in an inquiring tone, with just the faintest suspicion of an American accent in her musical, small voice. Lucy took her hand cordially. "I was sure it was you, ma'am," Melissa went on, with pretty confidence, looking up into her face, "because Mrs. Wade told me you'd be as kind to me as a mother; and the moment I saw you I just said to myself, 'That MUST be Mrs. Hancock; she's so sweetly motherly.' How good of you to burden yourself with a stranger like me! I hope, indeed, I won't be too much trouble." That was the beginning. I may as well say, first as last, we were all of us taken by storm "right away" by Melissa. Lucy herself struck her flag unconditionally before a single shot was fired; and Bernard and I, hard hit at all points, surrendered at discretion. She was the most charming little girl the human mind can conceive. Our cold English language fails, in its roughness, to describe her. She was petite, mignonne, graceful, fairy-like, yet with a touch of Yankee quaintness and a delicious espieglerie that made her absolutely unique in my experience of women. We had utterly lost our hearts to her before ever we reached Liverpool; and, strange to say, I believe the one of us whose heart was most completely gone was, if only you'll believe it, that calmly terrible Lucy. Melissa's most winning characteristic, however, as it seemed to me, was her perfect frankness. As we whirled along on our way across England, she told us everything about herself, her family, her friends, her neighbours, and the population of Kansas City in general. Not obtrusively or egotistically,--of egotism Melissa would be wholly incapable,--but in a certain timid, confiding, half-childlike way, as of the lost little girl, that was absolutely captivating. "Oh no, ma'am," she said, in answer to one of Lucy's earliest questions; "I didn't come over alone. I think I'd be afraid to. I came with a whole squad of us who were doing Europe. A prominent lady in Kansas City took charge of the square lot. And I got as far as Rome with them, through Germany and Switzerland, and then my money wouldn't run to it any further; so I had to go back. Travelling comes high in Europe, what with hotels and fees and having to pay to get your baggage checked. And that's how I came to want an escort." Bernard smiled good-naturedly. "Then you had only a fixed sum," he asked, "to make your European tour with?" "That's so, sir," Melissa answered, looking up at him quizzically through those pretty gray spectacles. "I'd put away quite a little sum of my own to make this trip upon. It was my only chance of seeing Europe and improving myself a piece. I knew when I started I couldn't go all the round trip with the rest of my party; but I thought I'd set out with them, anyway, and go ahead as long as my funds held out; and then, when I was through, I'd turn about and come home again." "But you put away the money yourself?" Lucy asked, with a little start of admiring surprise. "Yes, ma'am," Melissa answered, sagely. "I know it. I saved it." "From your allowance?" Lucy suggested, from the restricted horizon of her English point of view. Melissa laughed a merry little laugh of amusement. "Oh no," she said; "from my salary." "From your salary!" Bernard put in, looking down at her with an inquiring glance. "Yes, sir; that's it," Melissa answered, all unabashed. "You see, for four years I was a clerk in the post-office." She pronounced it "churk," but that's a detail. "Oh, indeed!" Bernard echoed. He was burning to know how, I could see, but politeness forbade him to press Melissa on so delicate a point any further. Melissa, however, herself supplied at once the missing information. "My father was postmaster in our city," she said, simply, "under the last administration,--President Blanco's, you know,--and he made me one of his clerks, of course, when he'd gotten the place; and as long as the fun went on, I saved all my salary for a tour in Europe." "And at the end of four years?" Lucy said. "Our party went out," Melissa put in, confidentially. "So, when the trouble began, my father was dismissed, and I had just enough left to take me as far as Rome, as I told you." I was obliged to explain parenthetically, to allay Lucy's wonderment, that in America the whole personnel of every local government office changes almost completely with each incoming President. "That's so, sir," Melissa assented, with a wise little nod. "And as I didn't think it likely our folks would get in again in a hurry,--the country's had enough of us,--I just thought I'd make the best of my money when I'd got it." "And you used it all up in giving yourself a holiday in Europe?" Lucy exclaimed, half reproachfully. To her economic British mind such an expenditure of capital seemed horribly wasteful. "Yes, ma'am," Melissa answered, all unconscious of the faint disapproval implied in Lucy's tone. "You see, I'd never been anywhere much away from Kansas City before; and I thought this was a special opportunity to go abroad and visit the picture-galleries and cathedrals of Europe, and enlarge my mind and get a little culture. To us a glimpse of Europe's an intellectual necessary." "Oh, then you regarded your visit as largely educational?" Bernard put in, with increasing interest. Though he's a fellow and tutor of King's, I will readily admit that Bernard's personal tastes lie rather in the direction of rowing and foot-ball than of general culture; but still, the American girl's point of view decidedly attracted him by its novelty in a woman. "That's so, sir," Melissa answered once more, in her accustomed affirmative. "I took it as a sort of university trip. I graduated in Europe. In America, of course, wherever you go, all you can see's everywhere just the same--purely new and American; the language, the manners, the type, don't vary. In Europe, you cross a frontier or a ribbon of sea, and everything's different. Now, on this trip of ours, we went first to Chester to glimpse a typical old English town--those rows, oh, how lovely! And then to Leamington for Warwick Castle and Kenilworth. Kenilworth's just glorious--isn't it?--with its mouldering red walls and its dark-green ivy, and the ghost of Amy Robsart walking up and down upon the close-shaven English grass-plots." "I've heard it's very beautiful," Bernard admitted, gravely. "What! you live so close, and you've never BEEN there!" Melissa exclaimed, in frank surprise. Bernard allowed with a smile he had been so culpably negligent. "And Stratford-on-Avon, too!" Melissa went on, enthusiastically, her black eyes beaming. "Isn't Stratford just charming! I don't care for the interminable Shakespeare nuisance, you know; that's all too new and made up; we could raise a Shakespeare house like that in Kansas City any day. But the church and the elms and the swans and the river! I made such a sweet little sketch of them all, so soft and peaceful. At least, the place itself was as sweet as a corner of heaven, and I tried as well as I could in my way to sketch it." "I suppose it IS very pretty," Bernard replied, in a meditative tone. Melissa started visibly. "What! have you never been there, either?" she exclaimed, taken aback. "Well, that IS odd, now! You live in England, and have never run over to Stratford-on-Avon! Why, you do surprise me! But there! I suppose you English live in the midst of culture, as it were, and can get to it all right away at any time; so perhaps you don't think quite as much of it as we, who have to save up our money, perhaps for years, to get, for once in our lives, just a single passing glimpse of it. You live at Cambridge, you see; you must be steeped in culture right down to the finger-ends." Bernard modestly responded, twirling his manly moustache, that the river and the running-ground, he feared, were more in his way than art or architecture. "And where else did you go besides England?" Lucy asked, really interested. "Well, ma'am, from London we went across by Ostend to Bruges, where I studied the Memlings, and made a few little copies from them," Melissa answered, with her sunny smile. "It's such a quaint old place--Bruges; life seems to flow as stagnant as its own canals. Have you ever been there?" "Oh, charming!" Lucy answered; "most delightful and quiet. But--er--who are the Memlings? I don't quite recollect them." Melissa gazed at her open-eyed. "The Memlings?" she said, slowly; "why, you've just missed the best thing at Bruges if you haven't seen them. They've such a naive charm of their own, so innocent and sympathetic. They're in the Hopital de St. Jean, you know, where Memling put them. And it's so delightful to see great pictures like those (though they're tiny little things to look at) in their native surroundings, exactly as they were first painted--the 'Chasse de Ste. Ursule,' and all those other lovely things, so infantile in their simplicity, and yet so exquisitely graceful and pure and beautiful. I don't know as I saw anything in Europe to equal them for pathos in their own way--except, of course, the Fra Angelicos at San Marco in Florence." "I don't think I've seen them," Lucy murmured, with an uncomfortable air. I could see it was just dawning upon her, in spite of her patronising, that this Yankee girl, with her imperfect command of the English tongue, knew a vast deal more about some things worth notice than she herself did. "And where did you go then, dear?" "Oh, from Bruges we went on to Ghent," Melissa answered, leaning back, and looking as pretty as a picture herself in her sweet little travelling dress, "to see the great Van Eyck, the 'Adoration of the Lamb,' you know--that magnificent panel picture. And then we went to Brussels, where we had Dierick Bouts and all the later Flemings; and to Antwerp for Rubens and Vandyck and Quentin Matsys; and the Hague, after that, for Rembrandt and Paul Potter; and Amsterdam, in the end, for Van der Heist and Gerard Dow and the late Dutch painters. So, you see, we had quite an artistic tour; we followed up the development of Netherlandish art from beginning to end in historical order. It was just delightful." "I went to Antwerp once," Bernard put in, somewhat sheepishly, still twirling his moustache; "but it was on my way to Switzerland, and I didn't see much, as far as I can recollect, except the cathedral and the quay and the hotel I was stopping at." "Ah, that's all very well for YOU," Melissa answered, with a rather envious air. "You can see these things any day. But for us the chance comes only once in a lifetime, and we must make the most of it." Well, in such converse as this we reached Liverpool in due time, and went next morning on board our steamer. We had a lovely passage out, and, all the way, the more we saw of Melissa the more we liked her. To be sure, Lucy received a terrible shock the third day out, when she asked Melissa what she meant to do when she returned to Kansas City. "You won't go into the post-office again, I suppose, dear?" she said, kindly, for we had got by that time on most friendly terms with our little Melissa. "I guess not," Melissa answered. "No such luck any more. I'll have to go back again to the store as usual." "The store!" Lucy repeated, bewildered. "I--I don't quite understand you." "Well, the shop, I presume you'd call it," Melissa answered, smiling. "My father's gotten a book-store in Kansas City, and before I went into the post-office I helped him at the counter; in fact, I was his saleswoman." "I assure you, Vernon," Lucy remarked, in our berth that night, "if an Englishwoman had said it to me, I'd have been obliged to apologise to her for having forced her to confess it, and I don't know what way I should ever have looked to hide my face while she was talking about it. But with Melissa it's all so different somehow. She spoke as if it was the most natural thing on earth for her father to keep a shop, and she didn't seem the least little bit in the world ashamed of it, either." "Why should she?" I answered, with my masculine bluntness. But that was perhaps a trifle too advanced for Lucy. Melissa was exercising a widening influence on my wife's point of view with astonishing rapidity; but still, a perfect lady must always draw a line somewhere. All the way across, indeed, Melissa's lively talk was a constant delight and pleasure to every one of us. She was so taking,--that girl,--so confidential, so friendly. We really loved her. Then her quaint little Americanisms were as pretty as herself--not only her "Yes, sirs," and her "No, ma'ams," her "I guess" and "That's so," but her fresh Western ideas, and her infinite play of fancy in the queen's English. She turned it as a potter turns his clay. In Britain our mother tongue has crystallised long since into set forms and phrases. In America it has the plasticity of youth; it is fertile in novelty--nay, even in surprises. And Melissa knew how to twist it deftly into unexpected quips and incongruous conjunctions. Her talk ran on like a limpid brook, with a musical ripple playing ever on the surface. As for Bernard, he helped her about the ship like a brother, as she moved lightly around, with her sylph-like little form, among the ropes and capstans. Melissa liked to be helped, she said; she didn't believe one bit in woman's rights; no, indeed; she was a great deal too fond of being taken care of for that. And who wouldn't take care of her,--that delicate little thing,--like some choice small masterpiece of cunning workmanship? Why, she almost looked as if she were made of Venetian glass, and a fall on deck would shatter her into a thousand fragments. And her talk all the way was of the joys of Europe--the castles and abbeys she was leaving behind, the pictures and statues she had seen and admired, the pictures and statues she had left unvisited. "Somebody told me in Paris," she said to me one day, as she hung on my arm on deck, and looked up into my face confidingly with that childlike smile of hers, "the only happy time in an American woman's life is the period when she's just got over the first poignant regret at having left Europe, and hasn't just reached the point when she makes up her mind that, come what will, she really MUST go back again. And I thought, for my part, then my happiness was fairly spoiled for life, for I shall never be able again to afford the journey." "Melissa, my child," I said, looking down at those ripe, rich lips, "in this world one never knows what may turn up next. I've observed on my way down the path of life that, when fruit hangs rosy red on the tree by the wall, some passer-by or other is pretty sure in the end to pluck it." But that was too much for Melissa's American modesty. She looked down and blushed like a rose herself; but she answered me nothing. A night or two before we reached New York I was standing in the gloom, half hidden by a boat on the davits amidships, enjoying my vespertinal cigar in the cool of evening; and between the puffs I caught from time to time stray snatches of a conversation going on softly in the twilight between Bernard and Melissa. I had noticed of late, indeed, that Bernard and Melissa walked much on deck in the evening together; but this particular evening they walked long and late, and their conversation seemed to me (if I might judge by fragments) particularly confidential. The bits of it I caught were mostly, it is true, on Melissa's part (when Bernard said anything he said it lower). She was talking enthusiastically of Venice, Florence, Pisa, Rome, with occasional flying excursions into Switzerland and the Tyrol. Once, as she passed, I heard something murmured low about Botticelli's "Primavera"; when next she went by it was the Alps from Murren; a third time, again, it was the mosaics at St. Mark's, and Titian's "Assumption," and the doge's palace. What so innocent as art, in the moonlight, on the ocean? At last Bernard paused just opposite where I stood (for they didn't perceive me), and said very earnestly, "Look here, Melissa,"--he had called her Melissa almost from the first moment, and she to prefer it, it seemed so natural,--"look here, Melissa. Do you know, when you talk about things like that, you make me feel so dreadfully ashamed of myself." "Why so, Mr. Hancock?" Melissa asked, innocently. "Well, when I think what opportunities I've had, and how little I've used them," Bernard exclaimed, with vehemence, "and then reflect how few you've got, and how splendidly you've made the best of them, I just blush, I tell you, Melissa, for my own laziness." "Perhaps," Melissa interposed, with a grave little air, "if one had always been brought up among it all, one wouldn't think quite so much of it. It's the novelty of antiquity that makes it so charming to people from my country. I suppose it seems quite natural, now, to you that your parish church should be six hundred years old, and have tombs in the chancel, with Elizabethan ruffs, or its floor inlaid with Plantagenet brasses. To us, all that seems mysterious, and in a certain sort of way one might almost say magical. Nobody can love Europe quite so well, I'm sure, who has lived in it from a child. YOU grew up to many things that burst fresh upon us at last with all the intense delight of a new sensation." They stood still as they spoke, and looked hard at one another. There was a minute's pause. Then Bernard began again. "Melissa," he faltered out, in a rather tremulous voice, "are you sorry to go home again?" "I just hate it!" Melissa answered, with a vehement burst. Then she added, after a second, "But I've enjoyed the voyage." "You'd like to live in Europe?" Bernard asked. "I should love it!" Melissa replied. "I'm fond of my folks, of course, and I should be sorry to leave them; but I just love Europe. I shall never go again, though. I shall come right away back to Kansas City now, and keep store for father for the rest of my natural existence." "It seems hard," Bernard went on, musing, "that anybody like you, Melissa, with such a natural love of art and of all beautiful things,--anybody who can draw such sweet dreams of delight as those heads you showed us after Filippo Lippi, anybody who can appreciate Florence and Venice and Rome as you do,--should have to live all her life in a far Western town, and meet with so little sympathy as you're likely to find there." "That's the rub," Melissa replied, looking up into his face with such a confiding look. (If any pretty girl had looked up at ME like that, I should have known what to do with her; but Bernard was twenty-four, and young men are modest.) "That's the rub, Mr. Hancock. I like--well, European society so very much better. Our men are nice enough in their own way, don't you know; but they somehow lack polish--at least, out West, I mean, in Kansas City. Europeans may n't be very much better when you get right at them, perhaps; but on the outside, anyway to ME, they're more attractive somehow." There was another long pause, during which I felt as guilty as ever eavesdropper before me. Yet I was glued to the spot. I could hardly escape. At last Bernard spoke again. "I should like to have gone round with you on your tour, Melissa," he said. "I don't know Italy; I don't suppose by myself I could even appreciate it. But if YOU were by my side, you'd have taught me what it all meant; and then I think I might perhaps understand it." Melissa drew a deep breath. "I wish I could take it all over again," she answered, half sighing. "And I didn't see Naples, either. That was a great disappointment. I should like to have seen Naples, I must confess, so as to know I could at least in the end die happy." "Why do you go back?" Bernard asked, suddenly, with a bounce, looking down at that wee hand that trembled upon the taffrail. "Because I can't help myself," Melissa answered, in a quivering voice. "I should like--I should like to live always in England." "Have you any special preference for any particular town?" Bernard asked, moving closer to her--though, to be sure, he was very, very near already. "N--no; n--none in particular," Melissa stammered out, faintly, half sidling away from him. "Not Cambridge, for example?" Bernard asked, with a deep gulp and an audible effort. I felt it would be unpardonable for me to hear any more. I had heard already many things not intended for me. I sneaked off, unperceived, and left those two alone to complete that conversation. Half an hour later--it was a calm, moonlight night--Bernard rushed down eagerly into the saloon to find us. "Father and mother," he said, with a burst, "I want you up on deck for just ten minutes. There's something up there I should like so much to show you." "Not whales?" I asked, hypocritically, suppressing a smile. "No, not whales," he replied; "something much more interesting." We followed him blindly, Lucy much in doubt what the thing might be, and I much in wonder, after Mrs. Wade's letter, how Lucy might take it. At the top of the companion--ladder Melissa stood waiting for us, demure, but subdued, with a still timider look than ever upon that sweet, shrinking, small face of hers. Her heart beat hard, I could see by the movement of her bodice, and her breath came and went; but she stood there like a dove, in her dove-coloured travelling dress. "Mother," Bernard began, "Melissa's obliged to come back to America, don't you know, without having ever seen Naples. It seems a horrid shame she should miss seeing it. She hadn't money enough left, you recollect, to take her there." Lucy gazed at him, unsuspicious. "It does a pity," she answered, sympathetically. "She'd enjoy it so much. I'm sorry she hasn't been able to carry out all her programme." "And, mother," Bernard went on, his eyes fixed hard on hers, "how awfully she'd be thrown away on Kansas City! I can't bear to think of her going back to 'keep store' there." "For my part, I think it positively wicked," Lucy answered, with a smile, "and I can't think what--well, people in England are about, to allow her to do it." I opened my eyes wide. Did Lucy know what she was saying? Or had Melissa, then, fascinated her--the arch little witch!--as she had fascinated the rest of us? But Bernard, emboldened by this excellent opening, took Melissa by the hand as if in due form to present her. "Mother," he said, tenderly, leading the wee thing forward, "and father, too, THIS is what I wanted to show you--the girl I'm engaged to!" I paused and trembled. I waited for the thunderbolt. But no thunderbolt fell. On the contrary, Lucy stepped forward, and, under cover of the mast, caught Melissa in her arms and kissed her twice over. "My dear child," she cried, pressing her hard, "my dear little daughter, I don't know which of you two I ought most to congratulate." "But I do," Bernard murmured low. And, his father though I am, I murmured to myself, "And so do I, also." "Then you're not ashamed of me, mother dear," Melissa whispered, burying her dainty little bead on Lucy's shoulder, "because I kept store in Kansas City?" Lucy rose above herself in the excitement of the moment. "My darling wee daughter," she answered, kissing her tenderly again, "it's Kansas City alone that ought to be ashamed of itself for putting YOU to keep store--such a sweet little gem as you are!" VANDERDECKEN'S MESSAGE HOME; OR, THE TENACITY OF NATURAL AFFECTION (ANONYMOUS) Our ship, after touching at the Cape, went out again, and, soon losing sight of the Table Mountain, began to be assailed by the impetuous attacks of the sea, which is well known to be more formidable there than in most parts of the known ocean. The day had grown dull and hazy, and the breeze, which had formerly blown fresh, now sometimes subsided almost entirely, and then, recovering its strength for a short time, and changing its direction, blew with temporary violence, and died away again, as if exercising a melancholy caprice. A heavy swell began to come from the southeast. Our sails flapped against the masts, and the ship rolled from side to side as heavily as if she had been water-logged. There was so little wind that she would not steer. At 2 P.M. we had a squall, accompanied by thunder and rain. The seamen, growing restless, looked anxiously ahead. They said we would have a dirty night of it, and that it would not be worth while to turn into their hammocks. As the second mate was describing a gale he had encountered off Cape Race, Newfoundland, we were suddenly taken all aback, and the blast came upon us furiously. We continued to scud under a double-reefed mainsail and foretopsail till dusk; but, as the sea ran high, the captain thought it safest to bring her to. The watch on deck consisted of four men, one of whom was appointed to keep a lookout ahead, for the weather was so hazy that we could not see two cables' length from the bows. This man, whose name was Tom Willis, went frequently to the bows as if to observe something; and when the others called to him, inquiring what he was looking at, he would give no definite answer. They therefore went also to the bows, and appeared startled, and at first said nothing. But presently one of them cried, "William, go call the watch." The seamen, having been asleep in their hammocks, murmured at this unseasonable summons, and called to know how it looked upon deck. To which Tom Willis replied, "Come up and see. What we are minding is not on deck, but ahead." On hearing this they ran up without putting on their jackets, and when they came to the bows there was a whispering. One of them asked, "Where is she? I do not see her." To which another replied, "The last flash of lightning showed there was not a reef in one of her sails; but we, who know her history, know that all her canvas will never carry her into port." By this time the talking of the seamen had brought some of the passengers on deck. They could see nothing, however, for the ship was surrounded by thick darkness and by the noise of the dashing waters, and the seamen evaded the questions that were put to them. At this juncture the chaplain came on deck. He was a man of grave and modest demeanor, and was much liked among the seamen, who called him Gentle George. He overheard one of the men asking another if he had ever seen the Flying Dutchman before, and if he knew the story about her. To which the other replied, "I have heard of her beating about in these seas. What is the reason she never reaches port?" The first speaker replied, "They give different reasons for it, but my story is this: She was an Amsterdam vessel, and sailed from that port seventy years ago. Her master's name was Vanderdecken. He was a staunch seaman, and would have his own way in spite of the devil. For all that, never a sailor under him had reason to complain, though how it is on board with them now nobody knows. The story is this, that, in doubling the Cape, they were a long day trying to weather the Table Bay, which we saw this morning. However, the wind headed them, and went against then more and more, and Vanderdecken walked the deck, swearing at the wind. Just after sunset a vessel spoke him, asking if he did not mean to go into the bay that night. Vanderdecken replied, 'May I be eternally d--d if I do, though I should beat about here till the day of judgment!' And, to be sure, Vanderdecken never did go into that bay; for it is believed that he continues to beat about in these seas still, and will do so long enough. This vessel is never seen but with foul weather along with her." To which another replied, "We must keep clear of her. They say that her captain mans his jolly-boat when a vessel comes in sight, and tries hard to get alongside, to put letters on board, but no good comes to them who have communication with him." Tom Willis said, "There is such a sea between us at present as should keep us safe from such visits." To which the other answered, "We cannot trust to that, if Vanderdecken sends out his men." Some of this conversation having been overheard by the passengers, there was a commotion among them. In the meantime the noise of the waves against the vessel could scarcely be distinguished from the sounds of the distant thunder. The wind had extinguished the light in the binnacle, where the compass was, and no one could tell which way the ship's head lay. The passengers were afraid to ask questions, lest they should augment the secret sensation of fear which chilled every heart, or learn any more than they already knew. For while they attributed their agitation of mind to the state of the weather, it was sufficiently perceptible that their alarms also arose from a cause which they did not acknowledge. The lamp at the binnacle being relighted, they perceived that the ship lay closer to the wind than she had hitherto done, and the spirits of the passengers were somewhat revived. Nevertheless, neither the tempestuous state of the atmosphere nor the thunder had ceased, and soon a vivid flash of lightning showed the waves tumbling around us, and, in the distance, the Flying Dutchman scudding furiously before the wind under a press of canvas. The sight was but momentary, but it was sufficient to remove all doubt from the minds of the passengers. One of the men cried aloud, "There she goes, topgallants and all." The chaplain had brought up his prayer-book, in order that he might draw from thence something to fortify and tranquillise the minds of the rest. Therefore, taking his seat near the binnacle, so that the light shone upon the white leaves of the book, he, in a solemn tone, read out the service for those distressed at sea. The sailors stood round with folded arms, and looked as if they thought it would be of little use. But this served to occupy the attention of those on deck for a while. In the meantime the flashes of lightning, becoming less vivid, showed nothing else, far or near, but the billows weltering round the vessel. The sailors seemed to think that they had not yet seen the worst, but confined their remarks and prognostications to their own circle. At this time the captain, who had hitherto remained in his berth, came on deck, and, with a gay and unconcerned air, inquired what was the cause of the general dread. He said he thought they had already seen the worst of the weather, and wondered that his men had raised such a hubbub about a capful of wind. Mention being made of the Flying Dutchman, the captain laughed. He said he "would like very much to see any vessel carrying topgallantsails in such a night, for it would be a sight worth looking at." The chaplain, taking him by one of the buttons of his coat, drew him aside, and appeared to enter into serious conversation with him. While they were talking together, the captain was heard to say, "Let us look to our own ship, and not mind such things;" and, accordingly, he sent a man aloft to see if all was right about the foretopsail-yard, which was chafing the mast with a loud noise. It was Tom Willis who went up; and when he came down he said that all was tight, and that he hoped it would soon get clearer; and that they would see no more of what they were most afraid of. The captain and first mate were heard laughing loudly together, while the chaplain observed that it would be better to repress such unseasonable gaiety. The second mate, a native of Scotland, each other without offering to do anything. The boat had come very near the chains, when Tom Willis called out, "What do you want? or what devil has blown you here in such weather?" A piercing voice from the boat replied, in English, "We want to speak with your captain." The captain took no notice of this, and, Vanderdecken's boat having come close alongside, one of the men came upon deck, and appeared like a fatigued and weather-beaten seaman holding some letters in his hand. Our sailors all drew back. The chaplain, however, looking steadfastly upon him, went forward a few steps, and asked, "What is the purpose of this visit?" The stranger replied, "We have long been kept here by foul weather, and Vanderdecken wishes to send these letters to his friends in Europe." Our captain now came forward, and said, as firmly as he could, "I wish Vanderdecken would put his letters on board of any other vessel rather than mine." The stranger replied, "We have tried many a ship, but most of them refuse our letters." Upon which Tom Willis muttered, "It will be best for us if we do the same, for they say there is sometimes a sinking weight in your paper." The stranger took no notice of this, but asked where we were from. On being told that we were from Portsmouth, he said, as if with strong feeling, "Would that you had rather been from Amsterdam! Oh, that we saw it again! We must see our friends again." When he uttered these words, the men who were in the boat below wrung their hands, and cried, in a piercing tone, in Dutch, "Oh, that we saw it again! We have been long here beating about; but we must see our friends again." The chaplain asked the stranger, "How long have you been at sea?" He replied, "We have lost our count, for our almanac was blown overboard. Our ship, you see, is there still; so why should you ask how long we have been at sea? For Vanderdecken only wishes to write home and comfort his friends." To which the chaplain replied, "Your letters, I fear, would be of no use in Amsterdam, even if they were delivered; for the persons to whom they are addressed are probably no longer to be found there, except under very ancient green turf in the churchyard." The unwelcome stranger then wrung his hands and appeared to weep, and replied, "It is impossible; we cannot believe you. We have been long driving about here, but country nor relations cannot be so easily forgotten. There is not a raindrop in the air but feels itself kindred to all the rest, and they fall back into the sea to meet with each other again. How then can kindred blood be made to forget where it came from? Even our bodies are part of the ground of Holland; and Vanderdecken says, if he once were to come to Amsterdam, he would rather be changed into a stone post, well fixed into the ground, than leave it again if that were to die elsewhere. But in the meantime we only ask you to take these letters." The chaplain, looking at him with astonishment, said, "This is the insanity of natural affection, which rebels against all measures of time and distance." The stranger continued, "Here is a letter from our second mate to his dear and only remaining friend, his uncle, the merchant who lives in the second house on Stuncken Yacht Quay." He held forth the letter, but no one would approach to take it. Tom Willis raised his voice and said, "One of our men, here, says that he was in Amsterdam last summer, and he knows for certain that the street called Stuncken Yacht Quay was pulled down sixty years ago, and now there is only a large church at that place." The man from the Flying Dutchman said, "It is impossible; we cannot believe you. Here is another letter from myself, in which I have sent a bank-note to my dear sister, to buy some gallant lace to make her a high head-dress." Tom Willis, hearing this, said, "It is most likely that her head now lies under a tombstone, which will outlast all the changes of the fashion. But on what house is your bank-note?" The stranger replied, "On the house of Vanderbrucker & Company." The man of whom Tom Willis had spoken said, "I guess there will now be some discount upon it, for that banking house was gone to destruction forty years ago; and Vanderbrucker was afterward a-missing. But to remember these things is like raking up the bottom of an old canal." The stranger called out, passionately, "It is impossible; we cannot believe it! It is cruel to say such things to people in our condition. There is a letter from our captain himself, to his much-beloved and faithful wife, whom he left at a pleasant summer dwelling on the border of the Haarlemer Mer. She promised to have the house beautifully painted and gilded before he came back, and to get a new set of looking-glasses for the principal chamber, that she might see as many images of Vanderdecken as if she had six husbands at once." The man replied, "There has been time enough for her to have had six husbands since then; but were she alive still, there is no fear that Vanderdecken would ever get home to disturb her." On hearing this the stranger again shed tears, and said if they would not take the letters he would leave them; and, looking around, he offered the parcel to the captain, chaplain, and to the rest of the crew successively, but each drew back as it was offered, and put his hands behind his back. He then laid the letters upon the deck, and placed upon them a piece of iron which was lying near, to prevent them from being blown away. Having done this, he swung himself over the gangway, and went into the boat. We heard the others speak to him, but the rise of a sudden squall prevented us from distinguishing his reply. The boat was seen to quit the ship's side, and in a few moments there were no more traces of her than if she had never been there. The sailors rubbed their eyes as if doubting what they had witnessed; but the parcel still lay upon deck, and proved the reality of all that had passed. Duncan Saunderson, the Scotch mate, asked the captain if he should take them up and put them in the letter-bag. Receiving no reply, he would have lifted them if it had not been for Tom Willis, who pulled him back, saying that nobody should touch them. In the meantime the captain went down to the cabin, and the chaplain, having followed him, found him at his bottle-case pouring out a large dram of brandy. The captain, although somewhat disconcerted, immediately offered the glass to him, saying, "Here, Charters, is what is good in a cold night." The chaplain declined drinking anything, and, the captain having swallowed the bumper, they both returned to the deck, where they found the seamen giving their opinions concerning what should be done with the letters. Tom Willis proposed to pick them up on a harpoon, and throw it overboard. Another speaker said, "I have always heard it asserted that it is neither safe to accept them voluntarily, nor, when they are left, to throw them out of the ship." "Let no one touch them," said the carpenter. "The way to do with the letters from the Flying Dutchman is to case them up on deck, so that, if he sends back for them, they are still there to give him." The carpenter went to fetch his tools. During his absence the ship gave so violent a pitch that the piece of iron slid off the letters, and they were whirled overboard by the wind, like birds of evil omen whirring through the air. There was a cry of joy among the sailors, and they ascribed the favourable change which soon took place in the weather to our having got quit of Vanderdecken. We soon got under way again. The night watch being set, the rest of the crew retired to their berths. 
19899	----	Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net SHORT STORY THE HONOUR OF THE FLAG BY W. CLARK RUSSELL AUTHOR OF "THE WRECK OF THE GROSVENOR," "LIFE OF LORD NELSON," ETC., ETC. G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK LONDON 27 West Twenty-third Street. 24 Bedford Street, Strand. 1895 The Knickerbocker Press, New Rochelle, N.Y. SHORT STORY _Contents_. PAGE =The Honour of the Flag= 3 =Cornered=! 28 =A Midnight Visitor= 41 =Plums from a Sailor's Duff= 57 =The Strange Adventures of a South Seaman= 82 =The Adventures of Three Sailors= 110 =The Strange Tragedy of the "White Star=" 137 =The Ship Seen on the Ice= 163 THE HONOUR OF THE FLAG =_The Honour of the Flag_=. A THAMES TRAGEDY. Manifold are the historic interests of the river Thames. There is scarcely a foot of its mud from London Bridge to Gravesend Reach that is not as "consecrated" as that famous bit of soil which Dr. Samuel Johnson and Mr. Richard Savage knelt and kissed on stepping ashore at Greenwich. One of the historic interests, however, threatens to perish out of the annals. It does not indeed rise to such heroic proportions as you find in the story of the Dutch invasion of the river, or in old Hackluyt's solemn narrative of the sailing of the expedition organised by Bristol's noble worthy, Sebastian Cabot; but it is altogether too good and stirring to merit erasure from the Thames's history books by the neglect or ignorance of the historian. It is absolutely true: I pledge my word for that on the authority of the records of the Whitechapel County Court. In the year 1851 there dwelt on the banks of the river Thames a retired tailor, whom I will call John Sloper, out of regard to the feelings of his posterity, if such there be. This man had for many years carried on a flourishing trade in the east end of London. Having got together as much money as he might suppose would supply his daily needs, he built himself a villa near the pleasant little town of Erith. His house overlooked the water; in front of it sloped a considerable piece of garden ground. Mr. Sloper showed good sense and good taste in building himself a little home on the banks of the Thames. All day long he was able, if he pleased, to entertain himself with the sight of as stirring and striking a marine picture as is anywhere to be witnessed. He could have built himself a house above bridges, where there is no lack of elegance and river beauty of many sorts; but he chose to command a view of the Thames on its commercial side. In his day there was more life in the river than there is now. In our age the great steamer thrusts past and is quickly gone; the tug runs the sailing-ship to the docks or to her mooring buoys, and there is no life in the fabric she drags. In Sloper's time steamers were few; the water of the river teemed with sailing craft of every description; they tacked across from bank to bank as they staggered to their destination against the wind. Sloper, sitting at his open window on a fine day, would be able to count twenty different types of rigs in almost as many minutes. That he took a keen interest in ships, however, I do not assert; that he could have told you the difference between a brig and a schooner is barely imaginable. The board on which Sloper had flourished was not shipboard, it had nothing to do with starboard or larboard; he was a tailor, not a sailor, and the friends who ran down to see him were of his own sort and condition. Sloper was a widower; how many years he had lived with his wife I can't say. She died one Easter Monday, and when Sloper took possession of his new house near Erith he mounted some small cannon on his lawn, and these pieces of artillery he regularly fired every Easter Monday in celebration of what he called the joyfullest anniversary of his life. From which it is to be assumed that Sloper and his wife had not lived together very happily. But though the Whitechapel County Court records have been searched and inquiries made in that part of London where Sloper's shop was situated, it has not been discovered that Mrs. Sloper's end was hastened by her husband's cruelty; that, in short, more happened between them than constant quarrels. Yet it must be said that Sloper behaved as though, in truth (as the old adage would put it), his little figure contained no more than the ninth part of a soul, when he mounted his guns and rudely and noisily triumphed over the dead whom he perhaps might have been afraid of in life, and coarsely emphasised with blasts of gunpowder his annual joy over his release. Now in the east end of London, not above twenty minutes' walk from Sloper's old shop, there lived a sailor, named Joseph Westlake. This man had served when a boy under Collingwood, had smelt gunpowder at Navarino under Codrington, had been concerned in several dashing cutting-out jobs in the West Indies, and was altogether as hearty and worthy a specimen of an old English sailor of the vanished school as you could ask to see. He had been shot in the leg; he carried a great scar over his brow; he was as full of yarns as a piece of ancient ship's biscuit of weevils; he swore with more oaths than a Dutchman; sneered prodigiously at steam; and held the meanest opinion of the then existing race of seamen, who, he said, never could have won the old battles which had been the making of this kingdom, whether under Howe's or gallant Jervis's, or the lion-hearted Nelson's flag. The country had no further need of his services on his being paid off out of his last ship, and he was somewhat at a loss, until happening to be in the neighbourhood of Wapping, and looking in upon an old shipmate who kept a public house, he learnt that a lawyer had been making inquiries for him. He called upon that lawyer, and was astounded to hear that during his absence from England a fortune of £15,000 had been left to him by an aunt in Australia. Joe Westlake on this took a little house in the Stepney district, and endeavoured to settle down as an east-end gent; but his efforts to ride to a shore-going anchor were hopeless. His mind was always roaming. He had followed the sea man and boy for hard upon fifty years, and the cry of his heart was still for water--water without rum!--water fresh or salt! it mattered not what sort of water it was so long as it _was_--water. So as Joe Westlake found that he couldn't rest ashore he looked about him, and, after a while, fell in with and purchased a smart little cutter, which he re-christened the _Tom Bowling_, out of admiration of the song which no sailor ever sang more sweetly than he. It was perfectly consistent with his traditions as a man-of-wars man that, having bought his little ship, he should arm her. He equipped her with four small carronades and a pivoted brass six-pounder on the forecastle. He then went to work to man her, but he did not very easily find a crew. Joe was fastidious in his ideas of seamen, and though some whom he cast his eye upon came very near to his taste, it cost him a great deal of trouble to discover the particular set of Jacks he wanted. Three at last he found: Peter Plum, Bob Robins, and Tom Tuck. Joe was admiral; Plum, coming next, combined a number of grades. He was captain, first lieutenant, and boatswain. Robins was the ship's working company, and Tom Tuck cooked and was the all-round handy man of the _Tom Bowling_. It was Mr. Joe Westlake's intention to live on board his cutter; he furnished his cabin plainly and comfortably, and laid in a plentiful stock of liquor and tobacco. As he was to cruise under his own flag, and was indeed an admiral on his own account, he conferred with his first lieutenant, Peter Plum, on the question of a colour: what description of flag should he fly at his masthead? They both started with the understanding that nothing under a fathom and a half in length was worth hoisting. After much discussion it was agreed that the device should consist of a very small jack in the top corner, and in the middle a crown with a wooden leg under it--the timber toe being in both Westlake's and Plum's opinion the most pregnant symbol of Britannia's greatness that the imagination could devise. Within a few months of his landing from the frigate out of which he had been paid, Mr. Joseph Westlake was again afloat, but now in a smart little vessel of his own. She had been newly sheathed with copper, and when she heeled over from the breeze as she stretched through the winding reaches of the river the metal shone like gold above the wool-white line of foam through which the cutter washed, and lazy men in barges would turn their heads to admire her, and red-capped cooks in the cabooses of "ratching" colliers would step to the rail to look, and sometimes a party of gay and gallant Cockneys, male and female, taking their pleasure in a wherry, would salute the passing _Tom Bowling_ with a flourish of hands and pocket handkerchiefs. Never had old Joe been so happy in all his life. Of a night he'd bring up in some secure nook, and after having seen everything all safe, he'd go below with Peter Plum, and in the cosy interior of the little cabin, whose atmosphere was rendered speedily fragrant with the perfume of rum punch, which Joe, whilst in the West Indies, had learnt the art of brewing to perfection, the two sailors would sit smoking their yards of pipe-clay whilst they discoursed on the past, one incident recalling another, one briny recollection prompting an even salter memory, until their eyes grew moist and their vision dim in their balls of sight; whereupon they would turn in and make the little ship vocal with their noses. It happened, according to the usual methods of time, that an Easter Monday came round, which, as we know, was the joyful anniversary of the death of the wife of the retired tailor, Sloper, whose villa, called Labour's Retreat, stood upon the banks of the Thames near Erith. To fitly celebrate this happy day Mr. Sloper had invited three friends to dine with him. It was in the year 1851, when the class of society in which Mr. Sloper belonged was not so genteel in its habits as it has since become; in other words, Sloper dined at two o'clock. Had he survived into this age he would not have dreamt of dining at an earlier hour than seven. His friends were of his own sex. Sloper did not like the ladies. His friends' calling matters not. They did business in the east end of London, and were all three thoroughly respectable tradesmen in a small way, wanting, perhaps, in the muscle and depth of chest and hurricane lungs of Joe Westlake and Peter Plum, but all of them able to pay twenty shillings in the pound, to give good value for prompt cash, and desirous not only of fresh patronage, but determined to a man to merit the continuance of the same. When Sloper and his friends had dined, and the bottle had circled until, like quicksilver in the eye of a hurricane, the contents had sunk out of sight, the party went on to the lawn to fire off the guns there in completion of the triumphant celebration of the ever-memorable anniversary of Sloper's release. It was precisely at this hour that the _Tom Bowling_, with Plum at the helm and Joe Westlake in full rig, marching up and down the quarter-deck, came leisurely rounding down Halfway Reach before a pleasant northerly breeze of wind blowing over the flat, fat levels of Barking. The _Tom Bowling_, opening Jenningtree Point, ported her helm and floated in all her pride of white canvas and radiant metal and fathom and a half of shining bunting at her masthead into Erith Reach. Just as she came abreast of Labour's Retreat a gun was fired; the white powder-smoke clouded the tailor's lawn; the thunder of the ordnance smote the ear of Joe Westlake, who, dilating his nostrils and directing his eyes at Sloper's villa, bawled out: "Peter! that's meant for us, my heart! Down hellum! slacken away fore and aft! pipe all hands for action!" A second gun roared upon the lawn that sloped from the tailor's house; and almost as loud was the shout that Westlake delivered to all hands to look alive and bring the guns to bear. The Tom Bowling was thrown into the wind and brought to a stand abreast of Labour's Retreat; Plum took a turn with the helm and went to help at the guns, and in a few minutes the three of a crew, with Westlake continuously bawling out orders to bear a hand and load again, were actively engaged in firing blank at the enemy on the lawn. It might have been that Mr. Sloper and his friends were a little tipsy; it might have been that they were irritated by their _feu de joie_ being interrupted and complicated, so to speak, by the cutter's artillery; it is certain that they continued to load and discharge their guns as fast as they could sponge them out; whilst from the river the cutter maintained a rapid fire at Labour's Retreat. In an evil moment, temper getting the better of Sloper's judgment, he loaded one of his pieces with stones, and the gun was so well aimed that on Joe Westlake looking aloft he beheld his beautiful flag of a fathom and a half in holes. For some moments the old man-of-wars man stood staring up at his wounded flag, idle with wrath and astonishment. He then in a voice of thunder shouted: "Plum--Robins--Tuck! D' ye see what that there fired little tailor's been and done? Why, junk me if he ha' n't shot our colour through! Boys, load with ball; d' ye hear? Suffocate me, but he shall have it back. Quick, my hearts, and go for him." With ocean alacrity some round shot were got up, a gun was fired point-blank at Labour's Retreat, and down came a chimney-stack, amidst the cheers of the crew of the _Tom Bowling_. "Now, then," roared old Joe, "over with our boat, lads, and board 'em! Tommy, stay you here and let go the anchor"; and in a very few minutes Plum and Robins were pulling Joe Westlake ashore. Sloper and his party saw them coming and manfully stood their ground. The three seamen, securing their boat, forced their way on to the lawn and marched up to the tailor and his friends. "What do you mean by firing at my cutter?" roared old Joe. "What do you mean by knocking down my chimneys?" cried the tailor, who was exceedingly pale. "Who began it?" bawled Joe. "Who fired first? Who's bin and made holes in that there flag of mine? Why, that's the flag of a British sailor, you little withered thimble you; and durn ye, if you don't make me instantly an humble apology and stump up with the cost of what ye've injured, I'll skin ye!" and he threw himself into a very menacing posture. At this point one of the tailor's friends slunk off. "My chimney-stack is worth more than your twopenny flag," shrieked Sloper, maddened even into some temporary emotion of courage by the insults of the old man-of-warsman. "Say that again, will 'ee," said Joe. "Just sneer at that there flag again, will 'ee." The tailor was idiotic enough to repeat the affront, on which, and as though a perfect understanding as to what was to be done subsisted among the three sailors, old Joe, Plum, and Robins fell upon Sloper, and, lifting him up in their arms, ran with him to the boat, into which they flung him, paying not the least heed whatever to his cries for help and for mercy, and instantly headed for the cutter, leaving the tailor's friends white as milk and speechless with alarm near the cannon upon the lawn. When the boat reached the cutter, Plum jumped aboard and received little Sloper from the hands of old Joe, making no more of the burthen than had the tailor been a parcel, say, of a coat and waistcoat, or a pair of trousers. Old Joe then actively got over the rail. He lifted the little main-hatch, and Mr. Sloper was dropped into the space below, where the darkness was so great that he could not see, and where there was nothing to sit upon but Thames ballast. "In boat, up anchor, and away with us!" said Joe Westlake. The breeze was fresh, the cutter was always an excellent sailer, and in a very short space of time she was running down Long Reach with Erith and its adjacent shores out of sight, past the round of land where Dartford creek is to be found. Joe Westlake then called a council. Robins was at the tiller; Plum and Tuck came aft, and the four debated at the helm. "I've heerd," said old Joe, "of this tailor afore. His name's Sloper. I've never larnt why he mounted them guns, or where the little rooting hog got his pluck from to fire 'em. But there can be no shadder of a doubt, mates, that his object in firing to-day was to insult that there flag." He pointed with an immensely square forefinger to the masthead. "Ne'er a shadder," said Plum. "For why," continued old Joe, "did the smothered rag of a chap wait for us to come right abreast afore firing?" "Ah! that's it, ye see," exclaimed Bob Robins. "There ye've hit it, Mr. Westlake." "The little faggot's game," old Joe went on, "is as clear as mud in a wineglass. He fires with blank cartridge; like as he'd say 'What'll _you_ do?' What did he want? That we should retarn his civility with grape? Of course; that if it should come to a difficulty he'd have the law on his side. Not being able to aggravate us into shotting our guns, what must he turn to and do but load with stone--and look at that flag! Riddled, mates. I'll not speak of it as spiled, though a prettier and a better bit of bunting was never mastheaded. Spiled ain't the word: disgraced it is." "Degraded," said Plum, in a deep voice. "Ay, and degraded," cried old Joe, with a surly, dangerous nod. "That there little tailor has degraded the honour of our flag. What's to be done to him?" After a pause, Plum said: "Bring him up and sit in examination on him. Try him fairly, and convict him." They opened the hatch and pulled little Sloper off the Thames ballast into daylight. He was exceedingly white, and trembled violently, and cut, indeed, a very pitiful figure as he stood on the quarter-deck of the _Tom Bowling_, surveyed by her owner and crew. He was a short man and spare, and Tom Tuck grinned as he looked at him. "I suppose you're aweer," said old Joe, "that in shooting at my flag and wounding her you've degraded the honour of it? Are you aweer of that?" "You came in my way; I was shooting for my hentertainment," answered Mr. Sloper. "You're a retired tailor, ain't ye?" said Joe. Sloper sulkily answered "Yes." "Have ye any acquaintance with the laws which are made and purwided for British seamen when it happens that their flag's degraded by the haction of a retired tailor?" said old Joe. Mr. Sloper, instead of answering, cast a languishing eye at the river banks, which were fast sliding past, and requested to be set ashore. "It don't answer his purpose to speak to the pint," said Plum. "Listen, now," said old Joe, shaking his forefinger close into the face of little Sloper. "When a retired tailor degrades the honour of a seaman's flag by a shooting at it and a riddling of it, the law 'as made and purwided sets forth this: that the insulted sailor shall collect his crew and in the presence of all hands pass sentence after giving an impartial hearing to what the culprit may have to say in his defence. Now, you durned little powder-burner, speak up, and own what made you do it, and then I'll pass judgment." "What's your game? What d' yer mean to do with me? Where are you carryin' me to?" cried the owner of Labour's Retreat. "None of yer nonsense, you know. This is what's called kidnappin'. It's hindictable. You may find yourself in a very unpleasant predicament over this business, I can tell yer. You profess to know who I am. D'yer want to know what I'm worth? Yer'd better put me ashore, I say, and stop this nonsense. I don't mind a joke, but this is carrying a lark too far. Why," he shrieked, "here we are a-drawing on to Northfleet! Yer 'd better let me go." And so he went on. Old Joe and the others listened to him with stern faces; in fact, they received his protests and threats as his defence. When he had made an end Joe Westlake spoke thus: "Sloper--I dunno your Christian name and I won't demean myself by asking of it,--four of your countrymen--and sorry they are that you should be a countrymen of their'n--have patiently listened to what ye've had to say. And all that ye've said amounts to nothen at all. The haccusation made against ye is one of the very gravest as can be brought agin a retired tailor. You're charged with degrading the honour of my flag, and ye 've been found guilty, and my sentence is that after a sufficient time's been granted you for prayer and meditation, ye be brought up to the place of hexecution, aboard this here cutter the _Tom Bowling_, and hanged by the neck till you're dead." "Murder!" screamed Sloper, and here (so he afterwards swore in court) the unhappy little tailor fell down upon his knees and begged Joe Westlake to grant him his life. "Clap him under hatches," exclaimed the old man-of-warsman, and Plum and another, lifting the hatch cover, popped Mr. Sloper down among the ballast again. By this time the afternoon had very considerably advanced, the wind had dropped, and it was already dark when the _Tom Bowling_ let go her anchor off Gravesend. The cabin lamp was lighted, and old Joe and Plum sat down to a hearty meal, after which they smoked their pipes and dipped a ladle into a silver bowl of rum punch of Westlake's own brewing. "D' ye mean, captain," said Plum, "that the little chap in the hold shall have any supper?" "Well, Peter," answered old Joe, "I've bin a-turning of it over in my mind, and spite of his 'rageous conduct I dunno, after all, that it would be right to let him lie all night without a bite of something. Call Bob." This man, whose surname was Robins, arrived. Joe told him to get a lantern and cut a plate of beef and bread and mix a small mug of rum and water. "Ye can tell the little chap, Bob," said old Joe, speaking with one eye shut, "that we're only a-feeding of him up so as to get more satisfaction out of his hexecution to-morrow morning. You can say that sailoring is a rather monotonous life, and that if he'll die game we shall all feel obliged for the hentertainment he'll afford us." Whether Bob Robins communicated this speech to Sloper I cannot say. It is certain, however, that he took the lantern and the tailor's supper into the hold and stood over the little man whilst he ate and drank. When the retired tailor had finished his repast he asked Robins if he was to be kept locked up in that black hole all night without anything to lie on but shingle. "What did you fire at us for?" said Bob. "I never fired at you. I was firing for my own diversion," answered Mr. Sloper. "D' ye load with stones for your divarsion, as ye call it?" said Bob. "There was no stones when you came along," cried the tailor. "Why did you aggrevate me by firing in return?" "What did you want to fire at all for?" said Bob, almost pitying the trembling little creature as he showed by the lantern light in the cutter's small black hold. "I was celebrating a hanniversary," answered Mr. Sloper, who maltreated his _h's_ as badly as old Westlake. "And what sort of a hanniversary calls for gun firing?" said Bob, holding up the lantern to the tailor's face. "It was the hanniversary of my wife's death," said Mr. Sloper, "and a day of rejoicing with me and my friends." Bob, who himself was a married man, loving his wife and two little girls with the warm affection of the genuine sailor's heart, looked for some moments speechless with disgust at the white shadowy countenance of Mr. Sloper, and without deigning another word, rose through the hatch, which he carefully secured, and then went aft to old Joe and Plum to report what had passed. "Smite me," cried the old man-of-warsman, after listening to Bob; "but if this was furrin parts instead of Lunnon river, poisoned if I wouldn't yard-arm the little faggot in rale earnest. What! make a joyful hanniversary of his wife's death, and fire off guns that the whole blooming country may know what a little beast it is. Sit ye down, Bob, there's a glass--help yourself. This is what we mean to do," and he forthwith related his scheme for the morning to Robins and Plum. They smoked hard and roared out in great peals of laughter. The bulkheads of a little ship such as the _Tom Bowling_ are not, as may be supposed, of very formidable scantling; there is no doubt that Sloper in the hold heard these wild shouts of laughter which the muffling of the bulkhead and his own terrors would render awful to him, and we may be sure that as he lay in the blackness harkening to those horrid notes of merriment, he feared and perspired exceedingly. Somewhere at about eight o'clock next morning the _Tom Bowling_ was got under way, and when all hands had breakfasted, Joe Westlake took the tiller, and Plum, Robins, and Tuck went to work to construct the machinery for the retired tailor's execution. They filled a big tub with water and covered it loosely with a tarpaulin. Close against this tub they placed a three-legged stool; alongside this stool upon the deck was a tar-bucket with a tar-brush sticking up in it; they also procured and placed beside this tar-bucket a piece of rough iron hoop. At the time that these preparations were completed the cutter was running through the Warp, which is some little distance past the Nore Light. The river had widened into the aspect of an ocean, and over the bows of the craft the water stretched boundless and blue as the horizon of the Pacific. They opened the hatch and brought the tailor on deck. Needless to say, he had not slept a wink all night. Who, accustomed to a feather-bed, could snatch even ten minutes' sleep when his couch is Thames ballast? Sloper's eyes were bloodshot, and his countenance haggard. He looked inconceivably grimy and forlorn, and Bob Robins felt sorry for the little creature till he recollected on a sudden the man's reason for letting off his cannons. Tuck took the helm, and old Joe with a solemn countenance and slow gait rolled forward to where the apparatus was stationed. "Now, you see your fate," he exclaimed, lifting up his eyes as though he beheld a rope with a noose dangling from the masthead, "and since no good can come of cautioning a corpse, why then, sorry I am that there are n't a company of people arter your kind assembled aboard this craft to witness the hexecution of my sentence upon ye. Last night I heard that the reason of your firing off your guns were to celebrate the hanniversary of your wife's death. I dunno, I'm sure, whether such a practice wouldn't be considered as more criminal and worthy of a fearfuller punishment than even the shooting at a man's flag and degrading the honour of it. But to say more 'ud only be a-wasting of breath. My lads, do your duty." Robins, with powerful arms, grasped the tailor, who shrieked murder and struggled hard. His struggles were as the throes and convulsions of a mouse in the teeth of a cat. He was dumped down on the three-legged stool. In an instant Plum lathered his jaws with the tar-brush, and picking up the piece of broken iron hoop scraped little Sloper's cheeks till the lather was as much blood as tar. Then, lifting his leg, he tilted the stool and Mr. Sloper fell backwards on to the tarpaulin, which, yielding to his weight, soused him into the water They left him to kick and splash awhile, then pulled him out and ran him forward into the head, where they secured him to the windlass till the sun should have somewhat dried him. But long before the sun had had time to comfort the shivering little creature Herne Bay had hove into sight. The helm was shifted, and the cutter ran close into the land, where they hove her to whilst Plum and Robins got the boat over. Mr. Sloper was then dropped over the side into the boat, which pulled ashore, landed him, and returned; and a few minutes later the cutter was standing for the mouth of the river, leaving the tailor on the Herne Bay beach, forty miles from home without a farthing in his pocket. This is the historic incident of the Thames which I desire to rescue from the oblivion that has overtaken many greater matters. Mr. Sloper, on his return to Labour's Retreat, and when he was somewhat recovered in nerves and health, sued Joe Westlake in the Whitechapel County Court, in action of tort, laying his damages at the moderate sum of fifty pounds. Mr. G.E. Williams, for the defendant, contended that the plaintiff deserved the treatment which he had brought on himself, and the Judge, after hearing the evidence, said that although the plaintiff, Sloper, had acted most improperly in loading his guns, the defendant, Westlake, had retaliated too severely, but, under the circumstances, he should award only five pounds' damages, without costs. _Cornered_! "I don't see no signs of the tug, do you, Tom?" said the old skipper, John Bunk, rolling up to me from the companion hatchway. He was fresh from the cabin, and was rather tipsy, with a fixed stare and a stately manner, though his legs would have framed the lower part of an egg. His hat was tall, and brushed the wrong way. He wore a thick shawl round his neck and was wrapped up in a long monkey-jacket, albeit we were in the dog-days. In a word, Bunk was a skipper of a type that is fast perishing off our home waters. "No," said I, "there's no sign of the tug." "Then bloomed," said he, "if I don't work her up myself. Who's afraid? I know the ropes. Get amidships in the fair-way and keep all on, and there y' are. And mubbe the tug'll pick us up as we go." "It's all one to Tom," said I. Our brig was the _Venus_, of Rye, a stump topgallantmast coaster, eighty years old. We were in a big bight of the coast, heading for a river which flows past a well known town, whither we were bound. The bed of that river went in a vein through about three miles of mud, till it sheared into the land, and flowed into a proper-looking river with banks of its own. At flood the water covered the mud, but the river was buoyed, and when once you had the land on either hand and the bay of mud astern, the pilotage to the town was no more than a matter of bracing the yards about till you floated into one long reach whose extremity was painted by the red wharf you moored alongside of. We were six of a ship's company. John Bunk was skipper, I, Tom Fish, was the mate, the others were Bill Martin, Jack Stevens, a man named Rooney, and a boy called William. On board craft of this sort there is very little discipline, and the sailor's talk to the captain as though he lived in the forecastle. "John," sings out Bill Martin, casting his eyes over the greasy yellow surface of the water streaming shorewards, "are ye going to try for it without the tug?" "Ay," answered old Bunk. "And quite right, tew. No good a-messing about here all day," says Jack Stevens at the tiller. The land was flat and treeless on either hand the river, but it rose, about a couple of miles off, curving into a front of glaring chalk, with a small well known town sparkling in the distance like a handful of frost in a white split. The horizon astern was broken by the moving bodies of many ships in full sail, and the sky low down was hung with the smoke of vanished steamers as though the stuff was cobwebs black with dust. The stream was the turn of the flood. Old Bunk went forward into the bows, and the brig flapped forwards creaking like a basket on the small roll of the shallow water. We overhung her rails, and watched for ourselves. John Bunk, trying to look dignified with the drink in him, stared stately ahead; sometimes singing out to the helmsman to port, and then to starboard, and so we washed on, fairly hitting the river's mouth, and stemming safely for a mile, till the flat coast was within an easy scull of our jolly-boat, and you saw the spire of a church, and a few red roofs amidst a huddle of trees on the right, at that time two miles distant. Just then the _Venus_ took the mud; she grounded just as a huge fat sow knuckles quietly ere stretching herself. "All aback forrard!" sings out Bill Martin, with a loud silly laugh. We were a brig of a hundred and eighty tons, and there was nothing to be done with poling; nor was kedging going to help us at this the first quarter of ebb. "Tom," says John Bunk, coming aft and speaking cheerfully, "there's no call to make any worrit over this shining job. The tug's bound to be coming along afore sundown, anyhow. See that village there?" says he, pointing. "My brother lives in that village, at a public house of his own, called the 'Eight Bells,' and seeing as we're hard and fast, I shall take the boys on a visit to him and leave you and William to look arter the brig." "Suppose the tug should come along?" said I. "She could do nothing with us till the flood floats us," said he; "I shall let go the anchor for security and go ashore." He talked like a reckless old fool, but was tipsy, and in no temper to reason with. The situation of the brig was safe enough as far as ocean and weather went; nothing could hurt her as she lay mud-cradled on her fat bilge. We clewed up and let the canvas hang by its rigging, and then dropped the anchor; after which old Bunk and the others cleaned themselves up and got the boat over, and went away in her, singing songs, leaving me and William to look after the brig. It was ten o'clock in the morning, a very fine hot day. I went into the cabin for a smoke, and after lounging an hour or so below whilst the boy boiled a piece of beef for our dinner, I stepped on deck, and found that the sea was already half-way out of the bay with twenty lines of foaming ripples purring not a quarter of a mile off, and the channel of the river was already plain, coming out from the land, and through the dry mud like a lane of water till it met the wash of the yellow brine and melted into it. The brig lay with an uncomfortable list to starboard. When the mud should come a-dry it would be an easy jump from her decks to it. At half-past twelve William came below with my dinner, and I told the lad to out with his knife and eat with me. We munched together, taking it easy. There was nothing to be done on deck, no sign of the tug, no use we could put her to, even if she should heave into sight, and the time hung heavy. After dinner I lay upon a locker smoking, and William sat at the table with a pipe in his mouth. Presently I thought I heard a noise of something moving in a scratching sort of way on deck. I listened and then heard nothing. A little later, happening to be looking at William, I heard the same noise, and that moment I fancied a kind of shadow passed over the glass of the grimy little cabin skylight. I said to William: "Step on deck, my lad, and see if anybody's come aboard." He went up, and was not gone a minute when I heard him scream shockingly. The shriek was full of terror and agony, and froze my blood. I rushed on deck and saw the figure of William under the paw of a large yellow tiger! I stared madly, as though my senses were all gone wrong and reporting a nightmare. But the big beast, turning its head, spied me, swept the planks with its tail, crouched in cat-like way, and was coming for me. With a roar of terror I sprang for the main rigging, and in a few breathless moments was safe in the top. It was all sheer mud now to the very forefoot of the brig; but the half of her lay afloat in the stream of the river. I saw the marks of the beast's paws pitting the shiny surface of ooze and sand; the trail came in a straight line from the land to the right of the village where Bunk's brother lived to the starboard bow of the brig. The beast had sprung easily aboard. We were not in India, nor in Africa, nor in any country where such huge yellow horrors as that flourished; therefore, on recovering my wits and my breath whilst I looked down over the rim of the top, I guessed that the tiger had broken loose from some show or menagerie, and had made for this desolate waste of sand to escape the hunt that was doubtless in loud cry after him. But I could not get any comfort into me out of the reflection that we had stranded on English instead of African or South American mud; down on deck, now crouching close beside the boy without, however, offering to touch the motionless figure, was a massive savage beast, apparently a man-eater; and it was all the same to me whether it had sprung aboard off the banks of an Indian river, or trotted across this breast of English slime out of a showman's cage. The boy lay as though dead, and I turned sick, fearing to see the creature eat him. I was going to call, thinking he would answer me, then reflected if he was not dead my voice might cause him to move, and bring the tiger upon him, and so I lay silent in the top, now staring down, then glaring round upon the scene of mud and at the distant blue crescent of sea for the help that was nowhere visible. Presently the tiger got up, and, passing over the body of the lad, stepped with its supple gait into the bows. I took my chance of shouting to William, but the lad never stirred. Again and again I yelled down at him, and I saw the splendid, horrible beast in the bows gazing at me, and still the lad remained lifeless. He was upon his face, with his arms out, as though his hands were nailed to the deck. I looked for blood, but saw none. The most awful time that ever passed in my life now went along. The tiger roamed the deck silently, smelling at everything, once shoving its huge head into the companion-way, and I prayed with all my heart it would go below, that I might skim to the hatch and secure it. It drew its head out, and going to the boy stopped and smelt him. The very blood in me was curdled, for I made sure the beast was about to eat the lad. Sometimes I broke out into the noisiest roarings and screaming my pipes could set up in the hope of driving the brute overboard. Between five and six o'clock in the evening the tide had made so as to cover the mud, and I saw the brig's boat approaching. Those who pulled flourished their oars drunkenly. The boat came to a stand when within easy hailing distance, as though old Bunk was taking a view of me as I sat in the top, and was wondering what I did there. I roared out: "For God's sake mind how you come aboard! There's been a blooming tiger in this brig since noon!" "A what?" yelled Bunk, and the seamen pulled a little closer in. It was still broad flaming daylight, and the sun hung like a huge blood-red target over the crimson sea. "A what?" shrieked Bunk. "A tiger! A blooming tiger!" I bellowed, pointing to the brute that lay crouched on the forecastle hidden from the boat's crew. "Drunk again, Tom? or is it sun-stroke this time?" sung out old Bunk, standing up in the boat and lurching to the rocking of her. "It's killed William!" I yelled. When I said this the beast, attracted by the noise of voices over the side, got up and looked over the bulwark rail at the men, and old Bunk instantly saw it. He stared for a minute or two as though he had been blasted by a stroke of lightning. The other three fellows then saw the beast, and if there was any drink in their heads the fumes of it flew out at that sight, and left them sober men. Their postures were full of wild surprise and terror whilst they gazed. Old Bunk roared: "Has he killed the boy, d'yer say?" "He lies there dead," cried I, pointing. "He hasn't moved since I first saw him." "Has he been eating of him?" "No!" "We must go ashore for help," sung out Jack Stevens. "For God's sake don't leave me up here!" I cried. "Tom," shouted Bunk, "there's only wan thing to dew; there's an old gun in my cabin, and yer'll find a powder-flask and ball in the locker. We must keep that tiger a-watching of us over the bow, whilst you run below and shut the hatch. By lifting the lid you'll be able to shoot him through the skylight. Come you down now as far as you durst whilst we fixes the attention of the brute upon ourselves." I at once dropped into the rigging, where I stretched and played my legs a bit. They were as stiff as hand-spikes after that long spell in the maintop. I descended as low down as the sheer-pole, breathlessly watching. They pulled the boat under the bow, and Bill Martin with lifted oar made as though spearing at the brute's head. It opened its huge mouth and showed its immense claws upon the rail; old Bunk hissed and snapped at it, then roared out to me: "Now's your time, Tom," whilst I heard Jack Stevens sing out: "Back astarn! The fired cat's going to jump." With the nimbleness of terror I dropped to the deck and passed like a shadow to the hatch, unnoticed by the beast. In a moment I closed the companion doors, then entering Bunk's cabin found the gun and ammunition. I loaded the piece, and, getting on to the cabin table, put my head into the skylight, and bawled out to let the others know that I was going to shoot. My voice attracted the tiger; it turned, and with swaying tail came with velvet tread, crouching in a springing posture. I levelled the gun, steadying the barrel, and, taking a cool, deliberate aim--for I was safe!--fired, and the instant I had fired, without pausing to see what had happened, I loaded again; but before I could present the piece for a second shot the beast, who was now on this side the boy, lurched and fell. I fired a second ball into it, and then a third and a fourth, and now shouting to let the men know the brute was wounded and dying, I ran on deck, and putting the muzzle of the gun to the creature's glazing eye, fired, and this did its business, for just one spasm ran through it, and then the terrible, muscular bulk lay motionless. The men came scrambling aboard. We turned the boy over, and took him below. Shortly afterwards the tug hove in sight, and we let the beast lie whilst we got our anchor and manoeuvred with the tow-rope. I am sorry to say the boy was dead. On our arrival a doctor came and looked at him, and a crowd tumbled aboard to view the beast. There was not a scratch on the lad; the tiger had never touched him; the doctor said he had died of syncope caused by fright. The owner of the tiger threatened old Bunk with the law, and asked for a hundred guineas. Bunk started William's mother upon him for compensation for the loss of her boy, and shortly afterwards the showman went broke. _A Midnight Visitor_. "There are more terrors at sea than shipwreck and fire, more frights and horrors, mateys, than famine, blindness, and cholera," said the old seaman with a slow motion of his eyes round upon the little company of sailors. "I remember a line of poetry--'a thing of beauty is a joy for ever.' Can any man here tell me who wrote that? Well, I suppose it is a joy so long as it remains a beauty, but d'ye see it's got to remain, and that's the job. "Yet, mates, if there is a thing of beauty that should be a joy to every heart, it is a full-rigged ship, clothed in white, asleep in the light of the moon, on a pale and silent breast of ocean that waves in splendour under the planet over the flying jib-boom end. Have I got such a ship as that in my mind? Ay. And was it a sheet calm but ne'er a moon? Ay, again. There was ne'er a moon that night. The ship rose faint and hushed to the stars. It was one bell in the morning watch. Scarce air enough moved to give life to the topmost canvas; as the ship bowed upon the light swell the sails swung in and swung out with a rushing sound of many wings up in the gloom. Yet the vessel had steerage way in that hour. Shall I tell you why? Because I know! "And ere that full-rigged ship alone in the middle of the Indian Ocean came to a dead halt, life sinking in her with the failing of the wind in a sort of dying shudder from royal to course, this was how her decks showed: a man was at the wheel, the chief mate leaned against the rail in the thickness made by the mizzen rigging, and with folded arms seemed to doze in the shadow; a 'young gentleman,' as they used to call the 'brass-bounders,' loafed sleepily near the main shrouds where the break of the poop came. That youngster watched the stars trembling between the squares of the starboard rigging. He was new to the sea, and emotion and sentiment were still sweet--they were not salt in him. He was the son of a gentleman--he had a clever eye for what was picturesque and romantic, for what was tender and affecting in all he beheld, whether by day or night, whether he looked aloft or whether upon the mighty breast of brine--he should have done well: he oughter ha' done well." The grey-haired respectable seaman closed his eyes in a silence filled with significance, and after a short smoke thus proceeded: "Some of the watch on deck sprawled about in the shadow out of sight, curled up, asleep; only one figure was upright forward. 'Twas the shape of the man on the look-out. For all the world he postured like the mate aft, as though he copied the officer for a life or death bet: head sunk, arms folded--the forecastle break brought that raised deck well aft, and the look-out had the shadow of the starboard fore-rigging upon him. "This man thus standing, by no means asleep, yet with his head sunk and no doubt his eyes closed, was suddenly struck on the side of the face by something hairy, damp, and cold. He sprang into the air as though he had been shot through the heart. O heavens! What was it? A naked figure, shaggy as Peter Sarrano, wild with hair, furious with a grin, terrible with the red gleams the starlight flung upon his little eyes. The sailor shrieked like a midnight cat and fell in a heap down upon the deck in a fit. "The ship was in commotion in an instant. Such a yell as that was worse than the smell of fire. "'What's the matter?' bawled the mate from the break of the poop. "A number of shadowy shapes swarmed up the forecastle ladder. Meanwhile the watch below, aroused by the yell of the look-out man, suspecting imminent deadly danger in the peculiar noise, were leaping in twos and threes up through the forescuttle, growling and swearing and grumbling, and asking of one another in those deep hurricane-chested whispers which will make a stagnant midnight atmosphere tingle, what the blooming blazes that noise was, and what was up. "'What's the matter?' roared the mate. "'Here's Kennedy in a fit, sir,' sung out a voice. "'Is that all?' said the mate, and he went forward to look at the man. "'It's a fit certainly,' said he. 'Give him air, lads. Get a drink of cold water into his mouth. It's epilepsy.' "'Or weevils,' said a deep voice. "The joker was not to be discerned; the mate therefore took no notice. Some one brought a pannikin of cold water, and after a little the man came to, by which time the watch below had returned to their hammocks, and the forecastle was comparatively clear. "When the mate was told the man had his senses and was sitting up, he went forward again and questioned him. He was sitting on the foot of a cathead, and was too weak to rise when the mate stood before him. "'What is this you're rambling about?' said the officer. 'Aren't you quite well yet?' "'S' 'elp me then, it slapped me fair over the chops, like flicking yer with the wet sleeve of a jacket. He rose four foot when I swounded. He might ha' been more an' he might ha' been less. Darkness put him out, only that I recollect,' said the man, turning up his pale face to the stars, 'taking notice of a couple of eyes like red lights floating in water and a grin of teeth wide as the keys of a pianey.' "'He's mad,' thought the mate, who stepped nevertheless into the bows and looked over. Nothing was to be seen. He surveyed the ocean by the light of the stars, and glanced along the deck and up aloft, then told the look-out man to go below and turn in, and went aft, reckoning the thing an epileptic's nightmare. "'It soaks into their livers ashore,' thought he, as he leisurely mounted the poop ladder, 'and when they get upon the ocean and into hot weather it works out in slaps over the head and hairy sea-beasts four feet high. Ha! ha! ha!' and he laughed drowsily as he walked to the wheel. "Just then a catspaw blew. It was so faint that it scarcely chilled the moistened forefinger of the officer. It had to be reckoned with nevertheless; it was an air of wind anyhow, and some one sung out that the ship was aback forward, on which the mate went to the break of the poop, and yelled to the seamen to trim sail. Something went wrong in swinging the yards on the fore. "'Jump aloft, a hand, and clear it.' "A seaman went up the rigging, his shadowy shape vanished in the gloom that blackened like a thunder-cloud upon the foretop; he showed again when he got into the topmast rigging, with his figure small, and clear-cut against the stars. "Suddenly, when midway the rigging he yelled at the top of his voice. His cry was more dismal and heartshaking than even that with which the man Kennedy had terrified the ship; he caught hold of a backstay, and sank to the bulwark rail, as though handsomely lowered away in a bowline. "'By Cott!' he roared, flinging down his cap, whilst those who peered close saw that he trembled violently, 'der toyfel is on boardt dis ship. I have seen her mit mine eyes. If I hov not seen her den I was a nightmare und she was mad. Look up dar.' "He obtained no answer. The seamen attending the indication of the Dutchman were to a man gazing aloft with hanging chins; for on high up in the cross-trees, a visible bulk of shadow, there sat, squatted, hung--what? A man? No angel from heaven surely? A demon then with folded wings like those of a bat resting in his flight from the halls of fire to some star of Satan? Mateys, if you think this language too poetical, I'll translate my thought into fok'sle speech. But I'd rather leave the job to others," said the grey-haired respectable seaman; "I've forgotten the profanities of the sea-parlour. I have not used a bad word for thirty year." Some interruption by laughter attended this flight. The grey-haired sailor looked round him with his slow critical motion of eye, and continued: "'What's wrong aloft forrad there?' bawled the mate, and now he sung out with energy and decision, for the figure of the captain was alongside of him. "'There's something aloft that looks like a man,' howled a seaman, one of the upstaring crowd about the Dutchman. 'Come forrad, sir. You'll see him.' "The mate and the captain went forward and looked up. "'It's a man,' exclaimed the captain. 'Aloft there! What are you doing skylarking up in those cross-trees? Come down!' he cried, angrily. "'You sick-hearts, what d'ye see to stare at, or seeing, why don't you go for it?' thundered the mate, after a pause, during which the figure on high had made no answer or motion, and as he spoke the words the officer bounded on to the bulwarks, and ran up the fore-shrouds. "He travelled with heroic speed till he got as high as the foretop. There he stood at gaze; presently, after you might have counted fifty, putting his foot into the topmast rigging he began to crawl, with frequent breathless stops; his passage up those shrouds had the dying uncertainty of the tread of a blue-bottle when it climbs a sheet of glass in October. "On a sudden he came down into the top very fast. There he stood staring aloft as though fascinated or electrified, then putting his foot over the top he got into the fore-shrouds, and trotted down on deck, all very quick. The captain stood near the main hatch, looking up. The mate approached him, and, in a whisper of awe and terror, exclaimed, whilst his eyes sought the shadow up in the foretopmast cross-trees, 'I believe the Dutchman's right, sir, and that we've been boarded by the devil himself.' "'What are you talking about?' "'I never saw the like of such a thing,' said the mate, in shaking tones. "'Is it a man?' said the captain, staring up with amazement, while the seamen came hustling close in a sneaking way to listen, and the Dutchman drew close to the mate. "'It has the looks of a man,' said the mate; 'yet it sha'n't be murder if you kill him.' "'She vos no man, sir. I vos close. I vent closer don you. I oxpect, sir,' said the Dutchman, 'she's an imp. Strange dot I did not see him till I was upon her.' "The captain went swiftly to his cabin for a binocular glass. The lenses helped him to determine the motionless shadow in the cross-trees, and he clearly distinguished an apparently large human shape, but in what fashion, or whether or not habited, it was impossible to see. How had he come into the ship? The captain went on to the poop and searched the silent sea with the glass with some fancy of finding a boat within reach of his vision. Nothing was to be seen but the glass-smooth face of the deep, with here and there the light of a large trembling star draining into it. The catspaw had died out, and it mattered nothing whether they braced the fore-yards round or not. "It got wind in the forecastle that something wild, unearthly, hellish, was aloft, and the watch below turned out, too restless to sleep, and all through those hours of darkness the sailors walked the decks in groups, again and again staring up at the foretopmast cross-trees, where the mysterious bulk of blackness sate, squatted, or hung motionless, like some brooding fiend, or incarnation of ill-luck, sinking by force of meditation its curses not loud, but deep, into the bottom of the very hold itself. "'Why don't the captain let me shoot him?' said the second mate at four o'clock. 'I cannot miss that mark; my rifle will bring him to your feet at the cost of a single shot.' "'No,' said the chief mate, 'I've talked of trying what shooting will do. The captain means to wait for sunlight. But how did it get on board?' said he, sinking his voice in awe. 'There's no land for hundreds of leagues. Is it some sort of human sea-monster, some merman whose looks blind you with their ugliness, which this ship's been doomed to discover, and perhaps carry home?' "It was not long before day whitened the east. In those climates the morning is a quick revelation, and hardly had the dawn broke when sea and sky were lighted up. And then, and even then, what was it? There it sat up in the cross-trees, a hairy, sulky bulk of man or beast, black, and the creature looked hard down whilst all hands were staring hard up. "Seized if it isn't a gorilla!" said the mate. "'No.' said the captain, letting fall his binocular, 'look for yourself. Yet, it's not a man, either.' He burst into a laugh as though for relief. 'It's a huge, hairy baboon, one of the biggest I ever saw in my life. He'll be as fierce as a mutinous crew, and strong as a frigate's complement. What's to be done with him?' "'How in Egypt did he come on board?' said the mate, viewing the beast through the glass. "'By that, maybe, sir,' exclaimed the second mate, pointing to some object floating flat and yellow, faint and far out upon the starboard quarter. "The captain levelled the ship's telescope. 'A large raft!' he exclaimed, after some minutes of silent examination. 'Take a boat and examine it.' "A quarter-boat was lowered, and the second mate and four men pulled away for the raft in the distance. It was a very large raft, manifestly launched by some country wallah in the last throes: a complicate huge grating, or floating platform, of immensely thick bamboos and spare spars, secured by turns of Manilla or coir rope. It was clean swept; not a rag was to be seen. Whether the sufferers had been taken off, leaving the baboon behind them, whether they had died, and the wash of the ocean had slipped their bodies overboard, the baboon holding on to the raft, who was to tell? 'At sea,' said Lord Nelson, 'nothing is impossible and nothing improbable.' "The raft had floated to the bows of the ship in the silent midnight, and the baboon sprang aboard and aloft. "The creature on high was a clear picture in the bright sunshine. It made many dreadful grimaces, by the exhibition of its teeth, and when the boat drew alongside it moved and stood up, and showed a great tail, then hung with one fist, looking down. It next descended with the velocity of wind into the foretop. "The captain said: 'The beast don't seem faint, but I guess he's thirsty, and he may fall mad, come down, and bite some of us. So,' says he to the chief officer, 'send a hand aloft with a bucket of fresh water for the poor brute and a pocketful of ship's bread. If we can civilise him, so much the better.' "But it never came to it," said the grey-haired respectable seaman. "The creature fled to the cross-trees nimble as light when he saw a couple of seamen mounting to the top, then descended, and ate and drank ravenously when they had come down, which feeding murdered him, and ruined the captain's hopes of carrying the fellow to London and selling him at a large price to the Zoölogical Gardens. For he refused to come on deck. He bared his teeth, and his eyes shone with the malice of hell if the men attempted to approach him. It was impossible to let him rest aloft throughout the night to command the ship, so to speak; for he might sink to the deck stealthy as the shadow of a cloud blown by the wind, and he was strong enough and big enough to tear a sleeping man's throat out. "'He must be shot,' said the captain, and he told the second mate to fetch his rifle. "The second mate, that he might make sure of his aim, went aloft into the foretop. The beast was then sitting on the topgallant yard. He had been in command of the fabric of the fore all day. Had it come on to blow so as to oblige the captain to shorten sail, the deuce a seaman durst have gone aloft to stow the canvas. The second mate, standing in the top, was in the act of lifting his rifle, when the monster, running on all fours out to the dizzy topgallant yard-arm, stood erect a breathless instant, poised--in human posture--a marvellous picture of the man-beast against the liquid blue, then sprang into the air. "'Come down,' roared the captain to the second mate, 'and shoot him through the head, for God's sake!' "As the beast rose with a wild grin after having been so long out of sight through the frightful height he had jumped from, you'd have thought he'd have risen with a burst skin, the captain bawled out, 'Blessed if he's not making for his raft.' "The baboon, with a fixed expression, and with eyes askew upon the ship as he drove past, swimming very finely with long easy flourishes of his arms and dexterous thrusts of his legs, whilst the end of his tail stood up astern of him as though it was some comical little man there steering,--the baboon, I say, was undoubtedly and with amazing sagacity making straight for the raft, having taken its bearings when aloft; but at the moment the second mate knelt to level his piece, meaning to murder the poor brute out of pure mercy, the thing uttered, oh, my God! what a horrible cry! and vanished, and a quantity of blood rose and dyed a bright patch upon the calm blue. No more was seen of the baboon, but a little later the black scythe-like fins of three sharks showed in the spot where he had disappeared." _Plums from a Sailor's Duff._ It has been commonly expected of sailors in all ages that they should encounter nothing upon the ocean but hair-breadth escapes. The theory is that the mariner but half discharges his duties when his experiences are limited to his work as a seaman. That he may be fully and perfectly accomplished vocationally he must know what it is to have been cast away, to have barely come off with his life out of a ship on fire, to have been overboard on many occasions in heavy seas, to have chewed pieces of lead in open boats to assuage his thirst--to have encountered, in short, most of the stock horrors of the oceanic calling. Considering, however, that the sailor goes to sea holding his life in his hands, I cannot but think that his mere occupation is perilous enough to satisfy the romantic demands of the shore-going dreamer. It is feigned that the sea-faring life is not one jot more dangerous than most of the laborious callings followed ashore. Let no man credit this. The sailor never springs aloft, never slides out to a yard-arm, never gives battle to the thunderous canvas, scarcely performs a duty, indeed, that does not contain a distinct menace to his life. That the calling has less of danger in it in these days than it formerly held I will not undertake to determine. If in former times ships put to sea destitute of the scientific equipment which characterises the fabrics of this age, the mariner supplied the deficiencies of the shipyard by caution and patience. He was never in a hurry. He waited with a resigned countenance upon the will of the wind. He plied his lead and log-line with indefatigable diligence. There was no prompt despatch in his day, no headlong thundering, through weather as thick as mud in a wineglass, to reach his port. We have diminished many of the risks he ran through imperfect appliances, but, on the other hand, we have raised a plentiful stock of our own, so that the balance between then and now shows pretty level. My sea-faring experiences covered about eight years, and they hit a traditional period of immense moment--I mean the gradual transformation of the marine fabric from wood into iron. I was always afloat in wood, however, and never knew what it was to have an iron plate between me and the yearning wash of the brine outside until I went on a voyage to Natal and back in a big ocean steamer that all day long throbbed to the maddened heart in her engine room, like some black and gleaming leviathan rendered hysterical by the lances of whalers feeling for its life, and all night stormed through the dark ocean shadow like a body of fire, faster than a gale of wind could in my time have driven the swiftest clipper keel that furrowed blue water. What hair-breadth escapes did I meet with? I have been asked. Was I ever marooned? Ever cast away, as Jack says, on the top crust of a half-penny loaf? Ever overboard among sharks? Ever gazing madly round the horizon, the sole occupant of a frizzling boat, in search of a ship where I might obtain water to cool my blue and frothing lips? Well, my duff is not a very considerable one, and the few plums in it I fear are almost wide enough apart to be out of hail of one another. However a sample or two will suffice to enable me to keep my word and to write something at all events autobiographic. So let us start off Cape Horn on a July day in the year of grace 1859. The ship was a fine old Australian liner, a vessel of hard upon 1400 tons, a burden that in those days constituted a large craft. She was commanded by one Captain Neatby, something of a favourite I believe in the passenger trade--a careful old man with bow-legs and a fiery grog-blossom of a nose. He wore a tall chimney-pot hat in all weathers, and was reckoned a very careful man because he always furled his fore and mizzen royals in the first dog-watch every night. We were a long way south; I cannot remember the exact latitude, but I know it was drawing close upon sixty degrees. There was a talk in the midshipmen's berth amongst us that the captain was trying his hand at the great Circle course, but none of us knew much about it down in that gloomy, 'tween-decks, slush-flavoured cavern in which we youngsters lived. I was fourteen years old, homeward bound on my first voyage; a little bit of a midshipman, burnt dry by Pacific suns, with a mortal hatred and terror of the wild, inexpressibly bitter cold of the roaring ice-loaded parallels in whose Antarctic twilight our noble ship was plunging and rolling now under a fragment of maintopsail, now under a reefed foresail and double-reefed foretopsail, chased by the shrieking western gale that flew like volleys of scissors and thumbscrews over our taffrail, and by seas, whose glittering, flickering peaks one looked up at from the neighbourhood of the wheel as at the brows of tall and beetling cliffs. The gale was white with snow, and dark with the blinding fall of it too, when I came on deck at noon. I was in the chief mate's, or port watch, as it is called. The ship was running under a double-reefed topsail--in those days we carried single sails,--reefed foresail, close-reefed foretopsail, and maintopmast staysail. The snow made a London fog of the atmosphere; forward of the galley the ship was out of sight at times when it came thundering down out of the blackness aft, white as any smother of spume. She pitched with the majesty of a line-of-battle ship, as she launched herself in long floating rushes from gleaming pinnacle to seething valley with a heavy, melancholy sobbing of water all about her decks, and her narrow, distended band of maintopsail hovering overhead black as a raven's pinion in the flying hoariness. We were washing through it at twelve or thirteen knots an hour, though the ship was as stiff as a madman in a strait-jacket, with the compressed wool in her hold and loaded down to her main-chain bolts besides. By two bells (one o'clock) forward of the break of the poop the decks were deserted, though now and again, amidst some swiftly passing flaw in the storm of snow, you might just discern the gleaming shapes of two men on the look-out on the forecastle, with the glimpse of a figure in the foretop, also on the watch for anything that might be ahead. The captain in his tall hat was stumping the deck to and fro close against the wheel, cased in a long pilot coat, under the skirts of which his legs, as he slewed round, showed like the lower limb of the letter O. Through the closed skylight windows I could get a sort of watery view of the cuddy passengers--as they were then called--reading, playing at chess, playing the piano, below. There were some scores of steerage and 'tween-deck passengers, deeper yet in the bowels of the ship, but hidden out of sight by the closed hatches. I know not why it should have been, but I was the only midshipman on the poop, though the ship carried twelve of us, six to a watch. The other five were doubtless loafing about under cover somewhere. I stood close beside the chief mate to windward, holding to the brass rail that ran athwart the break of the poop. This officer was a Scotchman, a man named Thompson, and I suppose no better seaman ever trod a ship's deck. He was talking to me about getting home, asking me whether I would rather be off Cape Horn in a snow-storm or making ready to sit down with my brothers and sisters at my father's table to a jolly good dinner of fish and roast beef and pudding, when all on a sudden he stopped in what he was saying, and fell a-sniffing violently. "I smell ice," said he, with a glance aft at the captain. "Smell ice!" thought I, with a half look at him, for I believed he was joking. For my part, it was all ice to me--one dense, yelling atmosphere of snow; every flake barbed, and the cold of a bitterness beyond words. He fell a-sniffing again, quickly and vehemently, and stepped to the side, sending a thirsty look into the white blindness ahead, whilst I heard him mutter, "There 's ice close aboard, there 's ice close aboard!" As he spoke the words, there arose a loud and fearful cry from the forecastle. "Ice right ahead, sir!" "Ice right ahead, sir!" repeated the chief mate, whipping round upon the captain. "I see it, sir! I see it, sir!" roared the skipper. "Hard a starboard, men! Hard a starboard for your lives! Over with it!" The two fellows at the helm sent the spokes flying like the driving-wheel of a locomotive; the long ship, upborne at the instant by a huge Pacific sea, paid off like a creature of instinct, sweeping slowly but surely to port just in time. For right on the starboard bow of us there leapt out into proportions terrible and magnificent, within a musket shot of our rail, an iceberg that looked as big as St. Paul's Cathedral, with stormy roaring of the gale in its ravines and valleys, and the white smoke of the snow revolving about its pinnacles and spires like volumes of steam, and a volcanic noise of mighty seas bursting against its base and recoiling from the adamant of its crystalline sides in acres of foam. We were heading for it at the rate of thirteen miles an hour as neatly as you point the end of a thread into the eye of a needle. In a few minutes we should have been into it, crumbled against it, dissolved upon the white waters about it, and have met a nameless end. Boy as I was, and bitter as was the day, I remember feeling a stir in my hair as I stood watching with open mouth the passage of the mountainous mass close alongside into the pale void astern, whilst the ship trembled again to the blows and thumps of vast blocks of floating ice. "Ice right ahead, sir!" came the cry again, nor could we clear the jumble of bergs until the dusk had settled down, when we hove-to for the night. No one was hurt, but I suppose no closer shave of the kind ever happened to a ship before. Again, and this time once more off Cape Horn. It was my third voyage; I was still a midshipman, and in the second mate's watch. I came on deck at midnight and found the ship hove-to, breasting what in this age of steamboats, and, for the matter of that, perhaps in any other age, might be termed a terrific sea. She was making good weather of it--that is to say, she kept her decks dry, but she was diving and rolling most hideously, with such swift headlong shearing of her spars through the gale that the noises up in the blackness aloft were as though the spirits of the inmates of a thousand lunatic asylums had been suddenly enlarged from their bodies and sent yelling into limbo. The wind blew with an unendurable edge in the sting and bite of it. The second mate and I, each with a rope girdling his waist to swing by, stood muffled up to our noses under the lee of a square of canvas seized to the mizzen shrouds. Presently he roared into my ear, "Sort of a night for a pannikin of coffee, eh, Mr. Russell?" "Ay, ay, sir," I replied, and with that, liberating myself from the rope, I clawed my way along the line of the hencoops--the decks sometimes sloping almost up and down to the heavy weather _scends_ of the huge black billows,--and descended into the midshipmen's berth. It was not the first time I had made a cup of coffee for myself and the second mate in the middle watch during cold weather. An old nurse who had lived in my family for years had given me an apparatus consisting of a spirit-lamp and a funnel-shaped contrivance of block tin, along with several pounds of very good coffee, and with this I used to keep the second mate and myself supplied with the real luxury of a hot and aromatic drink during wet and frosty watches. The midshipmen's berth was a narrow room down in the 'tween decks, bulkheaded off from the sides, fitted with a double row of bunks, one on top of another, the lower beds being about a foot above the deck. There were five midshipmen all turned in and fast asleep. The others, who were on watch, were clustered under the break of the poop for the shelter there. A lonely one-eyed sort of slush lamp, with sputtering wick and stinking flame, swung wearily from a blackened beam, rendering the darkness but little more than visible. I slung my little cooking apparatus near to it, filled the lamp with spirits of wine, put water and coffee into the funnel, and then set fire to the arrangement. I stood close under it, wrapped from head to foot in gleaming oilskins--looking a very bloated little shape, I don't doubt, from the quantity of clothing I wore under the waterproofs,--waiting for the water to boil. The seas roared in thunder high above the scuttles to the wild and sickening dipping of the ship's side into the trough. The humming of the gale pierced through the decks with the sound of a crowd of bands of music in the distance, all playing together and each one a different tune. The midshipmen snored, and coats and smallclothes hanging from the bunk stanchions wearily swung sprawling out and in, like bodies dangling from gallows in a gale of wind. All in a moment a sea of unusual weight and fury took the ship and hove her down to the height as you would have thought, of her topgallant rail; the headlong movement sent me sliding to leeward; the forethatch of my sou'wester struck the spirit-lamp; down it poured, in a line of fire upon the deck, where it surged to and fro in a sheet of flame, with the movements of the ship. I was so horribly frightened as to be almost paralysed by the sight of that flickering stretch of yellowish light, sparkling and leaping as it swept under the lower bunks and came racing back again to the bulkhead with the windward incline. I fell to stamping upon it in my sea-boots, little fool that I was, hoping in that way to extinguish it. A purple-faced midshipman occupied one of the lower bunks, and his long nose lay over the edge of it. He opened his eyes, and after looking sleepily for a moment or two at the coating of pale fire rushing from under his bed, he snuffed a bit, and muttering, "Doocid nice smell; burnt brandy, ain't it?" he turned over and went to sleep again with his face the other way. I was in an agony of consternation, and yet afraid of calling for help lest I should be very roughly manhandled for my carelessness. There was a deal of "raffle" under the bunks--sea-boots, little bundles of clothing, and I know not what else; but thanks to Cape Horn everything was happily as damp as water itself. There was therefore nothing to kindle, nor was there any aperture through which the burning spirit could run below into the hold; so by degrees the flaming stuff consumed itself, and in about ten minutes' time the planks were black again. I went on deck and reported what had happened to the second mate. All he said was "My God!" and instantly ran below to satisfy himself that there was no further danger. I can never recall that little passage of my life without a shudder. There were a hundred and ninety-five souls of us aboard, and had I managed to set the ship on fire that night the doom of every living creature would have been assured, seeing that no boat could have lived an instant in such a sea as was then running. In a very different climate from that of Cape Horn I came very near to meeting with an extremely ugly end. It was a little business entirely out of the routine of the ordinary ocean dangers, but the memory of it sends a thrill through me to this hour, though it is much past twenty years ago since it happened. I was making my second voyage aboard a small full-rigged ship that had been hired by the Government for the conveyance of troops to the East Indies. I was the only midshipman; the other youngsters consisted of five apprentices. We occupied a deck-house a little forward of the main-hatch. This house was divided by a fore and aft bulkhead; the apprentices lived in the port compartment, the third and fourth mates and myself slung our hammocks on the starboard side. The third mate was a man of good family, aged about twenty-one, a young Hercules in strength, with heavy under-jaws and the low, peculiar brow of the prize-fighter. He had been a midshipman in Smith's service, and was a good and active sailor, very nimble aloft and expert in his work about the ship, but of a sullen, morose disposition, and a heavy drinker whenever the opportunity to get drink presented itself. I think he was regarded by all hands as a little touched, but I was too young to remark in him any oddities which might strike an older observer. He was given to delivering himself of certain dark, wild fancies. I remember he once told me that if he owed a man a grudge he would not scruple to plant himself alongside of him on a yard on a black night and kick the foot-rope from under him when his hands were busy, and so let him go overboard. But this sort of talk I would put down to mere boasting, and indeed I thought nothing of it. We were in the Indian Ocean, and one evening I sat at supper (as tea, the last meal on board ship, is always called) along with this man and the fourth mate. We fell into some sort of nautical argument, and in the heat of the discussion I said something that caused the third mate to look at me fixedly for a little while, whilst he muttered under his breath, in a kind of half-stifled way, as though his teeth were set. I did not catch the words, but I am quite certain from the fourth mate's manner, that he had heard them, and that he knew what was in the other's mind. I say this because I recollect that very shortly afterwards the fellow rose and walked out on deck with an air about him as if he was willing to give the third mate a chance of being alone with me. It was a mean trick, but then he was a cowardly rogue, and when I afterwards heard that he had been dismissed from the service he had formerly entered for robbing his shipmates of money and tobacco and the humble trifles which sailors carry about with them in their sea-chests I was wicked enough, recalling how he had walked out of that deck-house, leaving me, a little boy, alone with a strong, brutal, crazy third mate, to hope that he might yet prove guilty of larger sins still, for I could not but regard him as a creature that deserved to be hanged. The instant this man stepped through the door the third mate jumped up and closed it. It travelled in grooves, and he whipped it to with a temper which caused the whole structure to echo again to the blow. "Now, you young--" he exclaimed, turning his bulldog face, white with rage, upon me, yet speaking in a cold voice that was more terrifying to listen to than if he had roared out, "I have you and I mean to punish you," and with that he unclasped his heavy belt, and then clasped it again so as to make a double thong of the leather, and grasped me by the collar. What my feelings were I am unable to state at this distance of time. I believe I was more astonished than frightened. I could not imagine that this huge creature was in earnest in offering to beat me for what I had said, and yet I was sensible too of an unnatural fire in his eyes--a glow that put an expression of savage exultation into them; and this look of his somehow held me motionless and speechless. He half raised his arm, but a sudden irresolution possessed him, as though my passivity was a check upon his intentions. "No, no," he exclaimed, after a little, "I'll manage better than this"; and still grasping me by the collar of my jacket he dropped his belt and ran me to the fore end of the compartment, threw me on my back, and knelt upon me. Within reach of his arm, kneeling as he was, were three shelves on which we kept such crockery and cutlery as we owned, along with our slender stores of sugar and flour and the cold remains of previous repasts. He felt for a knife; I could hear the blades rattle as his fingers groped past his curved wrist for one of them, and then flourishing the black-handled weapon in front of my eyes he exclaimed, "Now I'm going to murder you." I lay stock-still; I never uttered a word; I scarcely breathed indeed. Again, I say that I do not know that I was terrified. My condition was one of semi-stupefaction, I think, with just enough of sense left in me to comprehend that if I uttered the least cry or struggled, no matter how faintly, I should transform him into a wild beast. Nothing but my lying corpse-like under the pressure of his knee saved me, I am certain. My gaze was fixed upon his face, and I see him now staring at me with his little eyes on fire, and the knife poised ready to plunge. This posture maybe he retained for two or three minutes; it ran into long hours to me. Then on a sudden he threw the knife away backwards over his shoulder, rose and went to the door, where he stood a little staring at me intently. I continued to lie motionless. He opened the door and passed out, on which I sprang to my feet and fled as nimbly as my legs would carry me to the poop, where I found the chief mate. He was a little Welshman of the name of Thomas, a brother of Ap Thomas, the celebrated harpist, and if he be still alive and these lines should meet his eyes, let him be pleased to know that my memory holds him in cordial respect as the kindest officer and the smartest seaman I ever had the fortune to be shipmates with. To him I related what had happened. "O--ho," cried he, "attempted murder, hey? Our friend must be taught that we don't allow this sort of thing to happen aboard _us_." He gave certain orders and shortly afterwards the third mate was seized and locked up in a spare cabin just under the break of the poop. Two powerful seamen were told off to keep him company. How much the unfortunate man needed this sort of control I could not have imagined but for my hearing that he was locked up and my going to the cabin window that looked on to the quarter deck to take a peep at him if he was visible. He saw me and bounded to the window, bringing his leg-of-mutton fist against it with a blow that crashed the whole plate of glass into splinters. His face was purple, his eyes half out of their sockets. There was froth upon his lips, with such a general distortion of features that it would be impossible to figure a more horrible illustration of madness than his countenance. I bolted as if the devil had been after me, catching just a glimpse of the powerful creature wrestling in the grasp of the two seamen who were dragging him backwards into the gloom of the cabin. Such an escape as this I regard as distinctly more eventful, if not more romantic, than falling overboard and being rescued when almost spent, or being picked up after a fortnight's exposure in an open boat. My most sleep-murdering nightmares nearly always include the phantom form of that burly, crazed third mate kneeling upon my motionless little figure and feeling for a knife on one of the shelves just over my head. Another little plum out of my plain sailor's pudding. This time my ship was an East Indian trader that whilst lying at Calcutta was chartered by the Government to convey troops to the North of China. It was in 1860. Difficulties had arisen, and John Chinaman was to be attacked. We proceeded to Hong Kong with the headquarters of the 60th Rifles on board, and thence to the Gulf of Peche-li, which I should say submitted one of the finest spectacles in the world, with its congregations of transports and English and French and Yankee ships of war. It was an old-world scene which the sponge of time has obliterated for ever, and I behold again in memory those two noble frigates, the _Impérieuse_ and the _Chesapeake_, straining tightly at their cables, with smoke-stacks too modest in proportions to impair to the critical nautical eye the tack and sheet suggestions of the graceful, exquisitely symmetrical fabric of spars and yards and rigging soaring triumphantly aloft to where the long whip or pennant at the main flickered like a delicate line of fire against the hard cold blue of the Asiatic sky. We lay for many months in that bay, and were obliged repeatedly to send ashore for fresh meat, vegetables, and the like. On one occasion I recollect going with the mate in the long-boat some distance up the river Peiho, a rushing, turbid stream at the mouth of which the Chinese had fixed a very _chevaux-de-frise_ of spikes, upon which they had fondly hoped our men-of-war would impale themselves, forgetting that the depth of water scarcely permitted the approach of a shallow gunboat. We were returning to the ship with a fair wind, and on top of the fierce rush of the river, when our helmsman run us plump against one of Johnny's huge impalers. The shock of the blow threw the mate into an immense basket of fresh eggs. He fell with a squelch past all power of forgetting, and lay wriggling in a very quagmire of yolk and white and fragments of shells. We pulled him out blind and streaming with eggs. His aspect was so preposterously absurd that the helmsman, rendered almost imbecile by laughter, let the boat drive into a second pile, when, as I live to write it, the mate, who was cleaning himself near to the basket, was thrown a second time into the glutinous mess! I will not attempt to repeat the sea-blessings he bestowed upon the steersman. Happily eggs were cheap, and a dollar might have represented a more considerable smash. Now it was two days following this that the captain sent the long-boat to procure some sheep and poultry from a little village situated close to the shores of the bay on the north of the river. The second mate took charge, and I and another midshipman and a couple of sailors went along with him. We landed and left the boat in charge of a seaman, and strolled towards the village. The second mate was a wild, dissolute young fellow, who, before he quitted China, became the recipient of more than one round dozen by order of the provost-marshal for looting. A little knot of Chinamen stood watching as we approached, whilst just beyond we caught sight of a couple of women hobbling nimbly away out of reach of our sight, as though they walked on stilts. Sherman--for such was the second mate's name,--approaching the Chinamen, began with them in pigeon English. They did not understand. He exhibited a few dollars, and traced the outline of a sheep upon the ground, and, with many surprising motions of his arms, sought to acquaint them with the object of his visit. All to no purpose. "What's to be done?" said Sherman, looking at us. "There's nothing that resembles a sheep hereabouts." His eyes suddenly brightened as they lighted on a large concourse of cocks and hens pecking in tolerably close order at some fifty paces distant from us. "Boys," he shouted, "as these chaps can't be made to understand, let's help ourselves. Each one seize what he can get and make for the boat. Follow me." He sprang with incredible agility towards the fowls, and in a trice had a couple of them shrieking and fluttering in his grasp. In a breath the Chinamen--thirty or forty strong--uttering a long, peculiar shout, armed themselves with pitchforks--at all events, a species of weapon that to my young eyes resembled a pitchfork,--sticks, and stones, and gave chase. They tramped after us with the noise of an army in pursuit. We flew towards the boat, screaming to the fellow in charge to haul in and receive us. A stone struck me in the small of my back, and urged me forwards faster than my legs were travelling. Down I should have tumbled on my nose, and in that posture have been straightway massacred, but for the timely grip of a sailor who was running by my side. "Hold up, my hearty!" he roared, hooking his fingers into the back of my collar and jerking me backwards. In a few moments we gained the boat, wading waist-high to come at her, and rolling like drunken men over her gunwale into her bottom. A volley of stones rattled about our ears, but we were safe. Had the Chinamen carried firearms, not one of us but must have been shot down. I could relate a score or more of such experiences: of ugly collisions with the police in Calcutta, of a narrow escape of being thrown overboard by a dinghy-wallah of the river Hooghley, of a desperate fight in the slings of the mizzen-topgallant yard with an apprentice of my own age, and the like; but the space at my disposal obliges me to conclude. Very little of the heroic enters the sailor's life. The risks he runs, the adventures he encounters, have, as a rule, nothing of the romantic in them; they are mainly brought about by his own foolhardiness, by the proverbial carelessness that is utterly irreconcilable with the stern obligations of vigilance, alertness, and foresight imposed upon him by the nature of his calling, by the imbecility of shipmates, and much too often by drink. Yet no matter what the cause of most of the perils he meets with, his experiences, I take it, head the march of professional dangers. Small wonder that faith in the "sweet little cherub that sits up aloft" should still linger in the forecastle. For certainly were it not for the bright look-out kept over him by some sort of maritime angel, the mariner would rank foremost as amongst the most perishable of human products. _The Strange Adventures of a South Seaman._ On November 4th, 1830, a number of convicts were indicted at the Admiralty Sessions of the Old Bailey for having on the 5th of September in the previous year piratically seized a brig called the _Cyprus_. A South Seaman was innocently and most involuntarily, as shall be discovered presently, involved in this tragic business, to which he is able to add a narrative that is certainly not known to any of the chroniclers of crime. But first as to the piratical seizure. The _Cyprus_, a colonial brig, had been chartered to convey a number of convicts from Hobart Town to Macquarie Harbour, on the northern coast of Tasmania, and Norfolk Island, distant about a week's sail from Sydney--in those days a penal settlement. There were thirty-two felons in all. These men had been guilty of certain grave offences at Hobart Town, and they had rendered themselves in consequence liable to new punishment; they were tried before the Supreme Court of Judicature there, and sentenced to be transported to the place above mentioned. Only the very worst sort of prisoners were sent to Norfolk Island and Macquarie Harbour. The discipline at those penal settlements was terrible; the labour that was exacted, heart-breaking. The character of the punishment was well known, and every felon re-sentenced to transportation from the colonial convict settlements very well understood the fate that was before him. The _Cyprus_ sailed from Hobart Town in August, 1829. In addition to the thirty-two convicts, she carried a crew of eight men and a guard of twelve soldiers, under the command of Lieutenant Carew, who was accompanied by his wife and children. The prisoners, as was always customary in convict ships, were under the care of a medical man named Williams. Nothing of moment happened until the brig either brought up or was hove-to in Research Bay, where Dr. Williams, Lieutenant Carew, the mate of the vessel, a soldier, and a convict named Popjoy went ashore on a fishing excursion. They had not been gone from the ship above half-an-hour when they heard a noise of firearms. Instantly guessing that the convicts had risen, they made a rush for the boat and pulled for the brig. It was as they had feared: the felons had mastered the guard and seized the brig. They suffered no man to come on board save Popjoy, who, however, later on sprang overboard, and swam to the beach. They then sent the crew, soldiers, and passengers ashore, but without provisions and the means of supporting life. Then, amongst themselves, the prisoners lifted the anchor and trimmed sail, and the little brig slipped away out of Research Bay. The chroniclers state that the vessel was never afterward heard of, though some of the convicts were apprehended, separately, in various parts of Sussex and Essex. The posthumous yarn of the mate of an English whaler disproves this. He relates his extraordinary experience thus: "We had been fishing north of the Equator, and had filled up with a little 'grease,' as the Yankees term it, round about the Galapagos Islands, but business grew too slack for even a whaleman's patience. Eleven months out from Whitby, and, if my memory fails me not, less than a score of full barrels in our hold! So the Captain made up his mind to try south, and working our way across the Equator, we struck in amongst the Polynesian groups, raising the Southern Cross higher and higher, till we were somewhere about latitude 30 deg., and longitude 175 deg. E. "I came on deck to the relief at four o'clock one morning: the weather was quiet, a pleasant breeze blowing off the starboard beam; our ship was barque-rigged, with short, topgallant masts--Cape Horn fashion; she was thrusting through it leisurely under topsails and a maintopgallantsail, and the whole Pacific heave so cradled her as she went that she seemed to sleep as she sailed. "Day broke soon after five, and as the light brightened out I caught sight of a gleam on the edge of the sea. It was as white with the risen sun upon it as an iceberg. I levelled the glass and made out the topmast canvas of a small vessel. There was nothing to excite one in the spectacle of a distant sail. The barque's work went on; the decks were washed down, the look-out aloft hailed and nothing reported, and at seven bells the crew went to breakfast, at which hour we had risen the distant sail with a rapidity that somewhat puzzled the captain and me. For, first of all, she was not so far off now but that we could distinguish the lay of her head. She looked to be going our way, but clearly she was stationary, for the _Swan_, which was the name of our barque, though as seaworthy an old tub as ever went to leeward on a bowline, was absolutely without legs: nothing more sluggish was ever afloat; for _her_ then to have overhauled anything that was actually under way would have been marvellous. "'Something wrong out there, Grainger?' said the captain. "'Looks to me to be all in the wind with her,' I answered. "'Make out any colour?' said the captain. "'Nothing as yet,' said I. "'Shift your helm by a spoke or two,' said he. 'Meanwhile, I'll go to breakfast.' "He was not long below. By the time he returned we had risen the distant vessel to the line of her rail. I got some breakfast in the cabin; on passing again through the hatch I found the captain looking at the sail through the telescope. "'She is a small brig,' said he, 'and she has just sent the English colours aloft with the jack down. She is all in the wind, as you said. Her people don't seem to know what to do with her.' "She now lay plain enough to the naked sight; a small black brig of about a hundred and eighty tons, apparently in ballast as she floated high on the water. She, like ourselves, carried short topgallantmasts, but the canvas she showed consisted of no more than topsails and courses. I took the glass from the captain, and believed I could make out the heads of two or three people showing above the bulwark rail abaft the mainmast. "'What's their trouble going to prove?' said the captain. "'They're waiting for us,' said I. 'They saw us, and put the helm down, and got their little ship in irons instead of backing their topsail yard. No sailor-man there, I doubt.' "'A small colonial trader, you'll find,' said the captain, 'with a crew of four or five Kanakas. The captain's sick and the mate was accidentally left ashore at the last island.' "It blew a four-knot breeze--four knots, I mean, for the _Swan_. Wrinkling the water under her bows, and smoothing into oil a cable's length of wake astern of her, the whaler floated down to the little brig within hailing distance. We saw but two men, and one of them was at the wheel. There was an odd look of confusion aloft, or rather let me describe it as a want of that sort of precision which a sailor's eye would seek for and instantly miss, even in the commonest old sea-donkey of a collier. Nothing was rightly set for the lack of hauling taut. Running gear was slackly belayed, and swung with the rolling of the little brig like Irish pennants. The craft was clean at the bottom, but uncoppered. She was a round-bowed contrivance, with a spring aft which gave a kind of mulish, kick-up look to the run of her. "One of the two visible men, a broad-chested, thick-set fellow, in a black coat and a wide, white straw hat, got upon the bulwark, and stood holding on by a backstay, watching our approach, but he did not offer to hail. I thought this queer; it struck me that he hesitated to hail us, as though wanting the language of the sea in this business of speaking. "'Brig ahoy!' shouted the captain. "'Hallo!' answered the man. "'What is wrong with you?' "'We are short-handed, sir, and in great distress,' was the answer. "'What is your ship, and where are you from, and where are you bound to?' "When these questions were put the man looked round to the fellow who stood at the brig's little wheel. It was certain he was not a sailor, and it was possible he sought for counsel from the helmsman, who was probably a forecastle hand. He turned his face again our way in a minute, and shouted out in a powerful voice: "'We are the brig _Cyprus_, of Sydney, New South Wales, bound to the Cape of Good Hope, and very much out of our reckoning, I dare say, through the distress we're in.' "The captain and I exchanged looks. "'Heading as you go,' the captain sang out, 'you're bound on a true course for the Antarctic Circle, and, anyway, it's a long stretch for Agulhas by way of Cape Horn out of these seas. How can we serve you?'" 'Will you send one of your officers in a boat?' came back the reply very promptly, 'that he may put us in the way of steering a course for the Cape of Good Hope? He'll then guess our plight, and if you'll lend us a hand or two we shall be greatly obliged. We can't send a boat ourselves--we're too few.' "'He's no sailor-man, that fellow,' said the captain, 'and he ha'n't got the colonial brogue, either. I seem to smell Whitechapel in that chap's speech. Is he a passenger? Why don't he say so? Looks like a play-actor, or a priest. But take a boat, Grainger, and row over and see what you can make of the mess they're in. There's something rather more than out-of-the-way in that job, if I'm not mistaken.' "A boat was lowered; I entered it, and was rowed across to the brig by three men. No attempt was made to throw us the end of a line, or in any way to help us. The bowman got hold of a chain plate, and I scrambled into the main-chains and so got over the rail, bidding the men shove off and lie clear of the brig, whose rolling was somewhat heavy, owing to her floating like an egg-shell upon the long Pacific heave. "I glanced along the vessel's decks forward, and saw not a soul. I observed a little caboose, the chimney of which was smoking as though coal had within the past few minutes been thrown into the furnace. I saw but one boat; she stood chocked and lashed abaft the caboose--a clumsy, broad-beamed long-boat, capable of stowing perhaps fifteen or twenty men at a pinch. I also took notice of a pair of davits on the starboard side, past the main rigging; they were empty. "I stepped up to the heavily-built man who had answered the captain's questions. He received me with a grotesque bow, pinching the brim of his wide straw hat as he bobbed his head. I did not like his looks. He had as hanging a face as ever a malefactor carried. His features were heavy and coarse, his brow low and protruding, his eyes small, black, and restless, and his mouth of the bulldog cast. "'We're much obliged to you for this visit,' he said. 'Might I ask your name, sir?' "'My name is Grainger--Mr. James Grainger,' I answered, scarcely wondering at the irregularity of such a question on such an occasion, perceiving clearly now that the fellow was no sailor. "'What might be your position in that ship, Mr. Grainger?' said the man. "'I'm mate of her,' said I. "'Then I suppose you're capable of carrying a ship from place to place by the art of navigation?' he exclaimed. "'Why, I hope so!' cried I. 'But what is it you want?' and here I looked at the man who was standing at the helm, grasping the spokes in a manner that assured me he was not used to that sort of work; and I was somewhat struck to observe that in some respects he was not unlike the fellow who was addressing me--that is to say, he had quite as hanging a face as his companion, though he wanted the other's breadth and squareness, and ruffian-like set of figure; but his forehead was low, and his eyes black and restless, and he was close-cropped, with some days' growth of beard, as was the case with the other. He was dressed in a bottle-green spencer and trousers of a military cut, and wore one of those caps which in the days I am writing of were the fashion amongst masters and mates. "'If you don't mind stepping into the cabin,' said the man with whom I was conversing, 'I'll show you a chart, and ask you to pencil out a course for us; and with your leave, sir, I'll tell you over a glass of wine exactly how it's come about that we're too few to carry the brig to her destination unless your captain will kindly help us.' "'Are you two the only people aboard?' said I. "'The only people,' he answered. "Anywhere else, under any other conditions, I might have suspected a treacherous intention in two men with such hanging countenances as this lonely brace owned; but what could I imagine to be afraid of aboard a brig holding two persons only, with the whaler's boat and three men within a few strokes of the oar, and the old barque, _Swan_, full of livelies, many of them deadly in the art of casting the harpoon, within easy hail? "The man who invited me below stepped into the companion-way; I followed and descended the short flight of steps. The instant I had gained the bottom of the ladder I knew by the sudden shadow which came into the light that the companion hatch had been closed; this must have been done by the fellow who was standing at the wheel. It was wisely contrived. Assuredly had the way been open, I should have rushed upon deck and sprung overboard: because after descending the steps I beheld five or six men standing in a sort of waiting and listening posture under the skylight. Instantly my left arm was gripped by the man who had asked me to step below, while another fellow, equally powerful, and equally ruffianly in appearance, grasped me by the right arm. "'Now,' said the first man, 'if you make the least bit of noise or give us any trouble, we'll cut your throat. We don't intend to do you any harm, but we want your services, and you'll have to do what we require without any fuss. If not, you're a dead man.' "So saying, they threw open the door of a berth, ran me into it, shut the door, and shot the lock. I had been so completely taken by surprise that I was in a manner stunned. I stood in the middle of the cabin just where the fellows had let go of me, staring around, breathing short and fierce, my mind almost a blank. But I quickly rallied my wits. I understood I had been kidnapped; by what sort of people I could not imagine, but beyond question because I understood navigation, as I had told the man. I listened, but heard no noise of voices, nor movements of people in the cabin. Through the planks, overhead, however, came the sound of a rapid tread of feet, accompanied by the thud of coils of rope flung hastily down. The cabin porthole was a middling-sized, circular window. I saw the whaler in it as in a frame. I unscrewed the port, but with no intention to cry out, never doubting for a moment from the looks of the men that they would silence me in some bloody fashion as had been threatened. "Just as I pulled the port open a voice overhead sang out: 'Get back to your ship, you three men; your mate has consented to stop with us as we're in want of a navigator.' "'Let him tell us that himself,' said one of my men; 'let him show up. What ha' ye done with him?' "'Be off,' roared one of the people, in a savage, hurricane note. "There was a little pause as of astonishment on the part of the boat's crew--I could not see them, the boat lay too far astern,--but after a bit I heard the splash of oars, the boat swept into the sphere of the porthole, and I beheld her making for the barque. "I was now sensible, however, not only by observing the whaler to recede, but by hearing the streaming and rippling of broken waters along the bends, that the people of the brig had in some fashion trimmed sail and filled upon the vessel. We were under way. The barque slided out of the compass of the porthole, but now I heard her captain's voice coming across the space of water, clear and strong: "'Brig ahoy! What do you mean by keeping my mate?' "To this no answer was returned. Again the captain hailed the brig; but owing to the shift in the postures of the two vessels, and to my having nothing but a circular hole to hear through, I could only dimly and imperfectly catch what was shouted. The cries from the whaler grew more and more threadlike. Indeed, I knew the brig must be a very poor sailer if she did not speedily leave the _Swan_ far astern. "And now, as I conjectured from the noise of the tread of feet and the hum of voices, the brig on a sudden seemed full of men; not the eight or ten whom I had beheld with my own eyes, but a big ship's company. And the sight of the crowd, I reckoned, as I stood hearkening at the open porthole--amazed, confounded, in the utmost distress of mind--was probably the reason why the captain of the _Swan_ had not thought proper to send boats to rescue me. Be this as it will I was thunderstruck by the discovery--the discovery of my hearing, and of my capacity as a sailor of interpreting shipboard sounds--that this little brig, which I had supposed tenanted by two men only, had hidden a whole freight of human souls somewhere away in the execution of this diabolical stratagem. What was this vessel? Who were the people on board her? What use did they design to put me to? And when I had served them, what was to be my fate? "Quite three hours passed, during which I was left unvisited. Sometimes I heard men talking in the cabin; over my head there went a regular swing of heavy feet, a pendulum tread, as of half-a-score of burly ruffians marching abreast, and keeping a look-out all together. The door of my berth was opened at last, and the villain who had seduced me into the brig stepped in. "'I was sorry,' said he, 'to be obliged to use threats. Threats aren't in our way. We mean no mischief. Quite the contrary; we count upon you handsomely serving us. Come into the cabin, sir, that I may make you known to my mates.' "His manner was as civil as a fellow with his looks could possibly contrive, and an ugly smile sat upon his face whilst he addressed me, and I observed that he held his great straw hat in his hand, as though to show respect. "About twenty men were assembled in the cabin. I came to a dead stand on the threshold of the door of the berth, so astounded was I by the sight of all those fellows. I ran my eye swiftly over them; they were variously dressed--some in the attire of seamen, some in such clothes as gentlemen of that period wore, a few in a puzzling sort of military undress. They all had cropped heads, and many were grim with a few days' growth of beard and moustache. They had the felon's look, and there was somehow a suggestion of escaped prisoners in their general bearing. A dark suspicion rushed upon me with the velocity of thought, as I stood on the threshold of the door of the berth for the space of a few heart-beats, gazing at the mob. "The cabin was a plain, old-fashioned interior. A stout, wide table secured to stanchions ran amidships. Overhead was a skylight. There were a few chairs on either hand the table, and down the cabin on both sides went a length of lockers. Some of the men were smoking. A few sat upon the table with their arms folded; others lounged upon the lockers, and in chairs. They stared like one man at me, whilst I stood looking at them. "'Is he a navigator, Swallow?' said one of them--a wiry, dark-faced man, who held his head hung, and looked at you by lifting his eyes. "'Ay, mate of the whaler--James Grainger by name,' answered the fellow who had opened the door of my berth. 'Salute him, bullies. He's the charley-pitcher for to handle this butter-box.' "The voices of the men swelled into a roar of welcomes of as many sorts as there were speakers. One of them came round the table and shook me by the hand. "'My name's Alexander Stevenson,' said he; 'come and sit you down here.' "All very civilly he conducted me to a chair at the head of the table. And now, happening to glance upwards, I spied seven or eight faces peering down at me through the skylight. "'Swallow, do the jawing, will 'ee?' said the man who called himself Stevenson. "'Why, yes,' answered Swallow, posting himself at the top of the table, and addressing me through the double ranks of men on either side. 'This is how it stands with us, Mr. Grainger--clear as mud in a wineglass; and we're sorry it should have come to it, for your sake. But do your duty by us faithfully, and we'll take care you sha'n't suffer. We're thirty-one convicts in all. We were thirty-two, but Milkliver Poppy took a header, and went for the land and the lickspittle; if he lives he'll get his liberty for a reward. We were bound from Hobart to Norfolk Island. You'll have heard of that settlement?' "I said 'Yes,' and an odd guttural laugh broke from some of the men. "'Well, mister,' continued the man Swallow, 'Norfolk Island was a destination that didn't accord with our views. And what more d' ye want me to say? Here we are, and we want our liberty, and we mean to get it without any risk, and you're the man to help us.' "'What do you want me to do?' said I, speaking boldly, and looking about me steadily, for now I perceived exactly how it was with the brig, and the worst had been explained and the whole mystery solved when Swallow told me they were convicts; and likewise I had plenty of time to screw my nerves up. "Several men spoke at once on my asking the above question. Stevenson roared out: 'Let Swallow man the jaw tackle, boys. One at a time, or you'll addle the gent.' "'This is what we want you to do,' said Swallow. 'There are scores of islands in these seas, and we want you to carry us to them; heaving-to off them one after another that we may pick and choose, some going ashore here, and some there, for our game is to scatter. That's clear, I hope.' "'I understand you,' said I." "Swallow seemed at a loss. Stevenson then said: 'But we shall want nothing that's got a white settlement on it; nothing that's likely to have a pennant flying near. We've got no fixed notions. We leave it to you to raise the islands, and it'll be for us to select and take our chance.' "'There'll be charts aboard, I suppose?' said I. "Instantly one of them stepped into a cabin and returned with a bag full of charts. I turned them out upon the table and promptly came across charts of the North and South Pacific oceans. These charts gave me from the Philippines to Cape St. Lucas, and from the Eastern Australian coast to away as far as 120 deg. W. longitude. The men did not utter a word whilst I looked; I could hear their deep breathing, mingled with the noise of a hard sucking of pipes. One of them who looked through the skylight called down. Swallow silenced him with a gesture of his fist. "'Have you got what's wanted here, Mr. Grainger?' said Stevenson. "'All that I shall want is here,' I answered. "'A low growl of applause ran through the men. "'Will you be able to light upon the islands that'll prove suitable for us men to live on without risk until the opportunity comes in the shape of vessels for us to get away?' said Swallow. "'I'll do my best for you,' said I. 'I see your wants, and you may trust me, providing I may trust you. What's to become of me when you're out of the brig? That's it!' "'You'll stay on board and do what you like with the vessel,' answered Swallow. 'She'll be yours to have and hold. Make what you call a salvage job of it, and your pickings, mister, 'ull be out and away beyond the value of what we've been obliged to make you leave behind you.' "'Ain't that fair?' said a man. "'Is my life safe?' said I. "'Ay,' cried the Swallow, with a great oath, striking the table a heavy blow with his clenched fist. 'Understand this and comfort yourself. There's been no blood shed in this job, and there'll be none, so help me God--you permitting, mister.' "When this was said, a fellow, whom I afterwards heard called by the name of Jim Davies, asked if I was willing to take an oath that I would be honest. I said, 'Yes.' He stood up and dictated an oath full of blasphemy, shocking with imprecations, and grossly illiterate. The eyes of the crowd fastened upon me, and some of the ruffians watched me in a scowling way with faces dark with suspicion, till I repeated the horrid language of the man Davies, and swore, after which the greater bulk of them went on deck. "Swallow put some beef and biscuit on the table and a bottle of rum, and bade me fall to. He told me to understand that I was captain of the ship; that I was at liberty to appoint officers under me; and that, though none of the convicts had been seafaring men, they had learnt how the ropes led and how to furl canvas, and would obey any orders for the common good which I might deliver. I ate and drank, being determined to put the best face I could on this extraordinary business, and asked for the captain's cabin, that I might find out what nautical instruments the brig carried. Swallow, Stevenson, and a convict named William Watts conducted me to a berth right aft on the starboard side. They told me it had been occupied by the captain, and should be mine. Here I found all I needed in the shape of navigating instruments, and went on deck with Swallow and the others. "I could see nothing of the _Swan_; she was out of sight from the elevation of the brig's bulwarks. All the convicts were on deck, and the brig looked full of men. Those who had been above whilst I was in the cabin with the others, approached and stared at me, but not insolently--merely with curiosity. They seemed a vile lot, one and all. With some of them every other word was an oath; their talk was almost gibberish to my ears with thieves' slang. I wondered to find not one of them dressed in felon's garb; but on reflection I concluded that they had plundered the crew and the people who had had charge of them and of the _Cyprus_, and had forced all those they drove out of the brig to change clothes before quitting the vessel. "However, it was my immediate policy to prove my sincerity. I valued my life, and I had but to look at the men to reckon that it would not be worth a rushlight if they suspected I was not doing my best to find them a safe asylum among the islands in the Pacific. Accordingly, I fetched one of the charts, placed it upon the skylight, where those who gathered about me could see it, and laid off a course for the Tonga Islands; telling the men as I pointed to the group upon the chart that if no island thereabouts satisfied them, we could head for the Fijis or cruise about the Friendly or Navigator groups, working our way as far as the Low Archipelago, betwixt which and the first island we sighted we ought certainly to fall in with the sort of hiding-place they wanted. My words raised a grin of satisfaction in every face within reach of my voice. "I stepped to the helm and headed the brig on a northerly course, and stood awhile looking at the compass to satisfy myself that the convict who grasped the spokes understood what to do with the wheel. He managed fairly well. I then asked Swallow to serve as my chief mate, and Stevenson to act as second, and calling the rest of the felons together, I divided them into two watches. My next step was to crowd the little brig with all the canvas she could spread, and set every stitch of it properly. Thus passed the first day. "I have no time to enter minutely into what happened till we made a small point of land in the neighbourhood of the Friendly Islands. There was abundance of provisions on board, plenty of fresh water, and a stock of spirits intended for the commandant and soldiers at Macquarie Harbour and Norfolk Island; but though the convicts freely used whatever they found in the brig's hold, never once was there an instance of drunkenness amongst them. I guessed them all to be as desperate a set of miscreants as were ever transported for crime upon crime from a convict establishment; yet they used me very well. Saving their villainous speech, their behaviour was fairly decorous. They sprang to my bidding, sir'd me as though they had been seamen and I their captain, and, indeed, by their behaviour so reassured me that my dread of being butchered vanished, and I carried on the brig as assured of my personal safety--providing I dealt by them honestly--as though I had been on board the old _Swan_. "We sighted several vessels, but, as you may suppose, we had nothing to say to them. Off the first island we came across I hove the brig to; the convicts got the long-boat out, and a dozen of them went ashore to examine and report. Five returned; the remainder had chosen to stay. We made three of the islands; the natives of two of them were threatening, and frightened the convicts back to the brig; the third proved uninhabited--a very gem of an island was this,--and here fifteen convicts went ashore, and thrice the boat went between the island and the brig with provisions and necessaries for their maintenance. "But it gave me a fortnight of anxious hunting to discover such another island as the remaining convicts considered suitable. This at last we fell in with midway betwixt the Union group and the Marquesas; and here the rest of the felons went ashore, after almost emptying the brig's hold of provisions and the like. They kept the long-boat, and left me alone in the brig. Some of them shook hands with me as they went over the side, and thanked me for having served them so honestly. "It was in the evening when I was left alone. The sun was setting behind the island, off which a gentle breeze was blowing. My first business was to run the ensign aloft, jack down. I then trimmed sail as best I could with my single pair of hands, and, putting the helm amidships, let the brig blow away south-west, designing to make for one of the Navigator Islands, where I might hope to fall in with assistance, either from the shore or from a vessel. But, shortly after midnight the brig, sailing quietly, grounded upon a coral shoal, fell over on to her bilge, and lay quiet. I was without a boat, and could do nothing but wait for daylight, and pray for a sight of some passing vessel. All next day passed, and nothing showed the wide horizon round; but about nine o'clock that night, the moon shining clearly, I spied a sail down in the south. She drew closer, and proved a little schooner. I hailed her with a desperate voice, and to my joy was answered, and in less than ten minutes she sent a boat and took me aboard." The South Seaman's narrative ends abruptly here, but it is known that he was conveyed to Honolulu, at which place, strangely enough, the _Swan_ touched after he had been ashore about a week. He at once went on board, related his strange experiences to his captain, and proceeded on his whaling career with the easy indifference of a sailor accustomed to tragic surprises. The brig _Cyprus_ went to pieces on the shoal on which she had grounded. It is on record that of the convicts retaken on their return to England, two were hanged--namely, Watts and Davies; two others, Beveridge and Stevenson, were transported for life to Norfolk Island; and Swallow was sent back to Macquarie Harbour. _The Adventures of Three Sailors._ TOLD BY DANIEL SMALL, ONLY MATE. Our vessel was a little brig, named the _Hindoo Merchant_, and we sailed on a day in March in the year of our Lord 1857, from Trincomalee bound to Calcutta. The captain, myself, and three sailors were Europeans; the rest of the ship's company, natives. Though we were "flying light" as the term is--that is to say, though there was little more in the ship's hold than ballast, and though she had tolerably nimble heels, for what one might term a _country-wallah_--yet the little ship was so bothered with head winds and light airs, and long days of stagnation, that we had been several weeks afloat before we managed to crawl to the Norrad of the Andaman parallels, which yet left a long stretch of waters before us. If this remainder of the ocean was not to be traversed more fleetly than the space we had already measured, then it was certain we should be running short of water many a long while before the Sandheads came within the compass of our horizon, and to provide against the most horrible situation that the crew of a ship can find themselves placed in, we kept a bright look-out for vessels, and within four days managed to speak two; but they had no water to spare, and we pushed on. But within three days of our speaking the second of the two vessels we sighted a third, a large barque, who at once backed her topsail to our signals, and hailed us to know what we wanted. My captain, Mr. Roger Blow, stood up in the mizzen-rigging and asked for water. They asked how much we needed; Captain Blow responded that whatever they could spare would be a god-send. On this they sung out: "Send a boat with a cask and you shall have what we can afford to part with." Captain Blow then told me to put an eighteen-gallon cask in the port-quarter boat, and go away to the barque with it. "They'll not fill it," said he, "but a half'll be better than a quarter, and a quarter'll be good enough; for we stand to pick up more as we go along." I had called to two of the English sailors, named Mike Jackson and Thomas Fallows, to get into the boat, when the cask had been placed in her; and when I had entered her the darkeys lowered us; we unhooked and shoved off. There was a pleasant breeze of wind blowing; it blew hot, as though it came straight from the inside of an oven, the door of which had been suddenly opened; the sky had the sort of glazed dimness of the human eye in fever; but right overhead it was of a copperish dazzle where the roasting orb of the sun was. I could not see a speck of cloud anywhere, which rendered what followed the more amazing to my mind for the suddenness of it. The two vessels at the first of their speaking had been tolerably close together, but some time had been spent in routing up the cask and getting it into the boat, and setting ourselves afloat, so that at the moment of our shoving off--spite of the topsail of each vessel being to the mast--the space had widened between them, till I daresay it covered pretty nearly a mile. The wind was at west-nor'-west, and the barque bore on the lee quarter of the _Hindoo Merchant_. The great heat put a languor into the arms of our two seamen, and the oars rose and fell slowly and weakly. Jackson said to me: "I hope," said he, "they 'll be able to spare us a bite of ship's bread. Our 'n is no better than sawdust, and if it wasn't for the worms in it," said he, "blast me if there 'd be any nutriment in it at all. Them Cingalese ought to ha' moored their island off the Chinese coast. They 'd have grown rich with teaching the Johnnies more tricks than they 're master of, at plundering sailors." "The _Hindoo Merchant's_ bread isn't up to much, Fallows," said I, "but this is no atmosphere to talk of bread in. What 's aboard will carry us to the Hooghley. It is water we have to fix our minds on." We drew alongside of the tall barque, and the master, after looking over the rail, asked me to step aboard and drink a glass with him in his cabin, "for," says he, "this is no part of the ocean to be thirsty in," and he then gave directions for the cask to be got out of the boat, and a drink of rum and water to be handed down to the two seamen. I stepped into the cabin and the captain put a bottle of brandy and some cold water on the table. He asked me several questions about the brig, and how long we were out, and where we were from, and the like, and one thing leading to another, he happened to mention the town he was born in, which was my native place too--Ashford, in the county of Kent,--and here was now a topic to set us yarning, for I knew some of his friends and he knew some of mine; and the talk seemed to do him so much good, whilst it was so agreeable to me, that neither of us seemed in a hurry to end it. This is the only excuse I can offer for lingering on the barque longer than, as circumstances proved, I ought to have done. At last I got up and said I must be off, and I thanked him most kindly for the obliging reception of me, and for his goodness in supplying the brig with water, and I gave him Captain Blow's compliments, and desired to know if we could accommodate him in any way in return. He answered "Nothing, nothing," stepping through the hatch as he said it, and an instant after he set up his throat in a cry. "You 'll have to bear a hand aboard," says he, with a face of astonishment; "look yonder! 'T is rolling down upon your brig like smoke." He pointed to the vessel, and a little way past her I spied a long line of white vapour no higher than Dover cliff as it looked, but as dense as those rocks of chalk too. The sun made steam of it, but if already it was putting a likeness of its own blankness into the sky over it, which seemed to be dying out, as the vapour came along, as the light perishes in a looking-glass upon which you breathe. I ran to the side and saw my boat under the gang-way and the two men in her. The cask was in the stern of the boat. The master of the barque cried out to me: "Will you not stay till that smother clears? You may lose your brig in it." I replied: "No, sir, thank you. I will take my chance. It is more likely I should lose her by remaining here," and with a flourish of the hand I dropped over the side and entered the boat. "Now," cried I, "pull like the devil, men." They threw their oars over and fell to rowing fiercely; but the barque was not five cables' length astern of us when the first of the white cliff of vapour smote the _Hindoo Merchant,_ and she vanished in it like a star in a cloud. There was a fresh breeze of wind behind that line of sweeping thickness, and in places, at the base of the mass of blankness, it would dart out in swift racings of shadow that made one think of the feelers of some gigantic marine spider, probing under its cobweb as though feeling its way along. In a few minutes the cloud drove down over us with a loud whistling of wind, and the water close to the boat's side ran in short, small seas, every head of it hissing; but to within the range of a biscuit toss all was flying, glistening obscurity, with occasional bursts of denser thicknesses which almost hid one end of the boat from the other. It was about six o'clock in the afternoon, and there might be yet another hour of sunshine. "'Vast rowing!" says I presently, "you may keep the oars over, but there's no good in pulling, short of keeping her head to wind. This is too thick to last." "Ain't so sure of that," says Fallows, taking a slow look round at the smother, "I 've been in these here seas for two days running in weather arter this pattern." "Pity we didn't stay aboard the barque," says Jackson. "A plague on your pities!" I cried. "I know my duty, I believe. Suppose we _had_ stayed aboard the barque, we stood to be separated from the brig in this breeze and muckiness, and was her skipper by-and-bye going to sail in search of the _Hindoo Merchant_?" "A gun!" cries Fallows. "That'll be the brig," says I, catching the dull thud of the explosion of a nine-pounder which the _Hindoo Merchant_ carried on her quarter-deck. "Seems to me as though it sounded from yonder," says Jackson, looking away over the starboard beam of the boat. "What have ye there, men?" says I, nodding at a bundle of canvas under the amidship thwart. "Ship's bread," answered Jackson, with a note of sulkiness in his voice. "It was hove to us on my asking for a bite. She was a liberal barque. The cask's more 'n three-quarters full." We hung upon our oars listening and waiting. There was a second gun ten minutes after the first had been fired, and that was the last we heard. The report was thin and distant, but whether ahead or astern I could not have guessed by harkening. I kept up my own and endeavoured to inspirit the hearts of the others by saying that this fog which had come down in a moment would end in a moment, that it was all clear sky above with plenty of moonlight for us in the night if it should happen that the sun went down upon us thus, that Captain Blow was not going to lose us and his boat and the cask of fresh water if it was in mortal seamanship to hold a vessel in one situation; but the fellows were not to be cheered, their spirits sank and their faces grew longer as the complexion of the fog told us that the sun was sinking fast, and I own that when it came at last to his setting, and no break in the flying vapour, and a blackness as of ink stealing into it out of the swift tropic dusk, I myself felt horribly dejected, greatly fearing that we had lost the brig for good. Just before the last of the twilight faded out of the smoke that shrouded us, we lashed both oars together and, attaching them to the boat's painter, threw them overboard and rode to them. Our thirst was now extreme, and to appease it--being without a dipper to drop into the cask--we sank a handkerchief through the bung-hole and wrung it out in the half of a cocoa-nut shell that was in the boat as a baler, and by this means procured a drink, each man. Grateful to God indeed was I that we had fresh water with us. I beat the cask, and gathered by the sound that it was more than half full. Heaven was bountiful too in providing us with biscuit. It had been the luckiest of thoughts on Jackson's part, though he had desired nothing more than to obtain a relish for his own rations of buffalo hump aboard. I never remember the like of the pitch darkness of that night. There was a moon, pretty nearly a full one if I recollect aright; but had she been shining over the other side of the world it would have been all the same. Her delicate silver beam could not pierce the vapour, and never once did I behold the least glistening of her radiance anywhere. There was a constant noise of wind in the dense thickness, and an incessant seething and crackling of waters running nimbly, so that though we would from time to time bend our ears in the hope of catching the rushing and pouring noise of the sea divided by a ship's stem, we never could hear more than the whistling of the breeze and the lapping of the hurrying little surges. There was a deal of fire in the water, and it came and went in sheets like the reflection of lightning, insomuch that we might have believed ourselves in the heart of an electric storm; but happily the wind never gathered so much weight as to raise a troublesome sea, and though the boat tumbled friskily she kept dry, and there was nothing in her movements to render me uneasy. I told the two fellows to lie down in the bottom of the boat, and I kept watch till I reckoned it was drawing on to about one o'clock in the morning. Twice or thrice during that long and wretched vigil there seemed a promise of the weather clearing, and I gazed with the yearning of the shipwrecked; but regularly it thickened and blackened down upon us again in blasts like the belchings of a three-decker's broadside. It was a very watery vapour, and I was early wet to the skin. At about one o'clock, as I calculated, I awoke Jackson, and bade him keep an eager look-out and not to spare his ear in putting it against the night, "for," says I, "there's nothing to be done with the eyes; it's all for the hearing at such a time as this, mate, and what you can't watch for you must listen for; and wake me up to any sound you may hear, that our three throats may hail together. O God," says I, "if it would but thin and show the brig within reach of our shouts!" With that I lay down and was soon fast asleep, being worn out with excitement and grief, and when I awoke it was daylight, for there's but little dawn off the Andamans; the sun in those seas leaps on to the horizon from the night as it were, and flashes it into day in a breath. It was still thick and troubled weather, but clear to about two miles from the side of the boat. There was very little wind, and a long swell of the colour of lead was running from the southward. The vapour had broken up and lay in masses round about us--long, white twisted folds of it, like powder smoke after a great battle; and to the top of those heaps of thickness the sky sloped in a sort of grey shadow, with a little pencilling here and there of some small livid ring of mist, which looked stirless as though what air there was blew low. There was nothing in sight; we strained our gaze into every quarter but I saw there was nothing to be seen. This smote me to the heart. I had been in my time in several situations of peril at sea, but had never yet experienced the horrors of an open boat amidst a vast waste of waters, such as was this Bay of Bengal with the Andaman Islands some hundreds of miles distant, and a near menace of roasting heat when the wide grey stretch of cloud should have passed away and laid bare the sun's eye of fire. We gazed with melancholy faces one at another. "What's to be done?" says Fallows, bringing his bloodshot eyes from the sea to my face; "if we had a sail to set we might have a chance." "There are two oars," said I, "for a mast and a yard, and our shirts must furnish a sail." "But how are we to head?" says Jackson. "Right afore the wind, I suppose," says I; "there'll be no ratching with the rags we're going to hoist. Right afore the wind," I says; "and we must trust to God to keep us in view till something heaves in sight--which is pretty well bound to happen I suppose when there comes some wind along." I opened the canvas parcel, and found a matter of thirty biscuits; all very sweet, good bread. We took each of us a piece, and followed on with a drink, and then went to work to get our oars in. We all three wore shirts, and we stripped them off our backs and cut them to lie open. I had a little circular cushion of stout pins in my pocket, such as a sailor might carry, and with them we brought the squares of the shirts together, and seized the corners to one of the oars by yarns out of an end of painter we cut off, then stepped the other oar, and secured it with another piece of the painter; and now we had a sort of sail, the mere sight of which, even, was a small satisfaction to us, since the shirts being white they must needs make a good mark upon the water, something not to be missed, unless wilfully, by a passing vessel. The morning passed away, and a little after twelve o'clock the water in the south was darkened by the brushing of a wind, which drove the hovering masses of vapour before it; and presently they had totally disappeared, leaving a sky with rents and yawns of blue in places, and a clear glass-like circle of horizon, upon which, however, there was nothing to be seen. The boat moved slowly before the wind, which blew hot as a desert breeze; I steered, and Jackson and Fallows sat near me, one or the other from time to time getting on to a thwart to take a view of the ocean, under the sharp of his hand. In this fashion passed the afternoon. The night came with a deal of fire in the water, and a very clear moon floating in lagoons of velvet softness betwixt the clouds. The weather continued quiet; the long swell made a pleasant cradle of the boat, and the night-wind being full of dew, breathed refreshingly upon our hot cheeks; whilst our ears were soothed by the rippling noise of the running waters which seemed to cool the senses, as the breeze did the body. It was almost a dead calm, however, at daybreak next morning. The atmosphere was close and heavy, and there was a strange strong smell of seaweed, rising off the ocean, which caused me to look narrowly about, with some dim dream of perceiving land, though I should have known there was no land for leagues and leagues. Whilst we were munching a biscuit, I observed an appearance of steam lifting off the water, at a distance of about half-a-mile on the starboard side of the boat. The vapour came out of the water in the shape of corkscrews, spirally working, and they melted at a height of perhaps ten or fifteen feet. I counted five of these singular emissions. Jackson said that they were fragments of mist, and we might look out for such another thickness as had lost us the brig. Fallows said: "No; that's no mist, mate; that is as good steam as ever blew out of a kettle. Are there places where the water boils in this here ocean?" As he said these words, an extraordinary thrill passed through the boat, followed by a sound that seemed more like an intellectual sensation than a real noise. What to compare it to I don't know; it was as though it had thundered under the sea. An instant later, up from the part of the water where the corkscrew appearances were, rose a prodigious body of steam. It soared without a sound from the deep; it was balloon-shaped but of mountainous proportions. "A sea-quake!" roared Jackson. "Stand by for the rollers!" But no sea followed. I could witness no commotion whatever in the water; the light, long swell flowed placidly into the base of the mass of whiteness, and there was nothing besides visible on the breast of the sea, save the delicate wrinkling of the weak draught of air. Very quickly the vapour thinned as steam does, and as it melted off the surface, it disclosed to our astonished gaze what at first sight seemed to me the fabric of a great ship, but after viewing it for a moment or two, I distinctly made out the form of an old-fashioned hull with the half of much such another hull as she, alongside, both apparently locked together about the bows; and they seemed to be supported by some huge gleaming black platform; but what it was we could not tell. The three of us drew a deep breath as we surveyed the floating objects. The steam was gone; there they lay plain and bare; it was as though the wand of a magician had touched the white mass and transformed it into the objects we gazed at. "Down with the sail," says I, "there's something yonder worth looking at." We got the oars over, and pulled in the direction of the fabrics. As we approached I could scarce credit the evidence of my own sight. The form of one of the vessels was perfect. She was of an antique build, and belonged to a period that I reckoned was full eighty years dead and gone. The other--the half of her I should say--showed a much bluffer bow, and had been a vessel of some burthen. But the wonder was the object on which they rested. This was no more nor less than the body of a great dead whale! We first needed to lose something of our amazement ere we could reasonably speculate upon what we saw; then how this had happened grew plain to our minds. The two craft, God knows how many long years before, had been in action and foundered in conflict. The smaller vessel--I mean the one that lay whole before us--might have been a privateersman; she had something of a piratical sheer forward, there were no signs of a mast aboard either of them, one had grappled the other to board her I dare say, and they had both gone to the bottom linked. The vessel of which only half remained may have broken her back in settling, and, by-and-bye, the after part of her drifted away, leaving the dead bows still gripped by the dead enemy alongside. But how came the whale there? Well, we three men reasoned it thus, and I don't doubt we were right. At the moment of the sea-quake the whale was stemming steadily towards the two wrecks resting on the bottom. They were lifted by the explosion, which at the same time killed the whale; but the impetus of the vast form slided it to under the lifted keels, where it came to a stand. A dead whale floats, as we know. This whale being dead was bound to rise, and the buoyancy of the immense mass brought the two craft up with it, and there they were, poised by the gleaming surface of the whale, which was depressed by their weight, so that no portion of the head, tail, or fluke was visible. "It's them vessels being connected," says Jackson, "as keeps them afloat. If what holds them together forrard was to part they'd slide off that there slipperiness and sink." We rowed close, the three of us greatly marvelling, as you may suppose, for never had the like of such an incident as this happened at sea within the knowledge of ever a one of us, and Fallows alone was a man of five and forty, who had been using the ocean for thirty-three years. It was as scaring as the rising of a corpse out of the depths--as scaring as if that corpse turned to and spoke when his head showed,--to see those two vessels lying in the daylight after eighty, aye, and perhaps a hundred years of the green silence hundreds of fathoms deep, locked in the same posture in which they had gone down, making you almost fancy that you could hear the thunder of their guns, witness the flashing of cutlasses, and the rush of the boarders to the bulwarks amidst a hurricane note of huzzaing and shrieks of the wounded. They were both of them handsomely crusted with shells, not of the barnacle sort, but such as you would pick up anywhere in Ceylon or the Andaman, some of them finely coloured, many of them white as milk, of a thousand different patterns; and there was not one of them but what was beautiful. "Let's board her," says Jackson. "Ah, but if that whale be alive!" says Fallows. "No fear of that," said I; "if he was alive there'd be some stir in him. The whale's not the danger; it's the lashing, which may part at any moment. It should be in a fair way of rottenness after so many years of salt water, and if it goes the vessels go." "I'm for boarding her all the same," says Jackson. But first of all we pulled round to betwixt the bows of the craft to see what it was that connected them, and we found that they were held together by something stronger than an old grapnel. The bluff of the bows came together like walls cemented by sand and shell, and it was easy by a mere glance to perceive that they would hold together whilst the sea continued tranquil. Betwixt their heels was a hollow which the round of the whale nicely filled, and there they all three lay, very slowly and solemnly rolling upon the swell in as deep a silence as ever they had risen from. We hung upon our oars speculating awhile, and then fell to talking ourselves into extravagant notions. Fallows said that if she had been a privateer she might have money in her, or some purchase anyway worth coming at. I was not for ridiculing the fancy, and Jackson gazed at the craft with a yearning eye. "Let's get aboard," says he. "Very well," says I, and we agreed that Fallows should keep in the boat ready to pick us up, if the hulk should go down suddenly under us. We easily got aboard. From the gunwale of our boat we could place our hands upon the level of the deck, where the bulwarks were gone, and the shells were like steps to our feet. There was nothing much to be seen, however; the decks were coated with shells as the sides were, and they went flush from the taffrail to the eyes with never a break, everything being clean gone, saving the line of the hatches which showed in slightly raised squares, under the crust of shells that lay everywhere like armour. "Lord!" cried Jackson; "what would I give for a chopper or pick-axe to smash open that there hatch, so as to get inside of her." "Inside of her?" says I; "why she'll be full of water!" "That's to be proved, Mr. Small," says he. We walked forward into the bows, and clearly made out the shape of a grapnel thick with shells, with its claws upon the bulwark rail of the half-ship alongside, and there was a line stretched between, belayed to what might have been a kevel on a stanchion of the craft we were in. This rope was as lovely as a piece of fancy work, with tiny shells; but on my touching it, to see if it was taut, it parted as if it had been formed of smoke, and each end fell with a little rattle against the side as though it had been a child's string of beads. We were gaping about us, almost forgetting our distressed situation, in contemplation of these astonishing objects which had risen like ghosts from the mysterious heart of the deep, when we heard Fallows calling, and on our running to the side to learn what he wanted, we saw him standing up in the boat, pointing like a madman into the southward. It was the white canvas of a vessel, clearer to us than to him, who was lower by some feet. The air was still a weak draught, but the sail was rising with a nimbleness that made us know she was bringing a breeze of wind along with her, and in half-an-hour's time she had risen to the black line of her bulwarks rail, disclosing the fabric of what was apparently a brig or barque, heading almost dead on her end for us. Jackson and I at once tumbled into the boat, but we were careful to keep her close to the two craft, and the amazing platform they floated on, for they furnished out a show that was not to be missed aboard the approaching vessel, whereas the boat must make little more than a speck though but half-a-mile distant. The breeze the vessel was bringing along with her was all about us presently with a threat of weight in it. We stepped an oar, with the shirts atop, and they blew out bravely and made a good signal. "Why, see, Mr. Small!" cries Jackson, on a sudden, "ain't she the _Hindoo Merchant_?" I stood awhile, and then joyfully exclaimed, "Ay, 't is the old hooker herself, thanks be to God!" I knew her by her short fore-topgallantmast, by her chequered band, and by other signs clear to a sailor's eye, and the three of us sent up a shout of delight, for it was like stumbling upon one's very home, as it were, after having been all night lost amidst the blackness and snow of the country where one's house stands. She came along handsomely, with foam to the hawsepipe, thanks to the freshening breeze, and her main royal and topgallantsail clewing up as she approached, for our signal had been seen; then drove close alongside with her topsail aback and in a few minutes we were aboard, shaking hands with Captain Blow, and all others who extended a fist to us, and spinning our yarn in response to the eager questions put. "But what have you there, Mr. Small?" said Captain Blow, staring at the two craft and the whale. I explained. "Well," cries he, "call me a missionary if ever I saw such a sight as that afore! Have ye boarded the vessel?" pointing to the one that was whole. "Yes," said I, "but there's nothing but shells to look at." "Hatches open?" says he. "No," says I, "they are as securely cemented with shells as if the stuff had been laid on with a trowel." Jackson, Fallows, the boatswain, and a few of the darkeys stood near, eagerly catching what we said. "A wonderful sight truly!" said Captain Blow, surveying the object with a face almost distorted with astonishment and admiration. "How many years will they have been asleep under water, think ye, Mr. Small?" "All a hundred, sir," said I. "Ay," says he, "I've seen many prints of old ships, and I'll allow that it's all a hundred, as you say, since she and the likes of she was afloat. Why," cries he with a sort of a nervous laugh as if half ashamed of what he was about to say, "who's to tell but that there may be a chest or two of treasure stowed away down in her lazerette?" "That very idea occurred to me, sir," says I. "By your pardon, capt'n," here interrupted Jackson, knuckling his forehead, "but that may be a question not hard to settle if ye'll send me aboard with a few tools." The captain looked as if he had had a mind to entertain the idea, then sent a glance to windward. "She'll be full of water," said I. "Ay," said the captain, turning to Jackson, "how then?" "We can but lift a hatch and look out for ourselves, sir," answered the man. "Right," says the captain; "but you'll have to bear a hand. Get that cask on board. Any water in it?" says he. "Yes, sir," says I. "Thank God for the same then," says he. But whilst they were manoeuvring with the cask the breeze freshened in a sudden squall, and all in a minute, as it seemed, a sort of sloppy sea was set a-running. The captain looked anxious, yet still seemed willing that the boat should go to the wreck. I sent some Lascars aloft to furl the loose canvas, and whilst this was doing, the wind freshened yet in another long-drawn blast that swept in a shriek betwixt our masts. "There's nothing to be done!" sung out the skipper; "get that boat under the fall, Jackson; we must hoist her up." The darkeys lay aft to the tackles, and Jackson climbed over the rail with a countenance sour and mutinous with disappointment. He had scarcely sprung on to the deck, when we heard a loud crash like the report of a small piece of ordnance, and, looking towards the hulks, I was just in time to see them sliding off the back of the whale, one on either side of the greasy, black surface. They vanished in a breath, and the dead carcass, relieved of their weight, seemed to spring, as though it were alive, some ten or twelve feet out of the seething and simmering surface which had been frothed up by the descent of the vessels; the next moment it turned over and gave us a view of its whole length--a sixty to seventy-foot whale, if the carcass was an inch, with here and there the black scythe-like dorsal fin of a shark sailing round it. Jackson hooked a quid out of his mouth and sent it overboard. His face of mutiny left him, and was replaced by an expression of gratitude. Five minutes later the old _Hindoo Merchant_ was thrusting through it with her nose heading for the river Hooghley, and the darkeys tying a single reef in the foretopsail. _The Strange Tragedy of the "White Star_." It is proper I should state at once that the names I give in this extraordinary experience are fictitious; the date of the tale is easily within the memory of the middle-aged. The large, well-known Australian liner _White Star_ lay off the wool-sheds in Sydney harbour slowly filling up with wool; I say slowly, for the oxen were languid up-country, and the stuff came in as Fox is said to have written his history--"drop by drop." We were, however, advertised to sail in a fortnight from the day I open this story on, and there was no doubt of our getting away by then. I, who was chief officer of the vessel, was pacing the poop under the awning, when I saw a lady and gentleman approaching the vessel. They spoke to the mate of a French barque which lay just ahead of us, and I concluded that their business was with that ship, till I saw the Frenchman, with a flourish of his hat, motion towards the _White Star_, whereupon they advanced and stepped on board. I went on to the quarter-deck to receive them. The gentleman had the air of a military man: short, erect as a royal mast, with plenty of whiskers and moustache, though he wore his chin cropped. His companion was a very fine young woman of about six and twenty years; above the average height, faultlessly shaped, so far as a rude seafaring eye is privileged to judge of such matters; her complexion was pale, inclined to sallow, but most delicate, of a transparency of flesh that showed the blood eloquent in her cheek, coming and going with every mood that possessed her. She wore a little fall of veil, but she raised it when her companion handed her over the side in order to look round and aloft at the fabric of spar and shroud towering on high, with its central bunting of house flag pulling in ripples of gold and blue from the royalmast head; and so I had a good sight of her face, and particularly of her eyes. I never remember the like of such eyes in a woman. To describe them as neither large nor small, the pupils of the liquid dusk of the Indian's, the eyelashes long enough to cast a silken shadow of tenderness upon the whole expression of her face when the lids dropped--to say all this is to convey nothing; simply because their expression formed the wonder, strangeness, and beauty of them, and there is no virtue in ink, at all events in my ink, to communicate it. I do not exaggerate when I assure you that the surprise of the beauty of her eyes when they came to mine and rested upon me, steadfast in their stare as a picture, was a sort of shock in its way, comparable in a physical sense to one's unexpected handling of something slightly electric. For the rest, her hair was very black and abundant, and of that sort of deadness of hue which you find among the people of Asia. I cannot describe her dress. Enough if I say that she was in mourning, but with a large admixture of white, for those were the hot weeks in Sydney. "Is the captain on board?" inquired the gentleman. "He is not, sir." "When do you expect him?" "Every minute." "May we stop here?" "Certainly. Will you walk into the cuddy or on to the poop?" "Oh, we'll keep in the open, we'll keep in the open," cried the gentleman, with the impetuosity of a man rendered irritable by the heat. "You'll have had enough of the cuddy, Miss Le Grand, long before you reach the old country." She smiled. I liked her face then. It was a fine, glad, good-humoured smile, and humanised her wonderful eyes just as though you clothed a ghost in flesh, making the spectre natural and commonplace. As we ascended the poop ladder, the gentleman asked me who I was, quite courteously, though his whole manner was marked by a quality of military abruptness. When he understood I was chief officer he exclaimed: "Then Miss Le Grand permit me to introduce Mr. Tyler to you. Miss Georgina Le Grand is going home in your ship. She will be alone. We have placed her in the care of the captain." "Perhaps," said Miss Le Grand with another of her fine smiles, "I ought to introduce you, Mr. Tyler, to my uncle, Colonel Atkinson." Again I pulled off my cap, and the colonel laughed as he lifted his wide straw hat. I guessed he laughed at a certain naïvete in the girl's way of introducing us. The colonel was disposed to chat. Out of England Englishmen are amongst the most talkative of the human race. Likely enough he wanted to interest me in Miss Le Grand because of my situation on board. A chief mate is a considerable figure. If any mishap incapacitates the master, the chief mate takes charge. We walked the poop, the three of us, in the violet shadow cast by the awning; the colonel constantly directed his eyes along the quay to observe if the captain was coming. During this stroll to and fro the white planks I got these particulars, partly from the direct assertions of the colonel, partly from the occasional remarks of the girl. Colonel Atkinson had married her father's sister. Her father had been an officer in the army, and had sailed from England with the then Governor of New South Wales. After he had been in Sydney a few months he sent for his daughter, whom he had left behind him with a maternal aunt, her mother having died some years before. She reached Sydney to find her father dead. His Excellency was very kind to her, and she found very many sympathetic friends, but her home was in England, and to it she was returning in the _White Star_, under the care of the master, Captain Edward Griffiths, after a stay of nearly five months in Sydney with her uncle, Colonel Atkinson. Half an hour passed before the captain arrived. When he stepped on board I lifted my cap and left the poop, and the captain and the others went into the cuddy. Our day of departure came round, and not a little rejoiced was I when the tug had fairly got hold of us, and we were floating over the sheet-calm surface of Sydney Bay, past some of the loveliest bits of scenery the world has to offer, on our road to the mighty ocean beyond the grim portals of Sydney Heads. We were a fairly crowded ship, what with Jacks and passengers. The steerage and 'tween-decks were full up with people going home; in the cuddy some of the cabins remained unlet. We mustered in all, I think, about twelve gentlemen and lady passengers, one of whom, needless to say, was Miss Georgina Le Grand. I had been busy on the forecastle when she came aboard, but heard afterwards from Robson, the second mate, that the Governor's wife, with Colonel Atkinson, and certain nobs out of Government House had driven down to the ship to say good-bye to the girl. She was alone. I wondered she had not a maid, but I afterwards heard from a bright little lady on board, a Mrs. Burney, one of the wickedest flirts that ever with a flash of dark glance drew a sigh from a man, that the woman Miss Le Grand had engaged to accompany her as maid to Europe had omitted to put in an appearance at the last moment, in perfect conformity with the manners and habits of the domestic servants of the Australian colonies of those days, and the young lady having no time to procure another maid had shipped alone. At dinner on that first day of our departure, when the ship was at sea and I was stumping the deck in charge, I observed, in glancing through the skylight, that the captain had put Miss Le Grand upon the right of his chair, at the head of the table, a little before the fluted and emblazoned shaft of mizzenmast. I don't think above five sat down to dinner; a long heave of swell had sickened the hunger out of most of them. But it was a glorious evening, and the red sunshine, flashing fair upon the wide open skylights, dazzled out as brilliant and hospitable a picture of cabin equipment as the sight could wish. I had a full view of Miss Le Grand, and occasionally paused to look at her, so standing as to be unobserved. Now that I saw her with her hat off I found something very peculiar and fascinating in her beauty. Her eyes seemed to fill her face, subduing every lineament to the full spiritual light and meaning in them, till her countenance looked sheer intellect, the very quality and spirit of mind itself. This effect, I think, was largely achieved by the uncommon hue of her skin. It accentuated colour, casting a deeper dye into the blackness of her hair, sharpening the fires in her eyes, painting her lips with a more fiery tinge of carnation through which, when she smiled, her white teeth shone like light itself. I noticed even on this first day, during my cautious occasional peeps, that the captain was particularly attentive to the young lady; in which, indeed, I should have found nothing significant--for she had in a special degree been committed to his trust--but for the circumstance of his being a bachelor. Even then, early and fresh as the time was for thinking of such things, I guessed when I looked at the girl that the hardy mariner alongside of her would not keep his heart whole a week, if indeed, for the matter of that, he was not already head over ears. He was a good-looking man in his way; not everybody's type of manly beauty, perhaps, but certain of admiration from those who relish a strong sea flavour and the colour of many years and countless leagues of ocean in looks, speech, and deportment. He was about thirty-five, the heartiest laugher that ever strained a rib in merriment, a genial, kindly man, with a keen, seawardly blue eye, weather-coloured face, short whiskers, and rising in his socks to near six feet. I believe he was of Welsh blood. This was my first voyage with him. The rigorous discipline of the quarter-deck had held us apart, and all that I could have told of him I have here written. For some time after we left Sydney nothing whatever noteworthy happened. One quiet evening I came on deck at eight o'clock to take charge of the ship till midnight. We were still in the temperate parallels, the weather of a true Pacific sweetness, and, by day, the ocean a dark blue rolling breast of water, feathering on every round of swell in sea-flashes, out of which would sparkle the flying-fish to sail down the bright mild wind for a space, then vanish in some brow of brine with the flight of a silver arrow. This night the moon was dark, the weather somewhat thick, the stars pale over the trucks, and hidden in the obscurity a little way down the dusky slope of firmament. Windsails were wriggling fore and aft like huge white snakes, gaping for the tops and writhing out of the hatches. The flush of sunset was dying when I came on deck. I saw the captain slowly pacing the weather side of the poop with Miss Le Grand. He seemed earnest in his talk and gestures. Enough western light still lived to enable me to see faces, and I observed that Mrs. Burney, standing to leeward of a skylight talking with a gentleman, would glance at the couple with a satirical smile whenever they came abreast of her. But soon the night came down in darkness upon the deep; the wind blew damp out of the dusk in a long moan over the rail, heeling the ship yet by a couple of degrees; the captain sang out for the fore and mizzen-royals to be clewed up and furled, and shortly afterwards went below, first handing Miss Le Grand down the companion-way. I guessed the game was up with the worthy man: he had met his fate and taken to it with the meekness of a sheep. He might do worse, I thought, as I started on a solitary stroll, so far as looks are concerned; but what of her nature--her character? It was puzzling to think of what sort of spirit it was that looked out of her wonderful eyes; and she was not a kind of a girl that a man would care to leave ashore; so much beauty, full of a subtle endevilment of some sort, as it seemed to me, must needs demand the constant sentinelling of a husband's presence. That was how it struck me. By eleven o'clock all was hushed throughout the ship: lights out, the captain turned in, nothing stirring forward save the flitting shape of the look-out under the yawn of the pale square of fore-course. It was blowing a pleasant breeze of wind, and lost in thought I leaned over the rail at the weather fore-end of the poop watching the cold sea-glow shining in the dark water as the foam spat past, sheeting away astern in a furrow like moonlight. I will swear I did not doze; that I never was guilty of whilst on duty in all the years I was at sea; but I don't doubt that I was sunk deep in thought, insomuch that my reverie may have possessed a temporary power of abstraction as complete as slumber itself. I was startled into violent wakefulness by a cannonade of canvas aloft, and found the ship in the wind. I looked aft; the wheel was deserted--at least I believed so, till on rushing to it, meanwhile shouting to the watch on deck, I spied the figure of the helmsman on his face close beside the binnacle. I thought he was dead. The watch to my shouts came tumbling to the braces, and in a few minutes the captain made his appearance. The ship was got to her course afresh, by which time the man who had been steering was so far recovered as to be able to sit on the grating abaft the wheel and relate what had happened. He was a Dane, and spoke with a strong foreign accent, beyond my art to reproduce. He said he had been looking away to leeward, believing he saw a light out upon the horizon, when on turning his head he beheld a ghost at his side. "A what?" said the captain. "A ghost, sir, so help me--" and here the little Dane indulged in some very violent language, all designed to convince us that he spoke the truth. "What was it like?" asked the captain. "It was dressed in white and stood looking at me. I tried to run and could not, but fell, and maybe fainted." "The durned idiot slept," said the captain to me, "and dreamt, and dropped on his nut." "Had I dropped on my nut, should not have woke up then?" cried the Dane, in a passion of candour. "Go forward and turn in," said the captain. "The doctor shall see you and report to me." When the man was gone the captain asked me if I had seen anything likely to produce the impression of a ghost on an ignorant, credulous man's mind? I answered no, wondering that he should ask such a question. "How long was the man in a fit, d'ye think?" said he, "that is, before you found out that the wheel was deserted?" "Three or four minutes." He looked into the binnacle, took a turn about the decks, and, without saying anything more about the ghost, went below. The doctor next day reported that the Dane was perfectly well, and of sound mind, and that he stuck with many imprecations to his story. He described the ghost as a figure in white that looked at him with sparkling eyes, and yet blindly. He was unable to describe the features. Fright, no doubt, stood in the way of perception. He could not imagine where the thing had come from. He was, as he had said, gazing at what looked like a spark or star to leeward, when turning his head he found the Shape close beside him. The captain and the doctor talked the thing over in my presence, and we decided to consider it a delusion on the part of the Dane, a phantom of his imagination, mainly because the man swooned after he saw the thing, letting go the wheel so that the ship came up into the wind, and it was impossible to conceive that a substantial object could have vanished in the time that elapsed between the man falling down and the flap of sails which had called my attention to the abandoned helm. However, nothing was said about the matter aft: the sailors adopted the doctor's opinion, some viewing the thing as a "Dutchman's" dodge to get a "night in." A few days later brought us into cold weather: this was followed by the ice and conflicts of the Horn. We drove too far south, and for a week every afternoon we hove-to under a close-reefed maintopsail for fear of the ice throughout the long hours of Antarctic blackness. We were in no temper to think of ghosts, and yet though no one had delivered the news authoritatively, it had come by this wild bleak time to be known that Captain Griffiths and Miss Le Grand were engaged. Mrs. Burney told me so one day in the cuddy, and with a wicked flash of her dark eye wondered that people could think of making love with icebergs close at hand. It was no business of mine, and seemingly I gave the matter no heed, though I could find leisure and curiosity sometimes for an askant glance at the captain and his beauty when they were at table or when the weather permitted the lady to come on deck, and their behaviour left me in very little doubt that he was deeply in love with her; but whether she was equally enamoured of him I could not guess. We beat clear of the latitude of roaring gales blind with snow, and mountainous ice-islands like cities of alabaster in ruins, and seas ridging in thunder and foam to the height of our mizzentop, and heading north blew under wide wings of studding sails towards the sun, every day sinking some southern stars out of sight, and every night lifting above the sea-line some gem of the heavens dear to northern eyes. I went below at eight bells on a Friday morning when we were two months "out" from Sydney, as I very well remember. The ship had then caught the first of the south-east trade-wind. All was well when I left the deck. I was awakened by a hand violently shaking my shoulder. I sprang up and found Robson, the second mate, standing beside my bunk. He was pale as the ghost the Dane had described. "There's been murder done, sir," he cried. "The captain's killed." I stared at him like a fool, and echoed mechanically and dully: "Murder done! Captain killed!" Then collecting my wits I tumbled into my clothes and rushed to the captain's cabin, where I found the doctor and the third mate examining poor Griffith's body. It was half-past-six o'clock in the morning, and the daylight strong, but none of the passengers were moving. The captain had been stabbed to the heart. The doctor said he had been killed by a single thrust. The body was clothed in white drill trousers and a white linen shirt, which was slightly stained with blood where the knife had pierced it. Who had done this thing? It was horrible, unprovoked murder! throughout the ship the captain had been the most popular man on board. The forecastle liking for him was as strong as sentiment of any sort can find expression in that part of a vessel. There had never been a murmur. Indeed I had never sailed with a better crew. Not a man had deserted us at Sydney and of the hands on board at least half had sailed with the captain before. We carefully searched the cabin, but there was nothing whatever to tell us that robbery had been committed. However, a ghastly, shocking murder had been perpetrated; the man on whose skill and judgment had depended the safety of the ship and the many lives within her had been foully done to death in his sleep by some mysterious hand, and we determined at once upon a course. First, I sent for some of the best and most trustworthy seamen amongst the crew, and bringing them into the captain's cabin, showed them the body. I then, in my capacity as commander of the vessel, authorised them to act as a sort of detectives or policemen, and to search every part of the ship and all the berths in the steerage and 'tween-decks for any clue to the doer of the deed. It was arranged that the cabins of the first-class passengers should be thoroughly overhauled by the second and third mates. All this brought us to the hour when the passengers arose, and the ship was presently alive. The news swept from lip to lip magically; in all parts of the ship I saw men and women talking, with their faces pale with consternation and horror. I had not the courage to break the news to Miss Le Grand, and asked the doctor, a quiet, gentlemanly man, to speak to her. I was on the poop looking after the ship when the doctor came from the young lady's berth. "How did she receive the news?" said I. "I wish it may not break her heart," said he, gravely. "She was turned into stone. Her stare of grief was dreadful--not the greatest actress could imagine such a look. There'll be no comforting her this side of England." "Doctor, could he have done it himself?" "Oh, heaven, no, sir!" and he explained, by recalling the posture of the body and the situation of the hands, not to mention the absence of the weapon, why it was impossible the captain should have killed himself. I don't know how it came about; but whilst I paced the deck waiting for the reports of the mates and the seamen and the passengers who were helping me in the search, it entered my head to mix up with this murder the spectre, or ghost, that had frightened the Dane at the wheel into a fit, along with the memory of a sort of quarrel which I guessed had happened between Captain Griffiths and Miss Le Grand. It was a mere muddle of fancies at best, and yet they took a hold of my imagination. I think it was about a week before this murder that I had observed the coolness of what you might call a lovers' quarrel betwixt the captain and his young lady, and without taking any further notice of it I quietly set the cause down to Mrs. Burney, who, as a thorough-paced flirt, with fine languishing black eyes, and a saucy tongue, had often done her best to engage the skipper in one of those little asides which are as brimstone and the undying worm to the jealous of either sex. The lovers had made it up soon after, and for two or three days previously had been as thick and lover-like as sweet-hearts ought to be. But what had the ghost that had affrighted the Dane to do with this murder? And how were Mrs. Burney's blandishments, and the short-lived quarrel betwixt the lovers to be associated with it? Nevertheless, these matters ran in my head as I walked the deck on the morning of that crime, and I thought and thought, scarce knowing, however, in what direction imagination was heading. The two mates, the seamen, and the passengers arrived with their reports. They had nothing to tell. The steward and the stewardess had searched with the two mates in the saloon or cuddy. Every cabin had been ransacked, with the willing consent of its occupants. The forecastle, and 'tween-decks, and steerage, and lazarette had been minutely overhauled. Every accessible part of the bowels of the ship had been visited; to no purpose. No stowaway of any sort, no rag of evidence, or weapon to supply a clue was discovered. That afternoon we buried the body and I took command of the ship. I saw nothing of Miss Le Grand for two days. She kept her cabin, and was seen only by the stewardess, who waited upon her. At the expiration of that time I received a message, and went at once to her berth. I never could have figured so striking a change in a fine woman full of beauty in so short a time, as I now beheld. The fire had died out of her eyes, and still there lurked something weird in the very spiritlessness, and dull and vacant sadness of her gaze. Her cheeks were hollow. Under each eye rested a shadow as though it was cast by a green leaf. Her first words were: "Cannot you find out who did it?" "No, madam. We have tried hard; harder for the captain's sake than had he been another, for the responsibility that rests upon the master of an ocean-going vessel makes him an object of mighty significance, believe me, to us sailors." "But the person who killed him must be in the ship," she cried, in a voice that wanted much of its old clear music. "One should suppose so; and he is undoubtedly on board the ship; but we can't find him." "Did he commit suicide?" "No. Everybody is accounted for." "What motive," she exclaimed, with a sudden burst of desperate passionate grief, that wrung her like a fit from head to foot, "could any one have for killing Captain Griffiths! He was the gentlest, the kindest--oh, my heart! my heart!" and, hiding her face, she rocked herself in her misery. I tried my rough, seafaring best to soothe her. Certainly, until this moment I never could have supposed her love for the poor man was so great. The fear bred of this mysterious assassination lay in a dark and heavy shadow upon the ship. None of us, passengers or sailors, turned in of a night but with a fear of the secret bloody hand that had slain the captain making its presence tragically known once more before the morning. It happened one midnight, when we were something north of the equator, in the calms and stinging heat of the inter-tropic latitudes, that, having come on deck to relieve the second mate, and take charge of the ship till four o'clock, I felt thirsty, and returned to the cuddy for a drink of water. Of the three lamps only one was alight, and burnt very dimly. There was no moonlight, but a plenty of starshine, which showered in a very rippling of spangled silver through the yawning casements of the skylights. Just as I returned the tumbler to the rack whence I had removed it, the door of Miss Le Grand's cabin was opened, and the girl stepped forth. She was arrayed in white; probably she was attired in her bed-clothes. She seemed to see me at once, for she emerged directly opposite; and I thought she would speak, or hastily retire. But, after appearing to stare for a little while, she came to the table and leaned upon it with her left hand, sighing several times in the most heart-broken manner; and now I saw by the help of the dim lamplight that her right hand grasped a knife--the gleam of the blade caught my eye in a breath! "Good gracious!" I cried to myself, instantly, "the woman's asleep! This, then, is the ghost that frightened the Dane. And this, too, was the hand that murdered the captain!" I stood motionless watching her. Presently, taking her hand off the table, she turned her face aft, and with a wonderfully subtle, stealthy, sneaking gait, reminding one strangely of the folding motion of the snake, she made for the captain's cabin. Now, that cabin, ever since Griffith's death, I had occupied, and you may guess the sensations with which I followed the armed and murderous sleep-walker as she glided to what I must call my berth, and noiselessly opened the door of it. The moment she was in the cabin her motions grew amazingly swift. She stepped to the side of the bunk I was in the habit of using, and lifting the knife plunged it once, deep and hard--then came away, so nimbly that it was with difficulty I made room for her in the doorway to pass. I heard her breathe hard and fast as she swept by, and I stood in the doorway of my cabin watching her till her figure disappeared in her own berth. So, then, the mystery was at an end. Poor Captain Griffith's murderess was his adored sweetheart! She had killed him in her sleep, and knew it not. In the blindness of slumber she had repeated the enormous tragedy, as sinless nevertheless as the angel who looked down and beheld her and pitied her! I went on deck and sent for the doctor, to whom I communicated what I had seen, and he at once repaired to Miss Le Grand's berth accompanied by the stewardess, and found her peacefully resting in her bunk. No knife was to be seen. However, next morning, the young lady being then on deck, veiled as she always now went, and sitting in a retired part of the poop, the second mate, the doctor, and the stewardess again thoroughly searched Miss Le Grand's berth, and they found in a hollow in the ship's side, a sort of scupper in fact for the porthole, a carving knife, rusted with old stains of blood. It had belonged to the ship, and it was a knife the steward had missed on the day the captain was killed. Since the whole ghastly tragedy was a matter of somnambulism, all points of it were easily fitted by the doctor, who quickly understood that the knife had been taken by the poor girl in her sleep just as it had been murderously used. What horrible demon governed her in her slumber, who shall tell? For my part I put it down to Mrs. Burney and a secret feeling of jealousy which had operated in the poor soul when sense was suspended in her by slumber. We tried to keep the thing secret, taking care to lock Miss Le Grand up every night without explaining our motive; but the passengers got wind of the truth and shrunk from her with horror. It came, in fact, to their waiting upon me in a body and insisting upon my immuring her in the steerage in company with one of the 'tween-deck's passengers, a female who had offered her services as a nurse for hire. This action led to the poor girl herself finding out what had happened. God knows who told her or how she managed to discover it; but 't is certain she got to learn it was her hand that in sleep had killed her lover, and she went mad the selfsame day of her understanding what she had done. Nor did she ever recover her mind. She was landed mad, and sent at once to an asylum, where she died, God rest her poor soul! exactly a year after the murder, passing away, in fact, at the very hour the deed was done, as I afterwards heard. _The Ship Seen on the Ice_. In the middle of April, in the year 1855, the three-masted schooner _Lightning_ sailed from the Mersey for Boston with a small general cargo of English manufactured goods. She was commanded by a man named Thomas Funnel. The mate, Salamon Sweers, was of Dutch extraction, and his broad-beamed face was as Dutch to the eye as was the sound of his name to the ear. Yet he spoke English with as good an accent as ever one could hear in the mouth of an Englishman; and, indeed, I pay Salamon Sweers no compliment by saying this, for he employed his _h's_ correctly, and the grammar of his sentences was fairly good, albeit salt: and how many Englishmen are there who correctly employ the letter _h_, and whose grammar is fairly good, salt or no salt? We carried four forecastle hands and three apprentices. There was Charles Petersen, a Swede, who had once been "fancy man" in a toy shop; there was David Burton, who had been a hairdresser and proved unfortunate as a gold-digger in Australia; there was James Lussoni, an Italian, who claimed to be a descendant of the old Genoese merchants; and there was John Jones, a runaway man-of-warsman, pretty nearly worn out, and subject to apoplexy. Four sailors and three apprentices make seven men, a cook and a boy are nine, and a mate and a captain make eleven; and eleven of a crew were we, all told, men and boy, aboard the three-masted schooner _Lightning_ when we sailed away one April morning out of the river Mersey, bound to Boston, North America. My name was then as it still is--for during the many years I have used the sea, never had I occasion to ship with a "purser's name"--my name, I say, is David Kerry, and in that year of God 1855 I was a strapping young fellow, seventeen years old, making a second voyage with Captain Funnel, having been bound apprentice to that most excellent but long-departed mariner by my parents, who, finding me resolved to go to sea had determined that my probation should be thorough: no half-laughs and pursers' grins would satisfy them; my arm was to plunge deep into the tar bucket straight away; and certainly there was no man then hailing from the port of Liverpool better able to qualify a young chap for the profession of the sea--but a young chap, mind you, who liked his calling, who _meant_ to be a man and not a "sojer" in it--than Captain Funnel of the schooner _Lightning_. The four sailors slept in a bit of a forecastle forward; we three apprentices slung our hammocks in a bulkheaded part of the run or steerage, a gloomy hole, the obscurity of which was defined rather than illuminated by the dim twilight sifting down aslant from the hatch. Here we stowed our chests, and here we took our meals, and here we slept and smoked and yarned in our watch below. I very well remember my two fellow apprentices. One was named Corbin, and the other Halsted. They were both of them smart, honest, bright lads, coming well equipped and well educated from respectable homes, in love with the calling of the sea, and resolved in time not only to command ships, but to own them. Well, nothing in any way noteworthy happened for many days. Though the schooner was called the _Lightning_, she was by no means a clipper. She was built on lines which were fashionable forty years before, when the shipwright held that a ship's stability must be risked if she was one inch longer than five times her beam. She was an old vessel, but dry as a stale cheese; wallowed rather than rolled, yet was stiff; would sit upright with erect spars, like the cocked ears of a horse, in breezes which bowed passing vessels down to their wash-streaks. Her round bows bruised the sea, and when it entered her head to take to her heels, she would wash through it like a "gallied whale," all smothered to the hawse-pipes, and a big round polished hump of brine on either quarter. We ambled, and wallowed, and blew, and in divers fashions drove along till we were deep in the heart of the North Atlantic. It was then a morning that brought the first of May within a biscuit-toss of our reckoning of time: a very cold morning, the sea flat, green, and greasy, with a streaking of white about it, as though it were a flooring of marble; there was wind but no lift in the water; and Salamon Sweers, in whose watch I was, said to me, when the day broke and showed us the look of the ocean: "Blowed," said he, "if a man mightn't swear that we were under the lee of a range of high land." It was very cold, the wind about north-west, the sky a pale grey, with patches of weak hazy blue in it here and there; and here and there again lay some darker shadow of cloud curled clean as though painted. There was nothing in sight saving the topmost cloths of a little barque heading eastwards away down to leeward. Quiet as the morning was, not once during the passage had I found the temperature so cold. I was glad when the job of washing down was over, and not a little grateful for the hook-pot of steam tea which I took from the galley to my quarters in the steerage. I breakfasted in true ocean fashion, off ship's biscuit, a piece of pork, the remains of yesterday's dinner, and a potful of black liquor called tea, sweetened by molasses and thickened with sodden leaves and fragments of twigs; and then, cutting a pipeful of tobacco from a stick of cavendish, I climbed into my hammock, and lay there smoking and trying to read in Norie's _Epitome_ until my pipe went out, on which I fell asleep. I was awakened by young Halsted, whose hand was upon the edge of my hammock. "Not time to turn out yet, I hope?" I exclaimed. "I don't feel to have been below ten minutes." "There's the finest sight to see on deck," said he, "that you're likely to turn up this side of Boston. Tumble up and have a look if only for five minutes"; and without another word he hastened up the ladder. I dropped out of my hammock, pulled on my boots and monkey-jacket, and went on deck, noting the hour by the cabin clock to be twenty minutes before eleven. The captain stood at the mizzen-rigging with a telescope at his eye, and beside him stood Mr. Sweers, likewise holding a glass, and both men pointed their telescopes towards the sea on the lee bow, where--never having before beheld an iceberg--I perceived what I imagined to be an island covered with snow. An iceberg it was--not a very large one. It was about five miles distant; it had a ragged sky line which made it resemble a piece of cliff gone adrift--such a fragment of cliff as, let me say, a quarter of a mile of the chalk of the South Foreland would make, if you can imagine a mass of the stuff detaching itself from under the verdure at the top and floating off jagged and precipitous. There was nothing to be seen but that iceberg. No others. The sea ran smooth as oil, and of a hard green, piebald foam lines as in the earlier morning, with but a light swell out of the west, which came lifting stealthily to the side of the schooner. There was a small breeze; the sky had a somewhat gloomy look; the schooner was at this hour crawling along at the rate of about four and a half knots. I said to Halsted: "There was nothing in sight when I went below at eight bells. Where's that berg come from?" "From behind the horizon," he answered. "The breeze freshened soon after you left the deck, and only slackened a little while since." "What can they see to keep them staring so hard?" said I, referring to the captain and Mr. Sweers, who kept their glasses steadily levelled at the iceberg. "They've made out a ship upon the ice," he answered; "a ship high and dry upon a slope of foreshore. I believe I can see her now--the gleam of the snow is confusing; there's a black spot at the base almost amidships of the berg." I had a good sight in those days. I peered awhile and made out the object, but with the naked eye I could never have distinguished it as a ship at that distance. "She's a barque," I heard Mr. Sweers say. "I see that," said the captain. "She's got a pretty strong list," continued the mate, talking with the glass at his eye; "her topgallantmasts are struck, but her topmasts are standing." "I tell you what it is," said the captain, after a pause, likewise speaking whilst he gazed through his telescope, "that ship's come down somewhere from out of the North Pole. She never could have struck the ice and gone ashore as we see her there. She's been locked up; then the piece she's on broke away and made sail to the south. I've fallen in with bergs with live polar bears on them in my time." "What is she--a whaler?" said Mr. Sweers. "She's got a lumbersome look about the bulwarks, as though she wasn't short of cranes; but I can't make out any boats, and there's no appearance of life aboard her." "Let her go off a point," said the captain to the fellow at the wheel. "Mr. Sweers, she'll be worth looking at," he continued, slowly directing his gaze round the sea-line, as though considering the weather. 'You've heard of Sir John Franklin?' "Have I heard?" said the mate, with a Dutch shrug. "It's the duty of every English sailor," said the captain, "to keep his weather eye lifting whenever he smells ice north of the equator; for who's to tell what relics of the Franklin expedition he may not light on? And how are we to know," continued he, again directing his glass at the berg, "that yonder vessel may not have taken part in that expedition?" "There's a reward going," said Mr. Sweers, "for the man who can discover anything about Sir John Franklin and his party." The captain grinned and quickly grew grave. We drew slowly towards the iceberg, at which I gazed with some degree of disappointment; for, never before having beheld ice in a great mass like the heap that was yonder, I had expected to see something admirable and magnificent, an island of glass, full of fiery sparklings and ruby and emerald beams, a shape of crystal cut by the hand of King Frost into a hundred inimitable devices. Instead of which, the island of ice, on which lay the hull of the ship, was of a dead, unpolished whiteness, abrupt at the extremities, about a hundred and twenty feet tall at its loftiest point, not more picturesque than a rock covered with snow, and interesting only to my mind because of the distance it had measured, and because of the fancies it raised in one of the white, silent, and stirless principalities from which it had floated into these parts. "Get the jolly-boat over, Mr. Sweers," said the captain, "and take a hand with you, and go and have a look at that craft there; and if you can board her, do so, and bring away her log-book, if you come across it. The newspapers sha'n't say that I fell in with such an object as that and passed on without taking any notice." I caught Mr. Sweers' eye. "You'll do," said he, and in a few minutes he and I were pulling away in the direction of the ice, I in the bow and he aft, rowing fisherman fashion, face forward. The schooner had backed her yards on the fore when she was within a mile of the berg, and we had not far to row. Our four arms made the fat little jolly-boat buzz over the wrinkled surface of the green, cold water. The wreck--if a wreck she could be called--lay with her decks sloping seawards upon an inclined shelf or beach of ice, with a mass of rugged, abrupt stuff behind her, and vast coagulated lumps heaped like a Stonehenge at her bows and at her stern. When we approached the beach, as I may term it, Salamon Sweers said: "I'll tell you what: I am not going to board that craft alone, Kerry. Who's to tell what's inside of her? She may have been lying twenty years, for all we know, frozen up where it's always day or always night--where everything's out of the order of nature, in fact; and rat me if I'm going to be the first man to enter her cabin." "I'm along with you," said I. "So you are, David," said he, "and we'll overhaul her together, and the best way to secure the boat'll be to drag her high and dry"; and as he said this, the stem of the boat touched the ice, and we both of us jumped out, and, catching hold of her by the gunwale, walked her up the slope by some five times her own length, where she lay as snug as though chocked aboard her own mother, the schooner. Sweers and I stood, first of all, to take a view of the barque--for a barque she was: her topgallantmasts down, but her topsail and lower yards across, sails bent, all gear rove, and everything right so far as we could see, saving that her flying jib-boom was gone. There was no need to look long at her to know that she hadn't been one of Franklin's ships. Her name and the place she hailed from were on her stern: the _President_, New Bedford. And now it was easy to see that she was a Yankee whaler. Her sides bristled with cranes or davits for boats, but every boat was gone. The tackles were overhauled, and the blocks of two of them lay upon the ice. She was a stout, massive, round-bowed structure, to all appearances as sound as on the day when she was launched. She was coppered; not a sheet of metal was off, not a rent anywhere visible through the length and breadth of the dingy green surface of it. We first of all walked round her, not knowing but that on the other side, concealed from the landing-place by the interposition of the hull, some remains of her people might be lying; but there was nothing in that way to see. We united our voices in a loud "Hallo!" and the rocks re-echoed us; but all was still, frozen, lifeless. "Let's get aboard," said Mr. Sweers, gazing, nevertheless, up at the ship's side with a flat face of reluctance and doubt. I grasped a boat's fall and went up hand over hand, and Sweers followed me. The angle of the deck was considerable, but owing to the flat bilge of the whaler's bottom, not greater than the inclination of the deck of a ship under a heavy press of canvas. It was possible to walk. We put our legs over the rail and came to a stand, and took a view of the decks of the ship. Nothing, saving the boats, seemed to be missing. Every detail of deck furniture was as complete as though the ship were ready for getting under way, with a full hold, for a final start home. Caboose, scuttle-butts, harness-cask, wheel, binnacle, companion-cover, skylight, winch, pumps, capstan--nothing was wanting; nothing but boats and men. "Is it possible that all hands can be below?" said Sweers, straining his ear. I looked aloft and about me, wondering that the body of the vessel and her masts and rigging should not be sheathed with ice; but if ever the structure had been glazed in her time, when she lay hard and fast far to the north of Spitzbergen, for all one could tell, nothing was now frozen; there was not so much as an icicle anywhere visible about her. The decks were dry, and on my kicking a coil of rope that was near my feet the stuff did not crackle, as one could have expected, as though frosted to the core. "The vessel seems to have been thawed through," said I, "and I expect that this berg is only a fragment of the mass that broke adrift with her." "Likely enough," said Sweers. "Hark! what is that?" "What do you hear?" I exclaimed. "Why, _that_!" cried he, pointing to a shallow fissure in the icy rocks which towered above the ship: and down the fissure I spied a cascade of water falling like smoke, with a harsh, hissing noise, which I had mistaken for the seething of the sea. I ran my eye over the face of the heights and witnessed many similar falls of water. "There'll not be much of this iceberg left soon," said I, "if the drift is to the southward." "What d'ye think,--that the drift's northerly?" exclaimed Sweers. "I'll tell you what it is; it's these icebergs drifting in masses down south into the Atlantic which cause the sudden spells of cold weather you get in England during seasons when it ought to be hot." As he said this he walked to the companion-hatch, the cover of which was closed, and the door shut. The cover yielded to a thrust of his hand. He then pulled open the doors and put his head in, and I heard him spit. "There's foul air here," said he; "but where a match will burn a man can breathe, I've learnt." He struck a match, and descended two or three steps of the ladder, and then called out to me to follow. The air was not foul, but it was close, and there was a dampish smell upon it, and it was charged with a fishy odour like that of decaying spawn and dead marine vegetation. Light fell through the companion-way, and a sort of blurred dimness drained through the grimy skylight. We thoroughly overhauled this interior, spending some time in looking about us, for Sweers' fear of beholding something affrighting vanished when he found himself in a plain ship's cabin, with nothing more terrible to behold than the ship's furniture of a whaleman's living-room of near half a century old. There were three sleeping-berths, and these we explored, but met with nothing that in any way hinted at the story of the ship. It was impossible to tell, indeed, which had been the captain's cabin. All three berths were filled alike with lockers, hammocks, wash-stands, and so forth; and two of them were lighted by dirty little scuttles in the ship's side; but the third lay athwartships, and all the light that it received came from the cabin through its open door. I don't know how long we were occupied in hunting these cabins for any sort of papers which would enable Captain Funnel to make out the story of the barque. We were too eager and curious and interested to heed the passage of time. There were harpoons and muskets racked in the state cabin, some wearing apparel in the berths, a few books on nautical subjects, but without the owners' names in them, and there was a bundle of what proved to be bear's skins stowed away in the corner of the berth that was without a scuttle. A door led to a couple of bulkheaded compartments in the fore part of the state cabin, and Sweers was in the act of advancing to it when he cried out: "By the tunder of heaven, what is dot?" losing his customary hold of the English tongue in the excitement of the moment. "The ice is melting and discharging in Niagara Falls upon the whaler's deck!" I cried, after listening a moment to the noise of a downpour that rang through the cabin in a hollow thunder. We rushed on deck. A furious squall was blowing, but the air was becalmed where the vessel lay by the high cliffs of ice, and the rain of the squall fell almost up and down in a very sheet of water, intermingled with hailstones as big as the eggs of a thrush. The whole scene of the ocean was a swirling, revolving smother, as though the sky was full of steam, and the screech of the wind, as it fled off the edge of the dead white heights which sheltered us, pierced the ear like the whistlings of a thousand locomotives. There was nothing to be seen of the schooner: but _that_ was trifling for the moment compared to this: _there was nothing to be seen of the boat_! The furious discharge of the squall would increase her weight by half filling her with water; the slashing wet of the rain would also render the icy slope up which we had hauled her as slippery as a sheet for skaters; a single shock or blast of wind might suffice to start her. Be this as it will, she had launched herself--she was gone! We strained our sight, but no faintest blotch of shadow could we distinguish amid the white water rushing smoothly off from the base of the berg, and streaming into the pallid shadow of the squall where you saw the sea clear of the ice beginning to work with true Atlantic spite. "Crate Cott!" cried Sweers, "what's to be done? There was no appearance of a squall when we landed here. It drove up abaft this berg, and it may have been hidden from the schooner herself by the ice." We crouched in the companion-way for shelter, not doubting that the squall would speedily pass, and that the schooner, which we naturally supposed lay close to the berg hove-to, would, the instant the weather cleared, send a boat to take us off. But the squall, instead of abating, gradually rose into half a gale of wind--a wet dark gale that shrouded the sea with flying spume and rain to within a musket-shot of the iceberg, whilst the sky was no more than a weeping, pouring shadow coming and going as it were with a lightening and darkening of it by masses of headlong torn vapour. Some of the ragged pinnacles of the cliffs of ice seemed to pierce that wild dark, flying sky of storm as it swept before the gale close down over our heads. We could not bring our minds to realise that we were to be left aboard this ice-stranded whaler all night, and perhaps all next day, and for heaven alone knows how much longer for the matter of that; and it was not until the darkness of the evening had drawn down, coming along early with the howling gloom of the storm-shrouded ocean, without so much as a rusty tinge of hectic to tell us where the West lay, that we abandoned our idle task of staring at the sea, and made up our minds to go through with the night as best we could. And first of all we entered the galley, and by the aid of such dim light as still lived we contrived to catch sight of a tin lamp with a spout to it dangling over the coppers. There was a wick in the spout, but one might swear that the lamp hadn't been used for months and months. "We must have a light anyhow," said Sweers, "and if this _President_ be a whaler, there should be no lack of oil aboard." After groping awhile in some shelves stocked with black-handled knives and forks, tin dishes, pannikins, and the like, I put my hand upon a stump of candle-end. This we lighted, Sweers luckily having a box of lucifers in his pocket, and with the aid of the candle-flame, we discovered in the corner of the galley a lime-juice jar half-full of oil. With this we trimmed the lamp, and then stepped on deck to grope our way to the cabin, meaning to light the lamp down there, for no unsheltered flame would have lived an instant in the fierce draughts which rushed and eddied about the decks. We stayed a moment to look seawards, but all was black night out there, touched in places with a sudden flash of foam. The voice of the gale was awful with the warring noise of the waters, and with the restless thunder of seas smiting the ice on the weather side, and with the wild and often terrific crackling sounds which arose out of the heart of the solid mass of the berg itself, as though earthquakes in endless processions were trembling through it, and as though, at any moment, the whole vast bulk would be rent into a thousand crystal splinters. Sweers was silent until we had gained the cabin and lighted the lamp. He then looked at me with an ashen face, and groaned. "This gale's going to blow the schooner away," said he. "We're lost men, David. I'd give my right eye to be aboard the _Lightning_. D'ye understand the trick of these blooming icebergs? They wash away underneath, grow topheavy, and then over goes the show. And to think of the jolly-boat making off, as if two sailormen like you and me couldn't have provided for _that_!" He groaned again, and then seated himself, and appeared wholly deprived of energy and spirit. However, now that I was below, under shelter, out of the noise of the weather, and therefore able to collect my thoughts, I began to feel very hungry and thirsty; in fact, neither Sweers nor I had tasted food since breakfast at eight o'clock that morning. A lamp hung aslant from the cabin ceiling. It was a small lamp of brass, glazed. I unhooked it, and brought it to the light, but it was without a wick, and there was no oil in it, and to save time I stuck the lighted candle in the lamp, and leaving the other lamp burning to enable Sweers to rummage also, I passed through the door that was in the forepart of the cabin; and here I found three berths, one of which was furnished as a pantry, whilst the other two were sleeping-places, with bunks in them, and I observed also a sheaf or two of harpoons, together with spades and implements used in dealing with the whale after the monster has been killed and towed alongside. The atmosphere was horribly close and fishy in this place, reeking of oil, yet cold as ice, as though the ship lay drowned a thousand fathoms deep. I called to Sweers to bring his lamp, for my candle gave so poor a light I could scarce see by it; and in the berth that looked to have been used as a pantry we found half a barrel of pork, a bag of ship's biscuit, and a quantity of Indian meal, beans, and rice, a canister of coffee, and a few jars of pickles. But we could find nothing to drink. I was now exceedingly thirsty; so I took a pannikin--a number of vessels of the sort were on the shelf in the pantry--and carried it with the lamp on deck. I had taken notice during the day of four or five buckets in a row abaft the mainmast, and, approaching them, I held the light close, and found each bucket full. I tasted the water; it was rain and without the least flavour of salt: and, after drinking heartily, I filled the pannikin afresh and carried it down to Sweers. There was a spiritlessness in this man that surprised me. I had not thought to find the faculties of Salamon Sweers so quickly benumbed by what was indeed a wild and dangerous confrontment, yet not so formidable and hopeless as to weaken the nerves of a seaman. I yearned for a bottle of rum, for any sort of strong waters indeed, guessing that a dram would help us both; and after I had made a meal off some raw pork and molasses spread upon the ship's biscuit, which was mouldy and astir with weevils, I took my lantern and again went on deck, and made my way to the galley where the oil jar stood, and here in a drawer I found what now I most needed, but what before I had overlooked; I mean a parcel; of braided lamp wicks. I trimmed the lamp and got a brilliant light. The glass protected the flame from the rush of the wind about the deck. I guessed there would be nothing worth finding in the barque's forecastle, and not doubting that there was a lazarette in which would be stored such ship provisions as the crew had left behind them, I returned to the cabin, looked for the lazarette hatch, and found it under the table. Well, to cut this part of the story short, Sweers and I dropped into the lazarette, and after spending an hour or two in examining what we met with, we discovered enough provisions, along with some casks of rum and bottled beer, to last a ship's company of twenty men a whole six months. This was Sweers' reckoning. We carried some of the bottled beer into the cabin, and having pipes and tobacco with us in our pockets, we filled and smoked, and sat listening to the wet storming down the decks overhead, and to the roaring of the wind on high, and to the crackling noises of the ice. That first night with us on board the whaler was a fearful time. Sometimes we dozed as we sat confronting each other on the lockers, but again and again would we start up and go on deck, but only to look into the blindness of the night, and only to hearken to the appalling noises of the weather and the ice. When day broke there was nothing in sight. It was blowing strong, a high sea was running, and the ocean lay shrouded as though with vapour. During the course of the morning we entered the forepeak, where we found a quantity of coal. This enabled us to light the galley fire, to cook a piece of pork, and to boil some coffee. Towards noon Sweers proposed to inspect the hold, and to see what was inside the ship. Accordingly we opened the main hatch and found the vessel loaded with casks, some of which we examined and found them full of oil. "By tunder!" cried Sweers; "if we could only carry this vessel home there'd be a fortune for both of us, David. Shall I tell you what this sort of oil's worth? Well, it's worth about thirty pounds a ton. And how much d'ye think there's aboard? Not less than a hundred ton, if I don't see double. There's no man can teach me the capacity of a cask, and there are casks below varying from forty-two to two hundred and seventy-five gallons, with no lack of whalebone stored dry somewhere, I don't doubt, if those casks would let us look for it." But this was no better than idle and ironical chatter in the mouths of men so hideously situated as we were. For my part I had no thought of saving the ship; indeed, I had scarce any hope of saving my own life. We found an American ensign in a small flag-locker that was lashed near the wheel, and we sent it half-mast high, with the stars inverted. Then we searched for fresh water, and found three iron tanks nearly full in the after-hold. The water stunk with keeping, as though it had grown rank in the bilge, but after it had stood a little while exposed to air it became sweet enough to use. There was no fear then of our perishing from hunger and thirst whilst the whaler kept together. Our main and imminent danger lay in the sudden dissolution of the ice, or in the capsizal of the berg. It was our unhappy fortune that, numerous as were the cranes overhanging the whaler's side, we should not have found a boat left in one of them. Our only chance lay in a raft; but both Sweers and I, as sailors, shrank from the thought of such a means of escape. We might well guess that a raft would but prolong our lives in the midst of so wide a sea, by a few days, and perhaps by a few hours only, after subjecting us to every agony of despair and of expectation, and torturing us with God alone would know what privations. We thoroughly overhauled the forecastle of the vessel, but found nothing of interest. There were a few seamen's chests, some odds and ends of wearing apparel, and here and there a blanket in a bunk; but the crew in clearing out appeared to have carried off most of their effects with them. Of course we could only conjecture what they had done and how they had managed; but it was to be guessed that all the boats being gone the sailors had taken advantage of a split in the ice to get away from their hard and fast ship, employing all their boats that they might carry with them a plentiful store of water and provisions. I should but weary you to dwell day by day upon the passage of time that Sweers and I passed upon this ship that we had seen upon the ice. We kept an eager look-out for craft, crawling to the mastheads so as to obtain a view over the blocks of ice which lay in masses at the stem and stern of the whaler. But though we often caught sight of a distant sail, nothing ever approached us close enough to observe our signal. Once, indeed, a large steamer passed within a couple of miles of the iceberg, and we watched her with devouring eyes, forever imagining that she was slowing down and about to stop, until she vanished out of our sight past the north end of the berg. Yet, we had no other hope of rescue than that of being taken off by a passing ship. I never recollect meeting at sea with such a variety of weather as we encountered. There would be clear sunshine and bright blue skies for a day, followed by dark and bellowing nights of storm. Then would come periods of thick fogs, followed by squalls, variable winds, and so on. We guessed, however, that our trend was steadily southwards, by the steady cascading of the ice, by the frequent falls of large blocks, and by the increasing noises of sudden, tremendous disruptions, loud and heart-subduing as thundershocks heard close to. "If we aren't taken off," said Sweers to me one day, "there's just this one chance for us. The ice is bound to melt. All these bergs, as I reckon, disappear somewhere to the nor'ard of the verge of the Gulf Stream. Well, now the Lord may be good to us, and it may happen that this berg'll melt away and leave the whaler afloat; and float she must if she isn't crushed by the ice. Let her leak like a sieve--there's oil enough in her to keep her standing upright as though she were a line-of-battle ship." Well, we had been a little more than a fortnight upon this ship hard and fast upon the ice. Many a vessel had we sighted, but never a one of them, saving the steamer I have mentioned, had approached within eyeshot of our distress signal. Yet our health was good, and our spirits tolerably easy; we had fared well, there was no lack of food and drink, and we were beginning to feel some confidence in the iceberg--by which I mean to say that the rapid thawing of its upper parts, where all the weight was, filled us with the hope that the mass wouldn't capsize as we had feared; that it would hold together so as to keep the ship on end as she now was until we were rescued, or, failing our being rescued, that it would dissolve in such a way as to leave the whaler afloat. It was somewhere about the end of a fortnight, as I have said. My bed was a cabin locker, on which I had placed a mattress and a bear-skin. Both Sweers and I turned in of a night, unless it was clear weather; though if I awoke I'd sometimes steal on deck to take a peep, for nothing could come of our keeping a look-out if it was blowing hard, and if it was black and thick. This night it was a bit muddy and dark, with a moderate breeze out of the south-west, as far as we could guess at the bearings of the wind. I was awakened from a deep slumber by an extraordinary convulsion in the ship. I was half-stupefied with sleep, and can therefore but imperfectly recall my sensations and the character of what I may term the throes and spasms of the vessel. I was thrown from the locker and lay for some moments incapable of rising by the shock of the fall. But one thing my senses, even when they were scarce yet awake, took note of, and that was a prodigious roaring noise, similar in effect to what might be produced by a cannon-ball rolling along a hollow wooden floor, only that the noise was thousands of times greater than ever could have been produced by a cannon-ball. The lamp was out, and the cabin in pitch blackness. I heard Sweers from some corner of the cabin, bawling out my name; but before I could answer, and even whilst I was staggering to my feet, a second convulsion threw me down again; the next instant there was a sensation as of the vessel being hove up into the air, attended by an extraordinary grinding noise, that thrilled through every beam of her; next, in the space of a few beats of the heart, she plunged into the sea, raising such a boiling and roaring of waters, as, spite of the sounds being dulled to our ears by our being in the cabin, persuaded us that the vessel was foundering. But even whilst I thus thought, holding my breath and waiting for the death that was to come with the pouring of the water down the open companion-way, I felt the ship right; she lifted buoyant under foot, and I sprang to the steps which conducted on deck, with Sweers--as I might know by his voice--close at my heels, roaring out, "By tunder, we're adrift and afloat!" The stars were shining, there was a red moon low in the west, the weather had cleared, and a quiet wind was blowing. At the distance of some hundred yards from the ship stood a few pallid masses--the remains of the berg. It was just possible to make out that the water in the neighbourhood of those dim heaps was covered with fragments of ice. How the liberation of the ship had come about neither Sweers nor I did then pause to consider. We were sailors, and our first business was to act as sailors, and as quickly as might be we loosed and hoisted the jib and foretopmast staysail, so that the vessel might blow away from the neighbourhood of the dangerous remains of her jail of ice. We then sounded the well, and, finding no water, went to work to loose the foresail and foretopsail, which canvas we made shift to set with the aid of the capstan. I then lighted the binnacle lamp whilst Sweers held the wheel; and having sounded the well afresh, to make sure of the hull, we headed away to the eastwards, the wind being about W.S.W. Before the dawn broke we had run the ice out of sight. Sweers and I managed, as I have no doubt, to arrive at the theory of the liberation of the ship by comparing our sensations and experiences. There can be no question that the berg had split in twain almost amidships. This was the cause of the tremendous noise of thunder which I heard. The splitting of the ice had hoisted the shelf or beach on which the barque lay, and occasioned that sensation of flying into the air which I had noticed. But the lifting of the beach of ice had also violently and sharply sloped it, and the barque, freeing herself, had fled down it broadside on, taking the water with a mighty souse and crash, then rising buoyant, and lifting and falling upon the seas as we had both of us felt her do. And now to bring this queer yarn to a close, for I have no space to dwell upon our thankfulness and our proceedings until we obtained the help we stood in need of. We managed to handle the barque without assistance for three days, then fell in with an American ship bound to Liverpool, who lent us three of her men, and within three weeks of the date of our release from the iceberg we were in soundings in the Chops of the Channel, and a few days later had safely brought the barque to an anchor in the river Thames. The adventure yielded Sweers and I a thousand pounds apiece as salvage money, but we were kept waiting a long time before receiving our just reward. It was necessary to communicate with the owners of the barque in America, and then the lawyers got hold of the job, and I grew so weary of interviews, so vexed and sickened by needless correspondence, that I should have been thankful to have taken two hundred pounds for my share merely to have made an end. It seems that the _President_ had been abandoned two years and five months by her crew before the _Lightning_ sighted her on the ice. Her people had stuck to her for eight months, then made off in a body with the boats, carrying their captain and mates along with them. They regarded the situation of their ship as hopeless, and indeed, as it turned out, they were not very wrong, so far as their notions of reasonable detention went; for they never could have liberated the vessel by their own efforts; they must have waited, as we had, for the ice to free her; and this would have signified to them an imprisonment of two years and a half over and above the eight months they had already spent in her whilst ice-bound. Sweers gave up the sea, started in business, and died, about ten years since, a fairly well-to-do man. And shall I tell you what I did with my thousand pounds? ... But my story has already run to greater length than I had intended when sitting down to write it. THE END. THE INCOGNITO LIBRARY. A series of small books by representative writers, whose names will for the present not be given. In this series will be included the authorized American editions of the future issues of Mr. Unwin's "=Pseudonym Library=", which has won for itself a noteworthy prestige. 32mo, limp cloth, each 50 cents. I. =The Shen's Pigtail=, and Other Cues of Anglo-China Life, by Mr. M----. II. =The Hon. Stanbury and Others=, by Two. III.=Lesser's Daughter=, by Mrs. Andrew Dean. IV. =A Husband of No Importance=, by "Rita." V. =Helen=, by Oswald Valentine. VI. =A Gender in Satin=, by "Rita." VII.=Every Day's News, by C.E. Francis. These will be followed by volumes by other well-known authors. 
43186	----	WALKING SHADOWS _SEA TALES AND OTHERS_ BY ALFRED NOYES NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS _Copyright, 1918, by_ Alfred Noyes _Copyright, 1918, by_ Frederick A. Stokes Company _All Rights Reserved_ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE PRELUDE xi I. THE LIGHT-HOUSE 1 II. UNCLE HYACINTH 28 III. THE CREATIVE IMPULSE 82 IV. THE MAN FROM BUFFALO 117 V. THE _Lusitania_ WAITS 138 VI. THE LOG OF THE _Evening Star_ 151 VII. GOBLIN PEACHES 177 VIII. MAY MARGARET 205 IX. MAROONED 249 X. THE GARDEN ON THE CLIFF 281 XI. THE HAND OF THE MASTER 292 WALKING SHADOWS _Prelude_ Of those who fought and died Unreckoned, undescried, Breaking no hearts but two or three that loved them; Of multitudes that gave Their memories to the grave, And the unrevealing seas of night removed them; Of those unnumbered hosts Who smile at all our boasts And are not blazed on any scroll of glory; Mere out-posts in the night, Mere keepers of the light, Where history stops, let shadows weave a story. Shadows, but ah, they know That history's pomp and show Are shadows of a shadow, gilt and painted. They see the accepted lie In robes of state go by. They see the prophet stoned, the trickster sainted. And so my shadows turn To truths that they discern Beyond the ordered "facts" that fame would cherish. They walk awhile with dreams, They follow flying gleams And lonely lights at sea that pass and perish. Not tragic all indeed, Not all without remede Of clean-edged mirth. Our Rosalie of laughter, The bayonet of a jest, May pierce the devil's breast, And give us room and time for grief, here-after. So let them weep or smile Or kneel, or dance awhile, Fantastic shades, by wandering fires begotten; Remembrancers of themes That dawn may mock as dreams. Then let them sleep, at dawn, with the forgotten. WALKING SHADOWS I THE LIGHT-HOUSE The position of a light-house keeper, in a sea infested by submarines, is a peculiar one; but Peter Ramsay, keeper of the _Hatchets' Light_, had reasons for feeling that his lonely tower, six miles from the mainland, was the happiest habitation in the world. At five o'clock, on a gusty October afternoon, of the year 1916, Peter had just finished his tea and settled down, with a pipe and the last number of the _British Weekly_, for five minutes' reading, before he turned to the secret of his happiness again. Precisely at this moment, the Commander of the U-99, three miles away to the north, after making sure through his periscope that there were no patrol boats in the vicinity, rose to the surface, and began to look for the _Hatchets'_. He, too, had reasons for wishing to get inside the light-house, if only for half an hour. It was possible only by trickery; but he thought it might be done under cover of darkness, and he was about to reconnoiter. When he first emerged, he had some difficulty in descrying his goal across that confused sea. His eye was guided by a patch of foam, larger than the ordinary run of white-caps, and glittering in the evening sun like a black-thorn blossom. As the sky brightened behind it, he saw, rising upright, like the single slim pistil of those rough white petals, the faint shaft of the light-house itself. He stole nearer, till these pretty fancies were swallowed up in the savagery of the place. It greeted him with a deep muffled roar as of a hundred sea-lions, and the air grew colder with its thin mists of spray. The black thorns and white petals became an angry ship-wrecking ring of ax-headed rocks, furious with surf; and the delicate pistil assumed the stature of the Nelson Column. It made his head reel to look up at its firm height from the tossing conning-tower, as he circled the reef, making his observations. He noted the narrow door, twenty feet up, in the smooth wall of the shaft. There was no way of approaching it until the rope-ladder was let down from within. But, after midnight, when the custodian's wits might be a little drowsy, he thought his plan might succeed. He noted the pool on the reef, and the big boulder near the base of the tower. There was only one thing which he did not see, an unimportant thing in war-time. He did not see the beauty of that unconscious monument to the struggling spirit of man. Its lofty silence and endurance, in their stern contrast with the tumult below, had touched the imagination of many wanderers on that sea; for it soared to the same sky as their spires on land, and its beauty was heightened by the simplicity of its practical purpose. But it made no more impression on Captain Bernstein than on the sea-gulls that mewed and swooped around it. When his observations were completed, the U-99 sheered off and submerged. She had to lie "doggo," at the bottom of the sea, for the next few hours; and there were several of her sisters waiting, a mile or so to the north, on a fine sandy bottom, to compare notes. Two of these sisters were big submarine mine-layers of a new type. The U-99 settled down near them, and began exchanging under-water messages at once. "If you lay your mines properly, and lie as near as possible to the harbor mouth, you can leave the rest to me. They will come out in a hurry, and you ought to sink two-thirds of them." This was the final message from Captain Bernstein; and, shortly after eight o'clock, all the other submarines moved off, in the direction of the coast. The U-99 remained in her place, till the hour was ripe. About midnight, she came to the surface again. Everything seemed propitious. There were no patrols in sight; and, in any case, Captain Bernstein knew that they seldom came within a mile of the light-house, for ships gave it a wide berth, and there was not likely to be good hunting in the neighborhood. This was why the U-boats had found it so useful as a rendezvous lately. It was a moonless night; and, as the U-99 stole towards the _Hatchets'_ for the second time, even Captain Bernstein was impressed by the spectacle before him. Against a sky of scudding cloud and flying stars, the light-house rose like the scepter of the oldest Sea-god. The mighty granite shaft was gripped at the base by black knuckles of rock in a welter of foam. A hundred feet above, the six-foot reflectors of solid crystal sheathed the summit with fire, and flashed as they revolved there like the facets of a single burning jewel. "They could be smashed with a three-inch gun," thought Bernstein, "and they are very costly. Many thousand pounds of damage could thus be done, and perhaps many ships endangered." But he concluded, with some regret, that his other plans were more promising. * * * * * It was long past Peter's usual bedtime; but he was trimming his oil lamp, just now, in his tiny octagonal sitting-room, half-way up the tower. He had been busy all the evening, with the secret of his happiness, which was a very queer one indeed. He was trying to write a book, trying and failing. His papers were scattered all over the worn red cloth that tried--and failed--to cover his oak table, exactly as poor Peter's language was trying to clothe his thought. Indeed, there were many clues to his life and character in that room, which served many purposes. It had only one window, hardly larger than the arrow-defying slits of a Norman castle. It was his kitchen, and a cooking-stove was fitted compactly into a corner. It was his library; and, facing the window, there was a book-shelf, containing several tattered volumes by Mark Rutherford; a Bible; the "Impregnable Rock of Holy Scripture," by Gladstone; the "First Principles" of Herbert Spencer; and the Essays of Emerson. There was also a small volume, bound in blue leather, called "The Wonders of the Deep." The leather binding was protected by a brown paper jacket, for it was a prize, awarded by the Westport Grammar School, in 1864, to Peter Ramsay, aged fourteen, for his excellence in orthography. This, of course, was the beginning of all his dreams; and it was still their sustainment, though the death of his father, who had been the captain of a small coasting steamer, had thrown Peter on the world before he was fifteen, and ended his hopes of the scholarship, which was to have carried him eventually to the heights. The bound volumes were buttressed between piles of the _British Weekly_. The only picture on the wall was a framed oleograph of Gladstone, his chief hero, though Peter had long ago renounced the theology of the Impregnable Rock. Whether the great statesman deserved this worship or not is a matter for historians. The business of this chronicle is to record the views of Peter, and these were quite clear. He was restless to-night. It was his sixty-sixth birthday, and it reminded him that he was behindhand with his great work. Nobody else had reminded him of it, for he was quite alone in the world. He was beginning to wonder, almost for the first time, whether he was really destined to fail. He had begun to look his age at last; but he was a fine figure of a man still. His white hair and flowing white beard framed a face of the richest mahogany brown, in which the blood mantled like wine over the cheek-bones. His deep eyes, of the marine blue, that belongs only to the folk of the sea, were haunted sometimes by visionary fires, like those in the eyes of an imaginative child. He might have posed for the original fisherman of his first name. Of course, he was regarded as a little eccentric by the dwellers on the coast, whom he had often amazed by what they called his "innocence." The red nosed landlord of the _Blue Dolphin_ had often been heard, on Sundays, to say that we should all do well if we were as innocent as Peter. When he visited the little town of Westport (which was now a naval base), the urchins in the street sometimes expressed their view of the matter by waiting until he was safely out of hearing, and then crowing like cocks. Nobody knew of Peter Ramsay's secret, or the urchins might not have waited at all, and even the kindest of his friends would have regarded him as daft. But the comedy was not without its tragic aspect. Peter Ramsay may have been cracked, but it was with the peculiar kind of crack that you get in the everlasting hills, a rift that shows the sky. With his imperfect equipment and hopeless lack of technique, he was trying to write down certain truths, for the lack of which the civilized world, at that moment, was in danger of destruction. This does not mean that Peter was the sole possessor of those truths. He was only one among millions of simple and unsophisticated souls, all over the world, who possessed those truths dumbly, and knew, with complete certainty, that their intellectual leaders, for the most part, lacked them, or had lost them in a multitude of details. These dumb millions were right about certain important matters; and their leaders, for all their dialectical cleverness, had lost sight of the truth which has always proceeded _ex ore infantium_. It was the tragedy of the twentieth century, and it had culminated in the tragedy of philosophical Germany. There were certain features of modern books, modern paintings, and modern music, that mopped and mowed like faces through the bars of a mad-house, clamoring for dishonor and brutality in every department of life. These things could not be dissociated from the international tragedy. They were its heralds. Peter Ramsay was one of those obscure millions who were the most important figures in Armageddon because they, and they alone, in our modern world, had retained the right to challenge the sophistries of Germany. They had not needed the war to teach them the reality of evil; and if they had sinned, they had never for a moment tried to prove that they did right in sinning. Peter knew all this, though he would not have said it in so many words. In his book, he was trying to meet the main onset of all those destructive forces. He had realized that the modern world had no faith, since the creeds had gone into the melting pot; and he was trying to write down, plainly, for plain men, exactly what he believed. He turned over the red-lined pages of the big leather-bound ledger, half diary, half commonplace book, in which, for the last forty years, he had made his notes. It was a queer medley, beginning with passages written in his youth, that recalled many of his old struggles. There was one, in particular, that always reminded him of a school friend named Herbert Potts, who had eventually won the coveted scholarship. They used to go for walks together, over the hills, and talk about science and religion. "So you don't believe there is any future life," Peter had said to him one day. "Not for the individual," replied Herbert Potts, adjusting his glasses, with a singularly intellectual expression. "But if there is none for the individual, it means the end of all we are fighting for, because the race will come to an end, eventually," said Peter. "Why, think, Potts, think, it means that all your progress drops over a precipice at last. It means that instead of the Figure of Love, we must substitute the Figure of Death, stretching out his arms and saying to the whole human race, 'Come unto _Me_! Suffer little children to come unto _Me_!'" "I am afraid all the evidence points that way," said Potts, and as he had just passed the London matriculation examination, the words rang like a death-knell in Peter's foolish heart. He remembered how the words had recurred to him in his dreams that night, and how he awoke in the gray dawn to find that his pillow was wet with tears. There were many other memories in his book, memories of the long struggle, the wrestling with the angel, and at last the music of that loftier certainty which he longed to impart. A little after midnight, he threw aside the hopeless chaos of the manuscript, into which he had been trying to distil the essence of his scrap-book. He rose and went upstairs to his bedroom on the next floor. It was a little smaller than his sitting-room, and contained a camp-bed, a wash-stand, with a cracked blue jug and basin, and a chest of drawers. Over the head of the bed was a photogravure reproduction of _The Light of the World_; and on the wall, facing it, an illuminated prayer: _Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O Lord_! Under this, affixed to the wall, was the telephone which connected the _Hatchets'_ with the Naval Station on the coast, by an under-sea wire. But in spite of this modern invention, Peter Ramsay had quietly gone back through the centuries. He looked as if he were talking to a very great distance indeed, a distance so great that it became an immediate presence. (Do not mathematicians declare that if you could throw a stone into infinity, it would return to your hand?) He was kneeling down by the bed, clasping his hands, lifting his face, closing his eyes, and moving his lips, exactly like a child at his prayers. It is an odd fact, and doubtless it would have fortified the great ironic intellects of our day (though seventy feet in this unfathomable universe may hardly be reckoned as depth) to know that in the darkness of the reef outside, seventy feet below, four shadowy figures had just landed from a collapsible boat, belonging to the U-99. Three of them were now hauling it out of reach of the waves. The fourth was Captain Bernstein. He stood, fingering his revolver, and looking up at the two lighted windows. Concerning these things, Peter received no enlightenment; but he rose from his knees with a glowing countenance, and hurried down to his work again. "I'll begin at the beginning," he muttered. He took a clean sheet of paper and headed it: _Chapter I_. Under this, he wrote the first four words of the Bible: "_In the beginning, God_." Then he crossed them out, and wrote again: "_First Principles_," as a better means of approach to the moderns. He consulted his ledger, and decided that a certain paragraph, written long ago, must take the first place in his book. He wrote it down just as it stood. "We have forgotten the first principles of straight thinking--the axioms. We have forgotten that the whole is greater than the part. Hence comes much fallacy among modern writers, even great ones, like that pessimist who has said that man, the creature, possesses more nobility than that from which he came. "One thing must be acknowledged as _known_, even by agnostics,--namely, that if we have experienced here on earth the grandeurs of the soul of Beethoven and Shakespeare, there must be at the heart of things, before ever this earth was born, something infinitely greater. It is infinitely greater because it is the Producer--not the Product. "There are some who say that this is only putting the mystery back a stage. This is not a true statement. The mystery is that there should be anything in existence at all. The moment you have a grain of sand in existence, the impossible has happened, and the miracle of the things that we see around us can only be referred to some primal miracle, greater than all, because it contained all their possibilities within itself. "Beyond this, we are all agnostics. But our reason, building on what we see around us, carries us thus far. Modern thinkers have reversed this process. They begin with man as the summit, and explain him by something less. This again they explain by something less; and slowly whittle away all the visible universe till they arrive at the smallest possible residuum. There is no more tragic spectacle in this age than that of the philosophers who, like Herbert Spencer, having reduced the whole universe to a nebula, try to bridge the gulf between this nebula and nothingness. The great intellect of Spencer grovels below the mental capacity of a child of ten as he makes this absurd attempt, announcing that perhaps the primal nebula might be conceived as thinning itself out until nothingness were reached. It is the agnostics who evade the issue. For there are certain things here and now which we must accept. We know that Love and Thought are greater than the dust to which we consign them. There is only one choice before us. Either there is nothing behind these things, or else there is everything behind them. If we say that there is nothing behind them, all our human struggle goes for nothing. We abandon even the axioms of our reason, and we are doubly traitors to the divine light that lives in every man. If we say that there is everything behind the universe, each of us has his own private door into that divine reality, the door of his own heart." At this moment three of the shadowy figures on the reef below were ensconcing themselves behind a boulder of rock, close to the base of the tower, and the fourth figure was groping about on the reef, collecting a handful of stones. "I have heard men say," Peter continued, "that they cannot believe in a God who would permit all the suffering on this earth, or else he must be a limited God who cannot help himself. "This is another question involving the freedom of the will. How long would a world hold together if we could all depend on a miracle to help us at every turn, or even to save the innocent from the consequences of our guilt? Those who ask the question usually assume that our sufferings here are the end of all. The fact that the opposite assumption accords better with our sense of justice is surely no reason for denying it, especially when it follows from the answer given in the first paragraph. These men, asking for miraculous proof of omnipotence, to save the world from suffering, are asking for nothing less than the abolition of law in the universe; and it is only in law that freedom can be found. The rising of the sun cannot be timed to suit each individual; but this is what modern thinkers demand. They say that an all-powerful God could do even this. When they have settled between themselves exactly what they wish, doubtless the Almighty could answer their prayer. Till then, it is better to say 'Thy law is a lantern unto my feet.'" At this moment a stone came through the little window behind Peter. The glass scattered itself in splinters all over his red tablecloth. He leapt to his feet, blew the lamp out, and went to the window. He could see nothing in the darkness at first; but as he stood and listened, he thought he heard a voice in the pauses of the wind, crying for help. Instantly, he hurried out and down the winding stair to the narrow door. He shot back the great bolts, and opened it. He stood there fifteen feet above the rocks, framed in the opening, his white hair and beard blowing about him, as he peered to right and left. "Come down and help us, for God's sake!" the voice cried again. And as Peter's eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw a dark figure crawling laboriously over the reef to the foot of the tower, where it fell as if in a faint. Peter's only thought was that a fishing boat had foundered. He dropped the rope ladder at once and descended. He stooped over the fallen man. In the same flash of time, he recognized that this was an enemy seaman, and three more shadowy figures leapt from their hiding-place behind a boulder of rock and gripped him. "There is no cause for fear," said their leader, rising to his feet. "Our boat has foundered; but we shall die of cold if we stay out here. You must take us into the light-house." Peter regarded them curiously, saying nothing. The leader went up the ladder, and beckoned to the others, who ordered Peter to go next, and then followed him. "I regret that it was necessary to smash your window," said Captain Bernstein, as the queer group gathered round the lamp in Peter's living room. "But we might have died out there on a night like this, before you could have heard us shouting. We shall not harm you, although there are four of us. We are in danger ourselves. My friends and I are sick of this work; and, if we are sure of good treatment, we are prepared to help the British with all the information in our possession." "How did you escape from the submarine?" said Peter. "We were alone on deck," replied Bernstein, "and we took our chance of swimming for the _Hatchets'_." Peter surveyed the four drenched figures thoughtfully. One of them was not realistic enough to satisfy him. There were several obviously dry patches about the shoulders. "There's a pool on the reef," said Peter at last to this man. "Did you find it too cold?" A change came over Bernstein's face at once. "There's no time to be wasted," he said. "If you want to help your country, go to your telephone and give this message to the naval base, exactly as I tell it to you. You must say you have just sighted three submarines, two hundred yards due north of the _Hatchets'_ light. You must say that you have sighted them yourself, because they would not take our word for it; and you must not say anything about our being here at present. If you depart from these instructions, you will be shot instantly. Now, then, go to your telephone and speak." Peter gathered up his beloved leather-bound book from the table, and held it under his arm. It was his most precious possession, and the protective act was quite unconscious. Then, for the second time that night, he went into his bedroom, followed by the four Germans. He was white and shaking. He could not understand what these men were after, and the message they proposed seemed to be useful to his own side. After all, the only kind of message that he could send would be something very like it. He might as well deliver it, since these crazy autocrats had decided that it must be given thus, and not otherwise. He laid the precious book down on the bed, turned to the telephone, and lifted the receiver to his ear. As he did so, the cold muzzle of a revolver pressed against his right temple. The first buzzings of the telephone resolved themselves into a voice from the coast of England, asking what he wanted. Then, it seemed as if a new light were thrown upon the character of the words he was about to speak. He knew instinctively that, if he spoke them, he would be working for the enemy. In the same instant, he saw exactly what he must do. "This is Peter Ramsay speaking," he said, "from the _Hatchets' Light_. I have just sighted three submarines due north of the _Hatchets'_." He paused. Then, with a rush, he said: "Trap! Germans in light-house, forcing me to say this!" The hand of one of his captors struck down the hook of the receiver. In the same instant, the shot rang out, and Peter Ramsay dropped sidelong, a mere bundle of old clothes and white hair, dabbled with blood. The German at the telephone replaced the receiver on the hook which he was still holding down. "Crazy old fool," muttered Bernstein. He was staring at the red-lined scrap-book on the bed. It lay open at a page describing in Peter's big sprawling hand, an open-air service among some Welsh miners which he had once witnessed, a memorial service on the day of Gladstone's funeral. He had been greatly impressed by their choral singing of what was supposed to be Gladstone's favorite hymn, and it ended with a quotation: "_While I draw this fleeting breath, When my eyelids close in death, When I soar through tracts unknown, See Thee on Thy Judgment Throne, Rock of Ages, cleft for me. Let me hide myself in Thee._" The murderer stooped and laid the revolver near the right hand of the dead man. One of his men touched him on the elbow as he did it, and pointed to Peter's own old-fashioned revolver on the little shelf beside the bed. Captain Bernstein nodded and smiled. The idea was a good one, and he put Peter's own revolver in his stiffening fingers. He had just succeeded in making it look quite a realistic suicide, when the telephone bell rang sharply, making him start upright, as if a hand were laid upon his shoulder. He took the receiver again and listened. "Can't hear," he said, trying to imitate Peter's gruff voice. "No--I dropped the telephone on the floor--no--it was a mistake--no--I said three submarines--two hundred yards due north of the _Hatchets' Light_--all right, sir." He hung the receiver up again, and looked at the others. "We may succeed yet," he said. "Come quickly." A minute later they were standing on the lee of the reef. Bernstein blew a whistle thrice. It was answered from the darkness by another, shrill as the cry of a sea-gull; and in five minutes more, the four men and the collapsible boat were aboard their submarine. It submerged at once, and went due south at twelve knots an hour below the unrevealing seas. * * * * * Commander Pickering, the officer on duty at the naval base, was not sure whether it was worth while paying any attention to the message from the old man at the _Hatchets'_. He went to the window and looked at the starry flash of the light-house in the distance. "Old Peter probably sighted a school of porpoises. They frightened him into a fit," he said. The two men of the naval reserve who were waiting for orders, watched him like schoolboys expecting a holiday; but he could not make up his mind. He left the window and studied the big chart on the wall, where the movements of a dozen submarines were marked in red ink from point to point as the daily reports came in, till the final red star announced their destruction. He chewed his lip as he pondered. There was a fleet of submarine destroyers in Westport Harbor at this moment, but they had only just come in from a long spell, and he was loath to turn them out on a wild-goose chase. "Confound the old idiot," he muttered again. "He can't even talk straight. Wanted to say that he had seen submarines, and starts jabbering about Germans in the light-house. Ring him up again, Dawkins, and find out whether he is drunk or talking in his sleep." Dawkins went to the telephone. For five minutes, he alternately growled into the mouth-piece and moved the hook up and down. "Don't get any answer at all, sir." "That's queer. He can't be asleep yet after that beautiful conversation." Commander Pickering went to the window again with his night-glasses. "Damned if there isn't a light in both his rooms, and it's getting on for two o'clock in the morning. There's something rum happening. We'll take a sporting chance on it, and make a regular sweep of the bay. I'll go out to the _Hatchets'_ myself on the _Silver King_. I think the old boy is dotty, and I suppose the Admiral will have my scalp for it to-morrow; but there's just one chance in a hundred thousand that Mr. Peter Ramsay did spot a squadron of U-boats. If so, we may as well strafe them properly." He went to the telephone himself this time, and began issuing orders all over the base. His final sentence was an after-thought, an echo and an elaboration of the queer warning he had received from the _Hatchets'_. "Don't go straight out. Make a sweep round by the south. There may be a trap; and you may as well let the dirigibles go ahead of you and do some scouting." * * * * * "It often happens with these chaps," said Commander Pickering to Dawkins, as they stood in Peter's bedroom an hour before dawn. "It's the lonely life that does it. They ought always to have a couple of men in these places; and, if it hadn't been for the war, of course, there would have been two men at the _Hatchets'_. Look here, at all this stuff. The poor chap had religious mania or something. See what he has written on these scraps of paper, twenty or thirty times over, every blessed text he could find about lanterns and lights, and it's all mixed up with bits from Herbert Spencer on the Unknowable." "It was well known all over Westport," said Dawkins, "that old Peter had a screw loose about religion, but he seemed such a reliable old boy. You don't think he could have seen anything to set him off like, sir? It seems funny that the door was left open like that." "Lord knows what he may have been playing at before he did this. We'd better go upstairs, and have a look at the light." The two men plodded up the steep winding stair, poking into every corner on their way up, till they emerged on the little railed platform under the great crystal moons of the lantern. The glare blinded them. "Turn those lights off," said Commander Pickering. Dawkins ducked into the tower and obeyed. Half a dozen patrol boats, each with its tiny black gun, at bow and stern, were cruising to and fro over rough seas, that looked from that height very much like the wrinkles on poor old Peter's gray face. Another sailor hauled himself to the platform, breathing hard from the ascent, and saluted. "A telephone message for you, sir," he said. "There's been a lot of mines discovered off the point. We should have run straight into them, if we had neglected your warning and steered a straight course out." Commander Pickering looked at Dawkins in silence. Far away to eastward, the dawn was breaking, red as blood, through a low fringe of ragged gray clouds. In a few moments the crystal moons of the _Hatchets' Light_ were afire with it, and breaking it up into the colors of the rainbow round the black figures of the three men. "We'll have to apologize to Peter," said Dawkins at last. "It was a very lucky coincidence," said Commander Pickering; and he led the way downstairs at a smart pace to Peter's room again. "There's no doubt that he shot himself," he said. "Look at all this. The man was stark mad. See what he has written on the title-page, under his own name: '_Thou art Peter; and upon this rock I will build my Church_.'" II UNCLE HYACINTH On a bright morning, early in the year 1917, Herr Sigismund Krauss, secret agent for the German Government, stopped at the entrance of Harrods' Stores, looked at himself in one of the big mirrors, thought that he really did look a little like Bismarck, and adjusted his tie. To relieve the tension, let it be added that this scene was not enacted in London, but in the big branch of Harrods' that had recently been opened in Buenos Aires. Nevertheless, it was because it looked so very much like the London branch that it had rasped the nerves of Herr Krauss. He was in a very nervous condition, owing to the state of his digestive system, and he was easily irritated. He had been annoyed in the first place because the German houses in Buenos Aires were unable to sell him several things which he thought necessary for the voyage he was about to take across the Atlantic. He had been almost angry when the bald-headed Englishman who had waited on him in Harrods' advised him to buy a safety waistcoat. All that he needed for his safety was the fraudulent Swedish passport, made out in the name of Erik Neilsen, which he carried in his breast pocket. "I am an American citizen," he said, complicating matters still further. "I am sailing to Barcelona on an Argentine ship, vich the Germans are pledged nod to sink." "This is the exact model of the waistcoat that saved the life of Lord Winchelsea," said the Englishman. "I advise you to procure one. You never know what those damned Germans will do." Here was a chance of raising a little feeling against the United States, and Herr Krauss never lost an opportunity. He pretended to be even more angry than he really was. "That is a most ungalled-for suggestion to a citizen of a neutral guntry," he snorted. "I shall report id to the authorities." These mixed emotions had disarranged his tie. But he had obtained all that he wanted, and when he emerged into the street the magic of the blue sky and the brilliance of the sunlight on the stream of motor cars and gay dresses cheered him greatly. After all, it was not at all like London; and there were still places where a good German might speak his mind, if he did not insist too much on his allegiance. He was in a great hurry, for his ship, the _Hispaniola_, sailed that afternoon. When he reached his hotel he had only just time enough to pack his hand luggage and drive down to the docks. His trunk had gone down in advance. It was very important, indeed, that he should not miss the boat. There was trouble pending, which might lead to his arrest if he remained in Argentina for another week; and there was urgent--and profitable--work for him to do in Europe. In his cab on the way to the docks he examined the three letters which had been waiting for him at the hotel. Two of them were requests for a settlement of certain bills. "They can wait," he murmured to himself euphemistically, "till after the war." The third letter ran thus: _Dear Erik: Bon voyage! Most amusing news. Operation successful. Uncle Hyacinth's appetite splendid. Six meals daily._ _Yours affectionately,_ _Bolo._ This was the most annoying thing of all. Herr Krauss knew nothing about any operation. He knew even less about Uncle Hyacinth; and in order to interpret the message he would require the code--Number Six, as indicated by the last word but two, and the code was locked up in his big brass-bound steamer trunk. It was not likely to be anything that required immediate attention. He had received a number of code messages lately which did not even call for a reply. It was merely irritating. When he reached the docks he found that his trunk was buried under a mountain of other baggage on the lower deck of the _Hispaniola_, and that he would not be able to get at it before they sailed. He had just ten minutes to dash ashore and ring up the German legation on the telephone. He wasted nearly all of them in getting the right change to slip into the machine. A most exasperating conversation followed. "I wish to speak to the German minister." "He is away for the week-end. This is his secretary." "This is Sigismund Krauss speaking." "Oh, yes." "I have received a message about Uncle Hyacinth." "I can't hear." "Uncle Hyacinth's appetite!" This was bellowed. "Oh, yes." The voice was very cautious and polite. "I want to know if it's important." "Whose appetite did you say?" "Uncle Hyacinth's!" This was like Hindenburg himself thundering. There seemed to be some sort of consultation at the other end of the wire. Then the reply came very clearly: "I'm sorry, but we cannot talk over the telephone. I can't hear anything you say. Please put your question in writing." It was an obvious lie for any one to say he could not hear the tremendous voice in which Herr Krauss had made his touching inquiry; but he fully understood the need for caution. He had tapped too many wires himself to blame his colleagues for timidity. He had only a minute to burst out of the telephone booth and regain the deck, before the gang-planks were hoisted in and the ship began to slide away to the open sea. He was more than annoyed, he was disgusted, to find that half the people on board were talking English. Two or three of them, including the captain, were actually British subjects; while the purser, a few of the stewards and several passengers were citizens of the United States. It was late that evening and the shore lights had all died away over the pitch-black water when the brass-bound trunk belonging to Mr. Neilsen, as we must call him henceforward, was carried into his stateroom by two grunting stewards. The mysterious letter could be of no use to the Fatherland now, and he certainly did not expect it to be important from a selfish point of view. Also, he was hungry, and he did not hurry over his dinner in order to decode it. It was only his curiosity that impelled him to do so before he turned in; but a kind of petrefaction overspread his well-fed countenance as the significance of the message dawned upon him. He sat on a suitcase in his somewhat cramped quarters and translated it methodically, looking up the meaning of each word in the code, like a very unpleasant schoolboy with a dictionary. He was nothing if not efficient, and he wrote it all down in pencil on a sheet of note-paper, in two parallel columns, thus: _Bon voyage_ _U-boats_ _Most_ _Instructed_ _Amusing_ _Sink_ _News_ _Argentine_ _Operation_ _Ships_ _Successful_ _Destruction_ _Uncle Hyacinth's_ _Hispaniola_ _Appetite_ _Essential_ _Splendid_ _Cancel_ _Six_ _Code number_ _Meals_ _Passage_ _Daily_ _Immediately_ Perhaps to make sure that his eyes did not deceive him Mr. Neilsen wrote the translation out again mechanically, in its proper form, at the foot of the page, thus: _U-boats instructed sink Argentine ships. Destruction Hispaniola essential. Cancel passage immediately._ It seemed to have exactly the same meaning. It was ghastly. He knew exactly what that word "destruction" meant as applied to the _Hispaniola_. He had been present at a secret meeting only a month ago, at which it was definitely decided that it would be inadvisable to carry out a certain amiable plan of sinking the Argentine ships without leaving any traces, while an appearance of friendship was maintained with the Argentine Government. Evidently this policy had suddenly been reversed. There would be a concentration of half a dozen U-boats, a swarm of them probably, for the express purpose of sinking the _Hispaniola_, just as they had concentrated on the _Lusitania_; but in this case there would be no survivors at all. The ship's boats would be destroyed by gunfire, with all their occupants, because it was necessary that there should be no evidence of what had happened; and necessity knows no law. There was no chance of their failing. They would not dare to fail; and he himself had organized the system by which the most precise information with regard to sailings was conveyed to the German Admiralty. He crushed all the papers into his breast pocket and hurried up on deck. It was horribly dark. At the smoking-room door he met one of the ship's officers. "Tell me," said Mr. Neilsen, "is there any possibility of our--of our meeting a ship--er--bound the other way?" The officer stared at him, wondering whether Mr. Neilsen was drunk or seasick. "Certainly," he said; "but it's not likely for some days on this course." "Will it be possible for me to be taken off and return? I have found among my mail an important letter. A friend is very ill." "I'm afraid it's quite impossible. In the first place we are not likely to meet anything but cattle ships till we are in European waters." "Oh, but in this case, even a cattle ship--" said Mr. Neilsen with great feeling. "It is impossible, I am afraid, in any case. It is absolutely against the rules; and in war-time, of course, they are more strict than ever." "Even if I were to pay?" "Time is not for sale in this war, unfortunately. It's _verboten_," said the officer with a smile; and that of course Mr. Neilsen understood at once. He was naturally an excitable man, and his inability to obtain his wish made him feel that he would give all his worldly possessions at this moment for a berth in the dirtiest cattle boat that ever tramped the seas, if only it were going in the opposite direction. He returned to his stateroom almost panic-stricken. He sat down on the suitcase and held his head between his hands while he tried to think. He was a slippery creature and his fellow countrymen had often admired his "slimness" in former crises; but it was difficult to discover a cranny big enough for a cockroach here, unless he made a clean breast of it to the captain. In that case he would be incriminated with all the belligerents and most of the neutrals. There would be no place in the world where he could hide his head, except perhaps Mexico. He would probably be penniless as well. At this point in his cogitations there was a knock on the door, which startled him like a pistol shot. He opened it a cautious inch or two--for his papers were all over his berth--and a steward handed him a telegram. "This was waiting for you at the purser's office, sir," he said. "The mail has only just been sorted. If you wish to reply by wireless you can do so up to midnight." The man was smiling as if he knew the contents. There had been some jesting, in fact, about this telegram at the office. A gleam of hope shot through Mr. Neilsen's chaotic brain as he opened the envelope with trembling fingers. Perhaps it contained reassuring news. His face fell. It simply repeated the former sickening message about Uncle Hyacinth. But the steward had reminded him of one last resource. "Yes," he said, trying hard to be calm; "I shall want to send a reply." "Here is a form, sir. You'll find the regulations printed on the back." Mr. Neilsen closed the door and sank, gasping, on to the suitcase to examine the form. The regulations stated that no message would be accepted in code. This did not worry him at first, as he thought he could concoct an apparently straightforward and harmless message with the elaborate vocabulary of his Number Six. But the code had not been intended for agonizing moments like these. It abounded in commercial phrases, medical terms and domestic greetings; and though there were a number of alternative words and synonyms it was not so easy as he had expected to make a coherent message which should be apparently a reply to the telegram he had received. After half an hour of seeking for the _mot juste_ which would have melted the heart of a Flaubert, he arrived at the purser's office with wild eyes and handed in the yellow form. "I wish to send this by Marconi wireless," he said. The purser tapped each word with his pencil as he read it over: _Splendid. Most--amusing. Use--heaps--butter. Congratulate--Uncle Hyacinth._ _Love._ _Erik._ "I beg your pardon, sir," said the purser, "but we can only accept messages _en clair_." "It is as clear as I can make it," said Mr. Neilsen; and he was telling the truth. "It is the answer to the telegram which was handed to me on board." "It looks a little unusual, sir." "It is gonnected with an unusual operation," said Mr. Neilsen, who was getting thoroughly rattled, "and goncerns the diet of the batient." "I see," said the purser. "Well, I'll take your word for it, sir, and tell the operator." At this moment the steward, who had entered Mr. Neilsen's stateroom during his absence, was laying out that gentleman's pyjamas on his berth. He shook them out in order to fold them properly; and in doing so he shook a round ball of paper on to the floor. He unrolled it and discovered two parallel columns of words, which gave a new meaning to the telegram. He put it in his pocket, looked carefully round the room, took all the torn scraps out of the wastepaper basket and put those also in his pocket. Then he went out, just in time to avoid meeting Mr. Neilsen, and trotted by another companionway to the purser's office. Ten minutes later a consultation was held in the captain's cabin. The two messages and the scraps of paper were spread out on the table, while the purser took another large, clean sheet, on which he jotted down as many of the words as could be deciphered, together with their equivalents, in two parallel columns, almost as neat as those of Mr. Neilsen himself. When he had finished there was a very nice little vocabulary--though it was only a small part of the code; and in a very short time they were staring in amazement at the full translation of the messages concerning Uncle Hyacinth. Then they proceeded to business. Captain Abbey was an Englishman who had commanded many ships in many parts of the world. He had worked his way up from before the mast, and in moments of emotion he was still inclined to be reckless with his aitches. He was very large and red-faced, and looked as the elder Weller might have looked if he had taken to the sea in youth. Captain Abbey was not a vindictive man; but the _Hispaniola_ was the finest ship he had yet commanded, and the opportunity had come to him as a result of the war and the general dearth of neutral skippers who were ready to take risks. He was not anxious to lose the ship on his first voyage, and his face grew redder and redder as he sat reading the messages on the table. "What's the translation of '_onions_'?" he said. "I think it means '_abroad_,' according to this column," said the purser. "Put it down. Now, what does '_tonsils_' mean?" "_Tonsils? Tonsils?_ Oh, yes; here we are. It means '_von Tirpitz_.'" "The devil it does," said Captain Abbey. "And what does '_meat_' mean?" "'_German_,' I think." "And '_colossal_'?" "I had it here a moment ago. Ah, '_colossal_' means _twenty_." "Just like 'em," said the captain. "Here's _appendix_! I suppose they find these medical terms useful. How do you translate that?" "_Appendix?_ H'm; let me see. Appendix means _false_." "'E deserves to 'ave it cut out with a blunt saw, blast 'is eyes. And what d'you make of this message 'e's just 'anded in?" "As far as I can make it out this is the translation: 'Cancel instructions sink; message too late; aboard _Hispaniola_.'" "And the lily-livered little skunk wanted to get orf and save his own 'ide! But 'e was quite ready to let the rest of us go to 'ell! There are twenty women and four children aboard, too; and we're guaranteed by the German Government! It would serve 'im right if we made 'im walk the plank, like they used to do. But drowning's too good for 'im. If we put 'im in irons 'e'll know we're on the watch, and that'll ease 'is mind too much. I know what to do with 'im when we get 'im on the other side. But in the meantime we'll give that little bit of sauerkraut a taste of 'is own medicine. 'Ere's the idea: We've got enough of the code to work it. We'll give him another radiogram to take to bed with 'im to-night. 'Ow's this? Steward, get me one of them yellow telegraph forms and one of the proper envelopes. We'll fix it all up in good shape. And, look 'ere, steward; not a word about this to any one, you understand?" The steward departed on his errand. Captain Abbey took another sheet of paper and laboriously, with tongue outthrust, constructed a sentence, consulting the purser's two columns from time to time, and occasionally chuckling as he altered or added a word. The purser slapped his thighs with delight as he followed the work over the captain's shoulder; and when the form arrived he wrote out the captain's composition in a very large, clear hand, with the fervor of a man announcing good news. Then he licked the flap of the yellow envelope, closed it, addressed it and handed it to the steward. "Give this wireless message to Mr. Neilsen in half an hour. Tell him it has just arrived. If there is any reply to-night he must send it before twelve o'clock." "I 'ope that will make 'im sit up and think," said Captain Abbey. "I'll consider what steps I'd better take to save the ship; and then I shall probably 'ave a wireless or two of my own to send elsewhere." Mr. Neilsen was greatly excited when the steward knocked at his door and handed him the second wireless message. He opened it with trembling fingers and read: _Still more successful. Uncle Hyacinth's tonsils removed. Appetite now colossal. Bless him. Taking large quantities frozen meat._ He could hardly wait to translate it. He sat down on his suitcase again, and spelled it out with the help of his Number Six, word by word, refusing to believe his eyes, refusing even to read it as a consecutive sentence till the bottom of the two parallel columns had been reached, thus: _Still_ _Impossible_ _More_ _Total_ _Successful_ _Destruction_ _Uncle Hyacinth's_ _Hispaniola_ _Tonsils_ _Von Tirpitz_ _Removed_ _Advises_ _Appetite_ _Essential_ _Now_ _Squadron_ _Colossal_ _Twenty_ _Bless him_ _Submarines_ _Taking_ _Waiting_ _Large_ _Appropriate_ _Quantities_ _Death_ _Frozen_ _Good_ _Meat_ _German_ _Best_ _Enviable_ _Greetings_ _Position_ This was hideous. He remembered all that he had done all over the world in the interests of the Fatherland. He remembered the skilful way in which long before the war he had stirred up feeling in America against Japan, and in Japan against both America and England. He remembered the way in which he had manipulated the peace societies in the interest of militarism. He had spent several years in London before the war, and he believed he had helped to make the very name of England a reproach in literary coteries; so that current English literature, unless it went far beyond honest criticism of English life, unless indeed it manifested a complete contempt for that pharisaical country and painted it as rotten from head to foot, lost caste among the self-enthroned British intellectuals. It was very easy to do this, because, though English editors paid considerable attention to their leading articles, some of them did not care very much what kind of stuff was printed in their literary columns; and they would allow the best of our literature, old and new, and the most representative part of it, to be misrepresented by an anonymous Sinn Feiner in half a dozen journals simultaneously. The editors were patriotic enough, but they didn't think current literature of much importance. He had been able, therefore, to quote extracts from important London journals in the foreign press. He had been helped, too, by lecturers who drew pensions from the British Government for their literary merits, and told American audiences that the one flag they loathed was the flag of the land that pensioned them. He had reprinted these utterances, together with the innocent bleatings of the intellectuals, and scattered them all over the world in pamphlet form. He had marked passages in their books and sent them to friends. Thousands of columns were devoted to them in the newspapers of foreign countries, while the English press occasionally referred to them in brief paragraphs, announcing to a drugged public at home that the vagaries of these writers were of no importance. He had carried out the program of his country to the letter, and poisoned the intellectual wellsprings. No grain of poison was too small. He had even written letters to the newspapers in Scotland, which had stimulated the belief of certain zealous Scots that whenever the name of England was used it was intended as a deliberate onslaught upon the Union. There was hardly any destructive force or thought or feeling, good, bad or merely trivial, which he had not turned to the advantage of Germany and the disadvantage of other nations. Then when the war broke out he had redoubled his activities. He was amazed when he thought of the successful lies he had fostered all over the world. He had plotted with Hindus on the coast of California, and provided them with the literature of freedom in the interests of autocracy. He worked for dissension abroad and union in Germany. He was hand-in-glove with the I. W. W. He was idealist, socialist, pacifist, anarchist, futurist, suffragist, nationalist, internationalist and always publicist, all at once, and for one cause only--the cause of Germany. And this was the gratitude of the--of the--swine! Well, he would teach them a lesson. God in heaven! There was only one thing he could do to save his skin. He would send them an ultimatum! It was their last chance. He shivered to think that it might be his own! But it was not so easy as he thought it would be to burn all his boats. It cost him two days and two nights of tortuous thinking before he could bring himself to the point. At eleven o'clock on the third night the purser brought the captain a new message, which Mr. Neilsen had just handed in to be despatched by wireless. It ran as follows: _Continue treatment. Vastly amusing. Uncle Hyacinth's magnificent constitution stand anything. Apply mustard. Try red pepper._ The group that met to consider this new development included three passengers, whom the captain had invited to share what he called the fun. They were a Miss Depew, an American girl who was going to Europe to do Red Cross work; and a Mr. and Mrs. Pennyfeather, English residents of Buenos Aires, with whom she was traveling. The message, as they interpreted it, ran as follows: _Unless instructions to sink Hispaniola countermanded, shall inform captain. No alternative. Most important papers my possession._ "Good!" said Captain Abbey. "'E's beginning to show symptoms of blackmail. I'd send this message on, only we're likely to make a bigger bag by keeping quiet. We'll let 'im 'ave the reply to-morrow morning. What shall we do to 'im next?" "Shoot him," said Miss Depew with complete calm. "Oh, I want to 'ave a little fun with 'im first," said Captain Abbey. "I'm afraid you 'aven't got much sense of humor, Miss Depew." "Do you think so?" she said. She was of the purest Gibson type, and never flickered an innocent eyelash or twisted a corner of her red Cupid's bow of a mouth as she drawled: "I think it would be very humorous indeed to shoot him, now that we know he is a German." "Well, after 'is trying to leave us without warning 'e deserves to be skinned and stuffed. But we're likely to make much more of it if we keep 'im alive for our entertainment. Besides, 'e's going to be useful on the other side. Now, what do you think of this for a scheme?" The heads of the conspirators drew closer round the table; and Mr. Neilsen, wandering on deck like a lost spirit, pondered on the tragic ironies of life. The thoughtless laughter that rippled up to him from the captain's cabin filled him with no compassion toward any one but himself. It was merely one more proof that only the Germans took life seriously. All the same, if he could possibly help it, he was not going to let them take his own life. II There was no radiogram for Mr. Neilsen on the following day; and he was perplexed by a new problem as he walked feverishly up and down the promenade deck. Even if he received an assurance that the _Hispaniola_ would be spared, how could he know that he was being told the truth? Necessity, as he knew quite well, was the mother of murder. It was very necessary, indeed, that his mouth should be sealed. Besides, he had more than a suspicion that his use was fulfilled in the eyes of the German Government, and that they would not be sorry if they could conveniently get rid of him. He possessed a lot of perilous knowledge; and he wished heartily that he didn't. He was tasting, in fact, the inevitable hell of the criminal, which is not that other people distrust him, but that he can trust nobody else. He leaned over the side of the ship and watched the white foam veining the black water. "Curious, isn't it?" said dapper little Mr. Pennyfeather, who stood near him. "Exactly like liquid marble. Makes you think of that philosophic Johnny--What's-his-name--fellow that said 'everything flows,' don't you know. And it does, too, by Jove! Everything! Including one's income! It's curious, Mr. Neilsen, how quickly we've changed all our ideas about the value of human life, isn't it? By Jove, that's flowing too! The other morning I caught myself saying that there was no news in the paper; and then I realized that I'd overlooked the sudden death of about ten thousand men on the Western Front. Well, we've all got to die some day, and perhaps it's best to do it before we deteriorate too far. Don't you think so?" Mr. Neilsen grunted morosely. He hated to be pestered by these gadflies of the steamer. He particularly disliked this little Englishman with the neat gray beard, not only because he was the head of an obnoxious bank in Buenos Aires, but because he would persist in talking to him with a ghoulish geniality about submarine operations and the subject of death. Also, he was one of those hopeless people who had been led by the wholesale slaughter of the war to thoughts of the possibility of a future life. Apparently Mr. Pennyfeather had no philosophy, and his spiritual being was groping for light through those materialistic fogs which brood over the borderlands of science. His wife was even more irritating; for she, too, was groping, chiefly because of the fashion; and they both insisted on talking to Mr. Neilsen about it. They had quite spoiled his breakfast this morning. He did not resent it on spiritual grounds, for he had none; but he did resent it because it reminded him of his mortality, and also because a professional quack does not like to be bothered by amateurs. Mrs. Pennyfeather approached him now on the other side. She was a faded lady with hair dyed yellow, and tortoise-shell spectacles. "Have you ever had your halo read, Mr. Neilsen?" she asked with a sickly smile. "No. I don't believe in id," he said gruffly. "But surely you believe in the spectrum," she continued with a ghastly inconsequence that almost curdled the logic in his German brain. "Certainly," he replied, trying hard to be polite. "And therefore in specters," she cooed ingratiatingly, as if she were talking to a very small child. "Nod at all! Nod at all!" he exploded somewhat violently, while Mr. Pennyfeather, on the other side, came to his rescue, sagely repudiating the methods of his wife. "No, no, my dear! I don't think your train of thought is quite correct there. My wife and I are very much interested in recent occult experiments, Mr. Neilsen. We've been wondering whether you wouldn't join us one night, round the ouija board." "Id is all nonsense to me," said Mr. Neilsen, gesticulating with both arms. "Quite so; very natural. But we got some very curious results last night," continued Mr. Pennyfeather. "Most extraordinary. The purser was with us, and he thought it would interest you. I wish you would join us." "I should regard id as gomplete waste of time," said Mr. Neilsen. "Surely, nothing can be waste of time that increases our knowledge of the bourne from which no traveler returns," replied the lyric lips of Mrs. Pennyfeather. "To me the methods are ridiculous," said Mr. Neilsen. "All this furniture removal! Ach!" "Ah," said Mr. Pennyfeather, "you should read What's-his-name. You know the chap, Susan. Fellow that said it's like a shipwrecked man waving a shirt on a stick to attract attention. Of course it's ridiculous! But what else can you do if you haven't any other way of signaling? Why, man alive! You'd use your trousers, wouldn't you, if you hadn't anything else? And the alternative--drowning--remember--drowning beneath what Thingumbob calls 'the unplumbed salt, estranging sea.'" "Eggscuse me," said Mr. Neilsen; "I have some important business with the captain. I must go." Mr. Neilsen had been trying hard to make up his mind, despite these irrelevant interruptions. He had received no assurance by wireless, and he had convinced himself that even if he did receive one it would be wiser to inform the captain. But there were many difficulties in the way. He had taken great care never to do anything that might lead to the death penalty--that is to say, among nations less civilized than his own. But there was that affair of the code. It might make things very unpleasant. A dozen other suspicious circumstances would have to be explained away. A dozen times he had hesitated, as he did this morning. He met the captain at the foot of the bridge. "Ah, Mr. Neilsen," said Captain Abbey with great cordiality, "you're the very man I want to see. We're 'aving a little concert to-night in the first-class dining room on behalf of the wives and children of the British mine sweepers and the auxiliary patrols. You see, though this is a neutral ship, we depend upon them more or less for our safety. I thought it would be pleasant if you--as a neutral--would say just a few words. I understand that they've rescued a good many Swedish crews from torpedoed ships; and whatever view we may take of the war we 'ave to admit that these little boats are doing the work of civilization." Mr. Neilsen thought he saw an opportunity of ingratiating himself, and he seized it. He could broach the other matter later on. "I vill do my best, captain." "'Ere is a London newspaper that will tell you all about their work." Mr. Neilsen retired to his stateroom and studied the newspaper fervently. The captain took the chair that evening, and he did it very well. He introduced Mr. Neilsen in a few appropriate words; and Mr. Neilsen spoke for nearly five minutes, in English, with impassioned eloquence and a rapidly deteriorating accent. "Dese liddle batrol boads," he said in his peroration, "how touching to the heart is der vork! Some of us forget ven ve are safe on land how much ve owe to them. But no matter vot your nationality, ven you are on the high seas, surrounded with darkness and dangers, not knowing ven you shall be torpedoed, vot a grade affection you feel then to dese liddle batrol boads! As a citizen of Sweden I speak vot I _know_. The ships of my guntry have suffered much in dis war. The sailors of my guntry have been thrown into the water by thousands through der submarines. But dese liddle batrol boads, they save them from drowning. They give them blankets and hot goffee. They restore them to their veeping mothers." Mr. Neilsen closed amid tumultuous applause, and when the collection was taken up by Miss Depew his contribution was the largest of the evening. The rest of the entertainment consisted chiefly of music and recitation. Mr. Pennyfeather contributed a song, composed by himself. Typewritten copies of the words were issued to the audience; and a very fat and solemn Spaniard accompanied him with thunderous chords on the piano. Every one joined in the chorus; but Mr. Neilsen did not like the song at all. It was concerned with Mr. Pennyfeather's usual gruesome subject; and he rolled it out in a surprisingly rich barytone with the gusto of a schoolboy: _If they sink us we shall be All the nearer to the sea! That's no hardship to deplore! We've all been in the sea before._ _Chorus_: _And then we'll go a-rambling, A-rambling, a-rambling, With all the little lobsters From Frisco to the Nore._ _If we swim it's one more tale, Round the hearth and over the ale; When your lass is on your knee, And love comes laughing from the sea._ _Chorus_: _And then we'll go a-rambling, A-rambling, a-rambling, A-rambling through the roses That ramble round the door._ _If we drown, our bones and blood Mingle with the eternal flood. That's no hardship to deplore! We've all been in the sea before._ _Chorus_: _And then we'll go a-rambling, A-rambling, a-rambling, The road that Jonah rambled And twenty thousand more._ "Now," said Mr. Pennyfeather, holding out his hands like the conductor of a revival meeting, "all the ladies, very softly, please." The solemn Spaniard rolled his great black eyes at the audience, and repeated the refrain _pianissimo_, while the silvery voices caroled: _With all the little lobsters From Frisco to the Nore._ "Now, all the gentlemen, please," said Mr. Pennyfeather. The Spaniard's eyes flashed. He rolled thunder from the piano, and Mr. Neilsen found himself bellowing with the rest of the audience: _The road that Jonah rambled From Hull to Singapore, And twenty thousand, thirty thousand, Forty thousand, fifty thousand, Sixty thousand, seventy thousand, Eighty thousand more!_ It was an elaborate conclusion, accompanied by elephantine stampings of Captain Abbey's feet; but Mr. Neilsen retired to his room in a state of great depression. The frivolity of these people, in the face of his countrymen, appalled him. On the next morning he decided to act, and sent a message to the captain asking for an interview. The captain responded at once, and received him with great cordiality. But the innocence of his countenance almost paralyzed Mr. Neilsen's intellect at the outset, and it was very difficult to approach the subject. "Do you see this, Mr. Neilsen?" said the captain, holding up a large champagne bottle. "Do you know what I've got in this?" "Champagne," said Mr. Neilsen with the weary pathos of a logician among idiots. "No, sir! Guess again." "Pilsener!" "No, sir! It's plain sea water. I've just filled it. I'm taking it 'ome to my wife. She takes it for the good of 'er stummick, a small wineglass at a time. She always likes me to fill it for her in mid-Atlantic. She's come to depend on it now, and I wouldn't dare to go 'ome without it. I forgot to fill it once till we were off the coast of Spain. And, would you believe it, Mr. Neilsen, that woman knew! The moment she tasted it she knew it wasn't the right vintage. Well, sir, we shall soon be in the war zone now. But you are not looking very well, Mr. Neilsen. I 'ope you've got a comfortable room." "I have reason to believe, captain, that there will be an attempt made by the submarines to sink the _Hispaniola_," said Mr. Neilsen abruptly. "Nonsense, my dear sir! This is a neutral ship and we're sailing to a neutral country, under explicit guarantees from the German Government. They won't sink the _Hispaniola_ for the pleasure of killing her superannuated English captain." "I have reason to believe they intended to--er--change their bolicy. I was not sure of id till I opened my mail on the boad; but--er--I have a friend in Buenos Aires who vas in glose touch--er--business gonnections--with members of the German legation; he--er--advised me, too late, I had better gancel my bassage. I fear there is no doubt they vill change their bolicy." "But they couldn't. There ain't any policy! The Argentine Republic is a neutral country. You can't make me believe they'd do a thing like that. It wouldn't be honest, Mr. Neilsen. Of course, it's war-time; but the German Government wants to be honorable, don't it--like any other government?" "I don'd understand the reasons; but I fear there is no doubt aboud the facts," said Mr. Neilsen. "Have you got the letter?" "No; I thought as you do, ad first, and I tore id up." "Was that why you wanted to get off and go back?" the captain inquired mercilessly. "I gonfess I vas a liddle alarmed; but I thought perhaps I vas unduly alarmed at the time. I gouldn't trust my own judgment, and I had no ride to make other bassengers nervous." "That was very thoughtful of you. I trust you will continue to keep this matter to yourself, for I assure you--though I consider the German Government 'opelessly wrong in this war--they wouldn't do a dirty thing like that. They're very anxious to be on good terms with the South American republics, and they'd ruin themselves for ever." "But my information is they vill sink the ships vithoud leaving any draces." "What do you mean? Pretend to be friendly, and then--Come, now! That's an awful suggestion to make!" At these words Mr. Neilsen had a vivid mental picture of his conversation with the bald-headed Englishman in Harrods'. "Do you mean," the captain continued, waxing eloquent, "do you mean they'd sink the ships and massacre every blessed soul aboard, regardless of their nationality? Of course I'm an Englishman, and I don't love 'em, but that ain't even murder. That's plain beastliness. It couldn't be done by anything that walks on two legs. I tell you what, Mr. Neilsen, you're a bit overwrought and nervous. You want a little recreation. You'd better join the party to-night in my cabin. Mr. and Mrs. Pennyfeather are coming, and a very nice American girl--Miss Depew. We're going to get a wireless message or two from the next world. Ever played with the ouija board? Nor had I till this voyage; but I must say it's interesting. You ought to see it, as a scientific man. I understand you're interested in science, and you know there's no end of scientists--big men too--taking this thing up. You'd better come. Half past eight. Right you are!" And so Mr. Neilsen was ushered out into despair for the rest of the day, and booked for an unpleasant evening. He had accepted the captain's invitation as a matter of policy; for he thought he might be able to talk further with him, and it was not always easy to secure an opportunity. In fact, when he thought things over he was inclined to feel more amiably toward the Pennyfeathers, who had put the idea of psychical research into the captain's head. Promptly at half past eight, therefore, he joined the little party in the captain's cabin. Miss Depew looked more Gibsonish than ever, and she smiled at him bewitchingly; with a smile as hard and brilliant as diamonds. Mrs. Pennyfeather looked like a large artificial chrysanthemum; and she examined his black tie and dinner jacket with the wickedly observant eye of a cockatoo. Three times in the first five minutes she made his hand travel over his shirt front to find out which stud had broken loose. They had driven him nearly mad in his stateroom that evening, and he had turned his trunk inside out in the process of dressing, to find some socks. Moreover, he had left his door unlocked. He was growing reckless. Perhaps the high sentiments of every one on board had made him trustful. If he had seen the purser exploring the room and poking under his berth he might have felt uneasy, for that was what the purser was doing at this moment. Mr. Neilsen might have been even more mystified if he had seen the strange objects which the purser had laid, for the moment, on his pillow. One of them looked singularly like a rocket, of the kind which ships use for signaling purposes. But Mr. Neilsen could not see; and so he was only worried by the people round him. Captain Abbey seemed to have washed his face in the sunset. He was larger and more like a marine Weller than ever in his best blue and gilt. And Mr. Pennyfeather was just dapper little Mr. Pennyfeather, with his beard freshly brushed. "You've never been in London, Miss Depew?" said Captain Abbey reproachfully, while the Pennyfeathers prepared the ouija board. "Ah, but you ought to see the Thames at Westminster Bridge! No doubt the Amazon and the Mississippi, considered as rivers, are all right in their way. They're ten times bigger than our smoky old river at 'ome. But the Thames is more than a river, Miss Depew. The Thames is liquid 'istory!" As soon as the ouija board was ready they began their experiment. Mr. Neilsen thought he had never known anything more sickeningly illustrative of the inferiority of all intellects to the German. He tried the ouija board with Mrs. Pennyfeather, and the accursed thing scrawled one insane syllable. It looked like "cows," but Miss Depew decided that it was "crows." Then Mrs. Pennyfeather tried it with Captain Abbey; and they got nothing at all, except an occasional giggle from the lady to the effect that she didn't think the captain could be making his mind a blank. Then Mr. Pennyfeather tried it with Miss Depew--with no result but the obvious delight of that sprightly middle-aged gentleman at touching her polished finger tips, and the long uneven line that was driven across the paper by the ardor of his pressure. Finally Miss Depew--subduing the glint of her smile slightly, a change as from diamonds to rubies, but hard and clear-cut as ever--declared, on the strength of Mr. Neilsen's first attempt, that he seemed to be the most sensitive of the party, and she would like to try it with him. Strangely enough Mr. Neilsen felt a little mollified, even a little flattered, by the suggestion. He was quite ready to touch the finger tips of Miss Depew, and try again. She had a small hand. He could not help remembering the legend that after the Creator had made the rosy fingers of the first woman the devil had added those tiny, gemlike nails; but he thought the devil had done his work, in this case, like an expert jeweler. Mr. Neilsen was always ready to bow before efficiency, even if its weapons were no more imposing than a manicure set. The ouija board was quiet for a moment or two. Then the pencil began to move across the paper. Mr. Neilsen did not understand why. Miss Depew certainly looked quite blank; and the movement seemed to be independent of their own consciousness. It was making marks on the paper, and that was all he expected it to do. At last Miss Depew withdrew her hand and exclaimed: "It's too exhausting. Read it, somebody!" Mr. Pennyfeather picked it up, and laughed. "Looks to me as if the spirits are a bit erratic to-night. But the writing's clear enough, in a scrawly kind of way. I'm afraid it's utter nonsense." He began to read it aloud: "Exquisitely amusing! Uncle Hyacinth's little appendix----" At this moment he was interrupted. Mr. Neilsen had risen to his feet as if he were being hauled up by an invisible rope attached to his neck. His movement was so startling that Mrs. Pennyfeather emitted a faint, mouselike screech. They all stared at him, waiting to see what he would do next. But Mr. Neilsen recovered himself with great presence of mind. He drew a handkerchief from his trousers pocket, as if he had risen only for that purpose. Then he sat down again. "Bardon me," he said; "I thought I vas aboud to sneeze. Vat is the rest of id?" He sat very still now, but his mouth opened and shut dumbly, like the mouth of a fish, while Mr. Pennyfeather read the message through to the end: "Exquisitely amusing! Uncle Hyacinth's little appendix cut out. Throat enlarged. Consuming immense quantities pork sausages; also onions wholesale. Best greetings. Fond love. Kisses." "I'm afraid they're playing tricks on us to-night," said Mr. Pennyfeather. "They do sometimes, you know. Or it may be fragments of two or three messages which have got mixed." "Hold on, though!" said the captain. "Didn't you send a wireless the other day, Mr. Neilsen, to somebody by the name of Hyacinth?" "Well--ha! ha! ha! It was aboud somebody by that name. I suppose I must have moved my hand ungonsciously. I've been thinking aboud him a great deal. He's ill, you see." "How very interestin'," cooed Mrs. Pennyfeather, drawing her chair closer. "Have you really an uncle named Hyacinth? Such a pretty name for an elderly gentleman, isn't it? Doesn't the rest of the message mean anything to you, then, Mr. Neilsen?" He stared at her, and then he stared at the message, licking his lips. Then he stared at Captain Abbey and Miss Depew. He could read nothing in their faces but the most childlike amusement. The thing that chilled his heart was the phrase about onions. He could not remember the meaning, but it looked like one of those innocent commercial phrases that had been embodied in the code. Was it possible that in his agitation he had unconsciously written this thing down? He crumpled up the paper and thrust it into his side pocket. Then he sniggered mirthlessly. Greatly to his relief the captain began talking to Miss Depew, as if nothing had happened, about the Tower of London; and he was able to slip away before they brought the subject down to modern times. III Mr. Neilsen may have been a very skeptical person. Perhaps his intellect was really paralyzed by panic, for the first thing he did on reaching his stateroom that night was to get out the code and translate the message of the ouija board. It was impossible that it should mean anything; but he was impelled by something stronger than his reason. He broke into a cold sweat when he discovered that it had as definite a meaning as any of the preceding messages; and though it was not the kind of thing that would have been sent by wireless he recognized that it was probably far nearer the truth than any of them. This is how he translated it: "Imperative sink _Hispaniola_ after treacherous threat. Wiser sacrifice life. Otherwise death penalty inevitable. Flight abroad futile. Enviable position. Fine opportunity hero." He could not understand how this thing had happened. Was it possible that in great crises an agitated mind two thousand miles away might create a corresponding disturbance in another mind which was concentrated on the same problem? Had he evolved these phrases of the code out of some subconscious memory and formed them into an intelligible sentence? Trickery was the only other alternative, and that was out of the question. All these people were of inferior intellect. Besides, they were in the same peril themselves; and obviously ignorant of it. His code had never been out of his possession. Yet he felt as if he had been under the microscope. What did it mean? He felt as if he were going mad. He crept into his berth in a dazed and blundering way, like a fly that has just crawled out of a honey pot. After an hour of feverish tossing from side to side he sank into a doze, only to dream of the bald-headed man in Harrods' who wanted to sell him a safety waistcoat, the exact model of the one that saved Lord Winchelsea. The most hideous series of nightmares followed. He dreamed that the sides of the ship were transparent, and that he saw the periscopes of innumerable submarines foaming alongside through the black water. He could not cry out, though he was the only soul aboard that saw them, for his mouth seemed to be fastened with official sealing wax--black sealing wax--stamped with the German eagle. Then to his horror he saw the quick phosphorescent lines of a dozen torpedoes darting toward the _Hispaniola_ from all points of the compass. A moment later there was an explosion that made him leap, gasping and fighting for breath, out of his berth. But this was not a dream. It was the most awful explosion he had ever heard, and his room stank of sulphur. He seized the cork jacket that hung on his wall, pulled his door open and rushed out, trying to fasten it round him as he went. When the steward arrived, with the purser, they had the stateroom to themselves; and after the former had thrown the remains of the rocket through the porthole, together with the ingenious contrivance that had prevented it from doing any real damage under Mr. Neilsen's berth, the purser helped him with his own hands to carry the brass-bound trunk down to his office. "We'll tell him that his room was on fire and we had to throw the contents overboard. We'll give him another room and a suit of old clothes for to-morrow. Then we can examine his possessions at leisure. We've got the code now; but there may be lots of other things in his pockets. That's right. I hope he doesn't jump overboard in his fright. It's lucky that we warned these other staterooms. It made a hellish row. You'd better go and look for him as soon as we get this thing out of the way." But it was easier to look for Mr. Neilsen than to find him. The steward ransacked the ship for three-quarters of an hour, and he began to fear that the worst had happened. He was peering round anxiously on the boat deck when he heard an explosive cough somewhere over his head. He looked up into the rigging as if he expected to find Mr. Neilsen in the crosstrees; but nobody was to be seen, except the watch in the crow's nest, dark against the stars. "Mr. Neilsen!" he called. "Mr. Neilsen!" "Are you galling me?" a hoarse voice replied. It seemed to come out of the air, above and behind the steward. He turned with a start, and a moment later he beheld the head of Mr. Neilsen bristling above the thwarts of Number Six boat. He had been sitting in the bottom of the boat to shelter himself from the wind, and some symbolistic Puck had made him fasten his cork jacket round his pyjamas very firmly, but upside down, so that he certainly would have been drowned if he had been thrown into the water. "It's all right, Mr. Neilsen," said the steward. "The danger is over." "Are ve torpedoed?" The round-eyed visage with the bristling hair was looking more and more like Bismarck after a debauch of blood and iron, and it did not seem inclined to budge. "No, sir! The shock damaged your room a little, but we must have left the enemy behind. You had a lucky escape, sir." "My Gott! I should think so, indeed! The ship is not damaged in any vay?" "No, sir. There was a blaze in your room, and I'm afraid they had to throw all your things overboard. But the purser says he can rig you out in the morning; and we have another room ready for you." "Then I vill gum down," said Mr. Neilsen. And he did so. His bare feet paddled after the steward on the cold wet deck. At the companionway they met the shadowy figure of the captain. "I'm afraid you've 'ad an unpleasant upset, Mr. Neilsen," he said. "Onbleasant! It vos derrible! Derrible! But you see, captain, I vas correct. And this is only the beginning, aggording to my information. I hope now you vill take every bre-caution." "They must have mistaken us for a British ship, Mr. Neilsen, I'm afraid. I'm having the ship lighted up so that they can't mistake us again. You see? I've got a searchlight playing on the Argentine flag aloft; and we've got the name of the ship in illuminated letters three feet high, all along the hull. They could read it ten miles away. Come and look!" Mr. Neilsen looked with deepening horror. "But dis is madness!" he gurgled. "The _Hispaniola_ is marked, I tell you, marked, for gomplete destruction!" The captain shook his head with a smile of skepticism that withered Mr. Neilsen's last hope. "Very vell, then I should brefer an inside cabin this time." "Yes. You don't get so much fresh air, of course; but I think it's better on the 'ole. If we're torpedoed we shall all go down together. But you're safer from gunfire in an inside room." The unhappy figure in pyjamas followed the steward without another word. The captain watched him with a curious expression on his broad red face. He was not an unkindly man; and if this German in the cork jacket had not been so ready to let everybody else aboard drown he might have felt the sympathy for him that most people feel toward the fat cowardice of Falstaff. But he thought of the women and children, and his heart hardened. As soon as Mr. Neilsen had gone below, the lights were turned off, and the ship went on her way like a shadow. The captain proceeded to send out some wireless messages of his own. In less than an hour he received an answer, and almost immediately the ship's course was changed. It was a strange accident that nobody on board seemed to have any clothes that would fit Mr. Neilsen on the following day. He appeared at lunch in a very old suit, which the dapper little Mr. Pennyfeather had worn out in the bank. Mr. Neilsen was now a perfect illustration of the schooldays of Prince Blood and Iron, at some period when that awful effigy had outgrown his father's pocket and burst most of his buttons. But his face was so haggard and gray that even the women pitied him. At four o'clock in the afternoon the captain asked him to come up to the bridge, and began to put him out of his misery. "Mr. Neilsen," he said, "I'm afraid you've had a very anxious voyage; and, though it's very unusual, I think in the circumstances it's only fair to put you on another ship if you prefer it. You'll 'ave your chance this evening. Do you see those little smudges of smoke out yonder? Those are some British patrol boats; and if you wish I'm sure I can get them to take you off and land you in Plymouth. There's a statue of Sir Francis Drake on Plymouth 'Oe. You ought to see it. What d'you think?" Mr. Neilsen stared at him. Two big tears of gratitude rolled down his cheeks. "I shall be most grateful," he murmured. "They're wonderful little beggars, those patrol boats," the captain continued. "Always on the side of the angels, as you said so feelingly at the concert. They're the police of the seas. They guide and guard us all, neutrals as well. They sweep up the mines. They warn us. They pilot us. They pick us up when we're drowning; and, as you said, they give us 'ot coffee; in fact, these little patrol boats are doing the work of civilization. Probably you don't like the British very much in Sweden, but--" "I have no national brejudices," Mr. Neilsen said hastily. "I shall indeed be most grateful." "Very well, then," said the captain; "we'll let 'em know." At half past six, two of the patrol boats were alongside. They were the _Auld Robin Gray_ and the _Ruth_; and they seemed to be in high feather over some recent success. Mr. Neilsen was mystified again when he came on deck, for he could have sworn that he saw something uncommonly like his brass-bound trunk disappearing into the hold of the _Auld Robin Gray_. He was puzzled also by the tail end of the lively conversation that was taking place between Miss Depew and the absurdly young naval officer, with the lisp, who was in command of the patrols. "Oh, no! I'm afraid we don't uth the dungeonth in the Tower," said that slender youth, while Miss Depew, entirely feminine and smiling like a morning glory now, noted all the details of his peaked cap and the gold stripes on his sleeve. "We put them in country houtheth and feed them like fighting cockth, and give them flower gardenth to walk in." He turned to Captain Abbey joyously, and lisped over Mr. Neilsen's head: "That wath a corking metthage of yourth, captain. I believe we got three of them right in the courth you would have been taking to-day. You'll hear from the Admiralty about thith, you know. It wath magnifithent! Good-bye!" He saluted smartly, and taking Mr. Neilsen tightly by the arm helped him down to the deck of the _Ruth_. "Good-by and good luck!" called Captain Abbey. He beamed over the bulwarks of the _Hispaniola_ like a large red harvest moon through the thin mist that began to drift between them. "Good-by, Mr. Neilsen!" called Mr. and Mrs. Pennyfeather, waving frantically. "Good-by, Herr Krauss!" said Miss Depew; and the dainty malice in her voice pierced Mr. Neilsen like a Röntgen ray. But he recovered quickly, for he was of an elastic disposition. He was already looking forward to the home comforts which he knew would be supplied by these idiotic British for the duration of the war. The young officer smiled and saluted Miss Depew again. He was a very ladylike young man, Mr. Neilsen had thought, and an obvious example of the degeneracy of England. But Mr. Neilsen's plump arm was still bruised by the steely grip with which that lean young hand had helped him aboard, so his conclusions were mixed. The engines of the _Ruth_ were thumping now, and the _Hispaniola_ was melting away over the smooth gray swell. They watched her for a minute or two, till she became spectral in the distance. Then the youthful representative of the British Admiralty turned, like a thoughtful host, to his prisoner. "Would you like thum tea?" he lisped sympathetically. "Your Uncle Hyathinth mutht have given you an awfully anxiouth time." Herr Krauss grunted inarticulately. He was looking like a very happy little Bismarck. III THE CREATIVE IMPULSE Undoubtedly Captain Julius Vandermeer had made a pile of money. A Dutch sea-captain who had been the chief owner of his vessel in the first two years of the war was a lucky dog. A couple of voyages might bring him more than he could hope to make in half a century of peace. If he were lucky enough to make forty or fifty successful voyages across the Atlantic he could do exactly what Captain Vandermeer had done--retire from the sea, invest his money, look for a handsome young wife, and expect the remainder of his years to mellow round him like an orchard, dropping all the most pleasant fruits of life at his feet. Best of all, despite the gray streaks in his bushy red beard, he was only half-way through the forties, and he knew how to enjoy himself. He sat on the veranda of his white bungalow under the foothills of the Sierra Madre, puffing at his big meerschaum pipe and explaining these things to the lady whom he had just married. "Long ago I settled it in my mind, Mimika," he said, "if ever I came to be rich there should only be one country in the world for me, and that should be Southern California. Look at it!" He waved the stem of his pipe at the broad slopes below. As far as the eye could see, from the petals that dropped over the dainty little electric car before the porch, to the distant horizon, they were one gorgeous pattern of fruit trees in blossom. Masses of white and pink bloom surged like foam against the veranda; and the soft wind blowing across that odorous wilderness was like the whisper of wings at sunset in Eden. Behind the windows of the dining room a Chinese manservant glided to and fro like a blue shadow. "Man lives by contrast, Mimika," Vandermeer continued. "For a quarter of a century salt water was all my world. Now I have chosen seas of peach blossom; and no danger of shipwreck, heh? Ah, but it smells fine, Mimika--fine! When I saw my fortune coming I asked a friend in New York what was the place out of all the world where a man might live most happily, most healthily, in the most beautiful climate, to the age of ninety or even to the age of a hundred, enjoying himself also. 'Southern California,' he said. At once I knew that my friend was right. I remembered San Diego when I was a boy, and the roses tumbling at my feet on Christmas Day. I remembered the women, Mimika; and the cantaloupe melons, cut in halves, with the ice melting in their lovely yellow hearts; and as soon as the money was in the bank I took the train to the City of the Angels. Los Angeles--what a name, heh? In three weeks I had found my ranch with its beautiful bungalow, waiting like a palace for its queen. In six months I had found the queen, Mimika, heh?" Mimika rose from her rocking-chair, remarking, "Now listen, Julius!" This did not mean that she had anything of great importance to say. But she had a trick, which Vandermeer found fascinating, of prefacing most of her remarks with the command to listen. "Listen, Julius! You won't come down with me to meet Roy?" she said. "No, Mimika, no. The little sister will have much to tell her brother when she sees him for the first time after--how long has he been in Europe? Two years? And she will have to tell him all about her honeymoon, heh?" He pinched her ear playfully as she stooped to kiss him. "I guess Roy will open his eyes when he sees my electric," she said. She went down to the car in a skipping walk, while Captain Vandermeer surveyed her with the eye of one who has found a prize. She was wearing a Panama hat, a sweater of emerald green, and a very short yellow skirt that fluttered round her yellow silk stockings like the petals of a California poppy. This was not altogether out of keeping with the blaze of the landscape; but her high-heeled white shoes prevented her from walking gracefully; and this was really a pity, for she could dance like a wave of the sea if she chose. Sadder still, her nose was as white with powder as if she had dipped it into a bag of meal and her lips looked as if she had been eating damson jam. This was more pathetic than comic, because in its natural state her face was pretty as a wild flower. Captain Vandermeer sat blowing rings of blue smoke for a minute or two longer. Then he entered the bungalow and went to a room at the back of the house which he had reserved as his own den. It was a very bare room at present, chiefly furnished by the bright new safe which he now proceeded to unlock. He drew out a bundle of papers and examined them with loving care. There were American railroad bonds to the value of fifty thousand dollars; some Liberty Loan Bonds to the value of fifty thousand more; twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of Anglo-French bonds; and the same amount of the City of Paris, risky enough if the Germans were going to break through, but he did not think they were, and they yielded more than ten per cent. It was very wonderful, he thought, and he replaced them like a man saying good night to his child. Then he drew out a chamois-leather bag and poured the glittering contents into his left palm. He was a very wise man in his generation. "You never know," he muttered--"you never know what will happen, in these days, to bonds. These are perhaps the best investment of all. These are the reserves of my little army. It was a good idea to keep them. Besides, you can put them in your pocket and go where you wish at a moment's notice. It is not possible always to get money at once for bonds." His face glowed with satisfaction as he put the bag in the safe and locked it. * * * * * On the way up to the ranch from the railway station Mimika had been chattering hard to her brother; but he noticed certain changes in her appearance with a feeling akin to remorse. He was not at all sure that she was really happy, despite her apparent enthusiasm over what she called the generosity of Julius. He wished that his mother had delayed things till he had returned from Europe; and he could not help wondering how far his failure to send home more than two-thirds of his own scanty income as a newspaper correspondent had contributed to the haste of this marriage. He had not been able to learn much about it. His mother was a vague widow, who, like so many widows, regarded marriage with a kind of ghostly detachment and a more than maidenly innocence. She was devoted to Mimika, but quite ready, he feared, to sacrifice Mimika to himself. Roy himself had not had too easy a time in the last few years. He was one of those not uncommon Americans who combine an extraordinary knowledge of the world with the unworldliness and sometimes the gullibility of an Eastern sage. He knew more about the cathedrals of England than almost any Englishman; more about the châteaux of France than most Frenchmen. He could have dictated an encyclopedia of useful knowledge about Italy and Egypt. He had been a war correspondent in four quarters of the globe, and he had acquired a sense of the larger movements in politics that gave his opinions an unusual interest. He flew over the big guns of international affairs like a man in an air-plane; and, though his European hearers might not always like his signals, they usually felt that he was looking beyond their horizon. But his ambition was to do creative work, and he had not yet succeeded. He marveled how some other men, without expending a tithe of his energy, had produced a shelf of books while he was still taking his notes. He never seemed to have the time for creation, and whenever he approached any original work he gravitated toward the method of the newspaper correspondent. He wondered sometimes whether this was due to a lack of what he called the 'creative impulse.' One of the things to which he had been looking forward on this visit was the opportunity that it would give him of obtaining some first-hand material from a real live sea-captain. Yet he was not sure whether he would ever be able to transmute it into an original book. His boyish smile was in somewhat pathetic contrast with his gold-spectacled, and curiously dreamy, yet overstrained eyes, which sometimes gave his face in repose the expression of a youthful Buddha. His frequent abrupt changes between a violently active life and an almost completely sedentary one had not been good for him physically, and he was subject to fits of depression, relieved by fits of extreme optimism. If only Mimika were happy he thought he might feel very optimistic about the material that Vandermeer could give him for the book he was contemplating. Indeed already he could not help sharing a little in her enthusiasm over her 'electric.' "And listen, Roy, we've got a marble swimming pool in the garden, all surrounded with heliotropes," she concluded, almost breathless, as they rolled up the long aisle of palms and pepper trees. "Is that so?" said Roy. "And you love him, Mimika?" "He's a dear," said Mimika. "And of course--" She was going to add that Captain Vandermeer would do a great deal for Roy; but she had misgivings, and checked herself. She had almost broached the subject to her lord this morning, and had checked herself then, too, feeling instinctively that Vandermeer had grown rich too recently for him to help any one but himself just at present. The introduction of brother to husband went off very well indeed. Vandermeer was so hearty, and held Roy's hand so affectionately, that when they were getting ready for dinner Mimika ventured to approach the subject again. "And listen, Julius, you'll be able to help Roy just a little, too, won't you?" she said, putting her hands up to her hair before the mirror in her bedroom. "What do you mean, Mimika, by help?" Vandermeer's voice rolled in a very unsatisfactory way from the adjoining room. "Oh, of course there's only one kind of help Roy would accept," she replied hastily. "He's going to write something about the sea, and he thinks you might give him some hints." "Why, certainly, Mimika. They say there's a book in every man's life." The voice was thoroughly hearty again now. "In mine I should say there would be a hundred books. I will tell him some splendid things." Even more jovial was the mood of Julius Vandermeer that evening after dinner; and he expanded his rosy views of the future to his brother-in-law over their cigars and a steaming rum punch flavored with lemon, which was his own invention for coping with the cold of a California night. He called it his "smudge pot." "And now, Roy," he said at last, "I hope your own affairs go well. It is a great thing, the gift of expression. I wish I had it. Ah, what books I could write! The things I have seen, things you will never see in print!" "That's precisely what I want to discuss with you, Julius. I have just signed a contract with the Copley-Willard Publishing Company to write them a serial dealing with the heroism of the merchant marine in war-time. I don't mind confessing that I told them a little about you--said you had no end of crackajack material I could use. The result was the best contract I've yet made with any publisher; so I owe that to you. The Star News Company was very well satisfied with my record as a correspondent; but I bungled the contract with them. If I can put this thing through it means that I shan't be a poor relation much longer. Now if you can only give me a good subject and put me wise on the seamanship and help me to get the local color, the rest will be as easy as falling off a log. You must have had a good many experiences, for instance, with the submarines, when you were crossing the Atlantic twice a month." "Experiences--why, yes, many experiences; but my good fortune comes--well--from my good fortune. I am like the happy nation. I have not had much history for these two years. But I have seen things--oh, yes, I have seen things--that were like what you call clues--clues to many strange tales." "That's precisely what I want--a rattling good clue!" "Well now, let me think. There were some interesting things about those big merchant submarines that the Germans sent at one time across the Atlantic." "Like the _Deutschland_, you mean?" "Yes; and there were others, never mentioned in the newspapers. One or two of them disappeared. Perhaps the British destroyed them. Nobody knows. But it was reported that one of them was carrying a million dollars' worth of diamonds to the United States. Think of that, Roy! A submarine full of diamonds! Doesn't that kindle your imagination?" "Gee! I should say it would!" remarked Mimika, putting down the highly colored magazine in which she had been studying the latest New York fashions. "Depends what happened to it," said Roy. "Come, then, I will tell you a little story," said Vandermeer; "but you must not mention my name about this one. How did I come to know it? Ah, perhaps by some strange accident I met the only man who could tell the truth about it. Perhaps I was able to do him some small service. In any case that is a different matter. This story must be your own, Roy. It shall come from what you call your creative impulse." Mimika plumped down on a cushion at her lord's feet to listen. He patted her shoulder affectionately with his big left paw, which showed up in a somewhat startling contrast with its rough skin and long red hairs against that smooth whiteness. With his right hand he filled himself the third glass of rum punch that he had taken that evening. He smacked his lips between two sips. "Help yourself, Roy," he said, "and take another cigar. Yes, I will tell you. Take a sip, Mimika. That is good, heh? Now I shall need no more sugar. "Well, Roy, just imagine. This big merchant submarine leaves Hamburg loaded with diamonds! A million dollars' worth of diamonds, all going to the United States, because it is necessary that Germany shall pay some of her bills. There is a crew of only twenty men, because they need them for the U-boats. All of these men are sulky, rebellious. They have been forced to do this work against their will. They were happy on their ships in the Kiel Canal, except that there was always the chance of being picked for submarine duty. When they are lined up for that--ah, it is like waiting to be named for the guillotine, in the Reign of Terror! They have courage, but their hands shake, their lips are blue and their hearts are sick. It is the death sentence. Either this week, or the next, or the next they will be missing. Certainly in eight weeks their places must be filled again. They are just fishes' food. Picture then the choosing of these men. There is your first chapter, heh? "Now for the second. You must picture the captain. He is the most rebellious of all, for his life has been spared longer than most, but his life on the submarine is a living death. He is a good sailor, yes, in any surface vessel; but in the first place the submarine makes him sick at the stomach--the smells, the bad air, the joggle-joggle of the engine, the lights turned down to save the batteries. All that depresses him; and he has always the thought that, if one little thing goes wrong, he will die like a man buried alive in a big steel coffin, with nineteen others, all fighting for breath. It is a nightmare--the only nightmare that ever frightened him." Captain Vandermeer certainly had a vivid imagination or else his own creative impulse, aided by frequent draughts of rum punch, was carrying him away; for his bulging blue eyes looked as if they would burst out of their canary-lashed lids. "Moreover, this captain has been in a fighting submarine that has shocked his nerves. He has grown used to scenes of death. He has come to the surface and seen many scores of men and women drowning, and he has watched them till he minds it no more than drowning flies. But twice he has found himself entangled in a steel net, and escaped by miracle. That is not so pleasant. When it was decided to send him to the United States on a merchant submarine, what was his first thought? What would be yours, Roy, in that position?" "A bedroom and bath at the hotel Vanderbilt," replied Roy promptly. "You follow the clue very well, my boy. You have a clever brother, Mimika. The first thought of the captain is this: If I can get safely through the ring of the enemy the rest of the voyage will not be so bad. I shall make most of it on the surface, and I shall have a breathing spell in a great city outside the war. That will make the second chapter, heh? Now what is his next thought, Mimika?" "Why, listen! If I once got to New York I should want to stay there," replied Mimika, helping herself to a large piece of candy. "Ah, what a clever sister you have, my dear Roy!" said Vandermeer, and both his red streaked paws descended approvingly on Mimika's white shoulders. "How beautifully we compose this tale together, heh? But he has not yet reached America, and he has a submarine full of diamonds on his hands; also a crew of twenty men; also his orders as an officer in the German Navy. "Well, let us suppose he has come safely through the ring of the enemy, after several nightmares. He runs on the surface almost always now, and he is losing his bad dreams for a time. "One night he is on deck looking at the stars and thinking, who knows what thoughts, when the youngest engineer, a nice little fellow, a Bavarian, you might say, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, just as pretty as a girl, comes up to him. His face is as white and smooth as Mimika's shoulders--but there is no powder on it, heh? And his blue eyes are frightened. "'Captain,' he says, 'I want to warn you. There is a plot among the men to kill you.' "'To kill me!' the captain says. 'Why should they wish to kill me, Otto?' "'They've gone crazy about the diamonds. They say they have had enough of this life, and they will never go back to Germany. They mean to take the diamonds and sell them a few at a time in America. Then they will live like princes. They think I'm joining them.' "'Is there nobody but yourself on my side?' says the captain. "'Nobody now,' says Otto. "'Very well. Thank you, my boy. I will see that you are rewarded for this. When are they going to do it?' "'When we are submerged and nearing the three-mile limit.' "'Thank you, Otto,' says the captain again. "And there's your third chapter; and your fourth, too, Roy--a dramatic situation, heh?" Roy appeared to think so, and on the strength of it he filled Vandermeer's glass again. He was anxious to help the creative impulse. "What follows?" continued Vandermeer. "In your tales to-day you must have psychology. The captain is a clever man. What would you do in that position, Roy? He cannot fight them all. I will tell you what he does. He is a diplomatist. He shapes his policy, standing there on the deck of the submarine all alone, under the stars. "The next evening he orders rum all round, just like this--good rum, from his own little cask, which he keeps for the sake of his stomach. It is a beautiful evening, a sea like oil, and the setting sun makes a road of gold to the shores of America. They are approaching the happy land. The men themselves are more cheerful, and like a good diplomatist he seizes the cheerful moment. "Not only does he give them rum but he gives them cigars, also from his private box--expensive cigars, just like these. "'I have a proposition to make,' he says. 'We are all sick of the war, and I myself am more sick of it than anybody.' "They all stare at him, wondering what he will say next; and the little Bavarian opens his blue eyes like a girl, and stares more than any of them. He thinks perhaps the end of the world will come now. "'There is nobody here,' says the captain, 'that wishes to return. Why should we return? There is a million dollars in diamonds aboard, enough to make every one of us rich. We are going to the great republic. Good! We will share equally. Every one of us shall have the same amount. I myself, though I am your captain, will take no more than Otto. That will be more than fifty thousand dollars for each one of us.' "Immediately the last of the clouds vanishes like magic from the crew. There is nothing but smiles all round him, smiles and the smell of rum and good cigars, just like these. They are all good comrades together, shaking hands, except the little Bavarian. He is sitting back behind the gyroscopic compass watching the captain, with big eyes and a solemn face like the infant Saint John. "And why should they not all be satisfied--except the captain, who is perhaps only pretending to be satisfied? They lose only a twentieth part of their money by including him. On the other hand the captain loses a million dollars, to which these robbers had no more right than you or I." "I guess the little Bavarian was sorry he spoke," said Roy; and he filled Vandermeer's glass again. "The little Bavarian was a child, an innocent. He had no will to power, heh? He comes again to the captain late that night, on deck under the stars. His face looks thin and miserable. 'Captain,' he says, 'did you mean your words to those men?' "'What else could I say, Otto, to save the diamonds, and my life, and perhaps yours? You do not understand diplomacy, Otto.' "The face of the little Bavarian grows brighter. 'Forgive me, my captain!' he says. 'But I had begun to doubt even you, for a moment. I was thinking of the Fatherland.' "Now, the captain was much obliged to Otto. His policy was complete in his mind for fooling those robbers, and he would have been glad to save this little Bavarian, who had warned him. But he begins to see an obstacle. He thinks he will put this little fellow to the trial. "'Come now, Otto,' he says, 'it is very well to think of the Fatherland if you and I could save it. But do you think a few hundred shining pebbles will make any odds? These robbers shall not have them. But supposing we share them, there is nobody in the Fatherland that would be any poorer. They belong to the state, Otto, and if they should be shared with every one in Germany not one man would be a pfennig the better. "'But see what a difference this would make to you and me! We are in a state of necessity, Otto; and above that state there is no power, as the Chancellor told the Reichstag. Very well, in this case I quote Louis the Fourteenth: "_L'état, c'est moi_!" and Frederick the Great, also. Have I the might to do it, Otto? Very well, then, according to the spokesman of the Fatherland I have also the right.' "'I do not understand you, my captain,' says this little blue-eyed baby, 'but I know well that you mean to do right.' "'You shall have not fifty but a hundred thousand dollars' worth for your share, Otto, because you have been faithful,' says the captain; 'but you must not think too many beautiful thoughts till we are safe on shore. I have arranged everything in my mind. Go down and sleep.' "'For God's sake, captain,' cries this funny little fellow, dropping on his knees, 'tell me what you mean to do!' And the tears begin to roll down his face. "'It is not safe to trust you yet, Otto. You might talk in your sleep,' says the captain. 'Do as I bid you. We shall see what we shall see.' "Very well, Roy, there is at least four chapters to be made from that, heh? "We come now to the crisis. The submarine is nearing the end of her voyage. They begin to see ships and they submerge. The captain has told them, instead of making for New York he is heading for the coast of Maine, where there will be better opportunities of destroying the submarine and landing unobserved. It is about six o'clock in the evening, when he peeks through the periscope. They are within a short distance of the mainland, but they must lie on the bottom till midnight, when it will be safer to go ashore. They are all very happy. Once more he gives them rum all round, just like this, and advises them to sleep, for they will get no sleep after midnight. "They sleep very soundly, all except the little Bavarian and the captain. Why? Because the captain keeps the medicine chest as well as the diamonds. If he had had something stronger in his medicine chest it would have saved him much trouble and danger. "While they sleep the captain takes out the diamonds from the strong box and puts them in his inside pockets. Then he examines the batteries. He is an expert engineer. He can make the batteries work when every one else thinks they are dead. Also he can make them die, so that even he can never make them work again. He examines other parts of the machinery--those which enable the submarine to rise to the surface. He will not allow the little Bavarian to watch what he is doing. Then he puts on his life-belt, and looks at the men snoring in their hammocks and on the floor. Some of them are stirring in their sleep. There is no time to lose or he may be interrupted. At last he is ready. The submarine will never rise to the surface again, and the sea will never betray the secret. "There is only one way for him to get out, and it is not a pleasant way. But in his nightmares he has often rehearsed it, and he has always made sure that it could be done before he went to sea. There must always be a way out for one man at least, if not for more. '_L'état, c'est moi!_' "He beckons to the little Bavarian. 'I have all the diamonds in my pocket,' he says. 'The time is come for you to help me, Otto.' "Now, Roy, you know what the conning tower of a submarine is like inside? It is like a round chimney, with a lid at the top to keep out the water when you are submerged. You can climb up into this conning tower and steer the ship from it if you wish. There is also another lid at the bottom of the conning tower, which you can close as well. Then if you wish you can flood your chimney with water. "Now, if a submarine cannot rise to the surface, it is possible for a man to climb into this conning tower. Another man then closes the lid below and floods the tower very slowly. When the water reaches the head of the man in the tower there is just enough pressure for him to push open the lid at the top and shoot up to the surface. The lid at the top can then be closed from the interior of the submarine. The lower lid can be opened slowly, and the water from the tower pours out into the hull. Then, perhaps, another man can climb up into the tower, and the process can be repeated. There is room for only one man at a time. "The captain tells the little Bavarian that he is going to do this. 'But, my captain, it is very dangerous. You may be drowned. It is not certain that you can open it. The pressure may be too great above.' "'It is for the Fatherland, Otto,' says the captain; and the little Bavarian salutes, standing at attention, just like a pretty little wax doll. "'When the men wake, you will be able to follow by the same road,' says the captain, and he climbs up into the conning tower. "The lower lid is closed. The water begins to creep up round the captain's knees in the darkness. He is horribly frightened. He has a crowbar in his hand to help him to open the upper lid quickly, but he still thinks perhaps it will not open. When the water has reached his waist he begins to push at the upper lid, but it cannot move yet. The weight of the whole sea above is pressing down. He knows it cannot move but he cannot help pushing at it, till the sweat breaks out on him, though the water is like ice. It is worse than he expected, worse than any of his nightmares. The water reaches to his neck. He struggles with all his strength, and still the lid will not move. A prayer comes to his lips. The cold water creeps--creeps over his chin. There is only three inches now between his face and the lid. He holds his head back to keep his nostrils above the water, fighting, fighting always to open the lid. Then the water covers his face. The conning tower is full. "He holds his breath, gives one last push, and feels the lid opening, opening softly, like the big steel door of a safe in a bank. His crowbar is wedged under the lid, between the hinges, just as he wished. In four seconds he is shooting up, up to the surface, with his chest bursting, like a diver that has seen a shark. "For a minute he floats there in the darkness, under the stars. Then--perhaps the struggle has been greater even than he knew--he faints. It is fortunate that his life-belt is a good one, for when he recovers he has floated perhaps a long time. He is very cold. He takes a drink of rum from his flask and gets his bearings. He is two miles from the coast. Yes, but he is a clever man. There is one of those little islands, covered with pine trees, just a hundred and fifty yards away. There is also a wooden house on the island; and a landing stage with a dinghy hauled up on the shore. "The owner of the boat is careful. He has taken his oars to bed with him. But the captain is a clever man. It is a beautiful night. He has plenty of time, and he can paddle with one of the loose boards in the bottom of the dinghy." "But listen! What became of the little Bavarian?" said Mimika. "Well, I was not there to see," said Captain Vandermeer, lighting a cigar, "but when the men woke they must all have tried to get out by the same way." "And they couldn't?" asked Roy. He was watching Vandermeer with a very curious expression--almost as if he were examining an eyewitness. "The captain was an expert engineer--ah, a magnificent engineer!--as I told you, Roy, and there was a leetle crowbar wedged under what we have been calling the lid of the conning tower." "Good God, what an idea! You mean they couldn't close the upper lid again?" "They might think they had closed it." Vandermeer gave a deep guttural chuckle. "Then they would open the lower lid, heh?" "And then?" "Why, then the sea would come running into the hull, and they would be drowned." "Oh, but not the poor little Bavarian!" said Mimika. "_L'état, c'est moi_," said Vandermeer with a smile. Roy was looking at him still with the same pensive expression as of a youthful Buddha. "I suppose he had no difficulty in getting rid of the diamonds," he said. "Probably not," said Vandermeer. "Perhaps he would keep a few as a reserve--a kind of Landsturm. But he would buy Liberty Bonds, heh?" "And you mean to say that a man like that is going about in the United States now?" said Mimika. Vandermeer chuckled again. "Who knows?" he said. "Perhaps he has come to Southern California. Perhaps he has bought a nice little ranch--a fruit ranch, just like this, heh?--where he shall live a happy and healthy life to the age of a hundred. And now, Mimika, it is getting time for little girls to go to bed." About two o'clock in the morning Mimika was wakened by a guttural choking cry from her husband. She was so startled that she slipped out of bed and stood staring at him. The moon was flooding the room almost like a searchlight, and Captain Vandermeer lay in the full stream of it. While she watched him he rose slowly to a sitting posture, with his eyes still shut and his hands clenched above his face. He began muttering to himself, in a low voice at first, and then so loudly that it echoed through the house; and the words sounded more like German than Dutch. Then he began fighting for breath, like a man in a nightmare. He tore his pyjama jacket open over the great red hairy chest. "Otto!" he shouted at the top of his voice. "Otto!" Then with a huge sigh he sank back on the pillows, whispering "I have opened it." There was a tap on the door. Mimika snatched up a dressing gown, the first garment she could lay her hands on--it happened to be Vandermeer's--wrapped it round her, glided across the room and opened the door. Her brother stood there, also in a dressing gown and bare-footed. Their eyes met without a word. He took her hand, led her outside and closed the door quietly behind them. "You heard him, Roy?" she whispered. "Come downstairs," he said. "I want to ask you some questions about this." They went down to the den at the back of the house, and stood there looking at each other's faces. "He told us a tale to-night," said Roy at last. "Yes," said Mimika faintly. "Do you know what he was calling out in his nightmare?" "It sounded like German," she said. "Yes, it was German; and it gave me a good deal more local color than I expected. That was a true story all right, Mimika." "You mean that he--" "Yes." "Oh, but, Roy!" "That's his dressing gown you're wearing, isn't it?" "Yes, I picked it up in a hurry." "There's been too much hurry about everything, I'm afraid. Why the devil did I go to Europe! Here, Mimika, take off that thing and put mine on. I don't like to see you in it. It doesn't suit you, little sister." She obeyed him, with a small white frightened face; but it was not the white of powder now. Roy thrust his hand into the pocket of Vandermeer's dressing gown. Something jingled. He pulled out a bunch of keys. "Vandermeer told me I was good at following up a clue. I'm going to follow one now, Mimika," he said. "This is the key of the safe." He opened the safe, looked hastily at the bundles of papers and then pulled out the chamois leather bag. "Look here, Mimika!" he said and poured a glittering river of diamonds, several hundred of them, on to the table. The moonlight played over them with an uncanny brilliance. "That's his Landsturm," said Roy; "and that settles it." He took Mimika's hand, and she made no protest as he withdrew the wedding ring from her finger and added it to the glittering heap on the table. There was a heavy footstep in the room above. Vandermeer was awake and moving about upstairs. The boards creaked over their heads, then they heard his bedroom door open, and the heavy footsteps began to descend the stairs. Mimika shrank behind her brother and both stood motionless, waiting. They could hear the heavy breathing of Vandermeer, the breathing of a man roused from a dyspeptic sleep. He came down with an intolerable precision, making the twelve steps of that short descent seem almost interminable. At every step Mimika felt the edges of her heart freezing. At last that ugly rhythm reached the foot of the stairs; and with three more shuffling steps, as of a gigantic ape, the hairy bulk of Vandermeer stood in the doorway, facing them across the glittering mound of gems. The sharp searchlight of the moon made his face corpselike, showing up the puffy blue pouches under his eyes and picking out the coarse red hairs of his bushy beard like strands of copper wire. His eyes protruded, his mouth opened twice without any sound but the soft smacking of his tongue as he tried to moisten his lips. "What are you doing here?" he said at last. "Looking at your Landsturm," said Roy with all the deadly calm of his nation. Vandermeer swayed a little on his feet, like a drunken man. Then he moved forward to the table and blinked at the diamonds and the gold ring crowning them. "I don't understand," he said at last. "You'd better get dressed, Mimika," said Roy. "Our train goes at a quarter after four." He led her to the door, watched her pathetic little figure mounting the stairs and turned to Vandermeer again. Mimika never knew what passed between the two men. When she came out of her room, ten minutes later, Roy was waiting, fully dressed, at the foot of the stairs, with his suit case in his hand. She heard the heavy breathing of Vandermeer in his den; and out of the corner of her eye as they passed the door she saw that glowing mass on the table, as if a fragment of the moon had been dropped there. They walked down the long avenue of palms in silence. In the waiting-room at the station neither of them spoke till they heard the long hoot of the approaching train, and the clangor of the bell on the transcontinental locomotive. Six months later Mimika and her mother were sitting up for Roy, in their fourth-floor flat near the offices of the Copley-Willard Publishing Company, in Philadelphia. "I wish he didn't have to keep these late hours," said her mother. "I thought that everything was turning out for the best when you were married to Julius. I have never been able to understand why you got your divorce so quickly. It was all kept so quiet, and you and Roy are so mysterious about it. You've never even told me the real grounds, I'm sure." "Yes, I did. It was desertion," said Mimika grimly. "Does nobody know what became of him? It seems so strange that he should have gone away and left all the furniture in that house. He had some lovely things too. I think you might at least have claimed the furniture." "Please, mother, don't talk about that or we shall be making the same mistake again. I expect he's shaved his beard by now." "Mimika, child, what do you mean? Are you crazy?" "I think we were both crazy, mother, a year ago." "Well, I thought it was all for your happiness, my pet," said her mother, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. "I'm afraid it will be a long time before you can marry this other young man, that Roy likes so much. He isn't earning half so good a salary as Roy." "I don't know that I'm going to marry any one, mother. But listen! I feel like marrying the first good American that comes to me with a piece of the original _Mayflower_ in his buttonhole." And, this time, her mother almost listened. IV THE MAN FROM BUFFALO The patrol boats had been buffeting their way all night against wind and weather, and before daybreak the long line had lost its order. It was broken up now into little wandering loops and sections, busily comparing notes by Morse flashes and wireless. Last evening the _Morning Glory_, a converted yacht of American ownership, had been working with forty British trawlers; and her owner, Matthew Hudson, who had obtained permission to go out with her on this trip, had watched with admiration the way in which they strung themselves over twenty miles of confused sea, keeping their exact distances till nightfall. This morning, as he lurched in gleaming oilskins up and down the monkey house--irreverent name for his canvas-screened bridge--he could see only three of his companions--the _Dusty Miller_, the _Christmas Day_ and the _Betsey Barton_. They were all having a lively time. They swooped like herring gulls into the broad troughs of the swell, where the black water looked like liquid marble with white veins of foam in it. Morning-colored rainbows dripped from their bows as they rose again through the green sunlit crests. But the _Morning Glory_ was the brightest and the liveliest of them all. The seas had been washing her decks all night. Little pools of color shone in the wet, crumpled oilskins of the crew, and the tarpaulin that covered the gun in her bow gleamed like a cloak dropped there by the Angel of the Dawn. _When like the morning mist in early day Rose from the foam the daughter of the sea----_ Matthew Hudson quoted to himself. He was full of poetry this morning while he waited for his breakfast; and the radiant aspect of the weapon in the bow reminded him of something else--if the smell of the frying bacon would not blow his way and distract his mind--something about "celestial armories." Was it Tennyson or Milton who had written it? There was a passage about guns in "Paradise Lost." He must look it up. Like many Americans, Matthew Hudson was quicker to perceive the true romance of the Old Country than many of its own inhabitants. He had been particularly interested in the names of the British trawlers. "It's like seeing Shakespeare's Sonnets or Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry going out to fight," he had written to his son, who had just left Princeton to join the Mosquito Fleet; and the youngster had replied with a sonnet of his own. Matthew Hudson had carried it about with him and read it to English statesmen, greatly to their embarrassment--most of them looked as if they were receiving a proposal of marriage--and he had found a huge secret joy in their embarrassment, which, as he said, "tickled him to death." But he murmured the verses to himself now, with paternal pride, thinking that the boy had really gone to the heart of the matter: _Out of Old England's inmost heart they go, A little fleet of ships, whose every name-- Daffodil, Sea Lark, Rose, and Surf, and Snow-- Burns in this blackness like an altar flame._ _Out of her past they sail, three thousand strong-- The people's fleet, that never knew its worth; And every name is a broken phrase of song To some remembered loveliness on earth._ _There's Barbara Cowie, Comely Bank and May, Christened at home, in worlds of dawn and dew. There's Ruth, and Kindly Light, and Robin Gray, With Mizpah. May that simple prayer come true!_ _Out of Old England's inmost heart they sail, A fleet of memories that can never fail._ At this moment the _Morning Glory_ ran into a bank of white mist, which left him nothing to see from the bridge. The engines were slowed down and he decided that it was time for breakfast. The cabin where he breakfasted with the skipper was very little changed, except that it seemed by contrast a little more palatial than in peace time. There had been many changes on the exterior of the ship. Her white and gold had been washed over with service gray, and many beautiful fittings had been removed to make way for grimmer work. But within there were still some corners of the yacht that shone like gems in a setting of lead. The _Morning Glory_ had been a very beautiful boat. She had been built for summer cruising among the pine-clad islands off the coast of Maine, or to carry her master down to the palms of his own little island off the coast of Florida, where he basked for a month or so among the ripening oranges, the semitropical blossoms and the cardinal birds, while Buffalo cleared the worst of the snow from her streets. For Matthew Hudson was a man of many millions, which he had made in almost the only country where millions can be made honestly and directly out of its enormous natural resources. His own method had been a very simple one, though it required great organizing ability and a keen eye and brain at the outset. All he had done was to harness a river at the right place and make it drive a light-and-power plant. But he had done it on a scale that enabled him, from this one central station, to drive all the electric trolleys and light all the lamps in more than a hundred cities. He could supply all the light and all the power they wanted to cities a hundred miles away from his plant, and he talked of sending it three hundred miles farther. Now that the system was established, it worked as easily as the river flowed; and his power house was a compact little miracle of efficiency. All that the casual visitor could see was a long, quiet room, in which it seemed that a dozen clocks were slumbrously ticking. These were the indicators, from the dials of which the amount of power distributed over a district as big as England could be read by the two leisurely men on duty. In the meantime, night and day, the river poured power of another kind into the treasury of Matthew Hudson. But his life was as unlike that of the millionaires of fiction as could be imagined. It reminded one of the room with the slumbrous clocks. He was, indeed, as his own men described it, preeminently the "man behind the gun." When the _Morning Glory_ had been accepted by the naval authorities he had obtained permission to equip her for her own work in European waters at his own cost, and to make certain experiments in the equipment. The Admiralty had not looked with favor on some of his ideas, which were by no means suitable for general use in the patrol fleet. But Matthew Hudson had too many weapons at work against Germany for them to deny him a sentimental pleasure in his own yacht. He seemed to have some particular purpose of his own in carrying out his ideas; and so it came about that the _Morning Glory_ was regarded among her companions as a mystery-ship. The two men breakfasted in silence. They were both drowsy, for there had been a U-boat alarm during the night, which had kept them very much awake; but Hudson was roused from his reverie over the second rasher by a loud report, followed by a confused shouting above and the stoppage of the engines. "That's not a submarine!" said the skipper. "What the devil is it?" And the two men rushed on deck. The mist had lifted a little; and, looming out of it, a few hundred yards away, there was something that looked, at first glance, like a great gray reef. For a fraction of a moment Hudson thought they had run into Heligoland in the mist. At the second glance he knew that the gray, mist-wreathed monster before him was an armored ship, and the skipper enlightened him further by saying, in a matter-of-fact voice: "That settles it--enemy cruiser! We're stopped, broadside on. They've got a couple of guns trained on us and they're sending a boat. What's the next move?" Matthew Hudson's face was a curious study at this moment. It suggested a leopard endowed with a sense of humor. His mouth twitched at the corners and his amazingly clear eyes were lit with an almost boyish jubilation. It was a somewhat fierce jubilation; but it undoubtedly twinkled with the humor of the New World. Then he asked the skipper a mysterious question: "Is it impossible?" "Impossible! We're in the wrong position; and if we try to get right they'll blow us to bits. Besides, they'll be aboard in half a minute. We're drifting a little in the right direction; but it will be too late. They'll search the ship." "How long will it take us to drift into the right position?" "If we go on like this, about four minutes. But it will be all over by then." "Look here, Davis; I'll try and detain them on deck. You know Americans have a reputation for oratory. You'd better go through my room. And--look here--I'll be the skipper for the time being. I'm afraid they'll want to take Matthew Hudson prisoner; so I'll be the kind of American they'll recognize--Commander Jefferson B. Thrash, out of the best British fiction. You don't happen to have a lasso in your pocket, do you? I lent mine to ex-President Eliot of Harvard, and he hasn't returned it. Tell the men there. That's right! I don't want to be playing the fool in Ruhleben for the next three years." A few moments later, a step at a time, Davis disappeared into Hudson's cabin, which lay in the fore part of the ship. Two other men prepared to slip after him by lounging casually in the companionway, while the men in front moved a little closer to screen them. They seized their chance as the German boat stopped, twenty yards away from the _Morning Glory_, and the officer in command announced through a megaphone, in very good English, that he was in a great hurry. They were friends, he said; and there was no need for alarm, so long as the _Morning Glory_ carried out all instructions. All they wanted was the confidential chart of the British mine fields, which the _Morning Glory_, of course, possessed, and all other confidential papers of a similar kind. If the _Morning Glory_ did not carry out his instructions in every detail the guns of the cruiser would sink her. He was now coming aboard to secure the papers. "I guess that's all right, captain!" bawled Matthew Hudson in an entirely new voice and the accent that Europe accepts as American, with about as much reason as America would have for accepting the Lancashire, Yorkshire and Glasgow dialects, all rolled into one, as English. The quiet member of the Century Club had disappeared, and the golden, remote Wild Westerner, almost unknown in America itself, had risen. In half a minute more the German officer and half a dozen armed sailors were standing on the deck of the _Morning Glory_. "So you see England does not completely rule the waves," was the opening remark of the officer, who had not yet received the full benefit of Hudson's adopted accent. "Been finding it stormy in the canal, cap?" drawled Hudson. "Don't blame it on me, anyway. I'm a good Amurrican--Jefferson B. Thrash, of Buffalo." "Is this an American ship? I much regret to find an American ship fighting her best friends." "Well, cap, I confess I haven't much use for the British, myself; not since their press talked about my picture-postcard smile--an ill-considered phrase, by which they unconsciously meant that, among the effete aristocracies of Europe, they were not used to seeing good teeth. They lack humor, sir. To regard good teeth as abnormal shows a lack of humor on the part of the British press. "However, as George Bernard Shaw says, President Wilson has put it up to the German people in this way: 'Become a republic and we'll let up on you. Go on Kaisering and we'll smash you!'" "I am in a great hurry," the German officer replied. "I must ask you at once for your confidential papers." "That's all right, admiral!" said Hudson. "I've sent a man down below to get them out of my steamer trunk. They'll be here right away." He looked reflectively at the guns of the destroyer and added ingratiatingly: "Of course I disapprove of George Bernard Shaw's vulgarizing the language of diplomacy in that way. I would rather interpret President Wilson's message as saying to the German people, in courteous phrase: 'Emerge from twelfth-century despotism into twentieth-century democracy. Send the imperial liar who misrules you to join Nick Romanoff on his ranch. Give the furniture-stealing Crown Prince a long term in any Sing Sing you like to choose; and we will again buy dyestuffs and toys of you, and sell you our beans and bacon.'" "Are you aware that you endanger your life by this language? Do you see those guns?" Matthew Hudson looked at the guns and spat over the side of the ship meditatively. Then he looked the questioner squarely in the eye. He had taken the measure of his man and he only needed three and a half minutes more. Any question that could be raised was clear gain; and the cruiser would probably not use her guns while members of the German crew were aboard the _Morning Glory_. "Yes," he said; "and you'd better not use your guns till you get those confidential papers, for there's not a chance that you'll find them without my help. They're worth having, and I've no objection to handing them over, though I don't lay much store by your promise not to shoot afterward. When you've got them, how am I to know that you won't shoot, anyway, and--what's the latest language of your diplomacy?--'leave no traces'? By cripes, there's no mushy sentiment about your officials! No, sir! Leave no traces!--and they said it about neutrals, remember! Leave no traces! That's virile! That's red-blooded stuff! The effete humanitarianism of our democracy, sir, would call that murder. In England they would call it bloody murder! I don't agree. I think that war is war. Of course it's awkward for non-combatants--" "With regard to the crews, it has been announced in Germany that they would be saved and kept prisoners in the submarines. Your man is taking too long to find your papers. I can allow you only one minute more." "He'll be right back, captain, with all the confidential goods you want. But, say, between one sailorman and another, that story about planning to hide crews and passengers aboard the submarines must have been meant for our Middle West. Last time I was on a submarine I had to sleep behind the cookstove; and then the commander had to sit up all night. It's the right stuff for the prairies, though. Ever hear of our senator, cap, who wanted to know why the women and kids on the _Lusitania_ weren't put into the water-tight compartments? They cussed the Cunard Company from hell to breakfast out Kalamazoo way for that scandalous oversight. Wonder what's keeping that son of a gun!" At this moment the son of a gun announced from the companionway that he was unable to find the confidential papers. "I can wait no longer. The ship must be searched by my own men," said the German peremptorily. "Are the papers in your cabin?" "Sure! But I can save you a lot of time, captain. I'll lead you right to them." The _Morning Glory_ had drifted round till her nose was now pointing towards that of the cruiser. In a minute or two more she would be pointing directly amidships if the drifting continued. Matthew Hudson took a long, affectionate look at the guns and the guns' crews that kept watch over his behavior from the gray monster ahead; then he led the way below to his cabin. The Hamburg-Amerika Line had many a less imposing room than this, the only part of the yacht that retained all its old aspect. It ran the whole breadth of the ship and had two portholes on each side. There was a brass bedstead, with a telephone beside it and an electric reading lamp. There were half a dozen other electric bulbs overhead. "I don't sleep very well, cap; so I decided to keep this bit of sinful splendor for my own use. Bathroom, you see." He opened a tiny door near the bed and showed the compact room, with its white bath-tub let into the floor. This was too much for the German officer. "Where do you keep your confidential papers?" he bellowed, leveling a revolver at the maddeningly complacent American, while three of his men closed up behind him, ready for action. "Better not shoot, admiral, for you won't find them without my help; and I'm going to hand you the goods in half a minute. I can't quite remember where I put them. There's some confidential stuff in here, I think." He unlocked a drawer and pulled out a bundle of papers. A small white object dropped from the bundle and lay on the floor between him and the German. It was a baby's shoe. Hudson nodded at it as he looked through the papers. "Got any kids, cap? That came from Queenstown. Ah, this looks like your chart. No. Came from Queenstown, I say. It was a little girl belonging to a friend of mine in the City of Brotherly Love. Lots of 'em on the _Lusitania_, you know. We collect souvenirs in America, and I asked him for this as a keepsake when I came on this gunning expedition. He kept the other for himself. She was a pretty little thing. Only six! Used to call me Uncle Jack." He stole a look through the porthole and drew another document from the drawer. "Ah! Now I remember. Here's the stuff you want--some of it, anyhow. Tied round with yaller ribbon. Take it, cap. I wish I hadn't seen that little shoe; but you've got the drop on me this time and I suppose it's my duty to save the lives of the men. There's a good bit of information there about the mine fields." The German hurriedly examined the papers, while Hudson hummed to himself as he stared through the porthole: _Around her little neck she wore a yaller ribbon; She wore it in December and the merry month of May. And when, oh, when they asked her why in hell she wore it, She said she loved a sailor, a sailor, a sailor; But he was wrecked and drownded in Mississippi Bay._ "This is very good," said the German, "and very useful. I think we shall not require more of you; though it will be necessary to destroy your ship and make you prisoners." "Why, certainly! I didn't suppose you could keep your contract in war-time. You can't leave traces of a deal like this. But while you're about it, you may as well have all the confidential stuff." "Good! Good!" said the German, strutting toward him. "So there's more to come! I am glad you see the advantage in being too proud to fight, my friend, eh?" Matthew Hudson's eye twinkled. His slouch began to slip away from him like a loose coat, leaving once more the quiet upstanding member of the Century Club. "Of course," he said, "you would make that mistake. The British made it. They forgot that it was said about Mexico, at a time when you wanted us to be kept busy down there. There are times, also, when for diplomatic reasons it is necessary to talk." He had resumed his natural voice. "When you are getting ready, for instance. This is where we keep the real stuff." He crossed the cabin; and the German watched him closely with a puzzled expression, covering him with his revolver. "No treachery!" he said. "What does this mean? You are not the man you were pretending to be." Hudson laughed, and tossed him a little scrap of bunting, which he had been holding crumpled up in his hand. "Ever seen that flag before?" he said. The German stared at it, his eyes growing round with amazement. "The Kaiser's flag has flown on this yacht at the Kiel Regatta many a time," said Hudson. "His Majesty used to come and lunch with me. I don't advise you to shoot me. He might remember some of my cigars. He gave me that flag himself. Of course I shan't use it again--not till it's been sprinkled with holy water. But I thought you might like a brief exhibition of shirt-sleeve navalism, as I suppose you'd call it. "Most Europeans like us to live up to their ideas of us. The British do. Ever hear of Senator Martin? Whenever he's in London and goes to see his friends in the House of Commons, he wears a sombrero and a red cowboy shirt. He says they expect it and like it. He wouldn't care to do it in New York. As a fact, you know, we invented the electric telegraph and the submarine, and a lot of little things that you fellows have been stealing from us. Do you hear that?" There were two sharp clicks in the bows, followed by a faint sound like the whirring of an electric fan under water; and Hudson pulled open the door that led into the fore part of the ship. "_Gott! Gott!_" cried the German, and his men echoed it inarticulately; for there, in the semidarkness of the bows of the _Morning Glory_, they saw the dim shapes of seamen crouching beside two gleaming torpedo tubes. The torpedoes had just been discharged. "You're too late to save your ship," said Matthew Hudson. "If you want to save your own skins you'd better keep still and listen for a moment." Then came a concussion that rocked the _Morning Glory_ like a child's cradle and sent her German visitors lurching and sprawling round the brass bedstead. When they recovered they found a dozen revolvers gleaming in front of their noses. "Before we say anything more about this," said Hudson, "let's go on deck and look. "Do you mind giving me that little shoe at your feet there?" The officer turned a shade whiter than the shoe. Then, stooping, he picked it up and handed it to Hudson, who thrust it into his breast pocket. "Thank you!" he said. "Now if you will all leave your guns on this bed we'll go on deck and see the traces." When they reached the deck there was something that looked like an enormous drowning cockroach trying to crawl out of the water four hundred yards away. Round it there seemed to be a mass of drowning flies. "It's not a pleasant sight, is it?" said Hudson. "But it's good to know they were all fighting men, ready to kill or be killed. No women and children among them! The _Lusitania_ must have looked much worse." "My brother is on board! Are you not trying to save them?" gasped the officer. Hudson took out the little shoe again and looked at it. Then he turned to the German boat's crew, where they huddled, sick with fear, amidships. "Take your boat and pick up as many as you can," he said. "It is not safe--not till she sinks," a guttural voice replied. Almost on the word the cruiser went down with a rush. The sleek waters and the white mists closed above her, while the _Morning Glory_ rocked again like a child's cradle. "That is true," said Matthew Hudson to the shivering figure beside him. "And we've got as many as we can handle on the ship. If we took more of you aboard, according to the laws laid down in your text-books, you'd cut our throats and call us idiotic Yankees for trusting you. "Please don't weep. We sent out a call a minute ago for the _Betsey Barton_ and the _Dusty Miller_ and the _Christmas Day_. I'm not an effete humanitarian myself; but the men on these trawlers aren't bad sorts. I hope they'll pick up your brother." V THE _LUSITANIA_ WAITS On a stormy winter's night three skippers--averaging three score years and five--were discussing the news, around a roaring fire, in the parlor of the White Horse Inn. Five years ago they had retired, each on a snug nest-egg. They were looking forward to a mellow old age in port and a long succession of evenings at the White Horse, where they gathered to debate the politics of their district. The war had given them new topics; but Captain John Kendrick--who had become a parish councilor and sometimes carried bulky blue documents in his breast-pocket, displaying the edges with careful pride--still kept the local pot a-boiling. He was mainly successful on Saturday nights, when the _Gazette_, their weekly newspaper, appeared. It was edited by a Scot named Macpherson, who had learned his job on the _Arbroath Free Press_. "Macpherson will never be on the council now," said Captain Kendrick. "There's a rumor that he's a freethinker. He says that Christianity has been proved a failure by the war." "Well, these chaps of ours now," said Captain Davidson, "out at sea on a night like this, trying to kill Germans. It's necessary, I know, because the Germans would kill our own folks if we gave 'em a chance. But don't it prove that there's no use for Christianity? In modern civilization, I mean." "Macpherson's no freethinker," said Captain Morgan, who was a friend of the editor, and inclined on the strength of it to occupy the intellectual chair at the White Horse. "Macpherson says we'll have to try again after the war, or it will be blood and iron all round." "He's upset by the war," said Captain Davidson, "and he's taken to writing poytry in his paper. He'd best be careful or he'll lose his circulation." "Ah!" said Kendrick. "That's what 'ull finish him for the council. What we want is practical men. Poytry would destroy any man's reputation. There was a great deal of talk caused by his last one, about our trawler chaps. 'Fishers of Men,' he called it; and I'm not sure that it wouldn't be considered blasphemious by a good many." Captain Morgan shook his head. "Every Sunday evening," he said, "my missus asks me to read her Macpherson's pome in the _Gazette_, and I've come to enjoy them myself. Now, what does he say in 'Fishers of Men'?" "Read it," said Kendrick, picking the _Gazette_ from the litter of newspapers on the table and handing it to Morgan. "If you know how to read poytry, read it aloud, the way you do to your missus. I can't make head or tail of poytry myself; but it looks blasphemious to me." Captain Morgan wiped his big spectacles while the other two settled themselves to listen critically. Then he began in his best Sunday voice, very slowly, but by no means unimpressively: _Long, long ago He said, He who could wake the dead, And walk upon the sea-- "Come, follow Me._ "_Leave your brown nets and bring Only your hearts to sing, Only your souls to pray, Rise, come away._ "_Shake out your spirit-sails, And brave those wilder gales, And I will make you then Fishers of men._" _Was this, then, what He meant? Was this His high intent, After two thousand years Of blood and tears?_ _God help us, if we fight For right and not for might. God help us if we seek To shield the weak._ _Then, though His heaven be far From this blind welter of war, He'll bless us on the sea From Calvary._ "It seems to rhyme all right," said Kendrick. "It's not so bad for Macpherson." "Have you heard," said Davidson reflectively, "they're wanting more trawler skippers down at the base?" "I've been fifty years, man and boy, at sea," said Captain Morgan; "that's half a century, mind you." "Ah, it's hard on the women, too," said Davidson. "We're never sure what boats have been lost till we see the women crying. I don't know how they get the men to do it." Captain John Kendrick stabbed viciously with his forefinger at a picture in an illustrated paper. "Here's a wicked thing now," he said. "Here's a medal they've struck in Germany to commemorate the sinking of the _Lusitania_. Here's a photograph of both sides of it. On one side, you see the great ship sinking, loaded up with munitions which wasn't there; but not a sign of the women and children that was there. On the other side you see the passengers taking their tickets from Death in the New York booking office. Now that's a fearful thing. I can understand 'em making a mistake, but I can't understand 'em wanting to strike a medal for it." "Not much mistake about the _Lusitania_," growled Captain Davidson. "No, indeed. That was only my argyment," replied the councilor. "They're a treacherous lot. It was a fearful thing to do a deed like that. My son's in the Cunard; and, man alive, he tells me it's like sinking a big London hotel. There was ladies in evening dress, and dancing in the big saloons every night; and lifts to take you from one deck to another; and shops with plate-glass windows, and smoking-rooms; and glass around the promenade deck, so that the little children could play there in bad weather, and the ladies lay in their deck-chairs and sun themselves like peaches. There wasn't a soldier aboard, and some of the women was bringing their babies to see their Canadian daddies in England for the first time. Why, man, it was like sinking a nursing home!" "Do you suppose, Captain Kendrick, that they ever caught that submarine?" asked Captain Morgan. They were old friends, but always punctilious about their titles. "Ah, now I'll tell you something! Hear that?" The three old men listened. Through the gusts of wind that battered the White Horse they heard the sound of heavy floundering footsteps passing down the cobbled street, and a hoarse broken voice bellowing, with uncanny abandonment, a fragment of a hymn: "_While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground._" "That's poor old Jim Hunt," said Captain Morgan. He rose and drew the thick red curtains from the window to peer out into the blackness. "Turn the lamp down," said the councilor, "or we'll be arrested under the anti-aircraft laws." Davidson turned the lamp down and they all looked out of the window. They saw the figure of a man, black against the glimmering water of the harbor below. He walked with a curious floundering gait that might be mistaken for the effects of drink. He waved his arms over his head like a windmill and bellowed his hymn as he went, though the words were now indistinguishable from the tumult of wind and sea. Captain Morgan drew the curtains, and the three sat down again by the fire without turning up the lamp. The firelight played on the furrowed and bronzed old faces and revealed them as worthy models for a Rembrandt. "Poor old Jimmy Hunt!" said Captain Kendrick. "You never know how craziness is going to take people. Jimmy was a terror for women and the drink, till he was taken off the _Albatross_ by that German submarine. They cracked him over the head with an iron bolt, down at the bottom of the sea, because he wouldn't answer no questions. He hasn't touched a drop since. All he does is to walk about in bad weather, singing hymns against the wind. But there's more in it than that." Captain Kendrick lighted his pipe thoughtfully. The wind rattled the windows. Outside, the sign-board creaked and whined as it swung. "A man like Jim Hunt doesn't go crazy," he continued, "through spending a night in a 'U' boat, and then floating about for a bit. Jimmy won't talk about it now; won't do nothing but sing that blasted hymn; but this is what he said to me when they first brought him ashore. They said he was raving mad, on account of his experiences. But that don't explain what his experiences _were_. Follow me? And this is what he said. '_I been down_,' he says, half singing like. '_I been down, down, in the bloody submarine that sank the Lusitania. And what's more_,' he says,'_I seen 'em!_' "'Seen what?' I says, humoring him like, and I gave him a cigarette. We were sitting close together in his mother's kitchen. 'Ah!' he says, calming down a little, and speaking right into my ear, as if it was a secret. 'It was Christmas Eve the time they took me down. We could hear 'em singing carols on shore; and the captain didn't like it, so he blew a whistle, and the Germans jumped to close the hatchways; and we went down, down, down, to the bottom of the sea. "'I saw the whole ship,' he says; and he described it to me, so that I knew he wasn't raving then. 'There was only just room to stand upright,' he says, 'and overhead there was a track for the torpedo carrier. The crew slept in hammocks and berths along the wall; but there wasn't room for more than half to sleep at the same time. They took me through a little foot-hole, with an air-tight door, into a cabin. "'The captain seemed kind of excited and showed me the medal he got for sinking the _Lusitania_; and I asked him if the Kaiser gave it to him for a Christmas present. That was when he and another officer seemed to go mad; and the officer gave me a blow on the head with a piece of iron. "'They say I'm crazy,' he says, 'but it was the men on the "U" boat that went crazy. I was lying where I fell, with the blood running down my face, but I was watching them,' he says, 'and I saw them start and listen like trapped weasels. At first I thought the trawlers had got 'em in a net. Then I heard a funny little tapping sound all round the hull of the submarine, like little soft hands it was, tapping, tapping, tapping. "'The captain went white as a ghost, and shouted out something in German, like as if he was calling "Who's there?" and the mate clapped his hand over his mouth, and they both stood staring at one another. "'Then there was a sound like a thin little voice, outside the ship, mark you, and sixty fathom deep, saying, "_Christmas Eve, the Waits, sir!_" The captain tore the mate's hand away and shouted again, like he was asking "_Who's there!_" and wild to get an answer, too. Then, very thin and clear, the little voice came a second time, "_The Waits, sir. The Lusitania, ladies!_" And at that the captain struck the mate in the face with his clenched fist. He had the medal in it still between his fingers, using it like a knuckle-duster. Then he called to the men like a madman, all in German, but I knew he was telling 'em to rise to the surface, by the way they were trying to obey him. "'The submarine never budged for all that they could do; and while they were running up and down and squealing out to one another, there was a kind of low sweet sound all round the hull, like a thousand voices all singing together in the sea: "_Fear not, said he, for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind. Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind._" "'Then the tapping began again, but it was much louder now; and it seemed as if hundreds of drowned hands were feeling the hull and loosening bolts and pulling at hatchways; and--all at once--a trickle of water came splashing down into the cabin. The captain dropped his medal. It rolled up to my hand and I saw there was blood on it. He screamed at the men, and they pulled out their life-saving apparatus, a kind of air-tank which they strapped on their backs, with tubes to rubber masks for clapping over their mouths and noses. I watched 'em doing it, and managed to do the same. They were too busy to take any notice of me. Then they pulled a lever and tumbled out through a hole, and I followed 'em blindly. Something grabbed me when I got outside and held me for a minute. Then I saw 'em, Captain Kendrick, I saw 'em, hundreds and hundreds of 'em, in a shiny light, and sixty fathom down under the dark sea--they were all waiting there, men and women and poor little babies with hair like sunshine.... "'And the men were smiling at the Germans in a friendly way, and unstrapping the air-tanks from their backs, and saying, "Won't you come and join us? It's Christmas Eve, you know." "'Then whatever it was that held me let me go, and I shot up and knew nothing till I found myself in Jack Simmonds's drifter, and they told me I was crazy.'" Captain Kendrick filled his pipe. A great gust struck the old inn again and again till all the timbers trembled. The floundering step passed once more, and the hoarse voice bellowed away in the darkness against the bellowing sea: _A Savior which is Christ the Lord, And this shall be the sign._ Captain Davidson was the first to speak. "Poor old Jim Hunt!" he said. "There's not much Christ about any of this war." "I'm not so sure of that neither," said Captain Morgan. "Macpherson said a striking thing to me the other day. 'Seems to me,' he says, 'there's a good many nowadays that are touching the iron nails.'" He rose and drew the curtains from the window again. "The sea's rattling hollow," he said; "there'll be rain before morning." "Well, I must be going," said Captain Davidson. "I want to see the naval secretary down at the base." "About what?" "Why, I'm not too old for a trawler, am I?" "My missus won't like it, but I'll come with you," said Captain Morgan; and they went through the door together, lowering their heads against the wind. "Hold on! I'm coming, too," said Captain Kendrick; and he followed them, buttoning up his coat. VI THE LOG OF THE _EVENING STAR_ We were sitting in the porch of a low white bungalow with masses of purple bougainvillea embowering its eaves. A ruby-throated humming-bird, with green wings, flickered around it. The tall palms and the sea were whispering together. Over the water, the West was beginning to fill with that Californian sunset which is the most mysterious in the world, for one is conscious that it is the fringe of what Europeans call the East, and that, looking westward across the Pacific, our faces are turned towards the dusky myriads of Asia. All along the Californian coast there is a tang of incense in the air, as befits that silent orchard of the gods where dawn and sunset meet and intermingle; and, though it is probably caused by some gardener, burning the dead leaves of the eucalyptus trees, one might well believe that one breathed the scent of the joss-sticks, wafted across the Pacific, from the land of paper lanterns. A Japanese servant, in a white duck suit, marched like a ghostly little soldier across the lawn. The great hills behind us quietly turned to amethysts. The lights of Los Angeles ten miles away to the north began to spring out like stars in that amazing air beloved of the astronomer; and the evening star itself, over the huge slow breakers crumbling into lilac-colored foam, looked bright enough to be a companion of the city lights. "I should like to show you the log of the _Evening Star_," said my visitor, who was none other than Moreton Fitch, president of the insurance company of San Francisco. "I think it may interest you as evidence that our business is not without its touches of romance. I don't mean what you mean," he added cheerfully, as I looked up smiling. "The _Evening Star_ was a schooner running between San Francisco and Tahiti and various other places in the South Seas. She was insured in our company. One April, she was reported overdue. After a search had been made, she was posted as lost in the maritime exchanges. There was no clue to what had happened, and we paid the insurance money, believing that she had foundered with all hands. "Two months later, we got word from Tahiti that the _Evening Star_ had been found drifting about in a dead calm, with all sails set, but not a soul aboard. Everything was in perfect order, except that the ship's cat was lying dead in the bows, baked to a bit of sea-weed by the sun. Otherwise, there wasn't the slightest trace of any trouble. The tables below were laid for a meal and there was plenty of water aboard." "Were any of the boats missing?" "No. She carried only three boats and all were there. When she was discovered, two of the boats were on deck as usual; and the third was towing astern. None of the men has been heard of from that day to this. The amazing part of it was not only the absence of anything that would account for the disappearance of the crew, but the clear evidence that they had been intending to stay, in the fact that the tables were laid for a meal, and then abandoned. Besides, where had they gone, and how? There are no magic carpets, even in the South Seas. "The best brains of our Company puzzled over the mystery for a year and more; but at the end of the time nothing had turned up and we had to come out by the same door wherein we went. No theory, even, seemed to fit the case at all; and, in most mysteries, there is room for a hundred theories. There were twelve persons aboard, and we investigated the history of them all. There were three American seamen, all of the domesticated kind, with respectable old mothers in gold-rimmed spectacles at home. There were five Kanakas of the mildest type, as easy to handle as an infant school. There was a Japanese cook, who was something of an artist. He used to spend his spare time in painting things to palm off on the unsuspecting connoisseur as the work of an obscure pupil of Hokusai, which I suppose he might have been in a way. I am told he was scrupulously careful never to tell a direct lie about it. "Then there was Harper, the mate, rather an interesting young fellow, with the wanderlust. He had been pretty well educated. I believe he had spent a year or two at one of the Californian colleges. Altogether, about the most harmless kind of a ship's family that you could pick up anywhere between the Golden Gate and the Baltic. Then there was Captain Burgess, who was the most domesticated of them all, for he had his wife with him on this voyage. They had been married only about three months. She was the widow of the former captain of the _Evening Star_, a fellow named Dayrell; and she had often been on the ship before. In fact, they were all old friends of the ship. Except one or two of the Kanakas, all the men had sailed on the _Evening Star_ for something like two years under Captain Dayrell. Burgess himself had been his mate. Dayrell had been dead only about six months; and the only criticism we ever heard against anybody aboard was made by some of Dayrell's relatives, who thought the widow might have waited more than three months before marrying the newly promoted Burgess. They suggested, of course, that there must have been something between them before Dayrell was out of the way. But I hardly believed it. In any case, it threw no light on the mystery." "What sort of a man was Burgess?" "Big burly fellow with a fat white face and curious little eyes, like huckleberries in a lump of dough. He was very silent and inclined to be religious. He used to read Emerson and Carlyle, quite an unusual sort of sea-captain. There was a _Sartor Resartus_ in the cabin with a lot of the queerest passages marked in pencil. What can you make of it?" "Nothing at all, except that there was a woman aboard. What was she like?" "She was one of our special Californian mixtures, touch of Italian, touch of Irish, touch of American, but Italian predominated, I think. She was a good deal younger than Burgess; and one of the clerks in our office who had seen her described her as a 'peach,' which, as you know, means a pretty woman, or if you prefer the description of her own lady friends, 'vurry attractive.'" "She had the dusky Italian beauty, black hair and eyes like black diamonds, but her face was very pale, the kind of pallor that makes you think of magnolia blossoms at dusk. She was obviously fond of bright colors, tawny reds and yellows, but they suited her. If I had to give you my impression of her in a single word, I should say that she looked like a gipsy. You know the song, 'Down the World with Marna,' don't you? Well, I could imagine a romantic vagabond singing it about her. By the by, she had rather a fine voice herself. Used to sing sentimental songs to Dayrell and his friends in 'Frisco, 'Love's Old Sweet Song' and that sort of stuff. Apparently, they took it very seriously. Several of them told me that if she had been trained--well, you know the old story--every prima donna would have had to retire from business. I fancy they were all a little in love with her. The curious thing was that after Dayrell's death she gave up her singing altogether. Now, I think I have told you all the facts about the ship's company." "Didn't you say there was a log you wanted to show me?" "There were no ship's papers of any kind, and no log was found on the derelict; but, a week or two ago, we had a visit from the brother of the Japanese cook, who made us all feel like fifteen cents before the wisdom of the East. I have to go over and see him to-morrow afternoon. He is a fisherman, lives on the coast, not far from here. I'd like you to see what I call the log of the _Evening Star_. I won't say any more about it now. It isn't quite worked out yet; but it looks as if it's going to be interesting. Will you come--to-morrow afternoon? I'll call for you at a quarter after two. It won't take us long in the automobile. This is where he lives, see?" I switched on the electric light in the porch while Fitch spread out a road map, and pointed to our destination of the morrow. The Californian night comes quickly, and the tree-toads that make it musical were chirruping and purring all around us as we walked through the palms and the red-tasseled pepper trees to his car. Somewhere among the funereal clouds and poplarlike spires of the eucalyptus, a mocking-bird began to whistle one of his many parts, and a delicious whiff of orange blossom blew on the cool night wind across a ranch of a thousand acres, mostly in fruit, but with a few trees yet in blossom, on the road to the Sunset Inn. I watched his red rear lamp dwindling down that well-oiled road, and let the _Evening Star_ go with it until the morrow, for I could make little of his yarn, except that Fitch was not a man to get excited over trifles. II Promptly at the time appointed on the following afternoon, Fitch called for me; and a minute later we were gliding through orange groves along one of those broad smooth roads that amaze the European whose impressions of California have been obtained from tales of the forty-niners. The keen scent of the orange blossom yielded to a tang of new incense, as we turned into the Sunset Boulevard and ran down the long vista of tall eucalyptus trees that stand out so darkly and distinctly against the lilac-colored ranges of the Sierra Madre in the distance, and remind one of the poplar-bordered roads of France. Once we passed a swarthy cluster of Mexicans under a wayside palm. Big fragments, gnawed half-moons, of the blood-red black-pipped watermelon they had been eating, gleamed on the dark oiled surface of the road, as a splash of the sunset is reflected in a dark river. Then we ran along the coast for a little way between the palms and the low white-pillared houses, all crimson poinsettias and marble, that looked as if they were meant for the gods and goddesses of Greece, but were only the homes of a few score lotus-eating millionaires. In another minute, we had turned off the good highway, and were running along a narrow sandy road. On one side, rising from the road, were great desert hills, covered with gray-green sage-brush, tinged at the tips with rusty brown; and, on the other, there was a strip of sandy beach where the big slow breakers crumbled, and the unmolested pelicans waddled and brooded like goblin sentries. In three minutes more, we sighted a cluster of tiny wooden houses ahead of us, and pulled up on the outskirts of a Japanese fishing village, built along the fringe of the beach itself. It was a single miniature street, nestling under the hill on one side of the narrow road and built along the sand on the other. Japanese signs stood over quaint little stores, with here and there a curious tinge of Americanism. RICE CAKES AND CANDIES were advertised by one black-haired and boyish-looking gentleman who sat at the door of his hut, playing with three brown children, one of whom squinted at us gleefully with bright sloe-black eyes. Every tiny house, even when it stood on the beach, had its own festoon of flowers. Bare-legged, almond-eyed fishermen sat before them, mending their nets. Wistaria drooped from the jutting eaves; and--perhaps only the Japanese could explain the miracle--tall and well-nourished red geraniums rose, out of the salt sea-sand apparently, around their doors. A few had foregone their miracles and were content with window boxes, but all were in blossom. In the center of the village, on the seaward side, there was a miniature mission house. A beautifully shaped bell swung over the roof; and there was a miniature notice-board at the door. The announcements upon it were in Japanese, but it looked as if East and West had certainly met, and kissed each other there. Some of the huts had oblong letter boxes of gray tin, perched on stumps of bamboo fishing poles, in front of their doors. It is a common device to help the postman in country places where you sometimes see a letter-box on a broomstick standing half a mile from the owner's house. But here, they looked curiously Japanese, perhaps because of the names inscribed upon them, or through some trick of arrangement, for a Japanese hand no sooner touches a dead staff than it breaks into cherry blossom. We stopped before one that bore the name of Y. Kato. His unpainted wooden shack was the most Japanese of all in appearance; for the yellow placard underneath the window advertising SWEET CAPORAL was balanced by a single tall pole, planted in the sand a few feet to the right, and lifting a beautiful little birdhouse high above the roof. Moreton Fitch knocked at the door, which was opened at once by a dainty creature, a piece of animated porcelain four feet high, with a black-eyed baby on her back; and we were ushered with smiles into a very bare living-room to be greeted by the polished mahogany countenance of Kato himself and the shell-spectacled intellectual pallor of Howard Knight, professor in the University of California. "Amazing, amazing, perfectly amazing," said Knight, who was wearing two elderly tea-roses in his cheeks now from excitement. "I have just finished it. Sit down and listen." "Wait a moment," said Fitch. "I want our friend here to see the original log of the _Evening Star_." "Of course," said Knight, "a human document of the utmost value." Then, to my surprise, he took me by the arm and led me in front of a kakemono, which was the only decoration on the walls of the room. "This is what Mr. Fitch calls the log of the _Evening Star_," he said. "It was found among the effects of Mr. Kato's brother on the schooner; and, fortunately, it was claimed by Mr. Kato himself. Take it to the light and examine it." I took it to the window and looked at it with curiosity, though I did not quite see its bearing on the mystery of the _Evening Star_. It was a fine piece of work, one of those weird night-pictures in which the Japanese are masters, for they know how to give you the single point of light that tells you of the unseen life around the lamp of the household or the temple. This was a picture of a little dark house, with jutting eaves, and a tiny rose light in one window, overlooking the sea. At the brink of the sea rose a ghostly figure that might only be a drift of mist, for the curve of the vague body suggested that the off-shore wind was blowing it out to sea, while the great gleaming eyes were fixed on the lamp, and the shadowy arms outstretched towards it in hopeless longing. Sea and ghost and house were suggested in a very few strokes of the brush. All the rest, the peace and the tragic desire and a thousand other suggestions, according to the mood of the beholder, were concentrated into that single pinpoint of warm light in the window. "Turn it over," said Fitch. I obeyed him, and saw that the whole back of the kakemono, which measured about four feet by two, was covered with a fine scrawl of Japanese characters in purple copying-pencil. I had overlooked it at first, or accepted it, with the eye of ignorance, as a mere piece of Oriental decoration. "That is what we all did," said Fitch. "We all overlooked the simple fact that Japanese words have a meaning. We didn't trouble about it--you know how vaguely one's eye travels over a three-foot sign on a Japanese tea-house--we didn't even think about it till Mr. Kato turned up in our office a week or two ago. You can't read it. Nor can I. But we got Mr. Knight here to handle it for us." "It turns out to be a message from Harper," said Knight. "Apparently, he was lying helpless in his berth, and told the Japanese to write it down. A few sentences here and there are unintelligible, owing to the refraction of the Oriental mind. Fortunately, it is Harper's own message. I have made two versions, one a perfectly literal one which requires a certain amount of re-translation. The other is an attempt to give as nearly as possible what Harper himself dictated. This is the version which I had better read to you now. The original has various repetitions, and shows that Harper's mind occasionally wandered, for he goes into trivial detail sometimes. He seems to have been possessed, however, with the idea of getting his account through to the owners; and, whenever he got an opportunity, he made the Japanese take up his pencil and write, so that we have a very full account." Knight took out a note-book, adjusted his glasses, and began to read, while the ghostly original fluttered in my hand, as the night-wind blew from the sea. "A terrible thing has happened, and I think it my duty to write this, in the hope that it may fall into the hands of friends at home. I am not likely to live another twenty-four hours. The first hint that I had of anything wrong was on the night of March the fifteenth, when Mrs. Burgess came up to me on deck, looking very worried, and said, 'Mr. Harper, I am in great trouble. I want to ask you a question, and I want you to give me an honest answer.' She looked round nervously, and her hands were fidgeting with her handkerchief, as if she were frightened to death. 'Whatever your answer may be,' she said, 'you'll not mention what I've said to you.' I promised her. She laid her hand on my arm and said with the most piteous look in her face I have ever seen, 'I have no other friends to go to, and I want you to tell me. Mr. Harper, is my husband sane?' "I had never doubted the sanity of Burgess till that moment. But there was something in the dreadfulness of that question, from a woman who had only been married a few months, that seemed like a door opening into the bottomless pit. "It seemed to explain many things that hadn't occurred to me before. I asked her what she meant and she told me that last night Burgess had come into the cabin and waked her up. His eyes were starting out of his head, and he told her that he had seen Captain Dayrell walking on deck. She told him it was nothing but imagination; and he laid his head on his arms and sobbed like a child. He said he thought it was one of the deckhands that had just come out of the foc'sle, but all the men were short and smallish, and this was a big burly figure. It went ahead of him like his own shadow, and disappeared in the bows. But he knew it was Dayrell, and there was a curse on him. To-night, she said, half an hour ago, Burgess had come down to her, taken her by the throat, and sworn he would kill her if she didn't confess that Dayrell was still alive. She told him he must be crazy. 'My mind may be going,' he said, 'but you sha'n't kill my soul.' And he called her a name which she didn't repeat, but began to cry when she remembered it. He said he had seen Dayrell standing in the bows with the light of the moon full on his face, and he looked so brave and upright that he knew he must have been bitterly wronged. He looked like a soldier facing the enemy, he said. "While she was telling me this, she was looking around her in a very nervous kind of way, and we both heard some one coming up behind us very quietly. We turned round, and there--as God lives--stood the living image of Captain Dayrell looking at us, in the shadow of the mast. Mrs. Burgess gave a shriek that paralyzed me for the moment, then she ran like a wild thing into the bows, and before any one could stop her, she climbed up and threw herself overboard. Evans and Barron were only a few yards away from her when she did it, and they both went overboard after her immediately, one of them throwing a life-belt over ahead of him as he went. They were both good swimmers, and as the moon was bright, I thought we had only to launch a boat to pick them all up. I shouted to the Kanakas, and they all came up running. Two of the men and myself got into one of the starboard boats, and we were within three feet of the water when I heard the crack of a revolver from somewhere in the bows of the _Evening Star_. The men who were lowering away let us down with a rush that nearly capsized us. There were four more shots while we were getting our oars out. I called to the men on deck, asking them who was shooting, but got no reply. I believe they were panic-stricken and had bolted into cover. We pulled round the bows, and could see nothing. There was not a sign of the woman or the two men in the water. "We could make nobody hear us on the ship, and all this while we had seen nothing of Captain Burgess. It must have been nearly an hour before we gave up our search, and tried to get aboard again. We were still unable to get any reply from the ship, and we were about to try to climb on board by the boat's falls. The men were backing her in, stern first, and we were about ten yards away from the ship when the figure of Captain Dayrell appeared leaning over the side of the _Evening Star_. He stood there against the moonlight, with his face in shadow; but we all of us recognized him, and I heard the teeth of the Kanakas chattering. They had stopped backing, and we all stared at one another. Then, as casually as if it were a joke, Dayrell stretched out his arm, and I saw the moonlight glint on his revolver. He fired at us, deliberately, as if he were shooting at clay pigeons. I felt the wind of the first shot going past my head, and the two men at once began to pull hard to get out of range. The second shot missed also. At the third shot, he got the man in the bows full in the face. He fell over backwards, and lay there in the bottom of the boat. He must have been killed instantaneously. At the fourth shot, I felt a stinging pain on the left side of my body, but hardly realized I had been wounded at the moment. A cloud passed over the moon just then, and the way we had got on the boat had carried us too far for Dayrell to aim very accurately, so that I was able to get to the oars and pull out of range. The other man must have been wounded also, for he was lying in the bottom of the boat groaning, but I do not remember seeing him hit. I managed to pull fifty yards or so, and then fainted, for I was bleeding very badly. "When I recovered consciousness I found that the bleeding had stopped, and I was able to look at the two men. Both of them were dead and quite cold, so that I must have been unconscious for some time. "The _Evening Star_ was about a hundred yards away, in the full light of the moon, but I could see nobody on deck. I sat watching her till daybreak, wondering what I should do, for there was no water or food in the boat, and I was unarmed. Unless Captain Burgess and the other men aboard could disarm Dayrell, I was quite helpless. Perhaps my wound had dulled my wits; for I was unable to think out any plan, and I sat there aimlessly for more than an hour. "It was broad daylight, and I had drifted within fifty yards of the ship, when, to my surprise, Captain Burgess appeared on deck and hailed me. 'All right, Harper,' he said, 'come aboard.' "I was able to scull the boat alongside, and Captain Burgess got down into her without a word and helped me aboard. He took me down to my berth, with his arm around me, for I almost collapsed again with the effort, and he brought me some brandy. As soon as I could speak, I asked him what it all meant, and he said, 'The ship is his, Harper; we've got to give it up to him. That's what it means. I am not afraid of him by daylight, but what we shall do to-night, God only knows.' Then, just as Mrs. Burgess had told me, he put his head down on his arms, and began to sob like a child. "'Where are the other men?' I asked him. "'There's only you and I and Kato,' he said, 'to face it out aboard this ship.' "With that, he got up and left me, saying that he would send Kato to me with some food, if I thought I could eat. But I knew by this time that I was a dying man. "There was only one thing I had to do, and that was to try to get this account written, and hide it somehow in the hope of some one finding it later, for I felt sure that neither Burgess nor myself would live to tell it. There was no paper in my berth, and it was Kato that thought of writing it down in this way. "_About an hour later._ Burgess has just been down to see me. He said that he had buried the two men who were shot in the boat. I wanted to ask him some questions, but he became so excited, it seemed useless. Neither he nor Kato seemed to have any idea where Dayrell was hiding. Kato believes, in fact, in ghosts, so that it is no use questioning him. "I must have lost consciousness or slept very heavily since the above was written, for I remembered nothing more till nightfall, when I woke up in the pitch darkness. Kato was sitting by me. He lit the lamp, and gave me another drink of brandy. The ship was dead still, but I felt that something had gone wrong again. "I do not know whether my own mind is going, but we have just heard the voice of Mrs. Burgess singing one of those sentimental songs that Captain Dayrell used to be so fond of. It seemed to be down in the cabin, and when she came to the end of it, I heard Captain Dayrell's voice calling out, '_Encore! Encore!_' just as he used to do. Then I heard some one running down the deck like mad, and Captain Burgess came tumbling down to us with the whites of his eyes showing. 'Did you hear it?' he said. 'Harper, you'll admit you heard it. Don't tell me I'm mad. They're in the cabin together now. Come and look at them.' Then he looked at me with a curious, cunning look, and said, 'No, you'd better stay where you are, Harper. You're not strong enough.' And he crept on the deck like a cat. "Something urged me to follow him, even if it took the last drop of my strength. Kato tried to dissuade me, but I drained the brandy flask, and managed to get out of my berth on to the deck by going very slowly, though the sweat broke out on me with every step. Burgess had disappeared, and there was nobody on deck. It was not so difficult to get to the sky-light of the cabin. I don't know what I had expected to see, but there I did see the figure of Captain Dayrell, dressed as I had seen him in life, with a big scarf round his throat, and the big peaked cap. There was an open chest in the corner, with a good many clothes scattered about, as if by some one who had been dressing in a hurry. It was an old chest belonging to Captain Dayrell in the old days, and I often wondered why Burgess had left it lying there. The revolver lay on the table, and as Dayrell picked it up to load it, the scarf unwound itself a little around his throat and the lower part of his face. Then, to my amazement, I recognized him." "There," said Knight, "the log of the _Evening Star_ ends except for a brief sentence by Kato himself, which I will not read to you now." "I wonder if the poor devil did really see," said Moreton Fitch. "And what do you suppose he did when he saw who it was?" "Crept back to his own berth, barricaded himself in with Kato's help, finished his account, died in the night, with Dayrell tapping on the door, and was neatly buried by Burgess in the morning, I suppose." "And, Burgess?" "Tidied everything up, and then jumped overboard." "Probably,--in his own clothes; for it's quite true that we did find a lot of Dayrell's old clothes in a sea-chest in the cabin. Funny idea, isn't it, a man ghosting himself like that?" "Yes, but what did Harper mean by saying he heard Mrs. Burgess singing in the cabin that night?" "Ah, that's another section of the log recorded in a different way." Moreton Fitch made a sign to the little Japanese, and told him to get a package out of his car. He returned in a moment, and laid it at our feet on the floor. "Dayrell was very proud of his wife's voice," said Fitch as he took the covers off the package. "Just before he was taken ill he conceived the idea of getting some records made of her songs to take with him on board ship. The gramophone was found amongst the old clothes. The usual sentimental stuff, you know. Like to hear it? She had rather a fine voice." He turned a handle, and, floating out into the stillness of the California night, we heard the full rich voice of a dead woman: "_Just a song at twilight, when the lights are low, And the flickering shadows softly come and go._" At the end of the stanza, a deep bass voice broke in with, "_Encore! Encore!_" Then Fitch stopped it. When we were in the car on our way home, I asked if there were any clue to the fate of the Japanese cook, in the last sentence of the log of the _Evening Star_. "I didn't want to bring it up before his brother," said Knight, "they are a sensitive folk; but the last sentence was to the effect that the _Evening Star_ had now been claimed by the spirit of Captain Dayrell, and that the writer respectfully begged to commit _hari kari_." Our road turned inland here, and I looked back toward the fishing village. The night was falling, but the sea was lilac-colored with the afterglow. I could see the hut and the little birdhouse black against the water. On a sand dune just beyond them, the figures of the fisherman Kato and his wife were sitting on their heels, and still watching us. They must have been nearly a mile away by this time; but in that clear air they were carved out sharp and black as tiny ebony images against the fading light of the Pacific. VII GOBLIN PEACHES The big liner was running like a ghost, with all lights out on deck and every porthole shrouded. This might seem to the layman almost humorously inconsistent; for, every minute or two the blast of her foghorn went bellowing away into the night, loudly enough to disturb the slumbers of any U-boat lying "doggo" within five miles. Duncan Drew and I were alone in the smoking-room when the steward brought us our coffee. There were very few passengers; and the first cabin-folk were curiously different from those of peace-time. Most of them, I fancied, were crossing the Atlantic on some business directly connected with the war. There was a Belgian professor from Louvain, for instance, who was taking his family over to the new post that had been found for him at an American University; and there was the wife of an Italian statesman, an American woman, who was returning home to raise funds for the Red Cross of her adopted country. There were others whom it was not so easy to place; and Duncan Drew would have been among them, I think, if I had not known him. Nobody could have looked more like a civilian and less like an officer of the British Navy than Duncan did at this moment. But I knew the job on which he was engaged. When he found that I knew the Maine coast, he asked me to help him in a certain matter. It was in the days before America entered the war; and his mission was to present certain evidence of a widespread German conspiracy to the United States Government. If they approved, he was to cooperate in unearthing the ring-leaders. The conspiracy was a very simple one. It seemed likely, at the time, that the U-boats would soon be unable to operate from European bases; and the German admiralty, always looking a few months ahead, though perhaps ignoring remoter possibilities, was calmly planning, with the help of its agents in America, to work from the other side of the water. The thousand-mile coast line of the United States had many advantages from the German point of view, especially in its lonelier regions, where there are hundreds of small islands, either uninhabited or privately owned, and not necessarily owned by American citizens. The U-boats, it is true, would have to travel further if they were to work in European waters. But already they had been forced by the British patrols to travel more than fifteen hundred miles from their European bases, far to the north of Scotland and west of Ireland, before they could operate against the Atlantic shipping. The slight increase in the distance would be more than repaid by the comparative safety of the submarines. They planned, in short, to work from American bases, while a dull-witted British Navy should be vainly endeavoring to close European doors, which the enemy was no longer using. We didn't talk "shop" in the smoking-room, even when we were alone, for the ground had been covered so often. On this particular evening, I remember, we talked chiefly about food. The dinner had been excellent; and it had been a curious sensation to pass from the slight but obvious restrictions of London, to a ship which seemed to possess all the resources of the United States. "I've only been in Berlin once," said Duncan, "but I was there long enough to know that they will feel the pinch first, and feel it worst. They are rum beggars, the Boches. Think of the higher command marking out the early stages of the war by the dinners it was going to have,--every menu carefully planned, one for Brussels, one for Paris, and probably one for London! I remember lunching at a hotel when I was in Berlin, and seeing rather a curious thing. There was a table in the center of the room, laid for what was evidently going to be a very grand affair. It was laid for about twenty people, and I saw a thing I had never seen before. Every champagne glass contained a peach. I asked my waiter what it meant, and he said that von Schramm, the fellow who is one of the moving spirits behind this new submarine campaign, was entertaining some of his pals that day; and this was one of his pretty little fads. He thought it improved the wine, and also that it prevented gout, or some rot of that sort." "How very German! My chief objection would be that there wouldn't be much room left for the champagne." "Trust the German for that, my lad. The glasses were extra large, and of a somewhat unusual pattern. As a matter of fact, the decorative effect was rather pretty. It's queer--the way some things stick in your memory and others vanish. I believe that my most vivid impression of the few months I passed in Germany is that blessed table, waiting for its guests, with the peaches in the champagne glasses. I didn't see the guests arrive. Wish I had now. There's always something a little stagey, don't you think, about a table waiting for its guests; but this was more so. It affected me like the throne of melodrama waiting for its emperor. Funny that it should have made such an impression, isn't it?" I thought not; for it was part of Duncan's business to be impressed by unusual things--more especially when they were symptomatic of something else. It was this that made him so useful, for instance, in that exciting little episode of the cargo of onions which was intercepted--owing to one of his impressions--in a Scandinavian ship. They were perfectly good onions, the first few layers of them; and they looked like perfectly good onions when you burrowed into the lower layers. But Duncan had been seized by an absurd desire to see whether they would bounce or not; and when he experimented on the deck, they did bounce, bounce like cricket balls, as high as the ship's funnels. This capture of one of the largest cargoes of contraband rubber was due to an impression he got from two innocent cablegrams which had been intercepted and brought to him at the Admiralty,--one of them apparently concerning an operation for appendicitis, and the other announcing the death of the patient. His intuitions, indeed, resembled those of the artist; and, though he was one of the smartest sailors in the Navy, he looked more like a pre-Raphaelite painter's conception of Galahad than any one I had ever seen in the flesh. He looked exceedingly youthful, and the dead whiteness of his face, which his Philistine brethren described as lantern-jawed, was lighted by the alert eyes of the new age. They had that peculiar glitter which one sees in the eyes of aviators, and sometimes in those of the business men accustomed to the electric cities of the new world. His hands were like those of a musician, long and quick and nervous. But I could easily imagine them throttling an enemy. We turned in early that night, and I dozed fitfully, revolving fragments of our somewhat disconnected conversation. The beautiful sea-cry "All's well" came to me from the watch in the bow, as the bell tolled the passage of the hours; and it was not till daybreak that I slept, only to dream of that table in Berlin, waiting for its guests, with a peach in every champagne glass. II As we waited in the cold brilliance of New York harbor, a few mornings later, and looked with considerable satisfaction at the German steamers that were huddled like gigantic red and black cattle in the docks of the Hamburg-Amerika and North German-Lloyd, a telegram was brought aboard which settled our plans. Duncan was to go down to Washington that night, while I was to go up to Rockport, a little fishing village on the coast of Maine. At this place I was to take a motor-car and drive some fifteen miles to a certain lonely strip of pine-clad coast. There we were to camp out in a tiny cottage, which we could rent from an old sea-captain whom I knew before the war. Two artists, in quest of a quiet place for work, could hardly find a happier hunting-ground. I was particularly glad to find that we could hire a trim little motor-launch, in which we could go exploring among the islands that dotted the blue sea for scores of miles. It was a beautiful coast, and their dark peaks of pine were printed like tiny black feathers against a sky of unimaginable sapphire. Nothing could seem more remote from the devilries of modern war. Duncan joined me, a week later, in Captain Humphrey's cottage--it was a small white-painted wooden house among the pine trees on the main land, built on the rocks which overhung a deep blue inlet of the Atlantic. We discussed our plans on the little veranda, from which we could see half a dozen of those pine-crowned islands, which were the objects of suspicion. There were scores of others we could not see, to north and south of us, and we checked them off on the map as we sat there under the dried sunfish and the other queer marine trophies, which the old skipper had brought back with him from the South Seas. The nights were quite cold enough for a fire, though it was only mid-July; and we finished all our plans that evening round the big stove, the kind of thing you see in the foc'sle of a steam trawler, which stood in the center of Captain Humphrey's parlor. We were more than a little glad indeed to let our pipes and the good-smelling pine logs waft their incense abroad; for--like all the dwellers in those parts--the old skipper subsisted through the winter on the codfish which he had salted and stored during the summer in his attic; and though his abode was clean and neat as himself, it had the healthy reek of a trawler, as well as its heating apparatus. A large oil lamp, which hung from the ceiling, was none the worse, moreover, for the moderating influence of a little wood-smoke. "To-morrow, then," said Duncan, "we take the motor-launch and have a look at all the islands between this place and Rockport. They've been awfully decent down in Washington about it. The only trouble is that they don't and can't believe it. Exactly the state of mind we were in, before the war. Everybody laughing at exactly the same things, from spy-stories to signals on the coast. I met a man in the Government who had been taken to a window at midnight to see a light doing the Morse code, off this very coast, and he laughed at it. Didn't believe it. Thought it was the evening-star. We were like that ourselves. No decent man can believe certain things, till they are beyond question. "It's our own fault. We told them all was well before the war; and I don't see how we can blame them for thinking their own intervention unnecessary now. We keep on telling America that it's all over except the shouting. We paint the rosiest kind of picture to-day about the prospects of the allies; and then we grumble amongst ourselves because Americans don't turn the whole of their continent upside down to come and help us. We deliberately lulled America to sleep, and then we kicked because we heard that she had only one eye open. "Well,--they've given us a blessing on our wild-goose chase. We may do all the investigating we like, as I understand the position, so long as we leave any resultant action to the United States. This means, I suppose,--in old Captain Humphrey's language--that we may be 'rubber-necks,' but we mustn't shoot. All the same, I brought the guns with me." He laid two automatic pistols on the table. "It's more than likely, from what I've been able to gather, that we may have to defend our own skins; and I suppose that's permissible. Oh, damn that mosquito!" He slapped his ankle, and complained bitterly that the old sea-captain's faith in his own tough exterior had prevented him from providing his doors and windows with mosquito netting. * * * * * It was on the fourth morning of our search that things began to happen. For my own part, I had already begun to be so absorbed in the peace of the world about us, that the whole business of the war seemed unreal and our own quest futile. I could no longer wonder at those inhabitants of the new world who were said to look upon our European Armageddon as a bad dream, or a morbid tale in a book, which it was better not to open. As we chug-chugged along the coast, close under the thick pine woods, which grew almost to the edge of the foam, I thought I had never breathed an air so fragrant, or seen color so brilliant in earth and sky and sea. Once or twice, as we shut off the motor and lay idle, we heard a hermit-thrush in the woods, breaking the silence with a peculiarly plaintive liquid call, quite unlike the song of our thrushes at home, but very beautiful. Here and there we passed the little red, blue and green buoys of lobster-pots, shining like jewels as the clear water lapped about them in that amazing sunlight. We were making for a certain island about which we had obtained some interesting details from Captain Humphrey himself. He told us that it had been purchased two or three years ago by a New Yorker who was building himself quite a fine place on it. He seemed to be a somewhat mysterious character, for he was never seen on the mainland, and all his supplies were brought up to him on his own large private yacht. "There's a wharf on the island," said Captain Humphrey, "with deep water running up to it, so that a yacht can sail right up to his porch, as you might say, and you wouldn't know it was there. The cove runs in on the slant, and the pines grow between it and the sea. You wouldn't notice it, unless you ran right in at the mouth. It makes a fine private harbor for a yacht, and I believe it has held two at a time. There's a good beach for clams on the west shore, but of course, it's private." We certainly saw no sign of yacht or harbor as we approached the island from the landward side; but we made no departure from our course to look for either. We were bound for clam-beach, where we intended to do a little clam-poaching. "It doesn't look promising," said Duncan, as we approached the shore. "There doesn't seem to be anybody to warn trespassers off. But perhaps clam-beach is not regarded as dangerous, and the trespassing begins further on." In a few moments we had moored the launch in four feet of water, and were ashore with a couple of clam-rakes. We had dug a hundred, as we walked towards the pine-wood, when Duncan straightened up and said: "This makes my back ache, and it's blazing hot. I'm going to have a pipe in the shade, up there." I shouldered my rake, and followed him into the wood. As soon as we were well among the trees, we began to walk quickly up the thin winding path, which we supposed would lead us to the neighborhood of the house. "Not at all promising," said Duncan. "They would never let us ramble about like this if they had anything to conceal. Just for the fun of it, we'll go up to the house, and ask if Mr. Chutney Bilge, the novelist, doesn't live there. You want his autograph, don't you?" In five minutes, we had emerged from the pines, and saw before us a very pleasant looking wooden house with a wide veranda, screened all round with mosquito-netting, and backed by glimpses of blue sea between dark pine-trunks. There was not a soul to be seen, and no sign of its occupants anywhere. We walked up to the porch, pulled open the netted door in the outer screen, and knocked on the door of the house, which stood wide open. We waited and listened; but there was no sound except the ticking of a clock. There was another open door on the right side of the hall. Duncan felt a sudden impulse to look through it, and tip-toed quietly forward. He had no sooner looked than he stood as if turned to stone, with so queer an expression on his face that I instantly came to his side to see what Medusa had caused it. It seemed a very harmless Medusa; but I doubt if anything could have startled me more at the moment. We stood there, staring at a table, laid for lunch. There were twelve champagne glasses, of a somewhat unusual pattern; and each of these glasses contained a peach. III Before I could be quite sure whether I was dreaming or waking, Duncan had dashed into the room on the other side of the hall, and grabbed up a bundle of papers that had been dropped as if by some one in a great hurry, all over the table. He glanced at one or two. "But this,--this--settles it," he cried. "Come out of it quickly." And, in a few seconds, we were in the cover of the woods again. "Schramm himself is over here, apparently. He must have come by U-boat," Duncan muttered, as we hurried down the path towards our launch. "If they catch us, we're simply dead and buried, and past praying for." "But what does it mean? Where are they? Why the devil have they left everything open to the first-comer?" "Beats me completely. But we'd better not wait to inquire. The next move is up to Washington." "Look here, Duncan, we'd better be careful about our exit from the woods. If any one happens to have spotted the launch, we may run our heads into a trap." I had an uneasy feeling that we were being watched, and that every movement we made was plainly seen by a gigantic but invisible spectator, very much the kind of feeling, I suppose, that insects must have under the microscope. I felt sure that we were not going to have it all our own way with this quiet island. Duncan hesitated for a moment, but I was insistent that we should take a look at our landing place before we left our cover. It was a characteristic of Duncan that as soon as he had discovered what he wanted, he became as forthright a sailor as you could wish to find; and I knew that if we were to escape with whole skins, or even to make use of our discovery, I should have to exercise my own wits. Fortunately, my own "impressions" began when his finished; for, after he had yielded to my persuasion, we made a slight circuit through the woods, and crept out through the long grass on the top of the little cliff, overlooking the beach where we had landed. Our clams were still there, in two neat little dumps. So was the launch, but in the stern of it there sat a tall red-bearded man, who looked like a professor, and a couple of sailors. They were all three talking German in low, excited tones, and they were all three armed with rifles. The launch lay almost directly below us, and we could hear some of their conversation. I gathered that the luncheon party had gone on board a U-boat which had just arrived, to inspect the latest improvements. Something had gone wrong. They had submerged; and it seemed to be doubtful whether they could get her up again. That, of course, was why the house was deserted and our trespassing unforbidden. It was probably also the reason why the sentries had been absent, and had only just discovered our launch on their rounds. One of the sailors was aggrieved, it seemed to me, that no effort was being made to obtain other help for the submerged men than the island itself could lend. His best friend was aboard; and he thought it wicked not to give them a chance, even if it meant their internment. The red-bearded professor was explaining to him, however, in the most highly approved style of modern Germany, that his feelings were by no means logical; and that it was far nobler to sacrifice one's friends than to endanger the State. "But, if the State is a kind of devil," said the sailor, who was a bit of a logician himself, "I prefer my friends, who in the meantime are being suffocated." "That is a fallacy," the professor was answering. Then, from the direction of the house, there came a confused sound of shouting. A fourth sailor came tearing down the beach like a maniac. "Where are the clam-fishers?" he called to the three philosophers. "They are to be taken, dead or alive." At the same moment, I saw the glint of the sun on the revolvers of several other men, who were advancing through the woods towards the beach, peering to right and left of them. Without a whisper between us, Duncan and I crawled off along the cliff, through the thick undergrowth. Obviously, the submarine had come to the surface again, and the whole merry crowd was on our track. The island was not more than a quarter of a mile in diameter; and I saw no hope of evading our pursuers, of whom there must be at least twenty, judging from the cries that reached us. There was nothing for it, but to choose the best place for putting up a fight; and, as luck would have it, we were already on the best line of defense. The undergrowth between the cliff's edge and the woods was so thick that nobody could discover us, except by crawling up the trail by which we had ourselves entered. It proved to be the only way by which the cliff's edge could be explored, and we had a full half-mile of the island's circumference, a long ledge, only a few feet wide, on which we could crawl in security for the time being, till the hunt came up behind us. I remember noticing--even in those moments of peril--that the ground and the bushes were littered with big crab claws and clam shells that had been dropped and picked there by the sea gulls and crows; and I was thinking--in some queer way--of the easy life that these birds lead, when I almost put my hand on a human skull, protruding from a litter of loose earth, white flakes of shell and crabs' backs. Duncan pulled a heap of the evil-smelling stuff away with his clam-rake, and bared the right side of the skeleton. There was a half-rotten clam-rake in the bony clutch of the dead man. Evidently, somebody else had paid the penalty before us. The body had been buried, and rain, snow, or the insatiable sea-gulls had uncovered the yellow-toothed head. A few yards further on, the cliff projected so far out that even when one hung right over the edge, it was only just possible to see where it met the swirling water, which seemed very deep here. About fifteen yards out, there was a big boulder of rock, covered with brown sea-weed. "Look here, Duncan," I said, "there's only one real chance for us. We've got to swim to the mainland, but we can't do it by daylight. We've got to pass six hours till it's dark enough, and there's only one way to do it. How far can you swim under water?" "About fifty feet," he said. "You're going crazy, old man, it's a mile and a half to the mainland." "Duncan, you're a devil of a man for getting into a scrape. But when it comes to getting out of one, I feel a little safer in my own hands. Can you get as far as that rock under water?" "I think so," he said, and caught on to the suggestion at once. The cries were coming along the cliff's edge now, and it was a question of only half a minute before some of our pursuers would be on the top of us. "Hurry, then. Swim to the north of the rock, and don't come up till you're on the other side. If you feel yourself rising, grab hold of the sea-weed, and keep yourself down till you've hauled round the rock. Quick!" There was a crashing in the bushes, not fifty yards away, along the cliff, as we dived into the clear green water. The plunge carried one further than I expected, and four or five strokes along the bottom of the sea brought me to the base of the rock. It was quite easy to turn it, and I was relieved to find that there was a good ledge for landing on the further side, only an inch or two above the level of the water, and quite screened from the island by the rock itself, which was about ten feet in length, and curved in a half-moon shape, with the horns pointing towards the mainland. In fact, it was like a large Chesterfield couch of stone, covered with brown sea-weed, and resolutely turning its back on the island. We were luckier than I had dared to hope; and when, in a few seconds, Duncan had coiled himself on the ledge beside me, I saw by his grin that he thought we had solved the problem of escape. For five minutes we lay dead still, listening to the clamor along the cliff from which we had just dived. "Thank the Lord, we get the sun here," said Duncan at last, as the sounds died away. "There's only one thing that worries me now. What are we to do when they come round in a boat?" "They won't think of that for some time," I said, "but when they do, we must take to the water again, and work round behind the rock. We ought to be able to keep it between us and the blighters, with any luck. We've only got to keep enough above water to breathe with; and I've seen some fine camouflage done with a little sea-weed before now." We looked at the yard-long fringes of brown sea-weed, and decided that it would be possible to defy anything but the closest inspection of our rock by the simple process of sliding down into the water and pulling the sea-weed over our heads, on the side next to the island. There was a reef which would prevent a boat passing on that side. Our clothes were almost dried by the blazing sun before we were disturbed again. Duncan was ruefully contemplating a corn-cob pipe, which he affirmed had been ruined by the salt water. He poked the stem at a huge sea-anemone, which immediately sucked it in, and held it as firmly as a smoker's mouth, with so ludicrous an effect that Duncan's risible faculties were dangerously moved. I was half afraid of one of his volcanic guffaws, when we both heard a sound that struck us dumb,--the sound of oars coming steadily in our direction. We slipped into the water, according to plan, hauled ourselves round behind the rock, and drew the long thick fringes of sea-weed over our heads. We held ourselves anchored there by the brown stems, and kept little more than our noses above the water. No concealment could have been more complete. The boat passed on; and in five minutes we were back again on our ledge, and drying in the sun. "Good Lord," said Duncan, suddenly, "that was a near shave. I'd forgotten that beastly thing." He pointed to the sea-anemone, which was still sucking at the yellow corn-cob pipe. It looked like the bristling red mouth of some drunken and half-submerged sea-god, and could hardly have been missed by the boat's crew, if they had been looking for anything like it. "Lord, what a shave!" he said again. "What would Schramm have said if he had seen it!" Then, as we stared at the absurd marine creature, we rocked in silent spasms of mirth--human beings are made of a very queer clay--picturing the bewildered faces of the Boches at a sight which would have meant our death. The sense of humor was benumbed in both of us before long. The sun was dropping low, and we did not dry as quickly as before. There was a stillness on the island, which boded no good, I thought, though our pursuers evidently believed that we had escaped them. "They probably think we swam ashore earlier in the game," said Duncan. "They must be sick at not having spotted us." "I wonder what they are up to now?" "Probably destroying evidence, and getting ready to clear out, if they really have a notion that their big men over here may be involved. Unfortunately, these papers don't give anything away, so far as I can see except that they're addressed to Schramm; but it's quite obvious what they were doing." We lay still and waited, listening to the strangely peaceful lapping of the water round our rock, and watching the big sea-perch and rock-cod that moved like shadows below. "I wonder if that fellow suspects mischief," said Duncan, pointing over the cliff. "By Jove! isn't he splendid?" Over the highest point of the island a white-headed eagle was mounting, in great, slow, sweeping circles, without one beat of the long, dark wings that must have measured seven feet from tip to tip. "It's too splendid to be the German eagle. Praise the Lord, it's the native species; and he's taking his time because he has to take wide views. He has to soar high enough to get his bearings." Up and up, the glorious creature circled, till he dwindled in the dazzling blue to the size of a sea-gull; and still he wheeled and mounted, till he became a black dot no bigger than an English sky-lark. Then he moved, like a bullet, due east. "I almost believe in omens," said Duncan. "Ah, look out! There they come!" The masts of a large yacht, which must have emerged from the private harbor of which Captain Humphrey spoke, came slowly round the island. We had only just time to slip into the water, behind our rock, before she came into full view. She passed so near to us that the low sun cast the traveling shadows of her railing almost within reach of my hand; and the shadows of her two boats on the port side came along the clear green water between us and the island, like the gray ghosts of some old pirate's dinghies. She must have been still in sight, and we were still in our hiding-place, when it seemed as if the island tried to leap towards the sky, and we were deafened by a terrific concussion. Fragments of wood, and great pieces of stone, dropped all round us in the poppling water, and more than one deadly missile struck the rock itself. "They've blown up the whole show!" cried Duncan. "There can't be anybody left alive on the island!" We waited--ten minutes or more--to see if other explosions were to follow. Then we swam for clam-beach to investigate. It was littered with fragments of the buildings that had been destroyed. The tarred roof of a shed had been dropped there almost intact, as if from the claws of some gigantic eagle. The pine-wood looked as if it had been subjected to a barrage fire; and, in many places, the undergrowth was burning furiously. We dashed up the path, with the smoke stinging our eyes, towards the dull red glow, which was already beginning to rival the deepening crimson of the Maine sunset. The central portion of the house was still standing, though much of it had been blown bodily away, and the fire was laying fierce hands upon it from all sides. We turned to the north, where we supposed the wharf had been. The remains of half a dozen sheds were burning on one side of the cove, and it looked as if half the cliff had been tumbled into it on the other. The heat of the fire along the wharf was so fierce that we turned back to the house again. "Well," said Duncan, "there's evidence enough to give a few good headlines to the neutral press,--'_Gasoline Explosion on Maine Coast! Wealthy New Yorker Escapes Death in Fiery Furnace!_' Fortunately, there's also enough for Washington to lay up in its memory." Another section of the house fell as we looked at it; and we saw the interior of the dining-room, with the flames licking up the three remaining walls. By one of those curious freaks of high-explosive, the table was hardly disarranged; and our last glimpse of it, through a fringe of fire, showed us those twelve queer champagne glasses. They stood there, flickering like evil goblins, a peach in every glass.... We watched them for five minutes. Then the whole scintillating fabric collapsed; and we sat down to wait for the frantic motor-boat, which was already thumping towards us, with the reporter of the _Rockport Sentinel_ furiously writing in her bows. VIII MAY MARGARET "_Clerk Sanders and May Margaret Walked ower yon garden green, And sad and heavy was the love That fell thae twa between._" May Margaret was an American girl, married to a lieutenant in the British Army named Brian Davidson. When the regretful telegram from the War Office, announcing his death in action, was delivered to her in her London apartment, she read it without a quiver, crumpled it up, threw it into the fire, and leaned her head against her arm, under his photograph on the mantel-piece. When her heart began to beat again, she went to her bedroom and locked the door. This was not the Anglo-American love-affair of fiction. Both of them were poverty-stricken in the estimation of their friends; and it was only by having her black evening dress "done over," and practising other strict economies for a whole year, that May Margaret had been able to sail from New York to work in an European hospital. The marriage had taken place a little more than three months ago, while Davidson was home on a few days' leave. After the announcement of his death, she did not emerge from her room until the usual letter arrived from the front, explaining with the usual helplessness of the brother officer, that Davidson was really "one of the best," that "everybody liked him," and that "he was the life and soul of his company." But the letter contained one thing that she was not expecting, an official photograph of the grave, a quarter-plate picture of an oblong of loose earth, marked with a little cross made, apparently, of two sticks of kindling wood. And it was this that had brought her back to life again. It was so strangely matter-of-fact, so small, so complete, that it brought her out of the great dark spaces of her grief. It reminded her of something that Davidson had once written in a letter from the trenches. "Things out here are not nearly so bad as people at home imagine. At home, one pictures the war as a great blaze of horror. Out here, things become more sharply defined, as the lights of a city open up when you approach them, or as the Milky Way splits itself up into points of light under the telescope. I have never seen a dead body yet that looked more imposing than a suit of old clothes. The real man was somewhere else." She examined the photograph with a kind of curiosity. In this new sense of the reality of death, the rattle of the traffic outside had grown strange and dreamlike, and the rattle of the tea-things and the smell of the buttered toast which an assiduous, but discreet landlady placed at her side, seemed as fantastic and remote as any fairy-tale. All the trivial details of the life around her had assumed a new and mysterious quality. She seemed to be moving in a phantasmagorical world. The round red face of the landlady came and went like the goblin things you may see over your shoulder in a looking-glass at twilight. And the center of all this insubstantial dream-stuff was that one vivid oblong of loose earth, marked with two sticks of kindling wood, in the neat and sharply defined official photograph. There was something that looked like a black thread entwining the arms of the tiny cross; and she puzzled over it stupidly, wondering what it could be. "I suppose I could write and ask," she said to herself. Then an over-mastering desire seized her. She must go and see it. She must go and see the one fragment of the earth that remained to her, if only for the reason that there, perhaps, she might find the relief of tears. But she had another reason also, a reason that she would never formulate, even to herself, an over-mastering impulse from the depths of her being. May Margaret had no intimate friends in London. She had established herself in these London lodgings with the cosmopolitan independence of the American girl, whose own country contains distances as great as that from London to Petrograd. The world shrinks a little when your own country is a continent; and it was with no sense of remoteness that she now went to the telephone and rang up the London office of the _Chicago Bulletin_. "I want to speak to Mr. Harvey," she said. "Is this Mr. Harvey? This is Mrs. Davidson,--Margaret Grant--you remember, don't you? I want to see you about something very important. You are sending people out to the front all the time, aren't you, in connection with your newspapers? Well, I want to know if you can arrange for me to go.... Yes, as a woman correspondent.... Oh, they don't allow it? Not at the British front?... Well, I've got to arrange it somehow.... Won't you come and see me and talk it over?... All right, at six-thirty. Good-by." The official photograph was still in her hand when Mr. William K. Harvey, of the _Chicago Bulletin_, was announced. He was a very young man to be managing the London office of a great newspaper, but this was not a disadvantage for May Margaret's purpose. "So you want to go to the front," he said, settling down into the arm-chair on the other side of the fire. "It would certainly make a great story. We ought to be able to syndicate it all through the Middle West; but you'll have to give up the idea of the British front. We might manage the French front, I think." "But I want particularly to go to Arras. Surely, you can manage it, Mr. Harvey. You must know all sorts of influential people here." Her voice, with its husky contralto notes, rather like those of a boy whose voice has lately broken, had always an appeal for Mr. Harvey, and it was particularly pleasing just then. He beamed through his glasses and ran his hand through his curly hair. "I was talking to Sir William Robertson about a very similar proposition only yesterday, and Sir William told me that he'd do anything on earth for the _Chicago Bulletin_, but the War Office, which is in heaven, had decided finally to allow no women correspondents at the British front." May Margaret rose and went to the window. For a moment she pressed her brow against the cool glass and, as she stared hopelessly at the busses rumbling by, an idea came to her. She wondered that she had not thought of it before. "Come here, Mr. Harvey," she said. "I want to show you something." He joined her at the window. A bus had halted by the opposite pavement. The conductor was swinging lightly down by the hand-rail, a very youthful looking conductor, in breeches and leggings. "Is that a man or a woman?" said May Margaret. "A woman, isn't it?" "And that?" She pointed to another figure striding by in blue overalls and a slouch hat. "I don't know. There are so many of them about now, that on general principles, I guess it's a woman. Besides, it looks as if it would be in the army if it were not a woman." "Yes, but I am an American correspondent," said May Margaret. "Gee!" said Mr. Harvey, surveying her from head to foot. His face looked as if all the printing presses of the _Chicago Bulletin_ were silently at work behind it. She was tall and lean--a college friend had described her exactly as "half goddess and half gawk." Her face was of the open-air type. Her hair would have to be cropped, of course. "Gee!" he said again. "It would be the biggest scoop of the war." A fortnight later, a slender youth in khaki-colored clothes, with leggings, arrived at the Foreign Office, presented a paper to a sad-eyed messenger in the great hall, and was led to the disreputable old lift which, as usual, bore a notice to the effect that it was not working to-day. The sad-eyed messenger heaved the usual sigh, and led the way up three flights of broad stone stairs to a very dark waiting-room. There were three other young men in the room, but it was almost impossible to see their faces. "Mr. Grant, of the _Tribune_, wasn't it, sir?" said the messenger. "Mr. Martin Grant, of the _Chicago Bulletin_," said May Margaret, and the messenger shuffled into the distance along a gloomy corridor which seemed to be older than any tomb of the Pharaohs, and destined to last as long again. In a few minutes, a young Englishman, who looked like an army officer in mufti, but was really a clerk in the Foreign Office, named Julian Sinclair, was making himself very charming to the four correspondents. To one of them he talked very fluently in Spanish: to another he spoke excellent Swedish, bridging several moments of misunderstanding with smiles and gestures that would have done credit to a Macchiavelli; to the third, because he was a Greek, he spoke French; and to Martin Grant, because he was an American, he spoke the language of George Washington, and behaved as if he were a fellow-countryman of slightly different, possibly more broad-minded, but certainly erroneous politics. Then he gave them all a few simple directions. He was going to have the pleasure of escorting them to the front. It was necessary that they should be accompanied by some one from the Foreign Office, he explained, in order to save them trouble; and they had been asked to meet him there to-day for purposes of identification and to get their passports. These would have to be stamped by both the British and French military authorities at an address which he gave them, and they would please meet him at Charing Cross Station at twelve o'clock to-morrow morning. It was all very simple, and Mr. Martin Grant felt greatly relieved. There was a drizzle of rain the next morning, for which May Margaret was grateful. It was a good excuse for appearing at the station in the Burberry raincoat, which gave her not only a respite from self-consciousness, but an almost military air. Her cloth cap, too, the peak of which filled her strong young face with masculine shadows, approximated to the military shape. It was a wise choice; for the soft slouch hat, which she had tried at first, had persistently assumed a feminine aspect, an almost absurdly picturesque effect, no matter how she twisted it or pulled it down on her close-cropped head. She was the first of the party to arrive, and when Julian Sinclair hurried along the platform with the three foreign correspondents, there was no time left for conversation before they were locked in their compartment of the military train. They were the only civilians aboard. She dropped into a corner seat with her newspaper. But her eyes and brain were busy with the scene outside. The train was crammed with troops, just as it had been on that other day when she stood outside on the platform, like those other women there, and said good-by to Brian. She was living it all over again, as she watched those farewells; but she felt nearer to him now, as if she were seeing things from his own side, almost as if she had broken through the barriers and taken some dream-train to the next world, in order to follow him. There was a very young soldier leaning from the window of the next compartment. He was talking to a girl with a baby in her arms. Her wide eyes were fixed on his face with the same solemn expression as those of the child, dark innocent eyes with the haunted beauty of a Madonna. They were trying to say something to each other, but the moment had made them strangers, and they could not find the words. "You'll write," she said faintly. He nodded and smiled airily. A whistle blew. There was a banging of doors, and a roar of cheering. The little mother moved impulsively forward, climbed on to the footboard, threw her right arm around the neck of her soldier, and drew his face down to her own. "Stand back there," bellowed the porters. But the girl's arm was locked round the lad's neck as if she were drowning, and they took no notice. The train began to move. A crippled soldier, in blue hospital uniform and red tie, hobbled forward on his crutch, and took hold of the girl. "Break away," he said gruffly. "Break away, lass." He pulled her back to the platform. Then he hobbled forward with the moving train and spoke to the young soldier. "If you meet the blighter wot gave me this," he said, pointing to his amputated thigh, "you give 'im 'ell for _me_!" It was a primitive appeal, but the boy pulled himself together immediately, as the veteran face, so deeply plowed with suffering, savagely confronted his own. And, as the train moved on, and the wounded man stood there, upright on his crutch, May Margaret saw that there were tears in those fierce eyes--eyes so much older than their years--and a tenderness in the coarse face that brought her heart into her throat. The journey to Folkestone was all a dream, a dream that she was glad to be dreaming, because she was now on the other side of the barrier that separated people at home from those at the front. The queerest thoughts passed through her mind. She understood for a moment the poor groping endeavors of the war-bereft to break through those darker barriers of the material world, and get into touch, no matter how vaguely, with the world beyond. She felt that in some strange way she was succeeding. They had lunch on the train. She forced herself to drink some black coffee, and nibble at some tepid mutton. She was vaguely conscious that the correspondents were enjoying themselves enormously at the expense of the State, and she shuddered at the grotesque sense of humor which she discovered amongst her thoughts at this moment. The Channel-crossing on the troop-ship brought her nearer yet. There was hardly standing-room on any of the decks, and the spectacle was a very strange one, for all the crowded ranks in khaki, officers and men, had been ordered to wear life-belts. A hospital ship which had just arrived was delivering its loads of wounded men to the docks, and these also were wearing life-belts. The sunset-light was fading as the troop-ship moved out, and the seas had that peculiar iridescent smoothness, as of a delicately tinted skin of very faintly burning oils, which they so often wear when the wind falls at evening. On one side of the ship a destroyer was plowing through white mounds of foam; and overhead there was one of the new silver-skinned scouting air-ships. Away to the east, a great line of transports was returning home with the wounded, and the horizon was one long stream of black smoke. It was all so peaceful that the life-belts seemed an anomaly, and it was difficult to realize the full meaning of this traffic. The white cliffs of England wore a spiritual aspect that only the hour and its grave significance could lend them; and May Margaret thought that England had never looked so beautiful. There were other troop-ships all crowded, about to follow, and their cheers came faintly across the water. The throb of the engines carried May Margaret's ship away rhythmically, and somewhere on the lower deck a mouth organ began playing, almost inaudibly, "It's a Long, Long Way to Tipperary." The troops were humming the tune, too softly for it to be called singing, and it all blended with the swish of the water and the hum of the engine-room, like a memory of other voices, lost in France and Flanders. May Margaret looked down at the faces. They, too, were grave and beautiful with evening light; and the brave unquestioning simplicity of it all seemed to her an inexpressibly noble thing. She thought for a moment that no pipes among the mists of glen or mountain, no instrument on earth, ever had the beauty of that faint music. It was one of those unheard melodies that are better than any heard. The sea bore the burden. The winds breathed it in undertone; and its message was one of a peace that she could not understand. Perhaps, under and above all the tragedies of the hour, the kingdom of heaven was there. The cliffs became ghostly in the distance, and suddenly on the dusky waters astern there shone a great misty star. It was the first flash of the shore searchlights, and May Margaret watched it flashing long after the English coast had disappeared. Then she lost the searchlight also; and the transport was left, with the dark destroyer, to find its way, through whatever perils there might be, to the French coast. Millions of men--she had read it--had been transported, despite mines and submarines, without the loss of a single life. She had often wondered how it was possible. Now she saw the answer. A little black ship loomed up ahead of them and flashed a signal to their escort. Far through the dusk she saw them, little black trawlers and drifters, _Lizzie_ and _Maggie_ and _Betsy Jane_, signaling all that human courage could discover, of friend or foe, on the face of the waters or under them. In a very short time they caught the first glimpse of the searchlights on the French coast; and, soon afterwards, they drew into a dark harbor, amid vague cheerings and occasional bursts of the "Marseillaise" from wharves thronged with soldiers of a dozen nationalities. A British officer edged his way through the crowd below them on the quay, and waved his hand to Julian Sinclair. "Ah, there's our military guide, Captain Crump. Now, if you'll follow me and keep together, we'll get our passports examined quickly, and join him," said the latter, obviously relieved at the prospect of sharing his neutrals with a fellow-countryman. There followed a brief, but very exact, scrutiny and stamping of papers by an aquiline gentleman whose gold-rimmed spectacles suggested a microscopical carefulness; a series of abrupt introductions to Captain Crump on the gloomy wharf; a hasty bite and sup in a station restaurant, where blue uniforms mingled with khaki, and some red-tabbed British staff-officers, at the next table, were drinking wine with some turbaned Indian Princes. It was a strange glimpse of color and light rifting the darkness for a moment. Then they followed Captain Crump again, through great tarpaulined munition-dumps and loaded motor-lorries, to the two motor-cars behind the station. In these they were whirled, at forty miles an hour, along one of the poplar-bordered roads of France that seemed to-night as ghostly as those titanic alleys of Ulalume, in the song of May Margaret's national poet. Once or twice, as they passed through a cluster of cottages, the night-wind brought a whiff of iodoform, and reminded her that flesh and blood were fighting with pain and death somewhere in that darkness. Every few minutes they passed troops of dark marching men. Several times it seemed to her that she recognized the face for which she was looking, in some momentary glimmer of starlight. At last they reached the village where the guests of G. H. Q. were to be quartered. The foreigners were assigned to the château which was used as a guest-house; but there had been one or two unexpected arrivals, and Captain Crump asked the American correspondent if he would mind occupying a room in the house of the curé, a hundred yards away up the village street. The American correspondent was exceedingly glad to do so, and was soon engaged in attempts at conversation with the friendly old man in the black cassock who did his best to make her welcome. There were no more difficulties for her that night, except that the curé had very limited notions as to the amount of water she required for washing. They set out early the next morning on their way to that part of the front which she had particularly asked to see. The long straight poplar-bordered road, bright with friendly sunshine now, absorbed her. She heard the chatter of the correspondents at her side as in a dream. "Have you read Anatole France?" said the Spaniard. (He was anxious for improving conversation, and wore a velvet coat totally unsuited to the expedition.) But May Margaret's every thought was plodding along with the plodding streams of dusty, footsore men, in steel hats, and she did not answer. She pointed vaguely to the women working in the fields to save the harvest, and the anti-aircraft guns that watched the sky from behind the sheaves. At every turn she saw something that reminded her of things she had seen before, in some previous existence, when she had lived in the life of her lover and traveled through it all with his own eyes. She was passing through his existence again. He was part of all this: these camps by the roadside, where soldiers, brown as gipsies, rambled about with buckets; these endless processions of motor-lorries, with men and munitions and guns all streaming to the north on every road, as if whole nations were setting out on a pilgrimage and taking their possessions with them; these endless processions of closed ambulances returning, marked with the Red Cross. Once, over a bare brown stretch of open country, a magnificent body of Indian cavalry swept towards them, every man sitting his horse like a prince; and the British officers, with their sun-burned faces and dusky turbans, hardly distinguishable from their native troops. "Glorious, aren't they?" said Sinclair, leaning back from his place beside the chauffeur. "But they haven't had a chance yet. If only we could get the Boches out of their burrows and loose our cavalry at them!" She nodded her head; but her thoughts were elsewhere. This picturesque display seemed to belong to a bygone age; it was quite unrelated to this war of chemists and spectacled old men who disbelieved in chivalry, laughed at right and wrong, and had killed the happiness of the entire world. She noticed, whenever they passed a village or a farm-house, or even a cattle-shed now, that the smell of iodoform brooded over everything. All these wounded acres of France were breathing it out like the scent of some strange new summer blossoms. A hundred yards away from the ruined outhouses of every village she began to breathe it. Her senses were unusually keen, but it dominated the summer air so poignantly that she could not understand why these meticulously vivid men--the foreign correspondents--were unaware of it. It turned the whole countryside into a series of hospital wards; and the Greek was now disputing with the Spaniard about home-rule for Ireland. At last, in the distance, they heard a new sound that enlarged the horizon as when one approaches the sea. It was the mutter of the guns, a deep many-toned thunder, rolling up and dying away, but without a single break, incessant as the sound of the Atlantic in storm. The cars halted in what had once been a village, and was now a rubbish heap of splinters and scarred walls and crumbling mortar. The correspondents alighted and followed Captain Crump across a broad open plain, pitted with shell-holes. The incessant thunder of the guns deepened as they went. "Don't touch anything without consulting me," snapped Crump at the Spaniard, who was nosing round an unexploded shell and thinking of souvenirs. "The Boches have a charming trick of leaving things about that may go off in your hands. A chap picked up a spiked helmet here the other day. They buried him in the graveyard that Mr. Grant wants to see. It's a very small grave. There wasn't much left of him." The burial-ground lay close under a ridge of hills, and they approached it through a maze of recently captured German trenches. It was a strange piece of sad ordered gardening in a devastated world. Every minute or two the flash and shock of a concealed howitzer close at hand shook the loose earth on the graves, but only seemed to emphasize the still sleep of this acre. It held a great regiment of graves, mounds of fresh-turned earth in soldierly ranks, most of them marked with tiny wooden crosses, rough bits of kindling wood. Some of the crosses bore names, written in pencil. There was one that bore the names of six men, and the grave was hardly large enough for a child. They had been blown to pieces by a single shell. They passed through the French section first. Here there was an austere poetry, a simplicity that approached the sublime in the terrible regularity of the innumerably repeated inscription, "_Mort pour la France_." In the British section there was a striking contrast. There was not a word of patriotism; but, though the graves were equally regular, an individuality of inscription that interested the Spanish correspondent greatly. "It is here we pass from Racine to Shakespeare," he said, pointing to a wooden cross that bore the words: "_In loving memory of Jim, From his old pal, The artful dodger, 'Gone but not forgotten.'_" "No, no, no," cried the Greek correspondent, greatly excited by the literary suggestion. "From Flaubert to Dickens! Is it not so, Captain Crump?" Captain Crump grunted vaguely and moved on towards the soldier in charge. May Margaret followed him, the photograph in her hand. "We want to find number forty-eight," said Captain Crump. The soldier saluted and led the way to the other end of the ground. Many of the graves here had not been named. There had evidently been some disaster which made it difficult. Some of them carried the identification disc. "This is number forty-eight, sir," said the soldier, pausing before a mound that May Margaret knew already by heart. "May I look at the photograph, sir? Yes. You see, that's the rosary--that black thing--round the cross." "The rosary! I don't understand." May Margaret looked at the string of beads on the cross that bore the name of Brian Davidson. "I suppose he was a Roman Catholic, sir. They must have taken it from the body." "No, he was not a Catholic," whispered May Margaret. She felt as if she must drop on her knees and call on the mute earth to speak, to explain, to tell her who lay beneath. "There must be a mistake," she said at last, and her own voice rang in her ears like the voice of a stranger. "I must find out. How can I find out?" Her face was bloodless as she confronted Captain Crump. "There's some terrible mistake," she said again. "I can't face his people at home till I find out. He may be--" But that awful word of hope died on her lips. "I'll do my best," said Captain Crump. "It's very odd, certainly; but I shouldn't--er--hope for too much. You see, if he were living, they wouldn't have been likely to overlook it. It's possible that he may be there, or there." He pointed to two graves without a name. "Or again, he may be missing, of course, or a prisoner. His lot are down at Arras now. We'll get into touch with them to-morrow and I'll make inquiries. You want to pass a night in the trenches, don't you? I think it can be arranged for you to go to that section to-morrow night. Then we can kill two birds with one stone." May Margaret thanked him. Behind them, she heard, with that strange sense of double meanings which the most commonplace accidents of life can awake at certain moments--the voice of one of the correspondents, still arguing with the others. "Here, if you like, is Shakespeare," he said: "_How should I your true love know From another one._" The quotation, lilted inanely as a nursery rime, pierced her heart like a flight of silver arrows. "You have not a very pleasant business," the correspondent continued, addressing a soldier at work in an open grave. "I've 'ad two years in the trenches, sir, and I'm glad to get it," he replied. "Little Christian crosses, planted against the heathen, creeping nearer and nearer to the Rhine," murmured Julian Sinclair, on the other side of May Margaret. The multiplicity of the ways in which it seemed possible for both soldiers and civilians to regard the war was beginning to rob her of the power to think. On their way back, through the dusk, they passed a body of men marching to the trenches, with a song that she had heard Brian humming: "_Fat Fritz went out, all camouflaged, like a beautiful bumble-bee, With daffodil stripes and 'airy legs to see what he could see, By the light of the moon, in No Man's Land, he climbed an apple tree And he put on his big round spectacles, to look for gay Paree._ _But I don't suppose he'll do it again For months, and months, and months; But I don't suppose he'll do it again For months, and month, and months; For Archie is only a third class shot, But he brought him down at once,_ _AND_ _I don't suppose he'll do it again For months, and months, and months._" Soon afterwards, with all these themes interchanging in her bewildered mind, May Margaret heard Julian Sinclair calling through the dark from the car ahead: "Take a good look at the next village; it's called Crécy." The stars that watched the ancient bowmen had nothing new to tell her; but a few minutes later, as another body of troops came tramping through the dark to another stanza of their song, there seemed to be an ancient and unconquerable mass of marching harmonies within the lilt of the Cockney ballad; like the mass of the sea behind the breaking wave: "_'E called 'em the Old Contemptibles, But 'e only did it once, And I don't suppose 'e'll do it again, For months, and months, and months._" They dined at the château, and she slipped away early to the house of the curé. Before she slept, she took out Brian's last letter and read it. She sat on the narrow bed, under the little black crucifix with the ivory Christ looking down at her from the bare wall. She was glad that it was there; for it embodied the master-thought of that day's pilgrimage. Never before had she realized how that symbol was dominating this war; how it was repeated and repeated over thousands of acres of young men's graves; and with what a new significance the wayside crosses of France were now stretching out their arms in the night of disaster. In Brian's letter there was very little about himself. He had always been somewhat impatient of the "lyrical people," as he called them, who were "so eloquently introspective" about the war, and he had carried his prejudice even into his correspondence. She was reading his letter again to-night because she remembered that it expressed something of her own bewilderment at the multiplicity of ways in which people were talking and thinking of the international tragedy. "I have heard," he wrote, "every possible kind of opinion out here, with the exception of one. I have never heard any one suggest any possible end for this war but the defeat of the Hun. But I _have_ heard, over and over again, ridicule of the idea that this war is going to end war, or even make the world better. "Along with that, I've often heard praise of the very militaristic system that we are trying so hard to abolish altogether. Of course, this is only among certain sets of men. But this war has become a war of ideas; and ideas are not always contained or divided by the lines of trenches. We are fighting things out amongst ourselves, in all the belligerent countries, and the most crying need of the Allies to-day is a leader who can crystallize their own truest thoughts and ideals for them. "You know what my dream was, always, in the days when I was trying my prentice hand in literature. I wanted to help in the greatest work of modern times--the task of bringing your country and mine together. Our common language (and that implies so much more than people realize) is the greatest political factor in the modern world; and, thank God, it's beyond the reach of the politicians. In England, we exaggerate the importance of the mere politician. We do not realize the supreme glory of our own inheritance; or even the practical aspects of it; the practical value of the fact that every city and town and village over the whole of your continent paid homage to Shakespeare during the tercentenary. Carlyle was right when he compared that part of our inheritance with the Indian Empire. It is in our literature that we can meet and read each other's hearts and minds, and that has been our greatest asset during the war. Think what it will mean when two hundred million people, thirty years hence, in North America, are reading that literature and sharing it. Shelley understood it. You remember what he says in the 'Revolt of Islam.' The Germans understand, that's why they're so anxious to introduce compulsory German into your schools and colleges. But our own reactionaries are afraid to understand it. "After all, this war is only a continuation of the Revolutionary war, when the Englishmen who signed the Declaration of Independence fought an army of hired Germans, directed by Germans. Even their military maps were drawn up in German. It's the same war, and the same cause, and I believe that the New World eventually will come into it. Then we shall have a real leadership. The scheming reactionaries in Europe will fail to keep us apart. We shall yet see our flags united. And then despite all the sneers of the little folk, on both sides of the Atlantic, we shall be able to suppress barbarism in Europe and say (as you and I have said): _Those whom God hath joined let no man put asunder._ "There seems to be an epidemic of verse among the armies. I haven't caught it very badly yet; but these were some of my symptoms in a spare moment last week: "_How few are they that voyage through the night, On that eternal quest, For that strange light beyond our light, That rest beyond our rest._ _And they who, seeking beauty, once descry Her face, to most unknown; Thenceforth like changelings from the sky Must walk their road alone._ _So once I dreamed. So idle was my mood; But now, before these eyes, From those foul trenches, black with blood, What radiant legions rise._ _And loveliness over the wounded earth awakes Like wild-flowers in the Spring. Out of the mortal chrysalis breaks Immortal wing on wing._ _They rise like flowers, they wander on wings of light, Through realms beyond our ken. The loneliest soul is companied to-night By hosts of unknown men._" II At ten o'clock the next morning, the two cars were moving at sixty miles an hour along a road that ran parallel with the German trenches. There was a slight screen of canvas to hide the traffic, for the road by Dead-Man's-Corner was not the safest way into Arras at that time. But they reached the city without misadventure, and May Margaret felt nearer now than ever to the secret of the quest. No dream was ever so strange as this great echoing shell of the deserted city where he, too, had walked so recently. He, too, had passed along these cracked pavements, keeping close to the wall, in order to escape observation from the enemy, whose lines ran through one end of the city at this moment. He had seen these pitiful interiors of shattered houses, where sometimes the whole front had been blown away, leaving the furniture still intact on two floors, and even pictures, a little askew, on the walls. He had seen that little black crucifix over that bed; crossed this grass-grown square; and gone into the shattered railway-station, where the many-colored tickets were strewn like autumn leaves over the glass-littered floor. The Spaniard filled his pockets with them. They went down a narrow street to the ruins of the cathedral. On one of the deserted houses there was a small placard advertising the Paris edition of a London paper, the only sign of the outside world in all that echoing solitude. The neutrals rejoiced greatly before a deserted insurance office, which still displayed an advertisement of its exceedingly reasonable rates for the lives of peaceful citizens. Their merriment was stopped abruptly by a hollow boom that shook the whole city and rumbled echoing along the deserted streets from end to end. "That's a Boche shell," said Crump. "It sounds as if they've got the cathedral again." At noon they lunched under the lee of a hill just outside Arras, that had been drenched with blood a few weeks earlier. The great seas of thunder ebbed and flowed incessantly from sky to sky, as if the hill were the one firm island in the universe and all the rest were breaking up and washing around them. The amazing incongruity of things bewildered May Margaret again. It was more fantastic than any dream. They sat there at ease, eating chicken, munching sandwiches, filling their cups with red wine and white, and ending with black coffee, piping hot from the thermos bottle. Great puffs of brown smoke rose in the distance where our shells were dropping along the German line. It looked as if the trees were walking out from a certain distant wood. Little blue rings of smoke rose from the peaceful cigarettes around her. Bees and butterflies came and went through the sunshine; and, in the stainless blue sky overhead there was a rush and rumor as of invisible trains passing to and fro. The neutrals amused themselves by trying to distinguish between our own and the enemy shells. At two o'clock Crump rose. "I'll take you along now, Grant, if you are ready," he said. "The rest of you wait here. I shall be back in about ten minutes." May Margaret stumbled after him down the hill. At the foot, a soldier was waiting; and, hardly conscious of the fact that she had exchanged one guide for another, she found herself plodding silently beside him on her unchanging quest, toward the communication trenches. "What do they think about things in England, sir?" said her new companion at last, with a curiously suppressed eagerness. "They are very hopeful," said May Margaret. "When do they think it will be over?" "Some of them say in six months." "Ah, yes. I've been here three years now, and they always say that. At the end of the six months they'll say it again." It was the first open note of depression that May Margaret had heard. "Do most of the men feel like that?" she said. "They don't say so, sir, but they all want it to be over." Then he added, with the doggedness of his kind, "Not till we get what we're fighting for, of course. You're a correspondent, sir, aren't you? Well, I never seen the real fax put in the papers yet. There was one of these soldier writers the other day. I saw his book in the Y. M. C. A. hut. He said that the only time he nearly broke his heart was when there was a rumor that Germany was asking for peace before he was able to get into it hisself. That's what I call bloody selfish, sir. All this poytry! (he spat into a shell-hole) making pictures out of it and talking about their own souls. Mind you I'm all for finishing it properly; but it ain't right, the way they look at it. It's like saying they're glad the Belgians had their throats cut because it's taught their own bloody selves the beauty of sacrifice. If what they say is true, why in the hell do they want the war ever to stop at all? P'raps if it went on for ever, we should all of us learn the bloody beauty of it, and keep on learning it till there wasn't any one left. There was a member of Parliament out here the other day. He saw three poor chaps trying to wash in a mine-crater full of muddy water. Covered with lice they was. The paper described it afterwards. The right honorable gentleman laughed 'artily, it said, same as they say about royalty. Always laughing 'artily. P'raps he didn't laugh. I dunno about that. But if he did, I'd like him to 'ave a taste of the fun hisself." They were entering the long tunnel of the communication-trench now. The soldier went ahead, and May Margaret followed, through smells of earth, and the reek of stale uniforms, for a mile or more, till they came to the alert eyes along the fire-step of the front-line trench. "Here's Major Hilton, sir." A lean young man with a thin aquiline nose and a face of Indian red approached them, stepping like a cat along the trench. "Mr. Grant," he said. May Margaret nodded, and they were about to shake hands, when one side of the trench seemed to rise up and smash against their faces, with a roar that stunned them. May Margaret picked herself up at once, wiping the bits of grit out of her eyes. The bombardment appeared to be growing in intensity. "That was pretty near," said Major Hilton. "You'd better come into my dugout till this blows over." He led the way into his gloomy little cavern. It was not much of a shelter from a direct hit; but it would protect them from flying splinters at least. "Mr. Davidson was my friend," said May Margaret at once. "I know his people. I think there must be some mistake about ... about the grave." "You're not a relative of his, are you?" said Major Hilton. "Had you known him for long?" "No. Less than a year." "Well, I don't mind telling _you_ that there _was_ a mistake. We discovered it a few hours after it was made; but we thought it better not to upset his people by giving them further details." "He was killed, then," May Margaret whispered; and, if the darkness of the dugout had not veiled her face, Major Hilton would not have continued. "Yes. It was a trench raid. The Boches took a section of our trenches. When we recovered it, we found him. You'd better not tell his people, but I don't mind telling _you_. It was a pretty bad case." "What do you mean?" "One of those filthy Boche tricks. They'd nailed him up against the lining of the trench with bayonets. He was still alive when we found him. But they'll get it all back. We're going to give 'em hell to-night." May Margaret was silent for so long that Major Hilton peered at her more closely. Her white face looked like a bruised thing in the darkness. "I'm sorry," he said. "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you. They have done so much of that kind of thing, I suppose we've got used to it. Well, you've been tramping about all day, and if I were you, as you're going to spend the night here, I should settle down for a bit in the dugout. The bombardment seems to be easing off a little, and you'll want to be awake all night. There'll be some sights coming on of the picturesque kind--fireworks and things, which is what you want, I suppose, for the blessed old public." Far away, in another section of the trenches, there was a burst of cheering. Major Hilton pricked up his ears to listen; but it was drowned immediately in another blast outside that sealed the mouth of the dugout like a blow from a gigantic hammer and plunged them into complete darkness thick with dust and sand. "Are you all right?" said Hilton, in a moment or two. "They've blown the parapet over us. Our chaps will soon get us out." They sat down and waited. The sound of their rescuers' shovels was followed almost immediately by the pulling away of a sandbag, and the dusty daylight filtered in again, bringing with it another roar of cheering, nearer now, and rolling along the trenches like an Atlantic breaker. "What the hell are they shouting about?" Hilton grunted, as he scrambled through the opening. May Margaret was about to follow him, when the abrupt answer struck her motionless. "America has declared war, sir." "Are you sure?" "Yes, sir. They are passing the President's message along the line. It looks as if they mean business." May Margaret had moved further back into the darkness of the dugout. She was breathing quickly, panting like a thirsty dog. She dropped on her knees by an old packing-case in the corner. "Thank God. Thank God," she repeated, with her eyes shut. Then the tears came, and her whole body shook. A hand touched her shoulder. She rose to her feet and saw the bewildered face of Major Hilton, peering again at her own. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's the first time I've done it since I was a kid; but I've been hoping for this ever since the beginning. It's my country, you see." "I've just been looking at the President's message," said Hilton. "I'm an Englishman, but--if a democracy can discipline itself--I'm not sure that yours won't be the greatest country in the world. I suppose it must be, or the Lord wouldn't have entrusted so much to you. He gave you the best that we ever had to give, and that was our Englishman, George Washington; and the best thing that George Washington ever did, was to fight the German King and his twenty thousand Hessians. Eh, what?" It was a little after dusk when the unexpected happened. There had been a lull in the bombardment; and, on Major Hilton's advice, May Margaret was resting in the dugout in readiness for the long wakeful night of the trenches. She lay there, dazed as from shell-shock by the account of Brian's death; and the declaration of war from her own country had burst upon her with an equal violence, leaving her stunned in a kind of "No Man's Land," a desolate hell, somewhere between despair and triumph. Her world had broken up. Her mind was no longer her own. Her thoughts were helpless things between enormous conflicting forces; and, as if to escape from their rending clutches, as if to cling to the present reality, she whispered to herself the words of the wounded soldier at Charing Cross station: "If you meet him, give him hell for _me_! Give him hell for _me_." It seemed as if it were Brian himself speaking. Once, with a swift sense of horror, catching herself upon the verge of insanity, she found that her imagination was furtively beginning to picture his last agony, and she stopped it, screwing her face up, like a child pulling faces at a nightmare, and making inarticulate sounds to drive it away. Of one thing she was quite certain now. She did not wish to live any longer in a world where these things were done. She meant, by hook or by crook, to get to the dangerous bit of the trench, where our men were only separated by six yards from the enemy, and to stay there until she was killed. Even if she couldn't throw bombs herself, she supposed that she could hand them up to others. And any thought that conflicted with this idea she suppressed, automatically, with her monotonous echo of the wounded soldier, "Give them hell for _me_." But she was spared any further trouble about the execution of her plans; and she knew, at once, that she had come to the end of her quest, when she heard the quick sharp cries of warning outside. It was a trench-raid, brief, and unimportant from a military point of view. The newspapers told London, on the next day, that nothing of importance had happened. Half a dozen revolvers cracked. There were curses and groans, a sound of soft thudding blows and grunting, gasping men, followed by a loud pig-like squeal. Then May Margaret saw three faces peering cautiously into the dugout, faces of that strange brutality, heavy-boned, pig-eyed, evil-skulled, which has impressed itself upon the whole world as a distinct reversion from all civilized types of humanity. She knew them, as one recognizes the smell of carrion; and her whole soul exulted as she seized her supreme chance of striking at the evil thing. She had picked up a revolver almost unconsciously, and without pausing to think she fired three times with a steady hand. Two of them she knew that she had killed. The third had been too quick for her, and in another second she was down on her back, with a blood-greased boot on her throat, and a throng of evil-smelling cattle around her. Unhappily, they did not kill her at once; and so the discovery was made, amidst a storm of guttural exclamations. When the trench was retaken, half an hour later, a further discovery was made by Major Hilton. A locket containing a photograph of Brian Davidson was buried in what remained of her left breast, as if it had been trying to hide in her heart. It was almost the only thing about her that was unhurt. Major Hilton made no explanations; but when the body was removed, he gave strict orders for it to be buried by the side of Lieutenant Davidson. * * * * * A week later, Mr. Harvey, of the _Chicago Bulletin_, was informed that his correspondent, Mr. Martin Grant, had died of pneumonia. The authorities left the responsibility of informing others, who might be interested, to his capable hands. He went to see Julian Sinclair about it; but he could not discover whether that sincerely regretful young diplomat with the dazzling smile and the delightful manners knew anything more. It may have been a coincidence that, shortly afterwards, Mr. Harvey was recalled to the shores of Lake Michigan, and replaced by another manager. IX MAROONED I Rachel Hepburn believed that her first lover had been drawn to her--when she was twenty-two years old--by the way in which she played the violin. She played it remarkably well; and she was also exceedingly pretty, in a frank open-air fashion. Until she was seventeen, she had lived on the mountainous coast of Cumberland, where she rode astride, and swam half a mile every morning before breakfast. Her family nicknamed her "the Shetland Pony"; and that was her picture to the life, as she used to come in from her swim, with her face glowing and her dark eyes like mountain pools, and the thick mane of hair blowing about her broad forehead. Her sturdy build helped the picture at the time; but she had shot up in height since then, and the phrase was no longer applicable. At twenty-four, she became beautiful, and her music began to show traces of genius. Unfortunately, she had the additional attraction of ten thousand pounds a year in her own right; and, when the marriage settlement was discussed, she proposed to share the money with her three younger sisters. The young man behaved very badly. She told him--very quietly--that this was the result of her own folly; for, in her family, hitherto, marriages had always been "arranged." He replied--for he was an intellectual young man, who understood women, and read the most advanced novelists--that she was one of those who were ruining England with their feudal ideas. Then they parted, the young man cursing under his breath, and Rachel lilting the ballad to which she had hitherto attributed her good fortune. "_Maxwelton's braes are bonnie, where early fa's the dew, And it's there that Annie Laurie gi'ed me her promise true, Gi'ed me her promise true, which ne'er forgot shall be, And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I'd lay me doon and dee._" He had quoted it so often in his letters that she was justified, perhaps, in thinking that it had influenced her fate. "You know, darling, that those words were supposed to tell the love of a soldier, who died in Flanders, fighting for England, more than a hundred years ago, and when you sing them, I feel that I, too ..." So it was the obvious thing to toss at him as she went through the door, holding her head up almost as gallantly as a soldier. But he didn't seem to mind, and the parting was final. Rachel, apparently, minded very much indeed; but she kept it to herself and her violin, till on a certain day, she decided that she must escape from all her old surroundings and forget. Her guardian was the only person she consulted, and he made no criticism of her scheme of travel so far as she divulged it. She had been brought up to complete freedom, while her parents were alive, and in the six years since their death, she had proved that she was capable of taking care of herself. He was wise or unwise enough not to let her know that he understood her trouble. But he tried to express a certain sympathy in his gruff parting words, "London is a grimy cavern." "Yes, and the people are grimy, too," she replied, waving her hand to him, as she went out into the fog. She looked brighter than she had looked for months past. His last impression of her was that she looked as roses would look if they could wear furs and carry stars in their eyes. She had been studying the sailings of the ocean-steamers for some time, but it was not her intention to follow the traveled routes more than was necessary. Her brain was busy with a new music, the music of the names in a hundred tales that she had read. The Golden Gate and Rio Grande called to her like chords in a Beethoven symphony. Yokohama and Singapore stirred her like Rossini. But it was the folk-song of travel that she wanted, something wilder and sweeter even than Tahiti, some fortunate Eden island in the South Seas. Egypt and Ceylon were only incidents on her way. They only set the fever burning a little more restlessly in her veins; and her first moment of content was when the yacht of thirty tons, which she chartered in San Diego, carried her out to the long heave of the Pacific, and turned southward on the endless trail to the Happy Islands. This was a part of her scheme about which she had not consulted any one at home, or she might have received some good advice about the choice of her ship. It was a sturdy little craft, with small but excellent cabins for herself and her maid. The captain and his wife were apparently created for her special benefit, being very capable people, with the quality of effacing themselves. The crew, of half a dozen Kanakas in white shirts and red pareos, was picturesque and remote enough from all the associations of cities to satisfy her desire for isolation. The maid was the only mistake, she thought, and she did not discover this until they had been a fortnight at sea. Her own maid had fallen ill at an early stage of her travels, and had been sent home from Cairo. Rachel had engaged this new one in San Diego, chiefly because she thought it necessary to take somebody with her. When Marie Mendoza had come to do Rachel's hair at San Diego, she had a somewhat pathetic story to tell about a husband who had deserted her and forced her to work for her living. Rachel thought there might be two sides to the story when she discovered that the captain was playing the part of Samson to this Delilah. It was a vivid moonlight picture that she saw in the bows one night, when she had come up on deck unexpectedly for a breath of air. Captain Ryan was an ardent wooer, and he did not see her. Marie Mendoza looked rather like a rainbow in the arms of a black-bearded gorilla, and Rachel retired discreetly, hoping that it was merely a temporary aberration. She would have been more disturbed, probably, if she had heard a little of the conversation of this precious pair. "I tell you, it's a cinch, Mickey. I never seen pearls like 'em. They're worth fifty thousand dollars in Tiffany's, if they're worth a cent. She keeps 'em locked up in her steamer-trunk, but I seen her take 'em out several times." "Well, I've been hunting pearls up and down the South Seas for twenty years, and never had a chance of making good like this." But Rachel did not hear the conversation, or she might have been able to change the course of events considerably. She might even have taken an opportunity of explaining to Marie that the real pearls were in the bank at home, and that the necklace in her trunk was a clever imitation, useful when she wished to adorn herself without too much responsibility, and worth about thirty-five pounds in London, or perhaps a little more than one hundred and fifty dollars in New York. But Rachel knew nothing of all this; and so, on a certain morning, when the _Seamew_ dropped anchor off the coral island of her dreams, she went ashore without any misgivings. It was an island paradise, not recognized by any map that she had seen, though Captain Ryan seemed to know all about it. Rachel had particularly wanted to hear the real music of the islanders, and Captain Ryan had assured her that she would find it at its best among the inhabitants of this island, who had been unspoiled by travelers, and yet were among the most gentle of the natives of the South Seas. Marie Mendoza pleaded a headache, and remained on board; but the Captain and his wife accompanied Rachel up the white beach, leaving the boat in charge of the Kanakas. A throng of brown-skinned, flower-wreathed islanders watched them timidly from under the first fringe of palm trees; but the Captain knew how to ingratiate himself; and, after certain gifts had been proffered to the bolder natives, the rest came forward with their own gifts of flowers and long stems of yellow fruit. Two young goddesses seized Rachel by the hands, and examined her clothes, while the rest danced round her like the figures from the Hymn to Pan in "Endymion." Before the morning was over, Rachel had made firm friends of these two maidens, who rejoiced in the names of Tinovao and Amaru; and, when she signified to them that she wanted to swim in the lagoon, they danced off with her in an ecstasy of mirth at the European bathing dress which she carried over her arm, to their own favorite bathing beach, which was hidden from the landing-place by a palm-tufted promontory. It was more than an hour later when she returned, radiant, with her radiant companions. She was a superb swimmer, and she had lost all her troubles for the time in that rainbow-colored revel. She thought of telling the Captain that they would stay here for some days. She wanted to drink in the beauty of the island, and make it her own; to swim in the lagoon, and bask in the healing sun; to walk through the palms at dusk, and listen to the songs of the islanders. But where was the Captain? Surely, this was the landing-place. There were the foot-prints and the mark of the boat on the beach. Then she saw--with a quick contraction of the heart--not only that the boat was missing, but that there was no sign of the yacht. She stared at the vacant circle of the sea, and could find no trace of it. There was no speck on that blazing sapphire. II Her last doubt as to whether she had been deliberately marooned was removed by Tinovao, who pointed to a heap of her belongings that had been dumped on the beach, all in accordance with the best sea-traditions, though it was due in this case to a sentimental spasm on the part of Marie Mendoza, who remembered the kindness of Rachel at San Diego. The heap was a small one. But Rachel was glad to see that it included her violin-case. She knew that her stay was like to be a long one. They had been looking for islands out of the way of ships; and she knew that it might even be some years before another sail appeared on that stainless horizon. The thieves would disappear, and they were not likely to talk. Her own movements had been so erratic that she doubted whether her friends could trace her. But she took it all very pluckily; so that the round-eyed Amaru and Tinovao were unable to guess the full meaning of her plight. They came to the conclusion, and Rachel thought it best to encourage them in it, that she was voluntarily planning to live amongst them for a little while, and that the yacht would of course return for her. They had heard of white people doing these strange things, and they were delighted at the prospect. In a very short time, they had lodged Rachel in a hut of palm leaves, with all the fruits of the island at her door. They carried up the small heap of her possessions, and she gave them each a little mirror from her dressing bag, which lifted them into the seventh heaven. Thenceforward, they were her devoted slaves. Rachel discovered, moreover, while they were turning over her possessions and examining her clothes, that her ignorance of their language was but a slight barrier to understanding. They communicated, it seemed, by a kind of wireless telegraphy, through that universal atmosphere of their sex. They helped her to do her hair; and, as it fell over her shoulders, they held it up to one another, admiring its weight and beauty. When it was dark, there came a sound of singing from the beach; and they crowned her with fresh frangipanni blossoms, and led her out like a bride, to hear the songs of the islanders. It was a night of music. In the moonlight, on the moon-white sands, a few of the younger islanders, garlanded like the sunburnt lovers of Theocritus, danced from time to time; but, for the most part, they were in a restful mood, attuned to the calm breathing of the sea. Their plaintive songs and choruses rose and fell as quietly as the night-wind among the palms; and Rachel thought she had never heard or seen anything more exquisite. The beauty of the night was deepened a thousand-fold by her new loneliness. The music plucked at her heart-strings. Beautiful shapes passed her, that made her think of Keats: "_Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain._" She murmured the lines to herself; and while her lips yet moved, a young islander stood before her who might have posed as the model for Endymion. He was hardly darker than herself, and, to her surprise, he spoke to her in quaint broken English. "Make us the music of your own country," was what she understood him to say, and Tinovao confirmed it by darting off to the hut and returning with the violin. Rachel took it, and without any conscious choice of a melody, began to play and sing the air which had been pulsing just below the level of her consciousness ever since she had left England: "_Like dew on the gowan lying is the fa' of her fairy feet, And like winds in simmer sighing, her voice is low and sweet, Her voice is low and sweet, and she's a' the world to me, And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I'd lay me doon and dee._" The islanders listened, as if spellbound; but she could not tell whether the music went home to any of them, except the boy who lay at her feet with his eyes fixed on her face. When the last notes died away, the crowd broke into applause, with cries of "Malo! Malo!" But the boy lay still, looking at her, as a dog looks at his mistress. Then the moonlight glistened in his eyes, and she thought that she saw tears. She bent forward a little to make sure. He rose with a smile, and lifted her hand to his face, so that she might feel that his eyes were wet. "Tears," he said, "and I only listen. But you--you make the music, and no tears are in your eyes." He looked into her face. "No," she said, "there are no tears in my eyes." Then she continued hurriedly, as if speaking to herself (and perhaps only a musician would have felt that the catch in her voice went a little deeper than tears): "That's one of the things you lose when you go in for music. It used to be so with me, too." "I like your music," the boy went on. "My father--English sailor. My mother--learn speak English--from him. She teach me. My father only stay here little time. I never see English people before this." Rachel looked at him with a quick realization of what his words meant. The boy was at least eighteen years old. "You remember no ship coming to this island?" she said. "No. I never see my father. He only stay here little time. My mother think for long time he will come again. That is how she die, only a little time ago. Too much waiting. Make some more music. You have made my ears hungry." But Rachel was facing the truth now, and she played and sang no more that night. III For a week or two, Rachel spent much time alone, thinking hard, thinking things out as she had never done before. She did not quite understand her isolation till the first shock of the full discovery had passed. Then, one morning, sitting alone, and gazing out over the spotless blue, she found herself accepting the plain fact, that this might indeed be for ever. She found herself weighing all the chances, all that she had lost, and all that yet remained to her. It dawned upon her, for the first time, that youth does not lightly surrender the fulness of its life, at the first disillusionment. She knew now that she would have recovered from that first disastrous love-affair. She knew now that she had always known it, and that her search had been only for some healing dittany, some herb of grace that would heal her wound more quickly. She faced it all--the loss of her birthright as a woman, the loss of the unknown lover. She saw herself growing old in this loneliness. She weighed everything that was left to her, the freedom from all the complications of life, the beauty of her prison, the years of youth and strength that might yet rejoice in the sun and the sea, and even find some companionship among these children of nature that rejoiced in them also. She compared them with the diseased monstrosities, the hideous bodies and brutal faces that swarmed in the gray cities of Europe. She saw nothing to alter her former opinion here. She was condemned at any rate to live among a folk that had walked out of an ode by Keats. But always, at the end, she pictured herself growing old, with her own life unfulfilled. Then, one day, a change came over her. She had lost all count of time in that island of lasting summer; but she must have been marooned for many months when it happened. One afternoon, when she had been swimming with Tinovao and Amaru, the two girls had run up into the woods to get some fruit, leaving Rachel to bask on the beach alone. The sunlight of the last few months had tinted her skin with a smooth rosy brown that would have made it difficult to distinguish her from a native, except for the contours of her face and the deep violet of her eyes, as she lay on that milk-white sand. Before she followed her friends, she thought she would take one more ride through the surf. She made her way out, through the gap in the reef, till she had reached the right distance. Then she rested, treading water, while she waited for the big comber that was to carry her back again. It was her civilized intelligence, perhaps, that betrayed her now, for she turned her back to the sea for a moment, while she drank in the beauty of the feathery green palms and delicate tresses of the ironwood that waved along the shore. She was roused from her dreams by the familiar muffled roar of the approaching breaker, and she turned her head a few seconds too late to take the rush of it as it ought to have been taken. It was a giant and, for almost the first time in her life, she knew the sensation of fear in the sea, as the green crest crumbled into white high over her. In that instant, too, she caught a glimpse of a figure on the reef watching her. It was the figure of Rua, the boy who spoke English; and, as the breaker crashed down with all its tons of water over her head, she carried with her the impression that he was about to dive to her rescue. She was whirled helplessly, heels over head, downward and downward, then swept forward with the rushing whirlpools in the blackness below, like a reed in a subterranean river. She knew that if she could hold her breath long enough, she would rise to the surface; but she had reckoned without the perils of the gap in the reef. Twice she was whirled and caught against a jagged piece of coral, which would probably have killed her if it had struck her head. She took the warning, and held her arms in the best way she could to ward off any head-blow. A lacerated body would not matter so much as the momentary stunning that might prevent her from keeping afloat when she rose. At last, when it seemed that she could hold her breath no longer, she shot with a wild gasp to the surface again. She found that she was only half-way through the gap, not in mid-stream where she would have been comparatively safe, but in an eddy of boiling water, close to the reef and among sharp fangs of coral that made it impossible to swim. All that she could do, at the moment, was to hold on to the coral and prevent herself from being lacerated against it. The sharp edges of the little shells, with which it was covered here, cut her hands, as the water swirled her to and fro; but she held on, and looked round for help. Then she saw that she was not fated to receive help, but to give it; and, like lightning in a tropic night, the moment changed her world. She had no time to think it out now; for she saw the face of Rua, swirling up towards her through the green water, and it looked like the face of a drowned man. His head and arms emerged, and sank again, twice, before she caught him by the hand and drew him, with the strength of a woman fighting for life, to her side. She was not sure whether he was alive or dead; but she saw that, in his hasty plunge to help her, a dive that no native would have taken at that place in ordinary circumstances, he had struck one of the coral jags. Blood was flowing from his head and, as she held him floating there helplessly for a minute, the clear water went away over the white coral tinted with little clouds of crimson. She waited for the next big wave, thinking that it would save or destroy them both. Happily, it had not broken when it reached them; and, as they rose on the smooth back of it, she held her companion by the hand, and struck out fiercely for a higher shelf of the reef. It had been out of her reach before; but the wave carried them both up to its level, and left them stranded there. From this point, the reef rose by easy stages; and, with the aid of two more waves, she was able to lug Rua to a point where there was no risk of their being washed away, though the clear water still swirled up about them, and went away clouded with red. She lay there for a moment exhausted; but, as her strength came back to her, the strange sensation that flashed through her when she had first come to the surface returned with greater force. Much has been said and sung about the dawn of wonder on the primitive mind. This was an even stranger dawn, the dawn of wonder on a daughter of the twentieth century. It seemed to her that she was looking at the world for the first time, while she lay there panting and gazing out to sea, with those red stains on the white coral, and her hands gripping the slender brown hands of the half-drowned islander. It seemed that she had returned to her childhood, and that she was looking at a primal world that she had forgotten. She saw now that Rua was breathing, and she knew instinctively that he would recover. The wave of joy that went through her had something primitive and fierce in it, like the joy of the wild creatures. She felt like an islander herself, and when the sea-birds hovered overhead, she called to them, in the island tongue, and felt as if she had somehow drawn nearer to them. She looked at the sea with new eyes, as if it were a fierce old play-mate of her own, an old tiger that had forgotten to sheath its claws when it buffeted its cubs. There was a glory in the savor of life, like the taste of freedom to a caged bird. Only it was Europe now, and the world of houses, that seemed the cage. The sea had never been so blue. The brine on her lips was like the sacramental wine of her new kinship with the world.... Then, looking at Rua's face, as the life came back to it, a wave of compassion went through her. Every contour of that face told her that this boy also was a victim of her own kindred. He, too, was marooned, and more hopelessly than herself, for there must be a soul within him that could never even know what it had lost or what it hungered for, unless, ... unless, perhaps, she could help him out of the treasures of her own memory, and give him glimpses of that imperial palace whence he came. It was growing dark when they slipped into the water of the lagoon and swam slowly towards the beach. There, she helped him to limp as far as his hut, neither of them speaking. He dropped on his knees, as she turned to go, and laid his face at her feet. She stayed for a moment, looking at him, and half stooped to raise him; but she checked the impulse, and left him abruptly. At the edge of the wood, she turned to look again, and he was there still, in the same attitude. There was a dumb pathos in it that reminded her curiously of certain pictures of her lost world, the peasants in the Angelus of Millet, though this was a picture unmarred by the curse of Adam, the picture of a dumb brown youthful god, perfect in physical beauty, praying in Paradise garden to the star that trembled above the palms. Many women (and most men) in their unguarded moments, impute their own good and evil to others; read their own thoughts in the eyes around them; pity their own tears, or the tears of Vergil, in the eyes of "Geist." But Rua was praying to the best he knew. IV The prayer was a long one. It lasted, in various forms, for more than a year. At dawn, she would wake, and find offerings of fruit and flowers left at her door by her faithful worshiper; and often she would talk with him on the beach, telling him of her own country, about which he daily thirsted to hear more; for the more he learned, the more he seemed to share her own exile. Music, too, they shared, that universal language whose very spirituality is its chief peril; for it is emotion unattached to facts, and it may mean different things to different people; so that you may accompany the sacking of cities by the thunders of Wagner, or dream that you see angels in an empty shrine. Sometimes, in the evening, Rua would steal like a shadow from the shadows around her hut, where he had been waiting to see her pass, and would beg her to play the music of her own country. Then she would sing, and he would stand in the doorway listening, with every pulse of his body beating time, and one brown foot tapping in the dust. One night, she had been wandering with Tinovao and Amaru by the lagoon, in which the reflected stars burned so brightly that one might easily believe the island hung in mid-heaven. She looked at them for a long time; then, with her arms round the two girls, who understood her words only vaguely, she murmured to herself: "What does it matter? What does anything matter when one looks up there? And life is going ... life and youth." She said good-night to her friends, and laughingly plucked the red hibiscus flower from behind the shell-like ear of Tinovao as they parted. When she neared her door, a shadow stole out of the woods, and stood before her on the threshold. His eyes were shining like dark stars, the eyes of a fawn. "Music," he pleaded, "the music of your country." Then he saw the red flower that she wore behind her ear, exactly as Tinovao had worn it. He stared at her, as Endymion must have stared at Diana among the poppies of Latmos, half frightened, half amazed. He dropped to his knees, as on that night when she had saved him. He pressed his face against her bare feet. They were cold and salt from the sea. But she stooped now, and raised him. "In my country, in our country," she said, "love crowns a man. Happy is the love that does not bring the woman to the dust." * * * * * There followed a time when she was happy, or thought herself happy. It must have lasted for nearly seven years, the lifetime of that dancing ray of sunlight, the small son, whom she buried with her own hands under a palm-tree. Then Rua deserted her, almost as a child forsakes its mother. He was so much younger than herself, and he took a younger wife from among the islanders. When she first discovered his intention, Rachel laughed mockingly at herself, and said--also to herself, for she knew that she had somehow lost the power to make Rua understand her,--"Have you, too, become an advanced thinker, Rua?" But Rua understood that it was some kind of mockery; and, as her mockery was keeping him away from his new fancy, and he was an undisciplined child, he leapt at her in fury, seized her by the throat, and beat her face against the ground. When she rose to her feet, with the blood running from her mouth, he saw that he had broken out two of her teeth. This effectively wrecked her beauty, and convinced him, as clearly as if he had indeed been an advanced thinker, that love must be free to develop its own life, and that, in the interests of his own soul, he must get away as quickly as possible. Thereafter, he avoided her carefully, and she led a life of complete solitude, spending all her days by the little grave under the palm-tree. She lost all count of time. She only knew that the colors were fading from things, and that while she used to be able to watch the waves breaking into distinct spray on the reef, she could only see now a blur of white, from her place by the grave. She was growing old, she supposed, and it was very much like going to sleep, after all. The slow pulse of the sea, the voice of the eternal, was lulling her to rest. * * * * * When the schooner _Pearl_, with its party of irresponsible European globe-trotters, dropped anchor off the island, it was the first ship that had been seen there since the arrival of the _Seamew_, the first that had ever been seen there by many of the young islanders. The visitors came ashore, shouting and singing, the men in white duck suits, with red and blue pareos fastened round their waists; the women in long flowing lava-lavas of yellow and rose and green, which they had bought in Tahiti, for they were going to do the thing properly. The lady in yellow had already loosened her hair and crowned herself with frangipanni blossoms. The islanders flocked around them, examining everything they wore, and decorating them with garlands of flowers, just as they had done with Rachel's party. The new arrivals feasted on the white beach of the lagoon, in what they believed to be island fashion; and when the stars came out, and the banjos were tired, they called on the islanders for the songs and dances of the South Seas. The lady in yellow tittered apprehensively, and remarked to her neighbor in green, that she had heard dreadful things about some of those dances. But she was disappointed on this occasion. The plaintive airs rose and fell around them, like the very voice of the wind in the palm trees; and the dancers moved as gracefully as the waves broke on the shore. When the islanders had ended their entertainment, amidst resounding applause, one of the young native women called out a name that seemed to amuse her companions. They instantly echoed it, and one of them snatched a banjo from the hands of a white man. Then they all flew, like chattering birds, towards a hut, which had kept its door closed throughout the day. They clamored round it, gleefully nudging each other, as if in expectation of a huge joke. At last, the door opened, and a gray, bent old woman appeared. She was of larger build than most of the islanders, and there was something in her aspect that silenced the chatterers, even though they still nudged each other slyly. The native with the banjo offered it to her almost timidly, and said something, to which the old woman shook her head. "They say she is a witch," said the Captain of the _Pearl_, who had been listening to the conversation of the group nearest to him. "They want her to give us some of her music. She used to sing songs, apparently, before her man drove her out of his house, in the old days, but she has not sung them since. They think she might oblige our party, for some strange reason. Evidently, they've got some little joke they want to play on us. You know these Kanakas have a pretty keen sense of humor." The visitors gathered round curiously. An island witch was certainly something to record in their diaries. The old woman looked at them for a moment, with eyes like burning coals through her shaggy elf-locks. They seemed to remind her of something unpleasant. A savage sneer bared her broken teeth. Then she took the banjo in her shaking hands. They were queerly distorted by age or some disease and they looked like the claws of a land-crab. She sat down on her own threshold, and touched the strings absently with her misshapen fingers. The faint sound of it seemed to rouse her, seemed to kindle some sleeping fire within her, and she struck it twice, vigorously. The banjo is not a subtle instrument, but the sound of those two chords drew the crowd to attention, as a master holds his audience breathless when he tests his violin before playing. "Holy smoke!" muttered the owner of the banjo, "where did the old witch learn to do that?" Then the miracle began. The decrepit fingers drew half a dozen chords that went like fire through the unexpectant veins of the Europeans, went through them as a national march shivers through the soul of a people when its armies return from war. The haggard burning eyes, between the tattered elf-locks, moistened and softened like the eyes of a Madonna, and the withered mouth, with its broken teeth, began to sing, very softly and quaveringly, at first, but, gathering strength, note by note, the words that told of the love of a soldier who fought in Flanders more than a hundred years ago: "_Maxwelton's braes are bonnie, where early fa's the dew, And it's there that Annie Laurie gi'ed me her promise true._" "But it's a white woman," said the lady in the yellow lava-lava, who had expected only the islanders to shock her, "a white woman gone native! How disgustin'!" "Ssh!" said somebody else, "she's going to give us more." The old witch hardly seemed conscious of their presence now. The slumbering sea of music within her was breaking up the ice which had sealed and silenced it for so long. She nodded at them, with shining eyes, and muttered thickly, an almost childlike boast: "Oh, but I could do better than that once. My fingers are stiff. Wait!" She went into her hut, and returned with the violin. Tremblingly, she opened a little packet of violin strings. "It's my last," she said. "I've kept it very carefully; but it won't be as good as it used to be." The throng watched her breathlessly, as she made ready, and the trade-wind hushed itself to sleep among the palms. "When I was in Europe last," she said, "it seemed to me there was darkness coming. People had forgotten the meaning of music like this. They wanted discord and blood and wickedness. I didn't understand it. But you could see it coming everywhere. Horrible pictures. Women like snakes. Books like lumps of poison. Hatred everywhere. Even the musicians hated each other; and if they thought any one had genius, O ever so little of that--do you know--I think they wanted to kill. Of course, I chose wrong. I ought to have stayed and fought them. It's too late now. But you know the meaning of this? It's the cry over the lost city, before the windows were darkened and the daughters of music brought low." "Crazy as a loon!" whispered the lady in the yellow lava-lava. The old woman stood upright in the shadow of a tall palm-tree, a shadow that spread round her on the milk-white beach like a purple star. Then her violin began to speak, began to cry, through the great simple melody of the _Largo_ of Handel, like the soul of an outcast angel. At the climax of its infinite compassion, two strings snapped in quick succession, and she sank to the ground with a sob, hugging the violin to her breast, as if it were a child. "That was the last," she said. They saw her head fall over on her shoulder, as she lay back against the stem of the palm, an old, old woman asleep in the deep heart of its purple star of shadow; and they knew, instinctively, even before the Captain of the _Pearl_ advanced to make quite sure, that it was indeed the last. X THE GARDEN ON THE CLIFF "I don't know about three acres and a cow, but every man ought to have his garden. That's the way I look at it," said the old fisherman, picking up another yard of the brown net that lay across his knees. "There's gardens that you see, and gardens that you don't see. There's gardens all shut in with hedges, prickly hedges that 'ull tear your hand if you try to make a spy-hole in them; and some that you wouldn't know was there at all--invisible gardens, like the ones that Cap'n Ellis used to talk about. "I never followed him rightly; for I supposed he meant the garden of the heart, the same as the sentimental song; but he hadn't any use for that song, so he told me. My wife sent it to him for a Christmas present, thinking it would please him; and he used it for pipe-lights. The words was very pretty, I thought, and very appropriate to his feelings: _'Ef I should plant a little seed of love, In the garden of your heart._ That's how it went. But he didn't like it. "Then there's other gardens that every one can see, both market-gardens and flower-gardens. Cap'n Ellis told me he knew a man once that wore a cauliflower in his buttonhole, whenever he went to chapel, and thought it was a rose. Leastways, he thought that every one else thought it was a rose. Kind of an orstrich he must have been. But that wasn't the way with Cap'n Ellis. Every one could see _his_ garden, though he had a nice big hedge round three sides of it, and it wasn't more than three-quarters of an acre. Right on the edge of the white chalk coast it was; and his little six-room cottage looked like a piece of the white chalk itself. "But he was a queer old chap, and he always would have it that nobody could really see his garden. I used to take him a few mackerel occasionally--he liked 'em for his supper--and he'd walk in his garden with me for half an hour at a time. Then, just as I'd be going he'd give a little smile and say, 'Well, you haven't seen my garden yet! You must come again.' "'Haven't seen your garden,' I'd say. 'I've been looking at it this half hour an' more!' "'Once upon a time, there was a man that couldn't see a joke,' he'd say. Then he'd go off chuckling, and swinging his mackerel against the hollyhocks. "Funny little old chap he was, with a pinched white face, and a long nose, and big gray eyes, and fluffy white hair for all the world like swans' down. But he'd been a good seaman in his day. "He'd sit there, in his porch, with his spyglass to his eye, looking out over his garden at the ships as they went up and down the Channel. Then he'd lower his glass a little to look at the butterflies, fluttering like little white sails over the clumps of thrift at the edge of the cliff, and settling on the little pink flowers. Very pretty they was too. He planted them there at the end of his garden, which ran straight down from his cottage to the edge of the cliff. He said his wife liked to see them nodding their pink heads against the blue sea, in the old days, when she was waiting for him to come home from one of his voyages. 'Pink and blue,' he says, 'is a very pretty combination.' They matched her eyes and cheeks, too, as I've been told. But she's been dead now for twenty-five years or more. "He had just one little winding path through the garden to the edge of the cliff; an' all the rest, at the right time of the year, was flowers. He'd planted a little copse of fir trees to the west of it, so as to shelter the flowers; and every one laughed at him for doing it. The sea encroaches a good many yards along this coast every year, and the cliffs were crumbling away with every tide. The neighbors told him that, if he wanted a flower-garden, he'd better move inland. "'It was a quarter of a mile inland,' he says, 'when Polly and me first came to live here; and it hasn't touched my garden yet. It never will touch it,' he says, 'not while I'm alive. There are good break-waters down below, and it will last me my time. Perhaps the trees won't grow to their full height, but I shan't be here to see,' he says, 'and it's not the trees I'm thinking about. It's the garden. They don't have to be very tall to shelter my garden. As for the sea,' he says, 'it's my window, my _bay_-window, and I hope you see the joke. If I was inland, with four hedges around my garden, instead of three,' he says, 'it would be like living in a house without a window. Three hedges and a big blue bay-window, that's the garden for me,' he says. "And so he planted it full of every kind of flowers that he could grow. He had sweet Williams, and larkspurs, and old man's beard, and lavender, and gilly-flowers, and a lot of them old-fashioned sweet-smelling flowers, with names that he used to say were like church-bells at evening, in the old villages, out of reach of the railway-lines. "And they all had a meaning to him which others didn't know. You might walk with him for a whole summer's afternoon in his garden, but it seemed as if his flowers kept the sweetest part of their scents for old Cap'n Ellis. He'd pick one of them aromatic leaves, and roll it in his fingers, and put it to his nose and say 'Ah,' like as if he was talking to his dead sweetheart. "'It's a strange thing,' he'd say, 'but when she was alive, I was away at sea for fully three parts of the year. We always talked of the time when I'd retire from the sea. We thought we'd settle down together in our garden and watch the ships. But, when that time came, it was her turn to go away, and it's my turn to wait. But there's a garden where we meet,' he'd say, 'and that's the garden you've never seen.' "There was one little patch, on the warmest and most sheltered side that he called his wife's garden; and it was this that I thought he meant. It was just about as big as her grave, and he had little clusters of her favorite flowers there--rosemary, and pansies and Canterbury bells, and her name _Ruth_, done very neat and pretty in Sussex violets. It came up every year in April, like as if the garden was remembering. "Parson considered that Cap'n Ellis was a very interesting man. "'He's quite a philosopher,' he said to me one day; and I suppose that was why the old chap talked so queer at times. "One morning, after the war broke out, I'd taken some mackerel up to Cap'n Ellis. "'Are you quite sure they're fresh,' he said, the same as he always did, though they were always a free gift to him. But he meant no offense. "'Fresh as your own lavender,' I says, and then we laughs as usual, and sat down to look at the ships, wondering whether they were transports, or Red Cross, or men-of-war, as they lay along the horizon. Sometimes we'd see an air-plane. They used to buzz up and down that coast all day; and Cap'n Ellis would begin comparing it through his glass with the dragon flies that flickered over his gilly-flowers. There was a southwest wind blowing in from the sea over his garden, and it brought us big puffs of scent from the flowers. "'Hour after hour,' he says, 'day after day, sometimes for weeks I've known the southwest wind to blow like that. It's the wind that wrecked the Armada,' he says, 'and, though it comes gently to my garden, you'd think it would blow all the scents out of the flowers in a few minutes. But it don't,' he says. 'The more the wind blows, the more sweetness they give out,' he says. 'Have you ever considered,' he says, 'how one little clump of wild thyme will go on pouring its heart out on the wind? Where does it all come from?' "I was always a bit awkward when questions like that were put to me; so--just to turn him off like--I says 'Consider the lilies of the field.' "'Ah,' he says, turning to me with his eyes shining. 'That's the way to look at it.' I heard him murmuring another text under his breath, 'Come, thou south, and blow upon my garden.' And he shook hands with me when I said good-bye, as if I'd shown him my feelings, which made me feel I wasn't treating him right, for I'd only said the first thing that came into my mind, owing to my awkwardness at such times. "Well, it was always disturbing me to think what might happen to Cap'n Ellis, if one day he should find his garden slipping away to the beach. It overhung quite a little already; and there had been one or two big falls of chalk a few hundred yards away. Some said that the guns at sea were shaking down the loose boulders. "Of course, he was an old man now, three score years and ten, at least; and my own belief was that if his garden went, he would go with it. The parish council was very anxious to save a long strip of the cliff adjoining his garden, because it was their property; and they'd been building a stone wall along the beach below to protect it from the high tide. But they were going to stop short of Cap'n Ellis's property, because of the expense, and he couldn't afford to do it himself. A few of us got together in the _Plough_ and tried to work out a plan of carrying on the wall, by mistake, about fifteen feet further, which was all it needed. We'd got the foreman on our side, and it looked as if we should get it done at the council's expense after all, which was hardly honest, no doubt, in a manner of speaking, though Cap'n Ellis knew nothing about it. "But the end came in a way that no wall could have prevented, though it proved we were right about the old man having set his heart in that garden. David Copper, the shepherd, saw the whole thing. It happened about seven o'clock of a fine summer morning, when the downs were all laid out in little square patches, here a patch of red clover, and there a patch of yellow mustard, for all the world like a crazy quilt, only made of flowers, and smelling like Eden garden itself for the dew upon them. "It was all still and blue in the sky, and the larks going up around the dew-ponds and bursting their pretty little hearts for joy that they was alive, when, just as if the shadow of a hawk had touched them, they all wheeled off and dropped silent. "Pretty soon, there was a whirring along the coast, and one of them air-planes came up, shining like silver in the morning sun. Copper didn't pay much attention to it at first, for it looked just as peaceable as any of our own, which he thought it was. Then he sees a flash, in the middle of Cap'n Ellis's garden, and the overhung piece, where the little clumps of thrift were, goes rumbling down to the beach, like as if a big bag of flour had been emptied over the side. The air-plane circled overhead, and Copper thinks it was trying to hit the coast-guard station, which was only a few score yards away, though nobody was there that morning but the coast-guard's wife, and the old black figurehead in front of it, and there never was any guns there at any time. "The next thing Copper saw was Cap'n Ellis running out into what was left of his garden, with his night-shirt flapping around him, for all the world like a little white sea-swallow. He runs down with his arms out, as if he was trying to catch hold of his garden an' save it. Copper says he never knew whether the old man would have gone over the edge of the cliff or not. He thinks he would, for he was running wildly. But before he reached the edge there was another flash and, when the smoke had cleared, there was no garden or cottage or Cap'n Ellis at all, but just another big bite taken out of the white chalk coast. "We found him under about fifteen ton of it down on the beach. The curious thing was that he was all swathed and shrouded from head to foot in the flowers of his garden. They'd been twisted all around him, lavender, and gilly-flowers, and hollyhocks, so that you'd think they were trying to shield him from harm. P'raps they've all gone with him to one of them invisible gardens he used to talk about, where he was going to meet his dead sweetheart. "They buried him on the sunny side of the churchyard. You can see a bit of blue sea between the yew trees from where he lies, so he's got his window still; and there's a very appropriate inscription on his tombstone: "_Awake, O north wind, and come, thou south: Blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow forth._" XI THE HAND OF THE MASTER It was on Christmas Day, 1914, that I received one of the strangest documents I had ever read. It was in the form of a letter from Jonathan Martin, who had made himself a torch of ambition and fear to many moths in London by painting portraits that were certain to be the pictures of the year, but also certain to reveal all the idiosyncrasies, good and bad, of their subjects. It was the fashion to call him cynical. In fact, he was an artist, and a great one. His unusual power of eliciting unexpected meanings from apparently meaningless incidents and objects was not confined to his art. In private conversation, he would often startle you with a sentence that was like the striking of a match in a dark room. You didn't know that the room was dark until he spoke; and then, in a flash, mysterious relationships at which you had never guessed, were established. You caught a glimpse of an order and a meaning that you had not discerned before. The aimless thing over which you had barked your shin became a coal scuttle; the serried row of dark objects that irritated your left elbow became the works of Shakespeare; and, if you were lucky, you perhaps discovered the button by which you could switch on the electric light, and then sit down by the hearth and read of "beauty, making beautiful old rhyme." But this is a very faint hint of the kind of illumination with which he would surprise you on all kinds of occasions. I shall never forget the way in which he brought into a queer juxtaposition "the Day" that Germany had been toasting for forty years and the final request for an answer before midnight, which was embodied in the British ultimatum. He would give you a patch of unexpected order in the chaos of politics, and another in the chaos of the creeds--patches that made you feel a maddening desire to widen them until they embraced the whole world. You felt sure that he himself had done this, that he lived in a re-integrated universe, and that--if only there were time enough--he could give you the whole scheme. In short, he saw the whole universe as a work of art; and he conceived it to be his business, in his own art, to take this or that apparently isolated subject and show you just the note it was meant to strike in the harmony of the whole. He was very fond of quoting the great lines of Dante, where he describes the function of the poet as that of one who goes through the world and where he sees the work of Love, records it. But, please to remember, this did not imply that the subject was necessarily a pleasant one. Beauty was always there, but the beauty was one of relationships, not of the thing itself. As he once said, "an old boot in the gutter will serve as a subject if you can make it significant, if you can set it in relation to the enduring things." It is necessary to make this tedious preface to his odd letter, or the point of it may be lost. "I want to tell you about the most haunting and dramatic episode I have encountered during these years of war," he wrote. "It was a thing so slight that I hardly know how to put it into words. It couldn't be painted, because it includes two separate scenes, and also--in paint--it would be impossible to avoid the merely sentimental effect. "It happened in London, during the very early days of the struggle. One afternoon, I was riding down Regent Street on the top of a bus. The pavements were crowded with the usual throng. Women in furs were peering into the windows of the shops. Newspaper boys were bawling the latest lies. Once, I thought I saw a great scribble of the Hand that writes history, where a theater poster, displaying a serpentine woman, a kind of Aubrey-Beardsley vampire, was half obliterated by a strong diagonal bar of red, bearing the words, '_Kitchener wants a hundred thousand men_.' My mind was running on symbols that afternoon, and I wondered if it did perhaps mean the regeneration of art and life in England at last. "Then we overtook a strange figure, a blind man, tapping the edge of the pavement with a rough stick, cut out of some country hedgerow. He was carrying, in his left hand, a four-foot pole, at the top of which there was nailed a board, banner-wise, about three feet long and two feet wide. On the back of the board, as we overtook him, I read the French text in big red letters: 'VENEZ A MOI, VOUS TOUS QUI ETES TRAVAILL�S ET CHARG�S, ET JE VOUS SOULAGERAI.' "On the other side of the board, as we halted by the curb a little in front of him, there was the English version of the same text, in big black letters: 'COME UNTO ME, ALL YE THAT LABOR AND ARE HEAVY-LADEN, AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.' "The blind man was tall and lean-faced, and held himself very upright. He was poorly dressed, but very clean and neat. The tap of his stick was like the smart tap of a drum, and he marched more rapidly than any of those who were going in the same direction. "There were several things about him that puzzled me. There was no advertisement of any sect, or any religious meeting, nothing but the two texts on his placard. He went past us like a soldier, and he carried it like the flag of his regiment. He did not look as if he were asking for alms. The pride on his face forbade the suggestion; and he never slackened his quick pace for a moment. He seemed entirely unrelated to the world around him. "Possibly, I thought, he was one of those pathetic beings whose emotions had been so stirred by the international tragedy that, despite their physical helplessness, they were forced to find some outlet. Perhaps he was an old soldier, blinded in some earlier war. Perhaps he was merely a religious fanatic. In any case, in the great web of the world's events, he seemed to be a loose fantastic thread; and although he was carrying a more important message than any one else, nobody paid any attention to him. "In a few moments, the bus had carried my thoughts and myself into other regions, and, for the time, I forgot him. I occupied myself, as I often do, in composing a bit of doggerel to the rhythm of the wheels. Here it is. It is pretty bad, but the occasion may make it interesting: _Once, as in London busses, At dusk I used to ride, The faces Hogarth painted Would rock from side to side, All gross and sallow and greasy, And dull and leaden-eyed._ _They nodded there before me In such fantastic shape, The donkey and the gosling, The sheep, the whiskered ape, With so much empty chatter, So many and foolish lies, I lost the stars of heaven Through looking in their eyes._ "Late in the afternoon, I was returning westward, along the Strand. I remember walking slowly to look at the beauty of the sunset sky, against which the Nelson column, in those first days of the fight, rose with a more spiritual significance than ever before. The little Admiral stood like a watchman, looking out to sea, from the main mast of our Ship of State, against that dying glory. It was the symbol of the national soul, high and steadfast over the great dark lions, round which so many quarreling voices had risen, so many quarreling faces had surged and drifted away like foam in the past. This was the monument of the enduring spirit, a thing to still the heart and fill the eyes of all who speak our tongue to-day. "I was so absorbed in it that I did not notice the thick crowd, choking the entrances to Charing Cross Station, until I was halted by it. But this was a very different crowd from those of peace-time. They were all very silent, and I did not understand what swarming instinct had drawn them together. Nor did they understand it themselves--yet. 'I think they are expecting something,' was the only reply I got to my inquiry. "I made my way round to the front of the station, but the big iron gates were closed and guarded by police. Nobody was allowed to enter the station. Little groups of railway porters were clustered here and there, talking in low voices. I asked one of these men what was happening. "'They're expecting something, some train. But we don't know what it is bringing.' "As he spoke, there was a movement in the crowd. A compact body of about forty ambulance men marched through, into the open space before the station. Some of them were carrying stretchers. They looked grave and anxious. Some of their faces were tense and white, as if they too were expecting something, something they almost dreaded to see. This was very early in the war, remember, before we knew what to expect from these trains. "The gates of the station swung open. The ambulance men marched in. A stream of motor ambulances followed. Then the gates were closed again. "I waited, with the waiting crowd, for half an hour. It was impossible now to make one's way through the dense crush. From where I stood, jammed back against the iron railings, in front of the station, I could see that all the traffic in the Strand was blocked. The busses were halted, and the passengers were standing up on the top, like spectators in some enormous crowded theater. The police had more and more difficulty in keeping the open space before the station. At last, the gates were swung apart again, and the strangest procession that London had ever seen began to come out. "First, there were the sitting-up cases--four soldiers to a taxicab, many of them still bandaged about the brows with the first blood-stained field dressings. Most of them sat like princes, and many of them were smiling; but all had a new look in their faces. Officers went by, gray-faced; and the measure of their seriousness seemed to be the measure of their intelligence, rather than that of their wounds. Without the utterance of a word, the London crowd began to feel that here was a new thing. The army of Britain was making its great fighting retreat, before some gigantic force that had brought this new look into the faces of the soldiers. It was our first real news from the front. From the silent faces of these men who had met the first onset with their bodies, we got our first authentic account of the new guns and the new shells, and the new hell that had been loosed over Europe. "But the crowd had not yet fully realized it. A lad in khaki came capering out of the station, waving his hands to the throng and shouting something that sounded like a music-hall jest. The crowd rose to what it thought was the old familiar occasion. "'Hello, Tommy! Good boy, Tommy! Shake hands, Tommy! Are we downhearted, Tommy?' The old vacuous roar began and, though all the faces near me seemed to have two eyes in them, every one began to look cheerful again. "The capering soldier stopped and looked at them. Then he made a grotesque face, and thrust his tongue out. He looked more like a gargoyle than a man. "The shouts of 'Tommy, Tommy,' still continued, though a few of the shouters were evidently puzzled. Then a brother soldier, with his left arm in the sling, took the arm of the comedian, and looked a little contemptuously at the crowd. "'Shell-shock,' he said quietly. And the crowd shouted no more that day. It was not a pleasant mistake; and it was followed by a procession of closed ambulances, containing the worst cases. "Then came something newer even than wounded men, a motley stream of civilians, the Belgian refugees. They came out of the station like a flock of sheep, and the fear of the wolf was still in their eyes. The London crowd was confronted by this other crowd, so like itself, a crowd of men in bowler hats and black coats, of women with children clinging to their skirts; and it was one of the most dramatic meetings in history. The refugees were carrying their household goods with them, as much as could be tied in a bundle or shut in a hand-bag. Some of the women were weeping. One of them--I heard afterwards--had started with four children but had been separated from the eldest in the confusion of their flight. It was doubtful whether they would ever be re-united. "Now, as this new crowd streamed out of the gates of the station towards the vehicles that had been prepared for them, some of their faces lifted a little, and a light came into them that was more than the last radiance of the sunset. They looked as if they had seen a friend. It was a look of recognition; and though it was only a momentary gleam, it had a beauty so real and vivid that I turned my head to see what had caused it. "And there, over the sea of faces that reached now to the foot of the Nelson column, I saw something that went through me like great music. Facing the gates of the station, and lifting out of the midst of the crowd like the banner of a mighty host, nay, like the banner of all humanity, there was a placard on a pole. The sunset-light caught it and made it blaze like a star. It bore, in blood-red letters, the solemn inscription that I had seen in the earlier part of the day: 'VENEZ A MOI, VOUS TOUS QUI ETES TRAVAILL�S ET CHARG�S, ET JE VOUS SOULAGERAI.' "My blind man had found his niche in the universe. It was hardly possible that he was even conscious of what he was doing; hardly possible that he knew which side of his banner was turned towards the refugees, whether it was the English, that would mean nothing to them, or the French that would speak to them like a benediction. He had been swung to his place and held in it by external forces, held there, as I myself was jammed against the iron railings. But he had become, in one moment, the spokesman of mankind; and if he had done nothing else in all his life, it had been worth living for that one unconscious moment. "You may be interested to hear the conclusion of the doggerel which came into my head as I went home: _Now, as I ride through London, The long wet vistas shine, Beneath the wheeling searchlights, As they were washed with wine, And every darkened window Is holy as a shrine._ _The deep-eyed men and women Are fair beyond belief, Ennobled by compassion, And exquisite with grief. Along the streets of sorrow A river of beauty rolls. The faces in the darkness Are like immortal souls._" * * * * * _WORKS BY ALFRED NOYES_ Collected Poems--_2 Vols._ The Lord of Misrule A Belgian Christmas Eve (Rada) The Wine-Press Walking Shadows--_Prose_ Open Boats Tales of the Mermaid Tavern Sherwood The Enchanted Island and Other Poems Drake: An English Epic 
23378	----	Tales of the Sea, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ This is a collection of nine stories, some short, and some not so short. They are all very good reading, and Kingston seems to be at his best in the short story mode. You will probably enjoy the two episodes from the life of "Uncle Boz", that form the second story, especially the first, when he organises the rescue of the crew and passengers of a vessel that is wrecked near his house on a stormy Christmas Day. The first story, "Happy Jack", is by far the longest, occupying one third of the whole book. Jack, in spite of the desires of his lawyer father, goes to sea, where he has many adventures, culminating in an event in which he was presumed to have perished. Very short of money, and looking somewhat dishevelled, he reaches home, where he is not recognised by his sisters, but a girl who was being brought up by the family, and who was mutually interested in Jack, does recognise him, and he is given a proper welcome home. ________________________________________________________________________ TALES OF THE SEA, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. STORY ONE, CHAPTER 1. HAPPY JACK. Have any of you made a passage on board a steamer between London and Leith? If you have, you will have seen no small number of brigs and brigantines, with sails of all tints, from doubtful white to decided black--some deeply=laden, making their way to the southward, others with their sides high out of the water, heeling over to the slightest breeze, steering north. On board one of those delectable craft, a brig called the _Naiad_, I found myself when about fourteen summers had passed over my head. She must have been named after a negress naiad, for black was the prevailing colour on board, from the dark, dingy forecastle to the captain's state cabin, which was but a degree less dirty than the portion of the vessel in which I was destined to live. The bulwarks, companion-hatch, and other parts had, to be sure, once upon a time been painted green, but the dust from the coal, which formed her usual cargo, had reduced every portion to one sombre hue, which even the salt seas not unfrequently breaking over her deck had failed to wash clean. Captain Grimes, her commander, notwithstanding this, was proud of the old craft; and he especially delighted to tell how she had once carried a pennant when conveying troops to Corunna, or some other port in Spain. I pitied the poor fellows confined to the narrow limits of her dark hold, redolent of bilge-water and other foul odours. We, however, had not to complain on that score, for the fresh water which came in through her old sides by many a leak, and had to be pumped out every watch, kept her hold sweet. How I came to be on board the _Naiad_ I'll tell you-- I had made up my mind to go to sea--why, it's hard to say, except that I thought I should like to knock about the world and see strange countries. I was happy enough at home, though I did not always make others happy. Nothing came amiss to me; I was always either laughing or singing, and do not recollect having an hour's illness in my life. Now and then, by the elders of the family, and by Aunt Martha especially, I was voted a nuisance; and it was with no small satisfaction, at the end of the holidays, that they packed me off again to school. I was fond of my brothers and sisters, and they were fond of me, though I showed my affection for them in a somewhat rough fashion. I thought my sisters somewhat demure, and I was always teasing them and playing them tricks. Somehow or other I got the name among them and my brothers of "Happy Jack," and certainly I was the merriest of the family. If I happened, which was not unfrequently the case, to get into a scrape, I generally managed to scramble out of it with flying colours; and if I did not, I laughed at the punishment to which I was doomed. I was a broad-shouldered, strongly-built boy, and could beat my elder brothers at running, leaping, or any other athletic exercise, while, without boasting, I was not behind any of them in the school-room. My father was somewhat proud of me, and had set his mind on my becoming a member of one of the learned professions, and rising to the top of the tree. Why should I not? I had a great-uncle a judge, and another relative a bishop, and there had been admirals and generals by the score among our ancestors. My father was a leading solicitor in a large town, and having somewhat ambitious aspirations for his children, his intention was to send all his sons to the university, in the hopes that they would make a good figure in life. He was therefore the more vexed when I declared that my firm determination was to go to sea. "Very well, Jack," he said, "if such is your resolve, go you shall; but as I have no interest in the navy, you must take your chance in the merchant service." "It's all the same to me, sir," I replied; "I shall be just as happy in the one as in the other service;" and so I considered the matter settled. When the day of parting came, I was as merry and full of fun as ever, though I own there was a strange sensation about the heart which bothered me; however, I was not going to show what I felt--not I. I slyly pinched my sisters when we were exchanging parting kisses, till they were compelled to shriek out and box my ears--an operation to which I was well accustomed--and I made my brothers roar with the sturdy grip I gave their fingers when we shook hands; and so, instead of tears, there were shouts of laughter and screeches and screams, creating a regular hullabuloo which put all sentimental grief to flight. "No, no, Jack, I will have none of your tricks," cried Aunt Martha, when I approached with a demure look to bid her farewell, so I took her hand and pressed it to my lips with all the mock courtesy of a Sir Charles Grandison. My mother! I had no heart to do otherwise than to throw my arms round her neck and receive the fond embrace she bestowed upon me, and if a tear did come into my eye, it was then. But there was another person to whom I had to say good-bye, and that was dear little Grace Goldie, my father's ward, a fair, blue-eyed girl, three or four years younger than myself. I did not play her any trick, but kissed her smooth young brow, and promised that I would bring her back no end of pearls and ivory, and treasures of all sorts, from across the seas. She smiled sweetly through her tears. "Thank you, Jack, thank you! I shall so long to see you back," she whispered; and I had to bolt, or I believe that I should have began to pipe my eye in a way I had no fancy for. My father's voice summoned me. "Now, Jack," he said, "as you have chosen your bed, you must lie on it. But remember--after a year's trial--if you change your mind, let me know." "No fear of that, sir," I answered. "We shall see, Jack," he replied. He wrung my hand, and gave me his blessing. "I have directed Mr Junk to provide your outfit, and you will find it all right." Who Mr Junk was I had no conception; but as my father said it was all right, I troubled my head no more about the matter. My father's old clerk, Simon Munch, was waiting for me at the door, and hurried me off to catch the Newcastle coach. On our arrival there he took me to the office of Junk, Tarbox and Company, shipbrokers. "Here is the young gentleman, Mr Junk," he said, addressing a one-eyed, burly, broad-shouldered personage, with a rubicund countenance, in a semi-nautical costume. "You know what to do with him, and so I leave him in your hands. Good-bye, Jack, I hope you may like it." "No fear of that, Mr Munch," I answered; "and tell them at home that you left me as jolly and happy as ever." "So, Master Brooke, you want to go to sea?" said Mr Junk, squirting a stream of tobacco-juice across his office, and eyeing me with his sole bloodshot blinker; "and you expect to like it?" "Of course I do; I expect to be happy wherever I am," I answered in a confident tone. "We shall see," he replied. "I have sent your chest aboard of the _Naiad_. Captain Grimes will be here anon, and I'll hand you over to him." The person he spoke of just then made his appearance. I did not particularly like my future commander's outside. He was a tall, gaunt man, with a long weather-beaten visage and huge black or rather grizzled whiskers; and his voice, when he spoke, was gruff and harsh in the extreme. I need not further describe him; only I will observe that he looked considerably cleaner then than he usually did, as I afterwards found on board the brig. He took but little notice of me beyond a slight nod, as he was busy with the ship's papers. Having pocketed them, he grasped me by the hand with a "Come along, my lad; I am to make a seaman on ye." He spoke in a broad Northumbrian accent, and in a harsh guttural tone. I was not prepossessed in his favour, but I determined to show no signs of unwillingness to accompany him. We were soon seated in the stern of an excessively dirty boat, with coal-dust-begrimed rowers, who pulled away with somewhat lazy strokes towards a deeply-laden brig lying out in mid-stream. "Get on board, leddie, with you," said the captain, who had not since my first introduction addressed a single word to me. I clambered up on deck. The boat was hoisted in, the topsails let fall, and the crew, with doleful "Yeo-yo-o's," began working round the windlass, and the _Naiad_ in due time was gliding down the Tyne. She was a very different craft to what I had expected to find myself on board of. I had read about the white decks and snowy canvas, the bright polish and the active, obedient crew of a man-of-war; and such I had pictured the vessel I had hoped to sail in. The _Naiad_ was certainly a contrast to this; but I kept to my resolve not to flinch from whatever turned up. When I was told to pull and haul away at the ropes, I did so with might and main; and, as everything on board was thickly coated with coal-dust, I very soon became, as begrimed as the rest of the crew. I was rather astonished, on asking Captain Grimes when tea would be ready--for I was very hungry--to be told that I might get what I could with the men forward. I went down accordingly into the forecastle, tumbling over a chest, and running my head against the stomach of one of my new shipmates as I groped my way amid the darkness which shrouded it. A cuff which sent me sprawling on the deck was the consequence. "Where are your eyes, leddie?" exclaimed a gruff voice. "Ye'll see where ye are ganging the next time." I picked myself up, bursting into a fit of laughter, as if the affair had been a good joke. "I beg your pardon, old fellow," I said; "but if you had had a chandelier burning in this place of yours it would not have happened. How do you all manage to see down here?" "As cats do--we're accustomed to it," said another voice; and I now began to distinguish objects around me. The watch below were seated round a sea-chest, with three or four mugs, a huge loaf of bread, and a piece of cheese and part of a flitch of fat cold bacon. It was rough fare, but I was too hungry not to be glad to partake of it. A boy whom I had seen busy in the caboose soon came down with a kettle of hot tea. My inquiry for milk produced a general laugh, but I was told I might take as much sugar as I liked from a jar, which contained a dark-brown substance unlike any sugar I had before seen. "Ye'll soon be asking for your bed, leddie," said Bob Tubbs, the old man whose acquaintance I had so unceremoniously formed. "Ye'll find it there, for'ard, if ye'll grope your way. It's not over airy, but it's all the warmer in winter." After supper, I succeeded in finding the berth Bob had pointed out. It was the lowest berth, directly in the very bows of the vessel--a shelf-like space, about five feet in length, with height scarcely sufficient to allow me to sit upright,--Dirty Dick, the ship's boy I have mentioned, having the berth above me. Mine contained a mattress and a couple of blankets. My inquiry for sheets produced as much laughter as when I asked for milk. "Well, to be sure, as I suppose you have not a washerwoman on board, they would not be of much use," I sang out; "and so, unless the captain wants me to steer the ship, I will turn in and go to sleep. Good night, mates." "The leddie has got some spirit in him," I heard Bob Tubbs observe. "What do you call yourself, boy?" "Happy Jack!" I sang out; "and it's not this sort of thing that's going to change me." "You'll prove a tough one, if something else doesn't," observed Bob from his berth. "But gang to sleep, boy. Ye'll be put into a watch to-morrow, and it's the last time, may be, that ye'll have to rest through the night till ye set foot on shore again." I little then thought how long a time that would prove; but, rolling myself up in my blanket, I soon forgot where I was. Next morning I scrambled on deck, and found the brig plunging away into a heavy sea, with a strong southerly wind, the coast just distinguishable over our starboard quarter. The captain gave me a grim smile as I made my way aft. "Well, leddie, how do you like it?" he inquired. "Thank you, pretty well," I answered; "but I hope we sha'n't have to wait long for breakfast." He smiled again. "And you don't feel queer?" "No, not a bit of it," I replied. "But I say, captain, I thought I was to come as a midshipman, and mess with the other young gentlemen on board." He now fairly laughed outright; and looking at me for some time, answered, "We have no young gentlemen on board here. You'll get your breakfast in good time; but you are of the right sort, leddie, and little Clem shall show you what you have got to do," pointing as he spoke to a boy who just then came on deck, and whom I took to be his son. "Thank you, captain," I observed; "I shall be glad of Clem's instruction, as I suppose he knows more about the matter than I do." "Clem can hand, reef, and steer as well as any one, as far as his strength goes," said the captain, looking approvingly at him. "I'll set to work as soon as he likes, then," I observed. "But I wish those fellows would be sharp about breakfast, for I am desperately hungry." "Well, go into the cabin, and Clem will give you a hunch of bread to stay your appetite." I followed Clem below. "Here, Brooke, some butter will improve it," he said, spreading a thick slice of bread. "And so you don't seem to be seasick, like most fellows. Well, I am glad of that. My father will like you all the better for it, and soon make a sailor of you, if you wish to learn." I told Clem that was just what I wanted, and that I should look to him to teach me my duties. "I'll do my best," he said. "Take my advice and dip your hands in the tar bucket without delay, and don't shirk anything the mate puts you to. My father is pretty gruff now and then, but old Growl is a regular rough one. He does not say much to me, but you will have to look out for squalls. Come, we had better go on deck, or old Growl will think that I have been putting you up to mischief. He will soon pick a quarrel with you, to see how you bear it." "I'll take good care to keep out of his way, then," I said, bolting the last piece of bread and butter. "Thank you, Clem, you and I shall be good friends, I see that." "I hope so," answered my young companion with a sigh. "I have not many on board, and till you came I had no one to speak to except father, and he is not always in the mood to talk." Clem's slice of bread and butter enabled me to hold out till the forecastle breakfast was ready. I did ample justice to it. Directly I made my reappearance on deck, old Growl set me to work, and I soon had not only my hands but my arms up to the elbows in tar. Though the vessel was pitching her head into the seas, with thick sheets of foam flying over her, he quickly sent me aloft to black down the main rigging. Clem showed me how to secure the bucket to the shrouds while I was at work, and in spite of the violent jerks I received as the vessel plunged her bluff bows into the sea, I got on very well. Before the evening was over I had been out on the yards with little Clem to assist in reefing the topsails, and he had shown me how to steer and box the compass. Nothing particular occurred on the voyage, though we were ten days in reaching the mouth of the Thames. Clem and I became great friends. The more I saw of him the more I liked him, and wondered how so well-mannered a lad could be the son of such a man as Captain Grimes. I saw nothing of London. I should, indeed, have been ashamed to go on shore in my now thoroughly begrimed condition. We were but a short time in the Thames, for as soon as we had discharged our cargo we again made sail for the Tyne. Before this time old Growl, the mate, had taught me what starting meant. He had generally a rope's end in his fist, and if not, one was always near at hand. If I happened not to do a thing well enough or fast enough to please him, he was immediately after me, laying the rope across my shoulders, or anywhere he could most conveniently reach. I generally managed to spring out of his way, and turn round and laugh at him. If he followed me, I ran aloft, and, as I climbed much faster than he could, I invariably led him a long chase. "I'll catch you, youngster, the next time. Mark me, that I will," he shouted out to me one day, when more than usually angry. "Wait till the next time comes, mate," I sang out, and laughed more heartily than before. The men sympathised with me, especially Dirty Dick. His shoulders, till I came on board, had been accustomed to suffer most from the mate's ill temper. Now and then old Growl, greatly to his delight, caught me unawares; but, suffering as I did from his blows, I never let him see that I cared for them, and used to laugh just as heartily as when I had escaped from him. On this, however, he would grin sardonically, and observe, "You may laugh as you like, young master, I know what a rope's end tastes like; it's a precious deal bitterer than you would have me fancy. I got enough of it when I was a youngster, and haven't forgotten yet." One day when old Growl had treated me as I have described, and had gone below, Clement came up to me. "I am so sorry the mate has struck you, Brooke," he said. "It's a great shame. He dare not hit me; and when I told father how he treats you, he told me to mind my own business, and that it was all for your good." "I don't know how that can be," I answered; "but I don't care for it, I can assure you. It hurts a little at the time, I'll allow, but I have got used to it, and I don't intend to let him break my spirit or make me unhappy." Clement all the time was doing his best to teach me what he knew, and I soon learned to steer in smooth water, and could hand and reef the topsails and knot and splice as well almost as he could. Some things I did better, as I was much stronger and more active. I was put to do all sorts of unpleasant work, such as blacking down the rigging, greasing the masts, and helping Dirty Dick to clean the caboose and sweep out the forecastle. Though I didn't like it, I went about the duty, however, as if it was the pleasantest in the world. Pleasant or not, I was thus rapidly becoming a seaman. STORY ONE, CHAPTER 2. I had as before, on reaching the Tyne, to remain and keep ship, though little Clem went on shore and did not return till we had a fresh cargo on board, and were just about sailing. Scarcely were we clear of the river than a heavy gale sprang up and severely tried the old collier. The seas came washing over her deck, and none of us for'ard had a dry rag on our backs. When my watch below came, I was glad to turn in between my now darkly-tinted blankets; but they soon became as wet as everything else, and when I went on deck to keep my watch, I had again to put on my damp clothes. The forecastle was fearfully hot and steamy. We had to keep the fore hatch closed to prevent the seas which, washing over our decks, would otherwise have poured down upon us. In a short time, as the ship strained more and more while she struggled amid the waves, the water made its way through the deck and sides till there was not a dry space to lie on in our berths. Then I began really to understand the miseries of forecastle life on board a collier, and many other craft too, in which British seamen have to sail; with bad food, bad water, and worse treatment. Ay, I speak the truth, which I know from experience, they have to live like dogs, and, too often, die like dogs, with no one to care for them. Day after day this sort of work continued. I wondered that the captain did not run back, till I heard him say that the price of coals was up in the London market, and he wanted to be there before other vessels arrived to lower it; so, tough seaman as he was, he kept thrashing the old brig along against the south-westerly gale, which seemed to increase rather than show any signs of moderating. We had always, during each watch, to take a spell at the pumps, and now we had to keep them going without intermission. I took my turn with the rest, and my shoulders ached before I had done; still I sang and laughed away as usual. "It's no laughing matter, youngster," said old Growl, as he passed me. "You will be laughing the wrong side of your mouth before long." "Never fear, mate," I replied; "both sides are the same to me." The captain and mate at last took their turns with the rest of us, for the crew were getting worn out. I did not know the danger we were in, but I was beginning to get tired of that dreadful "clank, clank, clank." At last, by dint of keeping at it, we had got a good way to the southward, when one night, just as we had gone about hoping to lay our course for the Thames, the wind shifted and came again right in our teeth. I had turned into my wet bunk all standing, when, having dropped off to sleep, I was awoke by a tremendous crash, and on springing up on deck I found that the mainmast had gone by the board. The gale had increased, and we were driving before it. As I made my way aft, the flashes of lightning revealed the pale faces of the crew, some endeavouring to clear away the wreck of the mast, others working with frantic energy at the pumps. The leaks had increased. As may be supposed, the deeply-laden collier had but a poor chance under such circumstances. Presently the vessel gave a heavy lurch. A sea rolled up. The next instant I found myself struggling in the midst of the foaming surges. All around was dark; I felt for the deck of the vessel, it was not beneath me; I had been washed overboard. I struck out for life, and in another minute I was clinging to the mainmast, which had been cut clear. I clambered up on it, and looked out for the brig. She was nowhere to be seen; she must have gone down beneath the surge which washed me from her deck. What had become of my shipmates? I shouted again and again at the top of my voice. There was a faint cry, "Help me; help me." I knew the voice; it was Clement's. Leaving the mast, I swam towards him; he was lashed to a spar. The old captain's last act had been to try and save the young boy's life ere he himself sank beneath the waves. I caught hold of the spar, bidding Clement keep his head above the water while I towed it to the mast. I succeeded, and then clambering on it, and casting off the lashings, dragged him up and placed him beside me. We hailed again and again, but no voice replied. It may seem strange that we, the two youngest on board, should have survived, while all the men were drowned, but then, not one of them could swim. We could, and, under Providence, were able to struggle for our lives. I did my best to cheer up little Clem, telling him that if we could manage to hold on till daylight, as a number of vessels were certain to pass, we should be picked up. "I am very, very sorry, Clem, for your father," I said; "for though he was somewhat gruff to me, he was a kind-hearted man, I am sure." "That indeed he was," answered Clement, in a tone of sorrow. "He was always good to me; but he was not my father, as you fancy--the more reason I have to be grateful to him." "Not your father, Clem!" I exclaimed. "I never suspected that." "No, he was not; though he truly acted the part of one to me. Do you know, Brooke, this is not the first time that I have been left alone floating on the ocean? I was picked up by him just as you hope that we shall be picked up. I was a very little fellow, so little that I could give no account of myself. He found a black woman and me floating all alone on a raft out in the Atlantic. She died almost immediately we were rescued, without his being able to learn anything from her. He had to bury her at sea, and when he got home he in vain tried to find out my friends, though he preserved, I believe, the clothes I had on, and most of her clothes. He sent me to an excellent school, where I was well taught; and Mrs Grimes, who was a dear, kind lady, far more refined than you would suppose his wife to have been, acted truly like a mother to me. He was very fond of her, and when she died, nearly a year ago, he took me to sea with him. I did not, however, give up my studies, but used to sit in the cabin, and every day read as much as I could. Captain Grimes used to say that he was sure I was a gentleman born, and a gentleman he wished me to be, and so I have always felt myself." I had been struck by little Clem's refined manners, and this was now accounted for. "I am sure you are a gentleman, Clem," I observed; "and if we ever get home, my father, who is a lawyer, shall try to find out your friends. He may be able to succeed though Captain Grimes could not. I wonder he did not apply to my father, as, from my having been sent on board his ship, the captain must have known him. I suspect that they wanted to sicken me of a sea life, and so sent me on board the _Naiad_; but they were mistaken; and now when they hear that she has gone down--if we are not picked up--how sorry they will be!" The conversation I have described was frequently interrupted--sometimes by a heavier sea than usual rolling by, and compelling us to hold tight for our lives; at others we were silent for several minutes together. We were seated on the after-part of the maintop, the rigging which hung down on either side acting as ballast, and contributing to keep the wreck of the mast tolerably steady in one position. We were thus completely out of the water, though the spray from the crest of the seas which was blown over us kept us thoroughly wet and cold. Fortunately, we both had on thick clothing. Clement was always nicely dressed, for the captain, though not particular about himself, liked to see him look neat, while I, on the contrary, had on my oldest working suit, and was as rough-looking a sea-dog as could be imagined. My old tarry coat and trousers, and sou'-wester tied under my chin, contributed, however, to keep out the wind, and enable me the better to endure the cold to which we were exposed. I sheltered Clem as well as I could, and held him tight whenever I saw a sea coming towards him, fearing lest he might be washed away. I had made up my mind to perish with him rather than let him go. Hour after hour passed by, till at length, the clouds breaking, the moon came forth and shone down upon us. I looked at Clem's face: it was very pale, and I was afraid he would give way altogether. "Hold on, hold on, Clem," I exclaimed. "The wind is falling, and the sea will soon go down; we shall have daylight before long, and in the meantime we have the moon to cheer us up. Perhaps we shall be on shore this time to-morrow, and comfortably in bed; and then we will go back to my father, and he will find out all about your friends. He is a wonderfully clever man, though a bit strict, to be sure." "Thank you, Jack, thank you," he answered. "Don't be afraid; I feel pretty strong, only somewhat cold and hungry." Just then I recollected that I had put the best part of a biscuit into my pocket at tea-time, having been summoned on deck as I was eating it. It was wet, to be sure; but such biscuits as we had take a good deal of soaking to soften thoroughly. I felt for it. There it was. So I put a small piece into Clem's mouth. He was able to swallow it. Then I put in another, and another; and so I fed him, till he declared he felt much better. I had reserved a small portion for myself, but as I knew that I could go on without it, I determined to keep it, lest he should require more. I continued to do my best to cheer him up by talking to him of my home, and how he might find his relations and friends, and then I bethought me that I would sing a _song_. I don't suppose that many people have sung under such circumstances, but I managed to strike up a stave, one of those with which I had been accustomed to amuse my messmates in the _Naiad's_ forecastle. It was not, perhaps, one of the merriest, but it served to divert Clem's thoughts, as well as mine, from our perilous position. "I wish that I could sing too," said Clem; "but I know I could not, if I was to try. I wonder you can, Jack." "Why? because I am sure that we shall be picked up before long, and so I see no reason why I should not try to be happy," I answered thoughtlessly. "Ah, but I am thinking of those who are gone," said Clem. "My kind father, as I called him, and old Growl, and the rest of the poor fellows; it is like singing over their graves." "You are right, Clem," I said; "I will sing no more, though I only did it to keep up your spirits. But what is that?" I exclaimed, suddenly, as we rose to the crest of a sea. "A large ship standing directly for us." "Yes; she is close-hauled, beating down Channel," observed Clement. "She will be right upon us, too, if she keeps her present course." "We must take care to let her know where we are, by shouting together at the top of our voices when we are near enough to be heard," I said. "She appears to me to be a man-of-war, and probably a sharp look-out is kept forward," Clement remarked. We had not observed the ship before, as our faces had been turned away from her. The sea had, however, been gradually working the mast round, as I knew to be the case by the different position in which the moon appeared to us. "We must get ready for a shout, Clem, and then cry out together as we have never cried before. I'll say when we are to begin." As the ship drew nearer Clem had no doubt that she was a man-of-war, a large frigate apparently, under her three topsails and courses. "She is passing to windward of us," I exclaimed. "Not so sure of that," cried Clem. "She will be right over us if we do not cry out in time." "Let us begin, then," I said. "Now, shout away, Hip! Hip!" "No, no!" cried Clem, "that will not do. Shout `Ship ahoy!'" I had forgotten for the moment what to say, so together we began shouting as shrilly as we could, at the very top of our voices. Again and again we shouted. I began to fear that the ship would be right over us, when presently we saw her luff up. The moon was shining down upon us, and we were seen. So close, even then, did the frigate pass, that the end of the mast we were clinging to almost grazed her side. Ropes were hove to us, but the ship had too much way on her, and it was fortunate we could not seize them. "Thank you," I cried out. "Will you take us aboard?" There was no answer, and I thought that we were to be left floating on our mast till some other vessel might sight us. We were mistaken, though. We could hear loud orders issued on board, but what was said we could not make out, and presently the ship came up to the wind, the head yards were braced round, and she lay hove-to. Then we saw a boat lowered. How eagerly we watched what was being done. She came towards us. The people in her shouted to us in a strange language. They were afraid, evidently, of having their boat stove in by the wreck of the mast. At last they approached us cautiously. "Come, Clem, we will swim to her," I said. "Catch tight hold of my jacket; I have got strength enough left in me for that." We had not far to go, but I found it a tougher job than I expected. It would have been wiser to have remained till we could have leaped from the mast to the boat. I was almost exhausted by the time we reached her, and thankful when I felt Clem lifted off my back, I myself, when nearly sinking, being next hauled on board. We were handed into the stern-sheets, where we lay almost helpless. I tried to speak, but could not, nor could I understand a word that was said. The men at once pulled back to the ship, and a big seaman, taking Clem under one of his arms, clambered up with him on deck. Another carried me on board in the same fashion. The boat was then hoisted up, and the head yards being braced round, the ship continued her course. Lanterns being brought, we were surrounded by a group of foreign-looking seamen, who stared curiously at us, asking, I judged from the tones of their voices, all sorts of questions, but as their language was as strange to us as ours was to them, we couldn't understand a word they said, or make them comprehend what we said. "If you would give us some hot grog, and let us turn into dry hammocks, we should be much obliged to you," I cried out at last, despairing of any good coming of all their talking. Just as I spoke, an officer with a cloak on came from below, having apparently turned out of his berth. "Ah, you are English," I heard him say. "Speak to me. How came you floating out here?" I told him that our vessel had gone down, and that we, as far as I knew, were the only survivors of the crew. "And who is that other boy?" "The captain's son," I answered. "Ah, I thought so, by his appearance," said the officer. "He shall be taken into the cabin. You, my boy, will have a hammock on the lower deck, and the hot grog you asked for. I'll visit you soon. I am the doctor of the ship." He then spoke to the men, and while Clement was carried aft, I was lifted up and conveyed below by a couple of somewhat rough but not ill-natured-looking seamen. I was more exhausted than I had supposed, for on the way I fainted, and many hours passed by before I returned to a state of half consciousness. STORY ONE, CHAPTER 3. In three days I was quite well, and the doctor sending me a suit of seaman's clothes, I dressed and found my way up on deck. I looked about eagerly for Clem, but not seeing him, I became anxious to learn how he was. I could make none of the men understand me. Most of them were Finns--big broad-shouldered, ruddy, light-haired, bearded fellows; very good-natured and merry, notwithstanding the harsh treatment they often received. Big as they were, they were knocked about like so many boys by the petty officers, and I began to feel rather uncomfortable lest I should come in for share of the same treatment, of which I had had enough from the hands of old Growl. I determined, however, to grin and bear it, and do, as well as I could, whatever I was told. I soon found that I was not to be allowed to eat the bread of idleness, for a burly officer, whom I took to be the boatswain, ordered me aloft with several other boys, to hand the fore royal, a stiff breeze just then coming on. Up I went; and though I had never been so high above the deck before, that made but little difference, and I showed that I could beat my companions in activity. When I came down the boatswain nodded his approval. I kept looking out for Clem. At last I saw my friend the doctor, with several other officers, on the quarter-deck. I hurried aft to him, and, touching my cap, asked him how Clem was. The others stared at me as if surprised at my audacity in thus venturing among them. "The boy is doing well," he answered; "but, lad, I must advise you not to infringe the rules of discipline. You were, I understand, one of the ship's boys, and must remain for'ard. He is a young gentleman, and such his dress and appearance prove him to be, will be allowed to live with the midshipmen." "I am very glad to hear that," I answered; "but I am a gentleman's son also, and I should like to live with the midshipmen, that I may be with Clem." "Your companion has said something to the same effect," observed the doctor; "but the captain remarks that there are many wild, idle boys sent to sea who may claim to be the sons of gentlemen; and as your appearance shows, as you acknowledge was the case, that you were before the mast, there you must continue till your conduct proves that you are deserving of a higher rank. And now go for'ard. I'll recollect what you have said." I took the hint. The seamen grinned as I returned among them, as if they had understood what I had been saying. I kept to my resolution of doing smartly whatever I was told, and laughed and joked with the men, trying to understand their lingo, and to make myself understood by them. I managed to pick up some of their words, though they almost cracked my jaws to pronounce them; but I laughed at my own mistakes, and they seemed to think it very good fun to hear me talk. Several days passed away, when at length I saw Clement come on deck. I ran aft to him, and he came somewhat timidly to meet me. We shook hands, and I told him how glad I was to see him better, though he still looked very pale. "I am very glad also to see you, Jack," he said, "and I wish we were to be together. I told the doctor I would rather go and live for'ard than be separated from you; but he replied that that could not be, and I have hopes, Jack, that by-and-by you will be placed on the quarter-deck if you will enter the Russian service." "What! and give up being an Englishman?" I exclaimed. "I would do a great deal to be with you, but I won't abandon my country and be transmogrified into a Russian." "You are right, Jack," said Clem, with a sigh; "however, the officers will not object to my talking with you, and we must hope for the best." After this I was constantly thinking how I should act should I have the option of being placed on the quarter-deck and becoming an officer in the Russian service, for we were on board a Russian frigate. Clem got rapidly better, and we every day met and had a talk together. Altogether, as the boatswain's lash did not often reach me, though he used it pretty freely among my companions, I was as happy as usual. I should have been glad to have had less train-oil and fat in the food served out to us, and should have preferred wheaten flour to the black rye and beans which I had to eat. Still that was a trifle, and I soon got accustomed to the greasy fare. Clem was now doing duty as a midshipman, and I was in the same watch with him. The weather had hitherto been generally fine; but one night as the sun went down, I thought I saw indications of a gale. Still the wind didn't come, and the ship went gliding smoothly over the ocean. I was in the middle watch, and had just come on deck. I had made my way aft, where I found Clem, and, leaning against a gun, we were talking together of dear old England, wondering when we should get back there, when a sudden squall struck the ship, and the hands were ordered aloft to reef topsails. I sprang aloft with the rest, and lay out on the lee fore yard-arm. I was so much more active than most of my shipmates, that I had become somewhat careless. As I was leaning over to catch hold of a reef point, I lost my balance, and felt, as I fell head foremost, that I was about to have my brains dashed out on the deck below me. The instant before the wind had suddenly ceased, and the sail giving a flap, hung down almost against the mast. Just at that moment, filled with the breeze, it bulged out again, and striking me, sent me flying overboard. Instinctively I put my hands together, and, plunging down, struck the now foaming water head first. I sank several feet, though I scarcely for a moment lost consciousness, and when I came to the surface I found myself striking out away from the ship, which was gliding rapidly by me. I heard a voice sing out, "A man overboard." I knew that it must have been Clem's, and I saw a spar and several other things thrown into the water. I do not know whether the life-buoy was let go. I did not see it. Turning round I struck out in the wake of the ship, but the gale just then coming with tremendous fury, drove her on fast away from me, and she speedily disappeared in the thick gloom. I should have lost all hope had I not at that moment come against a spar, and a large basket with a rope attached to it, which was driven almost into my hands. Climbing on to the spar, to which I managed to lash the basket, I then got into the latter, where I could sit without much risk of being washed out. It served, indeed, as a tolerably efficient life-preserver; for although the water washed in and washed out, and the seas frequently broke over my head, I was able to hold myself in without much trouble. I still had some hopes that the ship would come back and look for me. At length I thought I saw her approaching through the darkness. It raised my spirits, and I felt a curious satisfaction, in addition to the expectation of being saved, at the thought that I was not to be carelessly abandoned to my fate. I anxiously gazed in the direction where I fancied the ship to be, but she drew no nearer, and the dark void filled the space before me. Still I did not give way to despair, though I found it a hard matter to keep up. I had been rescued before, and I hoped to be saved another time. Then, however, I had been in a comparatively narrow sea, with numerous vessels passing over it. Now I was in the middle of the Atlantic, which, although rightly called a highway, was a very broad one. I could not also help recollecting that I was in the latitude where sharks abound, and I thought it possible that one might make a grab at my basket, and try to swallow it and me together, although I smiled at the thought of the inconvenience the fish would feel when it stuck its teeth into the yard, and got it fixed across its mouth. Happily no shark espied me. Day at last dawned. As I looked around when I rose to the summit of a sea, my eyes fell alone on the dark, tumbling, foaming waters, and the thick clouds going down to meet them. I began to feel very hungry and thirsty, for though I had water enough around me, I dare not drink it. I now found it harder than ever to keep up my spirits, and gloomy thoughts began to take possession of my mind. No one, I confess, would have called me Happy Jack just then. I was sinking off into a state of stupor, during which I might easily have been washed out of my cradle, when, happening to open my eyes, they fell on the sails of a large brig standing directly for me. I could scarcely fail to be seen by those on board. On she came before the breeze; but as she drew nearer I began to fear that she might still pass at some distance. I tried to stand up and shout out, but I was nearly toppling overboard in making the attempt. I managed, however, to kneel upon the spar and wave my handkerchief, shouting as I did so with all my might. The brig altered her course, and now came directly down for me. I made out two or three people in the forechains standing ready to heave me a rope. I prepared to seize it. The brig was up to me and nearly running me down, but I caught the first rope hove to me, and grasped it tightly. I could scarcely have expected to find myself capable of so much exertion. Friendly hands were stretched out to help me up, but scarcely was I safe than I sank down almost senseless on deck. I soon, however, recovered, and being taken below, and dry clothes and food being given me, I quickly felt as well as usual. "Where am I, and where are you bound to?" were the first questions I asked, hoping to hear that I was on board a homeward-bound vessel. "You are on board the American brig _Fox_ bound out round the Horn to the Sandwich Islands and the west coast of North America," was the answer. "But I want to go home to England," I exclaimed. "Well, then, I guess you had better get into your basket, and wait till another vessel picks you up," replied the captain, to whom I had addressed myself. "Thank you, I would rather stay here with dry clothes on my back and something to eat," I said. "Perhaps, however, captain, you will speak any homeward-bound vessel we meet, and get her to take me?" "Not likely to fall in with one," he observed. "You had better make the best of things where you are." "That's what I always try to do," I replied. "You are the right sort of youngster for me, then," he said. "Only don't go boasting of your proud little venomous island among my people. We are true Americans, fore and aft, except some of the passengers, and they would be better off if they would sink their notions and pay more respect to the stars and stripes. However, you will have nothing to do with them, for you will do your duty for'ard I guess." I thought it wiser to make no reply to these remarks, and as the crew were just going to dinner, I gladly accompanied them into their berth under the topgallant forecastle. The crew, I found, though American citizens, were of all nationalities--Danes, and Swedes, and Frenchmen, with too or three mulattoes and a black cook. They described Captain Pyke, for that was the master's name, as a regular Tartar, and seemed to have no great love for him, though they held him in especial awe. I was thankful at being so soon picked up, but I would rather have found myself on board a different style of craft. The cabin passengers were going out to join one of the establishments of the great Fur Trading Company on the Columbia river. They were pleasant, gentlemanly-looking men, and I longed to introduce myself to them, as I was beginning to get somewhat weary of the rough characters with whom I was doomed to associate. But from what the men told me, I felt sure that if I did so I should make the captain my enemy. He and they were evidently not on good terms. I got on, however, pretty well with the crew, and as I could speak a little French, I used to talk to the Frenchmen in their own language, my mistakes affording them considerable amusement, though, as they corrected me, I gradually improved. Among the crew were two other persons whom I will particularly mention. One went by the name of "Old Tom." He was relatively old with regard to the rest of our shipmates, rather than old in years--a wiry, active, somewhat wizen-faced man, with broad shoulders, and possessing great muscular strength. I suspected from the first, from the way he spoke, that he was not a Yankee born. His language, when talking to me, was always correct, without any nasal twang; and that he was a man of some education I was convinced, when I heard him once quote, as if speaking to himself, a line of Horace. He never smiled, and there was a melancholy expression on his countenance, which made me fancy that something weighed on his mind. He did not touch spirits, but his short pipe was seldom out of his mouth. When, however, he sat with the rest in the forecastle berth, his manner completely changed, and he talked, and argued, and wrangled, and guessed, and calculated, with as much vehemence as any one, entering with apparent zest into their ribald conversation, though even then the most humorous remark or jest failed to draw forth a laugh from his lips. STORY ONE, CHAPTER 4. The other person was a lad a couple of years my senior, called always "Young Sam," apparently one of those unhappy waifs cast on the bleak world without relations or friends to care for him. He was a fine young fellow, with a blue laughing eye, dauntless and active, and promised to become a good seaman. In spite of the rough treatment he often received from his shipmates, he kept up his spirits, and as our natures in that respect assimilated, I felt drawn towards him. The only person who seemed to take any interest in him, however, was old Tom, who saved him from many a blow; still, no two characters could apparently have more completely differed. Young Sam seemed a thoughtless, care-for-nothing fellow, always laughing and jibing those who attacked him, and ready for any fun or frolic which turned up. He appreciated, however, old Tom's kindness; and the only times I saw him look serious were when he received a gentle rebuke from his friend for any folly he had committed which had brought him into trouble. I believe, indeed, that young Sam would have gone through fire and water to show his gratitude to old Tom, while I suspect that the latter, in spite of his harsh exterior, had a heart not altogether seared by the world, which required some one on whom to fix its kindlier feelings. I had been some time on board when we put into a port at the Falkland Islands, then uninhabited, to obtain a supply of water. While the crew of the boats were engaged in filling the casks, Mr Duncan, one of the gentlemen, taking young Sam with him, went into the interior to shoot wild-fowl. The casks were filled; and the boats, after waiting for some time the return of Mr Duncan and Sam, came back. Mr Symonds, the second mate, proposed to return for our shipmates after the casks had been hoisted on board. The captain seemed very angry at this; and when Mr Symonds was shoving off from the brig's side, ordered him back. He was hesitating, when another gentleman jumped into the boat, declaring that he would not allow his companion to be left behind, and promised the men a reward if they would shove off. Two of the men agreed to go in the boat, and the mate, with the rest, coming up the side, they pulled away for the shore. The captain walked the deck, fuming and raging, every now and then turning an angry glance at the land and pulling out his watch. "He means mischief," muttered old Tom in my hearing; "but if he thinks to leave young Sam ashore to die of starvation, he is mistaken." The night drew on, and the boat had not returned. My watch being over, I turned in, supposing that the brig would remain at anchor till the morning. I was, however, awakened in the middle watch by old Tom's voice. "Come on deck, Jack," he said; "there's mischief brewing; the captain had a quarrel with Mr Duncan the other day, and he hates young Sam for his impudence, as he calls it, and so I believe he intends to leave them behind if he can do so; but he is mistaken. We will not lift anchor till they are safe on board, or a party has been sent to look for them. They probably lost their way, and could not get back to the harbour before dark. There are no wild beasts or savages on shore, and so they could not come to harm; you slip into the cabin, and call the other gentlemen, and I'll manage the crew, who have just loosed topsails, and are already at the windlass with the cable hove short." I was on deck in an instant, and, keeping on one side, while the captain was on the other, managed to slip into the cabin. I told the gentlemen of old Tom's suspicions, and observed that the captain probably thought those in the boat would return without Mr Duncan and Sam, when they saw the vessel making sail. They instantly began to dress; and one of them, a spirited young Highlander, Mr McIvor, put a brace of pistols into his belt and followed me on deck. I tried to escape being seen by the captain, but he caught sight of me, I was sure, though I stooped down and kept close to the bulwarks as I crept for'ard. By this time the men were heaving at the windlass, which they continued to do, in spite of what old Tom said to them. The captain had overheard him, and threatened to knock the first man down with a handspike who ceased to work. Old Tom, however, had got one in his hand, and the captain did not dare to touch him. In another instant I heard Mr McIvor's voice exclaiming, "What is this all about, Captain Pyke? What! are you going to leave our friends on shore?" "If your friends don't come off at the proper time they must take the consequences," answered the captain. "Then, what I have got to say, Captain Pyke, is, that I'll not allow them to be deserted, and that I intend to carry out my resolution with a pretty strong argument--the instant the anchor leaves the ground I'll shoot you through the head." "Mutiny! mutiny!" shouted the captain, starting back, "seize this man and heave him overboard." As he spoke the other two gentlemen made their appearance, and old Tom and I, with two or three others, stepped up close to them, showing the captain the side we intended to take. Neither of the mates moved, while the men folded their arms and looked on, showing that they did not intend to interfere. "Very well, gentlemen," cried the captain, "I see how matters stand--you have been bribing the crew. I'll agree to wait for the boat, and if she does not come with the missing people we must give them up for lost." "That depends upon circumstances," said Mr McIvor, returning his pistol to his belt. He and the rest continued to walk the deck, while the captain went, muttering threats of vengeance, into his cabin. None of us after this turned in. In a short time the splash of oars was heard, and the boat came alongside. "We have come for food," said Mr Fraser, one of the gentlemen who had gone in her. "I intend going back at daylight, and must get two or three others to accompany me. We will then have a thorough search for Duncan and the boy--there is no doubt that they have lost their way, and if we fire a few muskets, they will, with the help of daylight, easily find the harbour. Mr McIvor promised to accompany his friend, and I volunteered to go also." "No, Jack," said old Tom, "you remain with me. If we all go, the captain may be playing us some trick." I don't know what side old Tom would have taken if it had not been for young Sam. Judging by his usual conduct, I suspect that he would have stood with his arms folded, and let the rest, as he would have said, fight it out by themselves. At daylight the boat pulled away with Mr McIvor and another additional hand, taking a couple of muskets with them. Shortly afterwards the captain appeared on deck--though he cast frequent angry glances towards the shore, he said nothing--probably he could not afford to lose so many hands, as there were now four away, besides the two gentlemen, while the aspect of old Tom, with the rest of the crew, kept him from attempting to carry out his evil intentions. Two or three times, notwithstanding this, I thought he was about to order the anchor to be hove up; but again he seemed to hesitate, and at length, towards noon, the boat was seen coming off, with Mr Duncan and Sam in her. The captain said nothing to the gentlemen, but, as soon as the boat was hoisted up, he began to belabour poor Sam with a rope's end. He was still striking the lad, when old Tom stepped between them, grasping a handspike. "What has the lad done, sir?" he exclaimed. "Why not attack Mr Duncan? If anyone is to blame for the delay, he is the person, not young Sam." The gentlemen were advancing while old Tom was speaking, and several of the crew cried out shame. The captain again found himself in the minority, and, without replying to old Tom, walked aft, muttering between his teeth. These incidents will give some idea of the state of matters on board the ship. We now made sail, with a gentle breeze right aft, but scarcely had we lost sight of the islands when a heavy gale sprang up. The lighter canvas was instantly handed--young Sam and one of the men who had gone in the boat were ordered out on the jibboom to furl the flying-jib. As they were about this work, a tremendous sea struck the bows, the gaskets got loose, the jibboom was carried away, and with it the two poor fellows who were endeavouring to secure the sail. The captain, who had seen the accident, took no notice of it, but the first mate, not wishing to have their death on his conscience, sprang aft and ordered the ship to be brought to, while others hove overboard every loose piece of timber, empty casks, or hencoops, which they could lay hands on, to give our shipmates a chance of escape. Old Tom and I instantly ran to the jolly-boat, and were easing off the falls, when I felt myself felled to the deck by a blow on the head, the captain's voice exclaiming, "What, you fools, do you wish to go after them and be drowned too?" When I came to myself I saw the boat made fast, and could just distinguish the articles thrown overboard floating astern, while old Tom was standing gazing at them with sorrowful looks, the eyes of all on board, indeed, being turned in the same direction. "It would have been no use, Jack," he said, heaving a deep sigh; "the captain was right, the boat couldn't have lived two minutes in this sea, but I would have risked my life to try and save young Sam, though, for your sake, my boy, it's better as it is." After this the ship was put on her course, and we stood on, plunging away into the heavy seas which rose around us, and threatened every instant to break on board the brig. The passengers looked, and, I daresay, felt very melancholy at the accident, for young Sam especially, was liked by them, and on that account Mr Duncan had taken him on his expedition. Old Tom could scarcely lift up his head, and even the rest of the crew refrained from their usual gibes and jokes. The captain said nothing, but I saw by the way he treated the first mate that he was very savage with him for the part he had taken in attempting to save the poor fellows. After this old Tom was kinder than ever to me, and evidently felt towards me as he had towards young Sam, whose duties as everybody's servant I had now to take, being the youngest on board, and least able to hold my own against the captain's tyranny, and the careless and often rough treatment of the crew. I had some time before told poor young Sam how I used to be called "Happy Jack," and he went and let out what I had said among the men. When one of them started me with a rope's end, he would sing out, "That's for you, `Happy Jack.'" Another would exclaim, "Go and swab the deck down, `Happy Jack;'" or, "`Happy Jack,' go and help Mungo to clean out the caboose, I hope you are happy now--pleasant work for a young gentleman, isn't it?" "Look you," I replied one day, when this remark was made to me, "I am alive and well, and hope some day to see my home and friends, so, compared to the lot of poor young Sam and Dick Noland, who are fathoms deep down in the ocean, I think I have a right to say I am happy--your kicks and cuffs only hurt for a time, and I manage soon to forget them. If it's any pleasure to you to give them, all I can say is, that it's a very rum sort of pleasure; and now you have got my opinion about the matter." "That's the spirit I like to see," exclaimed old Tom, slapping me on the back soon afterwards, "You'll soon put a stop to that sort of thing." I found he was right; and, though I had plenty of dirty work to do, still, after that, not one of the men ever lifted his hand against me. The captain, however, was not to be so easily conquered, and so I took good care to stand clear of him whenever I could. The rough weather continued till we had made Cape Horn, which rose dark and frowning out of the wild heaving ocean. We were some time doubling it, and were several days in sight of Terra del Fuego, but we did not see anything like a burning mountain--indeed, no volcanoes exist at that end of the Andes. The weather moderated soon after we were round the Horn, but in a short time another gale sprung up, during which our bulwarks were battered in, one of our boats carried away, our bowsprit sprung, and the foretop-sail, the only canvas we had set, blown to ribbons. Besides this, we received other damages, which contributed still further to sour our captain's temper. We were at one time so near the ironbound coast that there seemed every probability that we should finish off by being dashed to pieces on the rocks. Happily, the wind moderated, and a fine breeze springing up, we ran on merrily into the Pacific. Shortly after, we made the island of Juan Fernandez, and, as I saw its wood-covered heights rising out of the blue ocean, I could not help longing to go on shore and visit the scenes I had read about in Robinson Crusoe. I told old Tom about my wish. Something more like a smile than I had ever yet seen, rose on his countenance. "I doubt, Jack, that you would find any traces of the hero you are so fond of," he observed; "I believe once upon a time an Englishman did live there, left by one of the ships of Commodore Anson's squadron, but that was long ago, and the Spaniards have turned it into a prison, something like our Norfolk Island." STORY ONE, CHAPTER 5. We, however, did call off another island in the neighbourhood, called Massafuera, to obtain a supply of wood and water. The ship was hove-to, and the pinnace and jolly-boat were sent on shore with casks. I was anxious to go, but old Tom kept me back. "You stay where you are, Jack," he said, "or the skipper may play you some trick. It's a dangerous place to land at, you are sure of a wetting, and may lose your life in going through the surf." In the evening, when the party returned, I found this to be the case. Still, I might have been tempted, I think, to run off and let the ship sail away without me, as I heard that there were plenty of goats on the island, abundance of water, and that the vegetation was very rich. It is also an exceedingly picturesque spot, the mountains rising abruptly from the sea, surrounded by a narrow strip of beach. Those who went on shore had also caught a large quantity of fish, of various sorts, as well as lobsters and crabs, which supplied all hands for several days. Perhaps old Tom had a suspicion of what I might have been tempted to do, and I fancied that was his chief reason for keeping me on board. The idea having once taken possession of my mind, I resolved to make my escape at the next tempting-looking island we might touch at, should I find any civilised men living there, or should it be uninhabited. I had no wish to live among savages, as I had read enough of their doings to make me anxious to keep out of their way, and I was not influenced by motives which induce seamen to run from their ships for the sake of living an idle, profligate life, free from the restraints of civilisation. A few days after leaving Massafuera, we got into the trade winds, which carried us swiftly along to the northward. Again we crossed the equator; and about three weeks afterwards made the island of Owhyee, the largest of the Sandwich Islands. As we coasted along, we enjoyed the most magnificent view I had ever beheld. Along the picturesque shore were numerous beautiful plantations, while beyond it rose the rocky and dreary sides of the gigantic Mouna Eoa, its snow-clad summit towering to the clouds. It was on this island that Captain Cook was murdered by the now friendly and almost civilised natives, who have, indeed, since become in many respects completely so, and taken their place among the nations of the world. We sailed on, passing several islands, when we brought up in the beautiful bay of Whytetee. Near the shore was a village situated in an open grove of cocoa-nut trees, with the hills rising gently in the rear, presenting a charming prospect. The more I gazed at it, the more I longed to leave the brig, and go and dwell there, especially as I heard that there were several respectable Englishmen and Americans already settled on the island, and that they were held in high favour by the king and his chiefs. Still old Tom had been so kind to me, and I entertained so sincere a regard for him, that I could not bear the thoughts of going away without bidding him farewell. I was afraid, however, of letting him know my intentions. Often I thought that I would try and persuade him to go too. I began by speaking of the beautiful country, and the delicious climate, and the kind manners of the people, and how pleasantly our countrymen, residing there, must pass their lives. "I know what you are driving at, Jack," he said, "You want to run from the ship; isn't it so?" I confessed that such was the case, and asked him to go with me. "No, Jack," he replied, "I am not one of those fellows who act thus; I have done many a thing I am sorry for, but I engaged for the voyage, and swore to stick by the brig; and while she holds together, unless the captain sets me free, I intend to do so. And Jack, though you are at liberty to do what you like, you wouldn't leave me, would you?" He spoke with much feeling in his tone. "Since young Sam went, you are the only person I have cared to speak to on board, and if you were to go, I should feel as if I were left alone in the world. I should have liked to have made friends with those fine young men, Duncan and McIvor. Once (you may be surprised to hear it) I was their equal in position, but they don't trouble themselves about such a man as I now am, and they will soon be leaving the brig for the shore. If I thought it was for your advantage, I would say, notwithstanding this, go; but it isn't. You will get into bad ways if you go and live among those savages--for savages they are, whatever you may say about them. And you will probably be able to return home by sticking to the brig sooner than any other way." These arguments weighed greatly with me, and I finally abandoned my intention, greatly to old Tom's satisfaction. He redoubled his kindness to me after this. Towards every one else he grew more silent and reserved. I may just say, that the next day we anchored off Honoluloo, the chief town, where the king and his court resided; and that we carried on some trading with the people, his majesty in particular, and taking some half-a-dozen Sandwich islanders on board to replace the men we had lost, and, as old Tom observed, any others we might lose, we sailed for the American coast. From that day I could not help observing a more than usually sad expression on my friend's countenance; indeed, every day he seemed to become more and more gloomy, and I determined to ask him what there was on his mind to make him so. I took the opportunity I was looking for one night when he was at the helm, and the second mate, who was officer of the watch, had gone forward to have a chat, as he sometimes did, with the men. The night was fine and clear, and we were not likely to have eaves-droppers. "Tell me, Tom," I said, "what is the matter with you? I wish that I could be of as much use to you as you have been to me." "Thank you, Jack," he answered; "the fact is, I have got something on my mind, and as you have given me an opportunity, I'll tell you what it is. I think I shall be the better afterwards, and you may be able to do for me what I shall never have an opportunity of doing myself, for, Jack, I cannot help feeling sure that my days are numbered. If that captain of ours wishes to get rid of me, he will find means without staining his hands in my blood, he will not do that, there are plenty of other ways by which I may be expended, as they say of old stores in the navy. For myself I care but little, but I should wish to remain to look after you, and lend you a helping hand should you need it." "Thank you, Tom," I said, "I value the kind feelings you entertain for me, and I hope that we shall be together till we reach England again. But I was going to ask why you think that the captain wishes to get rid of you? He can have no motive that I can discover to desire your death." "He hates me, that's enough; he's a man who will go any lengths to gratify his hate," answered old Tom. "But I promised to tell you about the matter which weighs on my mind. Jack, I did many things when I was a young man, which I am sorry for, but I was then chiefly my own enemy. A time came, however, when I was tempted to commit a crime against others, and it's only since I began this voyage that I have had a wish to try and undo it as far as I have the power. You must know, Jack, I am the son of a gentleman, and I went to college. I had got into bad ways there, and spent all my property. When my last shilling was gone, I shipped on board a merchant vessel, and for years never again set foot on the shores of old England. I knocked about all that time in different climes and vessels, herding with the roughest and most abandoned class of seamen, till I became almost as abandoned and rough as they were. Still, during all my wanderings, I had a hankering for the associates and the refinements of society I had so long quitted. Thoughts of home would come back to me even in my wildest moments, although I tried hard to keep them out. At length I returned to England with more money in my pocket than I had ever again expected to possess. Throwing aside my seafaring clothes as soon as I got on shore, I dressed myself as a gentleman, and repairing to a fashionable watering-place, where I found several old friends, managed to get into respectable society. I forgot that unless I could obtain some employment my money must soon come to an end. It did so, but the taste for good society had been revived in me. It was now impossible to indulge in it, and I was compelled once more to seek for a berth on board ship. Thoughtlessly, I had never studied navigation while I was at sea, and consequently had again to go before the mast. I got on board an Indiaman, and reached Calcutta. On the return voyage we had a number of passengers. I of course knew but little about them, as I seldom went aft except to take my trick at the helm. I observed, however, among them a gentleman of refined appearance, with his wife and their little boy. They had a native nurse to take care of him. No one could be more affectionate than the gentleman was to his wife and child, but he seemed of a retiring disposition, and I seldom saw him speaking to any one else. We had had particularly fine weather during the greater part of the passage, when the ship was caught in a tremendous gale. During it the masts were carried away, several of the hands--Lascars and Englishmen-- were lost overboard, while she sprung a leak, which kept all the crew hard at work at the pumps. "It became evident, indeed, before long, that unless the weather moderated the ship would go down. We had four boats remaining, but as they would not carry a third of the people on board, the captain ordered all hands to turn to and build rafts. We were thus employed when night came on; such a night I never before had seen. The thunder roared and the lightning flashed around us, as if it would set the ship on fire. Some hours passed away; we could get on but slowly with our work. I was on the after-part of the deck, when I remember seeing the gentleman I have spoken of come up and make an offer to the captain to lend a hand at whatever might be required to be done. I observed at the time that he had a small case hanging to his side. He did not seem to think that there was any danger of the ship going down for many hours to come; nor indeed did any one; for the leaks were gaining but little on the pumps, although they were gaining. He seemed so well to understand what he was about that I suspected he was a naval officer. We worked away hard, and it was nearly morning, when a dreadful peal of thunder, such as I had never heard before, broke over our heads, and it's my belief that a bolt passed right through the ship. Be that as it may, a fearful cry arose that she was going down. The people rushed to the boats. Discipline was at an end. The gentleman I spoke of shouted to the men, trying to bring them back to their duty. Then I saw him, when all hope of doing so had gone, hurry into the cuddy. Directly afterwards he came out with his wife and child, together with the nurse. Supposing, I fancy, that the boats were already full, or would be swamped alongside, he secured the nurse to the raft we had been building, and had given her the child to hold, calling on me and others to assist in launching it overboard, intending to take his place with his wife upon it. He was in the act of securing her--so it seemed to me--when the ship gave a fearful plunge forward, and a roaring sea swept over her. I at once saw that she would never rise again. On came the foaming waters, carrying all before them. Whether or not the gentleman and his wife succeeded in getting to the raft, I could not tell; there was no room, I knew, for me on it. Just before I had caught sight of one of the boats, which had shoved off with comparatively few people in her, dropping close under the ship's quarter. I sprang aft, and, leaping overboard, struck out towards her, managing to get hold of her bow as it dipped into the sea. I hauled myself on board. By the time I had got in, and could look about me, I saw the stern of the ship sinking beneath a wave, and for a moment I thought the boat would have been drawn down with her. Such fearful shrieks and cries as I never wish to hear again rose from amid the foaming sea, followed by a perfect and scarcely less terrible silence. We had but three oars in the boat, which we could with difficulty, therefore, manage in that heavy sea. Most of the men in her were Lascars, and they were but little disposed to go to the assistance of our drowning shipmates. There were three Englishmen in the after-part of the boat, and I made my way among the Lascars to join them. Even the Englishmen belonged to the least respectable part of the crew. They, however, sided with me, and, seizing a stretcher, I swore that I would brain the fellows if they would not try to pick up some of the drowning people. Two or three on this drew their knives, flourishing them with threatening gestures. Knowing them pretty well, I felt sure that if we did not gain the day, they would take the first opportunity of heaving us overboard; and with all my might I dealt a blow at the head of the man nearest me, who held his weapon ready to strike. The stretcher caught him as he was in the act of springing up, and he fell overboard, sinking immediately. `Any more of you like to be treated in the same way?' I exclaimed. The wretches sank down in their seats, thoroughly cowed; but in the scuffle one of the oars was lost overboard, and was swept away before we could recover it. Some time was thus lost, and the boat had drifted a considerable distance from the spot where the Indiaman had gone down. We could hear, however, cries for help rising above the hissing and dashing sounds of the tumbling waters. Every instant I expected that the boat would be swamped; when at length the Lascars, who had the oars, were induced by my threats to pull away and keep her head to sea. I had taken the helm, and though we made no progress, the rafts and various articles which had floated up from the wreck came drifting down towards us, scattering far and wide over the tossing ocean. I caught sight of a boat and two or three other rafts, but they were too far off to enable me, through the gloom, to distinguish the people on them. The shrieks had gradually ceased; now and then the cry of some strong swimmer, who had hitherto bravely buffeted the sea, was heard ere he sank for the last time. Daylight was just breaking when, as I was standing up in the stern-sheets, I saw a person clinging to a piece of timber, and I determined, if possible, to save him. I pointed him out to the English seamen; and two of them, springing up, seized the oars from the hands of the Lascars, and by pulling away lustily we got up close to the spot. The man saw us coming. It was not without difficulty that we managed to haul him on board so as to avoid striking him or staving in the boat against the piece of wreck which had kept him up. To my surprise I found that he was the very gentleman who had assisted in forming the raft before the ship went down. I knew him by the case, which he still had secured to his side. He was so exhausted that for some minutes he could not speak, though he was evidently making an effort to do so. At length, beckoning me to put my ear down to his mouth, he asked in a low voice whether we had seen his wife and child, with the nurse. The only comfort I could afford him was by telling him that I had caught sight of several small rafts, and possibly they might be upon one of them. He had been washed away before he could secure himself when the ship foundered; and though he was carried down with her, on rising to the surface he had caught hold of the piece of wreck to which we had found him clinging. "There we were, fourteen human beings in a small boat out in the middle of the Atlantic, the dark foaming seas surrounding us, without a particle of food or a drop of fresh water, while our two oars scarcely enabled us to keep her head to the sea, and save her from being capsized or swamped. "I do not like to talk or even to think of the horrors which followed. Daylight had now come on, but all around was gloom, the dark clouds appearing like a pall just above our heads, and hanging round on either side, so as to circumscribe the horizon to the narrowest limits. Here and there I occasionally thought that I saw a few dark spots, which might have been the boats and rafts, or pieces of the wreck. "The day passed by and there was no abatement of the gale. The Lascars had again taken the oars, but as night again approached, worn out with hunger and fatigue, they refused to pull any longer, and the gentleman offering to steer, the three other men and I took it by turns to labour at the oars. "Thus the second night passed by. I had begun to feel faint and hungry, and to experience the pangs of thirst; and, judging by my own sensations, I felt sure that, should we not fall in with a ship during the coming day, some of my companions would give way. Another morning dawned, but no sail was in sight. One of the Lascars lay dead in the bows, the rest were stretched out under the thwarts, unable even to continue baling, and apparently no longer caring what might become of them. The gentleman, though the most delicate-looking of us all, held out the best. His eye was constantly ranging over the ocean in search of the raft or boat which might contain those he loved best on earth. I had great difficulty in persuading him to let me take the helm again while he got a little sleep. "As the day drew on the gale moderated, and the sea went down. So weak were the three other Englishmen by this time, that I believe we should not otherwise have been able to prevent the boat being swamped. The Lascars were in a worse state. Two more died, and as their countrymen would not heave them overboard, we were obliged to do so. Eagerly we looked out for a sail, but none appeared. Before the next morning broke all the Lascars were dead, and I saw that one of my messmates was likely soon to follow them. Another, however, died before him, but ere the sun rose high in the heavens, he was gone. "Besides the gentleman, only I and one man remained, the latter indeed was near his last gasp. I will not tell you what dreadful thoughts passed through my mind. Just then, as I was stooping down, I put my hand under the after seat. There, stowed away, was a large lump of grease. I felt round farther, and drew forth two bones with a considerable amount of meat on them. One of the dogs, I have no doubt, had made it his hiding place. The selfish thought came across me, that had the Lascars and the other two men been alive, this food would have gone very little way, but now it might support the existence of my two companions and me for another day or two. Eagerly I seized the putrid meat in my mouth, offering a piece to my companions. My messmate attempted to eat it, his jaws moved for a few seconds, then his head fell back. He had died in the effort. The gentleman could with difficulty swallow a few morsels. `Water! water!' he muttered, `without water it is too late.' I tried some of the grease, and felt revived. "Not without difficulty we hove the last who had succumbed into the sea, and then the gentleman and I were alone. His spirits, which had hitherto kept up, were now, I saw, sinking. He beckoned me to sit close to him, and I saw that he was engaged in trying to loosen the strap which held the case to his side. `You are strong, my friend,' he whispered, `and may possibly survive till you are picked up, I feel that I can trust you. Take charge of this case--it contains an important document, and jewels and money of considerable value. Here, too, is a purse of gold, to that you are welcome,' and he handed me a purse from his pocket. `The case I as a dying man commit to your charge, and solemnly entreat you to take care of it for the benefit of my widow and orphan child, for the belief is still strong within me that they survive. You will find within this metal case full directions as to the person to whom it is to be delivered.' He said this with the greatest difficulty, and it seemed as if he had exhausted all his strength in the effort. I promised to fulfil his wishes, and fully intended doing so. He took my hand, and fixed his eyes on me, as if he was endeavouring to read my thoughts. I tried to make him take some more food, but he had no strength to swallow it. Before the evening closed in he too was gone. "I had not the heart at once to throw him overboard. As I stood looking at him, prompted I believe by the spirit of evil, an idea came into my head. Should I reach shore the purse of gold would enable me to enjoy myself for some time, and perhaps I might obtain permanent employment in a respectable position, instead of knocking about at sea. I took off the dead man's clothes, and dressed myself in them, though I was so weak that the task was a difficult one. I then lifted the body overboard. Having secured the box round my waist, I placed the metal case and purse in my pocket. "I was alone, and though suffering greatly from thirst, I still felt that there was some life in me. I gazed around, but no sail was in sight. A light breeze only was blowing, and the sea had become tolerably calm, so eating a little more of the grease and meat, I lay down in the stern-sheets to sleep. I was awoke by feeling the water splashing over me. It was raining hard. There were two hats and a bucket in the boat. I quickly collected enough water to quench my thirst, and at once felt greatly revived. The rain continued long enough to enable me to fill the bucket. Had it not been for that shower I must have died. "Two days longer I continued in the boat, when, just as the sun rose, my eyes fell on a sail in the horizon. How eagerly I watched her; she was standing towards me. Securing a shirt to the end of an oar, I waved it as high as I could reach. I was seen--the ship drew nearer. Being too weak to pull alongside I made no attempt to do so, and this being observed, the ship hove-to and lowered a boat, which soon had mine in tow. I was carefully lifted up the side, and on my dress being observed, I was at once treated as a gentleman. A cabin was given up to me, and every attention paid to my wants. I found that the ship was an emigrant vessel, outward bound, for Australia. "I was some time in recovering my strength, and when I appeared among the passengers I took care to evade any questions put to me. I found the life on board very pleasant, and having purchased some clothes and other articles I was able to appear on an equality with the rest. "We fell in with no other ship till Sydney was reached. I went on shore, purposing to amuse myself for a short time, and then return home and fulfil the dying request of my unfortunate companion in the boat. Would that I had gone on board a vessel sailing the very day of our arrival. Jack, never put off doing your duty, under the idea that it may be done a little time hence, lest that roaring lion we read of may catch hold of you and tempt you to put it off altogether. I remained on day after day, mixing in society, and rapidly spending my money. It was all gone, and then, Jack," and old Tom lowered his voice, "I did that vile deed--I broke open the box and took possession of the money I found within--the widow's and orphan's gold. I tried to persuade myself that they had certainly been lost. At first I only took the gold, intending to go home with the other articles; then I got to the notes. I had some difficulty in getting them changed, and was afraid of being discovered. At last I began to dispose of the jewels. "At length I got a hint that I was suspected, and securing the case I once more dressed myself as a seaman, bought a chest, and got a berth on board a homeward-bound ship. I was miserable--conscience stung me--I could get no rest. "The ship was cast away on the west coast of Ireland, and nearly all on board perished. I had secured about me the case, which still contained the parchment, the title-deeds of a large property, and a few jewels. "I, with a few survivors, reached the shore. I was afraid to go back to England to deliver the case to the person to whom it was addressed, and so, making my way to Cork, where I found a ship bound for America, I went on board her. "Jack, I have been knocking about ever since, my conscience never at rest, and yet not having the courage to face any danger I might incur, and make the only reparation in my power to those who, if still alive, I have deprived of their property. Now, notwithstanding what you say, there's something tells me that I have not long to live. I never had such a notion in my head before, but there it is now, and I cannot get rid of it. You are young and strong, and I want you to promise me, if you get home, to do what I ought to have done long ago. I will give you the case when we go below. Take it to the lawyer to whom it is addressed, and tell him all I have told you, and how it came into your possession, he'll believe you, I am sure, and though the money and most of the jewels are gone, the remainder will, I hope, be of value to the rightful owners." I of course promised old Tom that I would do as he wished, at the same time I tried to persuade him to banish the forebodings which haunted him, from his mind. "That's more than I can do, Jack," he said, "I shouldn't mind the thoughts of death so much, if I could find the means of undoing all the ill I have done in the world--that's what tries me now." Unhappily neither I nor any one on board could tell the poor fellow that there is but one way by which sins can be washed away. I did indeed suggest that he should try and borrow a Bible from one of the gentlemen in the cabin, if they had one among them, for there was not one for'ard nor in the captain's or officers' berths. When our watch was over, old Tom sat down on his chest, waiting till the rest of the watch had turned in and gone to sleep. He then cautiously opened his chest, and exhibited within, under his clothes, a small box, strongly bound with silver, and the metal case he had spoken of. "Here, Jack," he said, "I make you my heir, and give you the key of my chest: I'll tell the men to-morrow that I have done so, and let the captain and mates know it also, that there may be no dispute about the matter." I thanked old Tom, assuring him, at the same time, that I hoped not to benefit by his kindness. In about three weeks we reached the mouth of the Columbia river. A strong gale from the westward had been blowing for several days, and as we came off the river a tremendous surf was seen breaking across the bar at its mouth. "I hope the captain won't attempt to take the vessel in," observed old Tom to me. "I have been in once while the sea was not so heavy by half as it is now, and our ship was nearly castaway." Still we stood on. Presently, however, the captain seemed to think better of it, and indifferent as he was to the lives of others, he apparently did not wish to lose his own, and the brig into the bargain. She was accordingly hauled to the wind, and we again stood off. It was only, however, to heave-to, when he ordered a boat to be lowered. He then directed the first mate to take four hands to go in her and sound the bar. The mate expostulated, and declared that the lives of all would be sacrificed in the attempt. "You are a coward, and are afraid," exclaimed the captain, stamping with rage. "Take old Tom and `Happy Jack,' and two others," he called out their names. "No man shall justly say I am a coward," answered the mate; "I'll go, but I'll take none but volunteers. My death and theirs will rest on your head, Captain Pyke." "I'll not go if the boy is sent," exclaimed old Tom; "but I am ready to go if another man takes his place." "Let me go, Tom," I said; "if you and the mate go I am ready to accompany you." "No, Jack, I'll do no such thing," answered my friend. "You stay on board. Unless others step forward the boat won't go at all. The bar is not in a fit state for the vessel to cross, much less an open boat." The captain, however, seemed determined to go into the river, and now ordered another man to go instead of me. "I'll make you pay for this another day," he cried out, looking at me. I saw the mate shaking hands with several on board before he stepped into the boat. "Remember the case, Jack," said old Tom as he passed me, giving me a gripe by the hand. "You have got the key, lad." The boat shoved off and pulled towards the bar. I watched her very anxiously; now she rose to the top of a roller, now she was hidden by the following one. Every instant I expected her to disappear altogether. I couldn't help thinking of what old Tom had said to me. Some time passed, when the captain ordered the helm to be put up, and the brig was headed towards the bar. He had been looking with his glass, and declared he had seen the mate's signal to stand in. The wind by this time had moderated. The brig was only under her topsails and main-sail, and I began to wonder at the mate's apprehensions. We had not stood on long when I saw the boat to the northward of us, much nearer the breakers than we were. She seemed to be carried by beyond the control of those in her. A strong current had caught hold of her. Presently she passed, not a pistol shot from us. The three men were shouting and shrieking for aid; old Tom was in the bows, sitting perfectly still; I could even distinguish the countenance of the mate, as he turned it with a reproachful glance, so it seemed to me, towards the captain. Beyond her appeared a high wall of hissing, foaming breakers, towards which she was driving. The captain seemed scarcely to notice the unfortunate men; indeed his attention was occupied with attending to the brig, our position being extremely critical. I couldn't take my eyes off the boat. Would she be able even yet to stem the current and get back into smooth water? Suddenly, however, it seemed as if the wall of foaming breakers came right down upon her, and she disappeared amidst them. A cry of horror escaped me. "We may be no better off ere long," I heard one of the men exclaim. He had scarcely spoken when the brig struck, and the foaming waters leaped up on either side, as if about to break on board. Another sea came roaring on, and she again moved forward. Again and again the brig struck, and at last seemed fixed. Darkness was coming on, the foaming waters roared around us, frequently breaking on board, and we had to hold on to escape being washed away. The hatches had been battened down, or the vessel would have filled. She must have been a strong craft, or she could not have held together. The passengers behaved like brave men, though they evidently thought that it was the captain's obstinacy which had brought them into their present perilous position. Hour after hour passed by, with no object discernible beyond the foaming waters surging round us. The men declared that they could hear the shrieks and cries of our shipmates. The captain swore at them as fools for saying so, declaring that their voices must long since have been silenced by the breakers. Every instant it seemed that the brig must go to pieces, and that we should be carried away to share their fate. Suddenly, however, I felt the brig move. The topsails were let fall and sheeted home, and we once more glided forward. In another hour we were safely at anchor in a sheltered bay within the mouth of the river. The next morning several natives came off to us in their canoes. They were red-skinned painted savages, but appeared inclined to be friendly. By means of Mr Duncan, who understood something of their language, they were told of the accident which had happened to the boat, and they undertook to search along the shore, in the possibility of any of the crew having escaped, and been washed on to the beach. On hearing of this my hopes of seeing old Tom again somewhat revived, though I scarcely believed it possible that any boat getting into those fearful breakers could have survived. Mr Duncan and two of the other gentlemen agreed to accompany the savages. In the evening the boat which had taken them on shore was seen coming off. I anxiously watched her. Besides those who had gone away, I distinguished one other person, he turned his face towards the vessel as the boat approached, and, to my delight, I saw that he was old Tom. "And so you have escaped, have you?" said the captain, as he stepped on board. "Yes, sir, but the others have gone where some others among us will be before long," answered Tom, gloomily, "and those who sent them there will have to render an account of their deeds." "What do you mean?" exclaimed the captain. "I leave that to others to answer," said Tom, walking forward. He told me that the boat, on entering the surf, was immediately capsized, and that all hands were washed out of her. That he had managed to cling on with one man, and that when they got through the surf they had righted the boat, and picking up two of the oars, after bailing her out, had succeeded in paddling, aided by the current, some distance to the northward. On attempting to land the boat was again capsized. He had swam on shore, but the other poor fellow was drowned, and he himself was almost exhausted when met by the party who brought him back. "You see, Tom," I observed, "your prognostications have not come true, and you may still live to get back to old England again." "Oh no, Jack, though I have escaped this once, I am very sure my days are numbered," he answered; do all I could, I was unable to drive this idea out of his head. The crew were so indignant at the boat having been sent away, declaring that the captain wished to get rid of the mate and old Tom, that I felt sure another slight act of tyranny would produce a mutiny. While the gentlemen remained on board this was less likely to happen, but they were about to leave us, and take up their residence on shore. Some time was occupied in landing their goods and stores, and then we found that we were to proceed to the northward, on a trading voyage with the Indians, and that Mr Duncan was to accompany us. We had also received on board an Indian, who had long resided with the whites, and who was to act as our interpreter. A fair wind carried us over the bar, and, steering to the northward, we continued on for several days, till we brought up in a deep bay, on the shore of which was situated a large native village. Large numbers of the Indians came off in their canoes, with furs to exchange for cutlery, cotton goods, looking-glasses, beads, and other ornaments. Many of them were fine looking, independent fellows, but veritable savages, dressed in skins, their heads adorned, after their fashion, with feathers, shells, and the teeth of different animals. The captain treated them with great contempt, shouting at them, and ordering them here and there, as if they were beings infinitely inferior to himself. I saw them frequently turn angry glances at him, but they did not otherwise exhibit any annoyance. One day, however, he had a dispute with one of their chiefs about a matter of barter, when, losing his temper, he struck the savage and knocked him over on the deck. The Indian, recovering himself, cast a fierce glance at him, then, folding his arms, walked away, uttering some words to his companions, which we did not understand. The next day, Mr Duncan, who had gone on shore, returned on board hurriedly, with the interpreter, and warned the captain that the Indians intended to take vengeance for the insult their chief had received. The captain laughed, declaring that he did not fear what ten times the number of savages who as yet had come on board, would venture to do. "They are daring fellows, though, Captain Pyke, and treacherous, and cunning in the extreme," observed Mr Duncan. "Take my advice and keep them out of the ship. We have already done a fair trade here, and the natives have not many more skins to dispose of." "I am not to be frightened as other people are," answered the captain, scornfully. "If they have no skins they will not bring them, and if they have, I am not the man to be forgetful of the interests of the Company, by refusing to trade." This was said on deck in the hearing of the crew. "I'll tell you what, Jack," observed old Tom to me, "the captain will repent not following Mr Duncan's advice. If the Indians come on board, keep by me--we shall have to fight for our lives. I know these people. When they appear most friendly, they are often meditating mischief." That very evening several canoes came off, and in them was the chief whom the captain had knocked down. He seemed perfectly friendly, smiling and shaking hands with the captain as if he had entirely forgotten the insult he had received. When the savages took their departure, they were apparently on the best of terms with us all. STORY ONE, CHAPTER 6. The next morning we were preparing to put to sea, when two large canoes came off, each carrying about twenty men. As they exhibited a considerable number of furs, the captain allowed them to come on board, and trade commenced as usual. In the meantime, three other canoes came off with a similar number of men, and a larger quantity of furs of the most valuable descriptions. They also were allowed to come up the side like the rest. "Jack, I don't like the look of things," said old Tom. "Do you observe that the savages are wearing cloaks such as they have not appeared in before. Just come down for'ard with me." I followed Tom below. "Here," he said, "fasten this case under your jacket. If the savages attack us, we will jump into the boat astern; they will be too much intent on plunder to follow us, and we will make our escape out to sea. I propose to do this for your sake. As for me, I would as lief remain and fight it out. I have mentioned my suspicions to several of the men, and advised them to have an eye on the handspikes; with them we may keep the savages at bay till we can make good our retreat." I asked him why he did not warn the captain. "Because he is mad, and would only laugh at me," he answered. "Mr Duncan and the interpreter have already done so, and they are as well aware as I am that mischief is brewing." On going on deck, we saw the captain speaking to the Indians, and ordering them to return to their canoes. They appeared as if they were going to obey him, when suddenly, each man drawing a weapon from beneath his cloak uttered a fearful yell, and leaped at the officers and us. The captain, with only a jack-knife in his hand, defended himself bravely, killing four of his savage assailants. Led by old Tom, I, with three or four other men, fought our way aft to join the officers, intending, should we be overpowered, to leap, as we had proposed, into the boat. I saw poor Mr Duncan struck down and hove into a canoe alongside. The captain was apparently trying to reach the cabin, probably to get his fire-arms, when he fell, struck by a hatchet on the head. "Follow me," cried Tom. "We may reach the boat through the cabin windows." As he said this, he sprang down the companion-hatch, I and two others following him. The remainder of our number were overtaken by the savages before they could reach it. The last, Andrew Pearson, our boatswain, contrived to secure the hatch. This gave us time to get hold of the fire-arms fastened against the bulkheads, and to load and place them ready for use on the table. There were at least a dozen muskets, and as many brace of pistols. Had these been in our hands on deck, we should probably have driven the savages overboard, or they would have been deterred from making the attack. With them, we might now defend our lives against vastly superior numbers. The scuffle on deck was still going on, the yells of the savages rising above the stifled groans and cries of our unfortunate shipmates. They soon ceased, and then arose a shout of triumph from our enemies, and we knew that we were the only survivors. But we too were in a desperate plight. Tom was severely wounded, and the boatswain and the other man had received several gashes. I, indeed, thanks to the way in which Tom had defended me, was the only person unhurt. "Green, do you look after the hatchway," said Pearson to the other man who had escaped. "Tom, do you and Jack show your muskets through the stern windows, I have some work to do. The savages think they have us in a trap, but they are mistaken." He opened, as he spoke, a hatch which led to the magazine, and I saw him uncoiling a long line of match, one end of which he placed in the magazine, while he led the other along the cabin to the stern-port. Meantime, the savages had all clambered on board, and were shrieking and shouting in the most fearful manner, crowding down into the hold, as we could judge by the sounds which reached us, and handing up the rich treasures they found there. "No time to be lost," said Pearson, hauling up the boat. He went to the locker, and collected all the provisions he could find. "Jump in, Tom and Jack," he said. "Now for the fire-arms." He handed them in, and told us to place them along the thwarts, ready for use. "Now, Green," he said in a low voice, "jump in." We three were now in the boat, which was hidden under the counter from those on deck. He struck a light, and placed it to the slow match, and, having ascertained that it was burning, slipped after us into the boat, in which the mast was fortunately stepped. "Jack, do you take the helm, and steer directly for the mouth of the harbour," he said, cutting the painter and seizing an oar. Tom and Green did the same, and pulled away lustily. We had already got several fathoms from the vessel before we were perceived. The sail had been placed ready for hoisting. It was run up and sheeted home. The savages were about to jump into one of the canoes, and chase us, but three muskets pointed towards them made them hesitate. We were rapidly slipping away from the doomed brig. We could see the savages dancing and leaping on deck, their shouts and yells coming over the water towards us. "They will dance to another tune soon," muttered Pearson between his teeth. He and the other two had again taken to the oars. Even now a flight of arrows might have reached us, but fortunately the savages had not brought their bows with them, and probably that was the chief reason why they had not ventured to pursue us. They well knew that several of their number would have been shot down with our bullets had they made the attempt. Still we could see some of the chiefs apparently trying to persuade their warriors to follow us, and we knew that though we might fight till all our ammunition was expended, we should at last be overwhelmed by numbers. Our chance of ultimate escape seemed small indeed. "They will not come," said Pearson. "See!" We had got half-a-mile or more from the brig, when a deep thundering sound reached our ears. It seemed as if the whole vessel was lifted out of the water, while up into the air shot her mainmast and spars, and fragments of her deck and bulwarks, and other pieces of timber, mingled with countless human bodies, with limbs torn off and mangled in a fearful manner. At the same time the canoes with those who had escaped were paddling with frantic energy towards the shore, probably believing that the Great Spirit had sent forth one of his emissaries to punish them for their treachery to the white people. We concluded that some such idea as this was entertained by them, as we saw no canoes coming off in pursuit of us. Rowing and sailing, we continued to make our way out to the open ocean. It was blowing fresh but, the wind coming off-shore, the sea was tolerably calm, and we agreed that at all events it was better to undergo the dangers of a long voyage in an open boat than trust ourselves in the power of the revengeful savages. We had reached the mouth of the harbour, and could still see the village far off on its shore, when, to our dismay, we found the sea breeze setting in. We had accordingly to haul our wind, though we still hoped to weather the headland which formed its southern point, and get an offing. Tom all this time had uttered no complaint, though I saw the blood flowing down his side. The boatswain and Green had, with my help, bound up their wounds. I wanted Tom to let me assist him. "No," he said; "it's of no use. If you were to swathe me up, I could not pull. It will be time enough for that when we get round the headland." He was evidently getting weaker, and at last the boatswain persuaded him to lay in his oar, and try to stop the blood. The wounds were in his back and neck, inflicted by the savages as he fought his way onward to the cabin. I bound our handkerchiefs round him as well as I could; but it was evident that he was not fit for rowing, and that the only chance of the blood stopping was for him to remain perfectly quiet. During the last tack we made I fancied, as I looked up the harbour, that I saw the canoes coming out. I told the boatswain. "We will give them a warm reception, if they come near us," he answered. I felt greatly relieved when we at last weathered the point, and were now able to stand along shore, though we couldn't get the offing which was desirable. Night was coming on. The weather looked threatening, and our prospects of ultimately escaping were small. At last we got so near the surf that the boatswain determined to put the boat about and stand out to sea. Although the other tack might bring us almost in front of the harbour's mouth, it was the safest course to avoid being cast on shore. The night came on very dark, but the wind was moderate, and there was not much sea. Still the weather was excessively cold, and my companions suffered greatly from their wounds. Tom had been placed in the stern-sheets near me. Though he said less, he suffered more than the rest, and I could every now and then hear low groans escaping from his bosom. At last I heard him calling me. "Jack," he whispered, "what I told you is coming true. I am going. I feel death creeping over me. Remember the case. Do all you know I ought to have done. I have been a great sinner; but you once said there is a way by which all sins can be blotted out. I believe in that way. Jack, give me your hand. It's darker than ever; and I am cold, very cold." He pressed my hand, and I heard him murmuring to himself. It might have been a prayer, but his words were indistinct; I could not understand what he said. I kept steering with one hand, looking up at the sails, and casting a glance now and then at him, while the other two men pulled away to keep the boat to windward. Presently I felt his fingers relax; an icy chill came from his hand. I knew too well that my friend was dead. It was some time before I could bring myself to tell the boatswain what had happened. "Poor fellow! But it may be the lot of all of us before another day is over," he said; "yet, as men, we will struggle to the last." The night passed on, and we still persevered in endeavouring to obtain an offing, though so indistinct was the land that we could not tell whereabouts we were. What was our dismay, when morning broke, to find that we were directly off the mouth of the harbour, and at such a distance that the keen eyes of the savages on the hills around might easily perceive our sail. We at once put the boat about, hoping to get again to the south'ard before we were discovered. "It's too late," cried Green; "I see the canoes coming." "We must fight them, then," said the daring boatswain, calmly. "We don't just expect mercy at their hands after the treat we gave them," and he laughed at the fearful act he had committed. Still I thought what could we three, in a small boat, with our dozen muskets, do against a whole fleet of fierce savages. We could now see the canoes coming out of the harbour. The sea was smooth, and they would without fail venture after us. Our only chance of escape seemed in a sudden gale springing up, but of that there was little probability. I was turning my eyes anxiously towards the offing in hopes of seeing signs of a stronger breeze coming, when I caught sight of a sail. I pointed her out to the boatswain. "She is a large vessel," he exclaimed, "and standing this way." "Perhaps the savages will be more than ever anxious to catch us, for fear we should persuade the people on board yonder ship to punish them for what they have done," I observed. "They will catch us if they can," answered Pearson; "but they will have to pay a good price yet if they make the attempt," and he cast his eyes at the muskets which lay ready loaded. The canoes were drawing nearer and nearer, and we could now distinguish the figures of the plumed warriors as they stood up in the bows. The boat at the same time was slipping pretty quickly through the water. "The breeze is freshening," I observed; "we may escape them yet." "I don't much care if we do or do not," said Pearson; "I should like to knock over a few of these boasting fellows; we may hit them long before they can get near enough to hurt us." I for my part did not wish to see more of the savages killed, for they had only followed the instinct of their untutored natures, and we had already inflicted a terrible punishment on them in return. In a few minutes the breeze came down even stronger than before, and greatly to my satisfaction, the canoes appeared to be scarcely gaining on us, even if they did so at all. I continued to give a glance every now and then at the ship, for I was afraid after all she might alter her course, and stand away from us. At length, to my joy, I saw the savages in the canoes cease paddling. They apparently were afraid of venturing farther out into the ocean, or saw that it would be hopeless to attempt overtaking us. For some minutes they waited, as if holding a consultation, and then round they paddled and made their way back into the harbour. "Just like them," exclaimed Pearson. "Those cowardly red-skins will never fight unless they can take their enemies at an advantage." We had to make several tacks towards the ship, and then when we got near enough for the sound of our muskets to reach her, we fired several as a signal. They were at length, we concluded, heard on board. She kept away towards us. She drew nearer. We saw that she was a whaler, with the English colours flying at the peak. She rounded to, and we went alongside. "What has happened?" exclaimed several voices, as old Tom's body was seen lying in the stern-sheets. A few words told our tale. I was able to climb up the side, but Pearson and Green were so stiff from their wounds that they had to be helped up. They were far more hurt indeed than they had supposed, especially Pearson; but his dauntless spirit had hitherto kept him up. Our boat was hoisted on board, and old Tom's body was taken out and laid on deck. We were treated with great kindness, and the captain, greatly to my satisfaction, volunteered to give old Tom Christian burial. He had, as we supposed, intended to go into the harbour to obtain wood and water, and to trade with the natives; but when he heard of what had occurred he resolved to steer for a port farther south, and he told me that he was very grateful to us for giving him warning of the danger which he otherwise would have run. In the evening I saw my poor friend lashed up in a hammock, and committed to his ocean grave. All night long I was dreaming of him and of the dreadful scenes I had witnessed. The ship was the _Juno_. Her commander, Captain Knox, was a very different sort of person to my late captain; and from his kind manner, and the way he spoke to the officers and men, he seemed truly to act the part of a father to his crew. The ship had been out a year and a half, and it was expected she would remain another year in the Pacific. Though I was anxious to get home, yet when the captain asked me to enter on board, I was very glad to do so. Pearson continued to suffer fearfully from his wounds. Whether the deed he had done preyed on his mind, I cannot say; but a high fever coming on, he used to rave about the savages, and the way he had blown them up. At the moment he committed the deed I daresay he had persuaded himself that he was only performing a justifiable act of vengeance. The day before we entered the harbour to which we were bound he died, and poor Green did not long survive him, so that I alone was left of all the crew of the ill-fated _Fox_. STORY ONE, CHAPTER 7. The captain of the _Juno_ took every precaution to prevent her being surprised by the Indians. Boarding nettings were triced up round the ship every night, and the watch on deck had arms ready at hand. None of the natives were allowed to come on board, and only two or three canoes were permitted alongside at a time. We judged by their manner, though they were willing enough to trade, that they had already heard of what had occurred to the northward. Having got our wood and water on board, we again put to sea, cruising in various parts of the ocean known to be frequented by whales. A bright look-out was kept for their spouts as the monsters rose to the surface to breathe. The instant a spout was seen all was life and animation on board; the boats were lowered, generally two or three at a time, and away they pulled to be ready to attack the whale as it again rose to the surface. I remember, the first time I saw one of the monsters struck, I shouted and jumped about the deck as eagerly as if I myself were engaged in the work. Now I saw the lines flying out of the boat at a rapid rate, as the animal sounded; now the men in the boats hauled it in again, as the whale rose once more to the surface; now they pulled on, and two more deadly harpoons were plunged into its sides, with several spears; now they backed to avoid the lashing strokes of its powerful tail; now the creature was seen to be in its death-flurry, tumbling about and turning over and over in its agony. At length it lay an inert mass on the surface, and the boats came back, towing it in triumph. Next there was the work of "cutting in," or taking off the blubber which surrounded it; the huge body being turned round and round during the operation, as the men stood on it cutting off with their sharp spades huge strips, which were hoisted with tackles on deck. Last of all came the "trying out," when the blubber, cut into pieces, was thrown into huge caldrons on deck, with a fire beneath them; the crisp pieces, from which the oil had been extracted, serving as fuel. It was a curious scene when night came on, and fires blazed up along the deck, surrounded by the crew, begrimed with oil and smoke, looking like beings of another world engaged in some fearful incantation. This scene was repeated over and over again. We visited several islands in the Pacific. At some, where Christian missionaries had been at work, the inhabitants showed by their conduct that they were worthy of confidence; but at others the captain deemed it necessary to be constantly on his guard, lest they might attempt to cut off the crew and take possession of the ship, as we heard had frequently occurred. At length, to my delight and that of all the crew, the last cask we had on board was filled with oil, and with a deeply-laden ship we commenced our homeward voyage. We encountered a heavy gale going round the Horn, but the old _Juno_ weathered it bravely, though, as she strained a good deal, we had afterwards to keep the pumps going for an hour or so during each watch. We, however, made our way at a fair rate northward, and once more crossed the line. It may seem surprising that I had not hitherto examined the metal case which old Tom had committed to my charge. The box itself I had resolved not to open. I did not suppose that I should be induced to act as he had done, but yet I thought it wiser not to run the risk of temptation. We for several days lay becalmed, and one evening, while the crew were lying about the decks overcome with the heat, I stowed myself away for'ard, at a distance from the rest, and drew the paper out of the case. Great was my surprise to find that it was addressed to my own father. It contained a reference to the parchment in the box, and gave a list both of the jewels, the notes, and gold. The writer spoke of his wife and infant son, and charged my father, should any accident happen to him, to act as their guardian and friend as well as their legal adviser. The letter was signed "Clement Leslie." "This is strange," I thought. "Then there can be no doubt that little Clem is the very child old Tom saw placed in his nurse's arms on the raft, and his poor mother must have been washed away when the ship went down. Those Indian nurses, I have often heard, will sacrifice their own lives for the sake of preserving the children committed to their charge, and Clem's nurse must have held him fast in her arms, in spite of the buffeting of the waves and the tossing of the raft during that dreadful night when the Indiaman went down; and if she had any food, I dare say she gave it to him rather than eat it herself. But, poor fellow, what may have happened to him since we parted." I now felt more anxious than ever to reach home, and longed for the breeze to spring up which might carry us forward through the calm latitudes. It came at last, and the _Juno_ again made rapid progress homeward. We were bound up the Irish Channel to Liverpool; when, however, we got within about a week's sail of the chops of the Channel, it came on to blow very hard. The leaks increased, and we were now compelled to keep the pumps going during nearly the whole of each watch. The weather was very thick, too, and no observations could be taken. The crew were almost worn out; yet there was no time for rest. The gale was blowing from the south-west, and the sea running very high, when in the middle watch the look-out shouted the startling cry of "Land! on the starboard bow." The yards were at once braced sharply up, and soon afterwards the captain ordered the ship to be put about. We were carrying almost more canvas than she could bear, but yet it would not then do to shorten sail. Just as the ship was in stays, a tremendous squall struck her, and in an instant the three masts went by the board. There we lay on a lee shore, without a possibility of getting off it. The order was at once given to range the cables, that immediately the water was sufficiently shallow to allow of it we might anchor. I will not describe that dreadful night. Onward the ship drove towards the unknown shore. We had too much reason to dread that it was the western coast of Ireland, fringed by reefs and rugged rocks. As we drove on it grew more and more fearfully distinct. We fired guns of distress, in the faint hope that assistance might be sent to us; but no answering signal came. Too soon the roar of the surf reached our ears, and it became fearfully probable that the ship and her rich cargo, with all on board, would become the prey of the waves. I secured the precious box and case as usual, determined, if I could save my own life, to preserve them. The lead was continually hove, and at last the captain ordered the anchors to be let go. They held the ship but for a few minutes; then a tremendous sea struck her, and sweeping over her deck, they parted, and again onward she drove. A few minutes more only elapsed before she struck the rocks, and the crashing and rending sounds of her timbers warned us that before long she would be dashed into a thousand fragments. The sea was breaking furiously over the wreck, and now one, now another of the crew was washed away. I was clinging with others to a part of the bulwarks, when I felt them loosening beneath us. Another sea came, and we were borne forward towards the shore. For an instant I was beneath the boiling surf; when I rose again my companions were gone, and in a few seconds I found myself dashed against a rock. I clung to it for my life, then scrambled on, my only thought being to get away from the raging waters. I succeeded at length in scrambling out of their reach, and lay down on a dry ledge to rest. I must have dropped to sleep or fainted from fatigue. When I came to myself, the sun was up, and I heard voices below me. The tide had fallen, and numbers of country people were scrambling along the rocks, and picking up whatever was thrown on shore. I managed to get on my feet and wave to them. Several came up to me, and the tones of their voices showed me at once that they were Irish. Out of the whole crew, I was the only person who had been saved, and I was very doubtful how I might be treated. However, I wronged them. It was a matter of dispute among several who should take charge of me; and at length a young woman, whose cottage was not far off, carried me up to it. She and her husband gave me the best of everything they had; that is to say, as many potatoes and as much buttermilk and bacon as I could swallow. I was so eager to get home that, after a night's rest, I told them I wished to start on my journey. I was, I knew, on the west of Ireland, and I hoped that, if I could manage to get to Cork, I might from thence find means of crossing to England. Though my host had no money to give me, he agreed to drive me twenty miles on the way, promising to find a friend who would pass me on; and his wife pressed on me a change of linen, and a few other articles in a bundle. With these I started on my long journey. I was not disappointed, for when I told my story I was fully believed, and I often got help where I least expected it. At length I reached Cork, where I found a vessel just sailing for Liverpool. The captain agreed to give me a free passage, and at last I safely landed on the shores of old England. I must confess that I had more difficulty after this in making my way homeward, and by the time I reached the neighbourhood of my father's house my outer clothing, at all events, was pretty well worn to rags and tatters. STORY ONE, CHAPTER 8. It was the early summer when one evening I came in sight of my home. The windows and doors were open. Without hesitation I walked up the steps, forgetting the effect which my sudden appearance might produce on my family. One of my youngest sisters was in the passage. I beckoned to her. "What do you want?" she asked; "you must not stop here; go away." "What! don't you know me?" I asked. "No," she answered; "who are you?" "Jack--your brother Jack," I answered. On this she ran off into the drawing-room, and I heard her exclaim, "There's a great big beggar boy, and he says he is Jack--our brother Jack." "Oh no, that cannot be!" I heard one of my other sisters reply. "Poor Jack was drowned long ago in the _Naiad_." "No, he was not," I couldn't help exclaiming; and without more ado I ran forward. My appearance created no small commotion among three or four young ladies who were seated in the room. "Go away; how dare you venture in here?" exclaimed one or two of them. "Will you not believe me?" I cried. "I am Jack, I assure you, and I hope soon to convince you of the fact." "It is Jack, I know it is!" exclaimed one of them, jumping up and coming forward. I knew her in an instant to be Grace Goldie, though grown almost into a young woman. "It is Jack, I am sure it is," she added, taking my hand and leading me forward. "Oh, how strange that you do not know him!" My sisters now came about me, examining me with surprised looks. "How strange, Grace," said one; "surely you must be mistaken?" "No, I am sure I am not," answered Grace, looking into my face, and putting back the hair from my forehead. "Are you not Jack?" "Yes, I believe I am," I answered, "though if you did not say so I should begin to doubt the fact, since Ann, and Mary, and Jane, do not seem to know me." "Well, I do believe it is Jack," cried Jane, coming up and taking my other hand, though I was so dirty that she did not, I fancy, like to kiss me. "So he is--he must be!" cried the others; and now, in spite of my tattered dress, their sisterly affection got the better of all other considerations, and they threw their arms about me like kind girls as they really were, and I returned their salutes, in which Grace Goldie came in for a share, with long unaccustomed tears in my eyes. Just then a shriek of astonishment was heard, and there stood Aunt Martha at the door. "Who have you got there?" she exclaimed. "It's Jack come back," answered my sisters and Grace in chorus. "Jack come back! impossible!" cried out Aunt Martha, in what I thought sounded a tone of dismay. "Yes, I am Jack, I assure you," I said, going up to her; "and I hope to be your very dutiful and affectionate nephew, whatever you may once have thought me;" and I took her hand and raised it to my lips. "If you are Jack I am glad to see you," she said, her feelings softening; "and it will at all events be a comfort to your poor mother to know that you are not drowned." "My mother! where is she?" I asked--"I trust she is not ill." "Yes, she is, I am sorry to say, and up-stairs in bed," replied my aunt; "but I'll go and break the news to her, lest the sound of all this hubbub should reach her ears, and make her inquire what is the matter." I had now time to ask about the rest of my family. My father was out, but was soon expected home, and in the meantime, while Aunt Martha had gone to tell my mother, by my sisters' advice I went into the bedroom of one of my brothers, and washed, and dressed myself in his clothes. By the time Aunt Martha came to look for me I was in a more presentable condition than when I entered the house. I need not dwell on my interview with my mother. She had no doubts about my identity, but drawing me to her, kissed me again and again, as most mothers would do, I suspect, under similar circumstances. She was unwilling to let me go, but at length Aunt Martha, suggesting that I might be hungry, a fact that I could not deny, as I was almost ravenous, I quickly joined the merry party round the tea-table, when I astonished them not a little by the number of slices of ham and bread which I shortly devoured. My father soon arrived. He was not much given to sentiment, but he wrung my hand warmly, and his mind was evidently greatly relieved on finding that his plan for breaking me of my desire for a sea life had not ended by consigning me to a watery grave. He was considerably astonished, and evidently highly pleased, when I put into his hands the box and case which old Tom had given into my care; and I told him how I had fallen in, on board the _Naiad_, with the boy I fully believed to be Mr Clement Leslie's heir. "This is indeed strange," he muttered, "very strange, and we must do our best to find him out, Jack. It's a handsome estate, and it will be a pity if the young fellow is not alive to enjoy it. I must set Simon Munch to work at once." "Perhaps if the Russian frigate has returned home, we may learn from her officers what has become of him," I suggested. "We will think the matter over. Would you like a trip to Russia, Jack?" "Above all things, sir," I answered. "I could start to-morrow if it were necessary;" though I confess I felt very unwilling to run away again so soon from home, especially as my mother was so ill. Perhaps, also, Grace Goldie entered somewhat into my considerations. Next morning while we were at breakfast, and my father was looking over the newspaper, he exclaimed. "We are in luck, Jack! Did you not say that the name of the Russian frigate which picked you up was the _Alexander_? I see that she has just arrived at Spithead, from China and the Western Pacific. If so, there is not a moment to be lost, for she will probably be off again in a few days. You must start at once. Get your sisters to pack up such of your brother's things as will fit you, and I'll order a post-chaise to the door immediately." "I shall be ready, sir, directly I have swallowed another egg or two, and a few more slices of toast," I answered. "Munch must go with you, that there may be no mistake about the matter," said my father. "He will be of great assistance." All seemed like a dream. In a quarter of an hour I was rattling away as fast as a couple of posters could go, along the road to London. I sat in a dignified and luxurious manner, feeling myself a person of no little consequence--remembering that, at the same hour on the previous day, I had been trudging along the road ragged and hungry, with some doubt as to the reception I was to meet with at home. My tongue was kept going all the time, for Munch wished to hear all about my adventures. "Well, Master Jack, I am glad to have you back," he said. "To tell the truth, my conscience was a little uncomfortable at the part I had taken in shipping you off on board the collier, though I might have known--" he cast a quizzical look at me--"that those are never drowned who--" "Born to end their lives comfortably in bed," I added, interrupting him. "You needn't finish the sentence in the way you were about to do; I was never much of a favourite of yours, Mr Munch, I know." "I hope we shall be better friends in future, Master Jack," he remarked. "You used, you know, to try my temper not a little sometimes." As the old clerk was accustomed to long and sudden journeys, we stopped nowhere, except for a few minutes to get refreshments, till we rattled up to the George Inn at Portsmouth. Much to our satisfaction, we heard from the waiter that the Russian frigate was still at Spithead, and as the weather was fine, we hurried down the High Street, intending at once to engage a wherry and go off to her. As we reached the point a man-of-war's boat pulled up, and several officers stepped on shore. "That is not the English uniform," observed Munch; "perhaps they have come from the Russian frigate." He was right, I was sure, for I thought that I recognised the countenances of several I had known on board the _Alexander_. Among them was a tall, slight young man, dressed as a sub-lieutenant. I looked at him earnestly, scanning his features. It might be Clement, yet I should not under other circumstances have thought it possible. The young man stopped, observing the way I was regarding him, and I began to doubt that he could be Clement, as he did not appear to know me. I could bear the uncertainty no longer, so, walking up to him, I said, "I am Happy Jack! Don't you know me?" His whole countenance lighted up. With a cry of pleasure he seized both my hands, gazing earnestly in my face. "Jack, my dear fellow, Jack!" he exclaimed. "You alive, and here! Happy you may be, but not so happy as I am to see you. I mourned you as lost, for I could not hope that you had escaped a second time." His surprise was great indeed when I told him I came especially to search for him, and we at once agreed to repair to the "George," that I might give him the important information I had to afford, and settle, with the aid of Mr Munch, what course it would be advisable for him to pursue. He was overwhelmed, as may be supposed, with astonishment and thankfulness when I told him of the wonderful way in which I had become possessed of the title-deeds and jewels, which would, I hoped, establish his claims to a fair estate. This matter occupied some time. "With regard to quitting the ship," he observed, "there will, I trust, be no difficulty. I am but a supernumerary on board, and as I could not regularly enter the service till the frigate returned to Russia, the captain will be able to give me my discharge when I explain the circumstances in which I am placed." Having settled our plans, Mr Munch and I went on board with Clement. The captain at once agreed to what Clement wished, though he expressed his regret at losing him. My friend the doctor recognised me, and treated me, as did several of the other officers, with much kindness and politeness. I was, however, too anxious to get Clement home to accept their courtesy, and the next morning we were again on the road northward. Clement had studied hard while on board the Russian frigate, and had become a polished and gentlemanly young man, in every way qualified for the position he was destined to hold. He was made not a little of by my family, and though at one time I felt a touch of jealousy at the preference I fancied he showed to Grace Goldie, he soon relieved my fears by telling me that he hoped to become the husband of one of my sisters. My father, after a considerable amount of labour, proved his identity with the son of Mr Clement Leslie, who perished with his wife at sea, and established his claims to the property. I had had quite enough of a "life on the ocean wave," and though I had no great fancy for working all day at a desk, I agreed to enter my father's office and tackle to in earnest, my incentive to labour, I confess, being the hope of one day becoming the husband of Grace Goldie. We married, and I have every reason still to call myself "Happy Jack." STORY TWO, CHAPTER 1. UNCLE BOZ, OR, HOW WE SPENT OUR CHRISTMAS DAY, LONG, LONG AGO. Those were some of the pleasantest days of my boyhood which my brother Jack and I spent--with Uncle Boz in his curious-looking abode on the shore of the loud-roaring, tumultuous German Ocean, or North Sea, as it is more frequently called. On the English shore, I should have said; for Uncle Boz would not willingly have lived out of our snug little, tight little island, had the wealth of the Indies been offered him to do so. "It's unique, ain't it?" Uncle Boz used to say, as he pointed with a complacent air at his domicile. How Uncle Boz came to pick up that word _unique_, I do not know; had he been aware of its Gallic derivation, he would never have admitted it into his vocabulary--of that I am sure. Singular it certainly was; I doubt if any other edifice could have been found at all like it in the three kingdoms. It had been originally, when Uncle Boz first became its owner, a two-roomed cottage, strongly-built of roughly-hewn stone, and a coarse slate roof calculated to defy the raging storms which swept over it. It stood on a level space in a gap between cliffs, the gap opening on the sea, with a descent of some twenty feet or so to the sands. Uncle Boz having made his purchase, and settled himself and his belongings in his new abode, forthwith began to build and improve; but as he was his own architect and builder, the expense was not so great as some folks find it, while the result was highly satisfactory to himself, whatever the rest of the world might have thought about the matter. First he added a wing; but as the room within it, though suited to his height, was not calculated for that of a tall shipmate who occasionally came to see him, he built another on the opposite side of the mansion, of the proper dimensions, observing that, should honest Dick Porpoise, another old shipmate, come that way, the first would exactly suit him; the said Dick amply making up in width for what he wanted in height. Uncle Boz then found out that, though he could grill a chop before his dining-room fire, the same style of cooking would not suit a number of people; and so he erected what he called the Caboose, at the rear of his mansion. It certainly would not have been taken for what it was, had it not been for the iron flue which projected from the roof. The greatest work Uncle Boz ever undertook with respect to his abode, was what he called "putting another deck on the craft." I think he must have summoned assistance, and that, relying on the sagacity of others, he did not, as he was wont, employ his own; for when the walls were up, the roof on, and the floors laid, it was discovered that there was no staircase. He was in no way disconcerted, but he had no fancy for pulling down; and so he built a tower outside, near the back door, to contain the staircase; and having got it flush with the roof, he said that it was a pity not to have a good look-out, and so ran it up a dozen feet or so higher, with a platform and a flagstaff at the summit. Several other rooms of different dimensions were added on after this, and numerous little excrescences wherever by any ingenuity they could be run out,--some to hold a bed, and others only a wash-hand-stand, a trunk or two, or a chest of drawers. No materials seemed to come amiss. A small craft laden with bricks was cast ashore, just as he was about to begin one of his rooms. This was therefore built with her cargo, as were several of the excrescences run out from the ground-floor, while rough stones, and especially wood cast on shore from wrecks, had been chiefly employed. Then his paint-brush was seldom idle; and, as he remarked, "variety is pleasant," he coloured differently every room, both inside and out, increasing thereby the gay appearance, if not the tasteful elegance, of the structure. "Isn't it unique?" he asked for the hundredth time, as with paint-brush in hand, he stood on the lawn in front, surveying the work he had just completed. There was something, however, much more unique present,--not the garden, nor the rock-work, nor the summer-house, nor the seats, nor the fountain, nor the fish pond, nor the big full-rigged ship in front, nor the weathercocks on the chimneys, but Uncle Boz himself, and his factotum and follower, Tom Bambo. How can I describe Uncle Boz--that is to say, to do him justice? I'll try. He was short, and he was round, and he had lost a leg and wore a wooden one instead, and his face was full of the most extraordinary krinklums and kranklums, wrinkles and furrows they might by some have been called, but all beaming with the most unbounded good nature; and his little eyes and his big mouth betokened kindness itself. As to how they did this I cannot tell. I know the fact, at all events. His head was bald, the hair, he used to affirm, having been blown off in a heavy gale of wind off Cape Horn, excepting a few stumps, which he managed to keep on by clapping both hands to the side of his head, to save the rim of his hat when the crown was carried away. But his nose--foes, if by possibility he could have had any, might have called it a snub, or a button; supposing it was either one or the other, or both, it was full of expression,--the best of snubs, the best of button noses, all that expression betokening fun and humour, and kindness and benevolence. Yes, that dear nose of Uncle Boz's was a jewel, though unadorned by a carbuncle. And Tom Bambo--whereas Uncle Boz was white (at least, I suppose he once had been, for he was now red, if not ruddy and brown, with not a few other weather-stained hues), Tom Bambo was the colour he had ever been since he first saw the light on the coast of Africa,--jet black. In other respects there was a strong similarity. Uncle Boz had lost his left leg, Tom his right. In height and figure they were wonderfully alike. Bambo's mouth was probably wider, and his eyes rounder, and his teeth whiter, and his nose snubbier, but there was the same good-natured benevolent expression, the same love of fun and humour; and, indeed, it was impossible but to acknowledge that the same nature of soul dwelt within, and that the only difference between the white man and the black was in the colour of their skin. Yes, there was a difference: Uncle Boz had lost his hair, while Bambo had retained, in its woolly integrity, a fine black fleece, which served to keep his cranium cool in summer and warm in winter. Bambo used to be called the shadow of Uncle Boz. A jolly, fat noonday shadow he might have been. He had followed him, I believe, round and round the world, and when at length Uncle Boz went into port, and was laid up in ordinary, Bambo, as a matter of course, did the same. I have said what Uncle Boz was like, and the sort of house he lived in; but "Who was this Uncle Boz?" will be asked. Uncle Boz was not our uncle really, nor was he really the uncle of a very considerable number of boys and girls who called him uncle. I am not certain, indeed, that he was anybody's uncle: at least, I am very confident that dear old Aunt Deborah, who occasionally came to stay with him, and was his counterpart, barring the wooden leg, had no family, seeing that she was always addressed with the greatest respect as Miss Deborah. The real state of the case is this. Uncle Boz was beloved by all his shipmates, and his kind heart made him look upon all his brother officers as brothers indeed. One of them, shot down fighting for his country, as he lay on the deck in the agonies of death, entreated Uncle Boz, who knelt over him, to look after his two orphan boys. "That I will, that I will, dear brother. There's One above hears me, and you'll soon meet Him, and know that I speak the truth." "Boz, you have always spoken the truth," whispered the dying lieutenant. "I trust in Him; I die happy." The action was still raging. Another round-shot took off Uncle Boz's leg. "I don't mind," he observed, as the surgeon finished the job for him; "there's the pension to come, and that'll help keep poor Graham's children." It's my belief that he did look after those children, as if he felt that God was watching everything he did for them, or said to them; and the best of fathers could not have managed them better. They both entered the navy, and were an honour to the service. They naturally called him uncle, and so their friends and other children of old shipmates came to call him so, we among others; and as we were always talking of what Uncle Boz had said and done, he became generally known by that name. His name wasn't Boz, though. His real name was Boswell. He was no relation, however, to Dr Johnson's famous biographer, and he was a very different sort of person, I have an idea. I never saw him angry except once, when some one asked him the question. "No, sir; I have the privilege, and I take it to be a great one, of being in no way connected with the dirty little lickspittle--there!" he replied, as if with a feeling of relief at having thus delivered himself. Miss Deborah Boswell was shorter and more feminine than her brother, seeing that icy gales, and salt-water, and hot suns had not played havoc with her countenance, but she was fully as round and jolly. Uncle Boz was, as may have been surmised, a lieutenant in the navy. He got no promotion for losing his leg, and though he went to sea for some time after that, a lieutenant he remained, and what was extraordinary, a perfectly contented and happy one. Not a grumble at his ill fortune did I ever hear. Not a word of abuse hurled at the big-wigs at the head of affairs. And Tom Bambo,--Tom Bambo had followed Uncle Boz for many long years over the salt ocean. Tom had been picked up (the only survivor of some hundreds) from a sunken slave ship off the coast of Africa. Uncle Boz had on that occasion hauled him with his own hands into the boat. He was grateful then. Falling overboard afterwards during a heavy gale, in the same locality, where sharks abounded, when all hope of being saved had abandoned him, Uncle Boz from the topsail of the ship saw him struggling. "I cannot let that poor negro perish," he cried. "Pass me that grating." Grating in hand, he plunged overboard, swam to Bambo with it, and a boat being lowered, both were picked up. Bambo well understood the risk the brave lieutenant had run for his sake. "Ah, Massa Boz, me lub you as my own soul," he exclaimed, coming up to him with tears in his eyes. Uncle Boz had taught him that he had a soul. Such were Uncle Boz, Aunt Deborah, Tom Bambo, and the house they lived in. I again repeat, I have spent the happiest days of my life with them. Holidays they really were. He seldom had less than five or six boys at a time with him stowed away in the before-mentioned little excrescences of the mansion. Summer or winter we liked both equally well. There was always a hearty, chirruping welcome for us, and even now I see before me those three honest, round, kind faces in the porch, Uncle Boz and Aunt Deborah in front, and Bambo in the rear, for being generally employed in the back premises, he was last on the scene, and it was physically impossible for him to pass his master and mistress. The Christmas holidays arrived. A jolly journey we had of it; our pea-shooters were not inactive. There were Jack, and I, and big Ned Hollis, and David Fowler, and Tom and Harry King; Ned was older than any of us, and had been at sea, and we all looked up to him greatly. The friends of Uncle Boz were mostly commanders and lieutenants, surgeons, pursers, and marine officers. Now and then he entered on his list a merchant he might have met abroad, whose sons had no home to go to. By this time the Grahams were at sea, fitted out by Uncle Boz. Uncle Boz had had a good deal of money come to him, and it's my belief that he could have lived ten times better than he did, had he spent it all upon himself, instead of thinking only how he could do most good with it. The wheels of the chaise which contained us youngsters rolled so noiselessly over the snow, that not till the wicket opened, and a secret bell which communicated with the interior rung, did the tableau I have described appear in the porch. There it was though, in all its attractive freshness, by the time we had tumbled, some of us head foremost, out of the chaise. There was a blazing fire and a plentiful dinner, and we were all soon as merry as crickets, telling our adventures, Uncle Boz listening as if they were important matters of state. It was bitterly cold outside, or the snow would not have remained as it did so close to the sea. We were looking forward to skating the next day on a piece of water a mile or so inland, and we were to build a snow man, and a snow castle, which Uncle Boz undertook to defend with Bambo against all assailants. Aunt Deborah not being a combatant, was to be employed in the heroine-like occupation of making ammunition for both sides, in the shape of snowballs. It was decided that we would in the first place build a castle, and we were to commence early the next morning; our only fear was that the snow might melt, but as there was a very satisfactory biting, black, northerly wind blowing, there was not much chance of that. Our conversation all the evening was about saps and counter saps, of which Uncle Boz remarked that the red-coats ought to know far more than he did; and this led him to talk of some of the scenes in which he had taken part, and Bambo was sent for to assist his memory, and together they enthusiastically fought their battles over again. They were like Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim, except that the ocean was their field of glory, and that the cut of the two old seamen's jibs was strongly in contrast to the figures of their brother red-coats. It was a pleasant evening, that it was. How their tongues wagged. How they flourished their legs of wood! Bambo seemed to be sitting on quicksilver, on the top of the wooden stool which he had brought in and placed near the door. His exclamations and gesticulations kept us in hearty roars of laughter, as he became interested in the account of any gallant deeds thus brought by Uncle Boz to his recollection. It is impossible, however, for me now to repeat any of their accounts. I may do so by-and-by, when I have got on a little more with my story, for story I have, and a very interesting one it ought to prove. Breakfast over the next morning, having put all wheel-barrows, hand-barrows, and baskets we could find into requisition, we set to work to rear the stronghold to be defended. Such a castle as was the result never was seen before or since. Uncle Boz declared that he should be proud to defend it to the last gasp, Bambo echoing the sentiment. It was built on the side of the hill, with a perpendicular rock six feet high at least below it, and we all pronounced the fortress equal to those of Gibraltar, Ehrenbreitstein, San Sebastian, or any others of like celebrity. Both defenders were armed with shields--tops of saucepans--while, standing back to back, they with them defended their heads, or bravely bobbed as the snowy missiles flew towards them. We made our attacks now on one side, now on the other, they spinning round on their wooden legs with astonishing rapidity, to meet them. At length our general resolved to storm. The most difficult side was chosen-- where the cliff was steepest. A feint was made on the opposite side, towards which the defenders turned all their attention. We had reached the summit. Our friends on the opposite side pushed so vehemently against the walls, that an impetus was given to the whole fabric. Thundering over the cliff it came, with defenders and assailants, and all together were buried in the ruins. Uncle Boz soon scrambled out; but where was Bambo? At length a brown stump was seen wagging faintly. "That's his _leg_, haul away, boys," shouted Uncle Boz. We hauled and dug with might and main, for we had no small fear lest our black friend should be smothered outright; but the body followed the leg, as we hauled, and happily there was not only life, but activity in him, and jumping up, before we were aware what he was about to do, he began to pelt us so vehemently, that, amid shouts of laughter, we were compelled to take to flight, and scamper down the hill, Uncle Boz aiding him in following up the victory. That evening Uncle Boz showed us an apparatus for sending a line on board a stranded ship, whether invented or improved by him I am not prepared to say, nor whether the projectile was a rocket or a shot, or both, fired from a gun. Hollis, the eldest of our party, who had considerable mechanical talent, seemed clearly to understand its use, I remember. Great preparations had been made for Christmas Day. Such a turkey, such a piece of beef, and such a plum pudding! We went to church in the morning in spite of the distance, and a heavy gale blowing in our teeth coming back. Fine old English holly, with many a scarlet berry on it, adorned the church; and the instruments, violin, violoncello, flageolet, etcetera, etcetera, with the voices, were in great tune and wind; and the sermon was appropriate,--"Love, goodwill towards all men," just long enough to send us away in a happy temper, with its leading idea or principle in the heads, and may be in the hearts of some hearers. Our appetites, too, were sharpened by our walk, and the keen wind and the recollection of the appearance of our destined viands as we saw them displayed in Miss Deborah's larder. The wind was blowing strong on shore, not softened by its passage across the North Sea; the snow began to fall; thickly and more thickly it came down. "Stop," cried Uncle Boz, as we neared the cliff, "there's a gun!" We listened. The low, dull sound of a gun came across the seething, tossing ocean, but the ship from which it was fired was unseen. "She's a large ship, dismasted, possibly lost her anchors, or has no confidence in our holding ground. She is right. It is bad," he remarked; "firing to warn us to be on the look-out for her. We'll do that same at all events, poor souls. Where will she drive ashore, though?" Stooping down, he listened attentively for some time, then standing up, he exclaimed, "She'll strike not far from this to the south'ard. Bambo, we must try to help them." "Ay, ay, sir. Dat we will," cried Bambo. "Then find out Dick Hawker, Sam Swattridge, and the rest. Tell them if they'll go I'll command them, and if they won't, that they're a set of cowardly so-and-soes--. No, no, don't say that, they'll go fast enough." While Bambo hobbled off to the neighbouring fishing village, where there was a small harbour, we accompanied Uncle Boz home. Near the harbour a fine boat was kept ready to launch, which, though not a professed lifeboat, from her having been fitted up by Uncle Boz, she possessed many of the necessary qualifications for dangerous service. As soon as we reached the house, Uncle Boz got out the apparatus I have described, and gave it in charge of Ned Hollis, with Tom King as his lieutenant, and the rest of us as crew. He directed us all to obey Hollis implicitly. Hollis had not only been at sea, but had already superior scientific attainments. "Remember men's lives may depend on the way you manage that affair, lads. Now bear it along with you to the beach, to the spot where the ship is likely to come ashore. Deb, we'll be back for dinner I hope, and shall not have worse appetites. Perhaps we may have a guest or two," he added, as we went out. We had not gone far before we met two of the coastguard men, who had heard the firing. The head station, where the lieutenant resided, was at a considerable distance, and it was feared that he had gone in an opposite direction. Though the coastguard men would be of great assistance, Hollis was still to have charge of the apparatus. Uncle Boz having speedily made his arrangements, hurried off to the village, while we continued our course along the beach. Behind us was a lofty sand-hill, and Hollis ordered King and me to climb up to try and discover the ship. It was bitter work, even on the beach, much worse for the poor fellows wet through and through at sea. At first, on reaching the top of the sand-hill, we could see nothing, but soon the snow fell less densely, and through it we discovered the dim outline of a large ship, now almost buried in the trough of the sea, now lifted to the foaming summit of a wave as she drove onward towards the beach. Her masts were gone, though her bowsprit remained. The tide was carrying her somewhat along the beach, so that it seemed as if she would drift not far from the harbour itself. While we were watching, the snow ceased falling, and our interest was now turned towards the boat with Uncle Boz and Bambo in her. She had just reached the mouth of the harbour. It was perilous work. Huge seas were rolling in. A lull was waited for. Out dashed the boat. It seemed as if it were impossible she could live amid those troubled waters. How we held our breath as we watched her progress. Now it seemed as if she were overwhelmed by the curling, foaming seas; then again she emerged and struggled on, buoyantly floating on their summits. To save the ship was beyond human power, but the wish of Uncle Boz was evidently to try and pilot her in between two rocks, where her crew might perhaps reach the shore. Lives are more generally lost when a ship drives on an open beach than when among rocks. In one instance the people may cling to the rocks, but the undertow from the beach sweeps them out as often as they struggle towards it, till their strength fails, and they sink beneath the waves. With a glass King had brought, we could see the people on the deck of the hapless craft. King handed it to me. "What do you see now?" he asked. "Women as well as men, two or three at least," I exclaimed, almost breathless. "Poor creatures! Oh, King, suppose there were children among them!" The ship rolled fearfully, while the seas meeting with the resistance of her already water-logged hull broke over it in showers of foam, which must have frozen as they fell on her deck. Her crew were huddled together, some forward and some with the passengers aft. For her size there appeared to be very few seamen. We told Hollis. "When the masts went, many of them likely enough went also," was his answer. Hitherto they had not observed the boat. We saw Uncle Boz waving to them. There was a movement among the men. They saw him; an attempt was made to hoist a sail on the stump of the foremast. It was blown away in an instant. "No anchor would hold; yet it is their only chance," said Hollis. The coastguard men agreed. The attempt was made. We saw the crew cutting the stoppers. It was a moment of breathless anxiety. "Yes, it holds," was shouted. The ship brought up head to wind. The boat was making way towards her. "It will never hold," cried Hollis. Now was the opportunity for the boat to get alongside. Should the cable part, three minutes would see the ship amid the cruel breakers. The boat seemed almost stationary; the people on deck stretched out their hands to her imploringly. Our eyes ached with gazing on her. We thought not of the biting wind, the piercing cold. "She is driving," cried Hollis. "But--but--see! see! Uncle Boz is alongside. Heaven protect him!" There was a rush to the side. Several persons were lowered into the boat. We saw others descending by ropes: whether they all got in we could not tell. Some remained on deck. The boat suddenly appeared at a distance from the ship. "The cable has parted!" cried Hollis. "No hope for them now!" We hurried along to where we saw the ship must strike. A huge roller seemed to lift her, and with a terrific crash down she came on the sand, the foaming sea instantly dashing over her, making every timber in her tremble, and tearing off large fragments of her upper works. "The stoutest ship ever built couldn't stand those shocks many minutes," observed one of the coastguard men. Hollis had planted his apparatus. A shot was fired, and the line fell over the wreck as the sea took one poor fellow who had let go his hold to clutch it. In vain he lifted up his hands to grasp some part of the wreck. He was borne helplessly into the seething caldron below. Now he was carried towards us. We could see his straining eyeballs, and his arms stretched out. In vain, in vain. The hissing roller, as it receded, swept him far away; a shriek reached our ears, and we saw him no more. Such has been many a brave seaman's lot. Another seaman was more successful, the line was secured, and now we signalled to those on board to secure a stouter line that we might haul it on shore. One was found, and we began hauling away, but our united strength could only just do it. How should we ever get a cable taut enough to allow of the people passing safely along it? Happily at that moment several fishermen arrived with stout poles, boats' masts, and oars, and began planting them in the sand. Then taking the rope in hand, they hauled it in with ease. A hawser had been made fast to the rope. That in the same way was got in, and the end secured to the poles. A traveller had been wisely placed on the hawser. The first man securing himself to it worked his way along, carrying a line with him. He was one of the mates. There were six more people on board alive, including the captain, he told us. The rest had been lowered into the boat, with the women and children. "Children out in such weather as this!" more than one of us exclaimed. But the boat; where was that? Now, for the first time, while the line which the brave mate had brought on shore was being hauled back, we had time to look out for her. I ran up the sand-hill. In vain I turned my eyes over the angry, foaming sea. Not a glimpse of the boat could I obtain. Down came the snow again. My heart sank within me. "Haul away!" I heard shouted. I ran to take my part. The big tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn't tell my companions what I feared. At last I could refrain no longer. "Oh Hollis! oh King! the boat has gone," I cried out, bursting into tears. "Uncle Boz! dear Uncle Boz and Bambo!" sobbed more than one of us. "No fear, masters--no fear," exclaimed one of the fishermen. "The boat is in long ago, and the lieutenant and those he has saved from a watery grave are safe on shore, and on their way up to the house by this time." How our hearts felt relieved, and if we didn't shout for joy, it was because they were too full for that. Well, I must cut my story short. Three more men came on shore safe; a fourth attempting to get along, trusting to his own strength without the traveller, was washed off, and in spite of a rush made into the water to save him, was carried back and lost. The brave captain was the last man to leave the ship, and scarcely had he reached the strand than a huge sea, like some great monster, with a terrific roar struck the wreck, and literally dashed her into a thousand fragments. I must not stop either to describe the appearance of the beach strewn with fragments of wreck, with cargo and baggage, or how the people from far and near collected to appropriate what they could, eager to secure a large booty before the proper authorities arrived to take possession of the property. Bambo, who appeared to invite all those we had rescued up to the house, satisfied us that Uncle Boz was safe. We hurried on with our companions, for we were all wet through, and bitterly cold. The house was hot enough when we got inside, for there were blazing fires in each room, Uncle Boz presiding over one, Bambo over the other, with saucepans and spoons, and a strong smell of port-wine negus pervading the atmosphere. In the dining-room, into which Miss Deborah did not venture, were five or six rolls of rugs, with rough human heads sticking out of them. In the drawing-room, the dear lady's own domain, was a large basket, serving as a cradle, in one corner, and two big chairs forming a bed in another; one occupied by an infant, the other by a little creature with fair face, and beautiful blue eyes, which would look up with bewildered gaze to watch what was going forward. Aunt Deb was deeply busied in grating nutmeg, squeezing lemons, and stirring up sugar. "Oh, dear boys, run and change your clothes, or you'll all catch your death of cold!" she exclaimed. Up we went, but soon discovered that she had forgotten to warn us that most of our rooms were occupied. However, she recollected very quickly, and hurrying, panting after us, brought us all dry garments into Hollis' room. The captain had followed us, and arrived as we came back. Uncle Boz was about to make another jorum of negus. He looked up, spoon in hand. "Welcome on shore, 'tis no time for ceremony," he cried out. "Always glad to receive a seaman, in distress. There, turn into my bed in the room through there. Your men shall have rugs in the other room there, till their clothes are dry." Where was our Christmas dinner all this time? That had the caboose to itself, and Bambo every now and then stumped off to see how it was going on, Miss Deborah also occasionally looking in for the same purpose. By the time the dinner was cooked, the seamen's clothes were dried, and then the table was spread in the dining-room, and Uncle Boz, standing up, asked a blessing on the food, and told the shipwrecked seamen to fall to. Miss Deborah carried off certain portions of the turkey and ham up-stairs, and Uncle Boz, in like manner, took some into his best guest-chamber, the one built for his late shipmate. All I know is that every scrap had disappeared before he found out that neither he nor any of us had eaten a morsel. He winked to us to say nothing about the matter, and Bambo soon after placed on the drawing-room table some bread and cheese, and a huge pile of gigantic mince-pies. We demolished them, and I may honestly say that I never more thoroughly enjoyed a Christmas dinner, at least seeing one eaten. I have a good deal more to say about that pair of blue eyes, now closed by sleep in the arm-chair, and those up-stairs to whom the little owner belonged; but I must cry avast for the present. Well! there _is_ a satisfaction in toiling, and denying ourselves to do good to others, and to make them happy, and that is the reason why I have an idea that that same day I have been describing was one of the most satisfactory Christmas days I ever spent. STORY TWO, CHAPTER 2. More than a year had passed away since those Christmas holidays when the wreck happened, and my brother and I were again to become inmates of Uncle Boz's unique abode. It was midsummer; the trees were green, the air warm and balmy, the wind blew gently, and the broad blue sea sparkled brightly, and seemed joyously to welcome our return. A somewhat poetical notion; the fact being that we were so happy to get back to the dear old spot, and the dearer old people, that we could not help feeling that all the objects, inanimate as well as animate, on which our eyes rested were equally delighted to see us. Yes, I am certain of it. The yellow sand looked cleaner and yellower; the sun shone, and the wide ocean glittered more brightly; and the blue sky looked bluer, with the bold cliffs standing up into it; and the gulls' wings whiter, as they darted through the glowing atmosphere, than we had ever seen them before. At all events, there were certain animate objects who were delighted to see us, or we must have been very bad decipherers of the human countenance. There stood Uncle Boz, Aunt Deborah, and Bambo, and another personage who presented a very great contrast in personal appearance to any one of the three. Not from being very tall, or very thin, or very grave, or very sour-looking, or very white, or very ugly. The personage in question had none of these peculiarities. Who said that Uncle Boz was ugly? He wasn't! nor was Aunt Deborah, nor was Bambo. They were all beautiful in their way; at least, I thought so then, and do now. Well, but about this personage. There was a pair of large blue eyes--the sky wasn't bluer, nor the sea more sparkling when they laughed; and there was a face round them very fair, with a delicate colour on the cheeks and lips. I should like to see the coral which could surpass them, polished ever so much. There was hair in ringlets, adorning the face; not flaxen exactly, though light with a tinge from the sun, or from something which gave it a bright glow. This head belonged to a little girl--very little, and fairy-like, and beautiful. A different sort of beauty to Bambo's or Uncle Boz's, or even to Aunt Deborah's. I don't indeed think that Aunt Deb ever could have been like Katty Brand, even in her childhood's days, or if she had, she was very considerably altered since then. The blue eyes opened wider than ever with astonishment, and the lips parted, as, jumping out of the carriage, we were kissed by Aunt Deb, and had our hands wrung in the cordial grasp, first of Uncle Boz, and then of jolly old Bambo. It was evidently a matter of consideration in that little head of Katty's how she should receive us. We settled the point by each of us giving her some hearty kisses, which I don't think offended her much, though she did wipe her cheeks after the operation, and we very soon became fast friends. "She is a beauty," whispered Jack to Aunt Deb; on which Aunt Deb nodded and smiled, as much as to say, "Indeed she is." We were soon discussing with Uncle Boz the programme for our summer amusements. We were to have salt-water fishing and fresh-water fishing, and shooting, and boating, and egg hunting, and shells and other curiosities were to be looked for on the seashore, and long walks were to be taken; and then we were to have bathing, and to learn to knot and splice, and to cut out and rig a ship; indeed, every moment of our time would be fully occupied. Somebody wishes to know about the owner of those blue eyes. I first saw them, on the evening of the wreck, watching Aunt Deb performing certain culinary operations at the drawing-room fire. There is a sad story connected with the beautiful little owner of which I have not liked before to speak. I mentioned a lady in one room, and a gentleman in another, and a little baby in a basket. They all now lay at rest in the burying-ground of the church we went to that memorable Christmas morning. We little thought at the time that there would be soon so many fresh occupants. The lady soon sank under the effects of her exposure on the stormy ocean that bitter winter's day. Her baby followed, and her husband did not survive many days. Katty alone of the family remained. She was too young to know the extent of her loss, or feel it long; and had Aunt Deborah been her mother's dearest friend, instead of a total stranger, she could not possibly have more tenderly cared for the little orphan. This event formed a melancholy termination to those Christmas holidays, and excited the warmest sympathy in our hearts for Katty Brand. We knew well, however, that she was in good hands while Uncle Boz and Aunt Deborah had charge of her. We were not disappointed. Hers was a happy life, and a brighter or sweeter little rosebud never was seen. It may easily be supposed that she was a pet among us boys in the holidays, and each one of us would have gone through fire and water to serve her. Jack, who was somewhat emphatic in his assertions, declared that he would swim through hot pitch and burning sulphur, or sit on the top of an iceberg in the coldest day of an arctic winter, if so doing would give her a particle of pleasure. He was very safe in making the offer; for as she was the most sensible, amiable little creature in existence, it was not likely that she would ever thus test his regard. I must say that Miss Katty ran a very great chance of being spoiled between Uncle Boz and Aunt Deborah and Bambo, in spite of the wise saws about training children to which Uncle Boz continually gave utterance. "The little lady mustn't have her way, or mustn't do that thing," he was continually saying; but the little lady notwithstanding had her way, and did the very thing she wished. However, Aunt Deborah, with her watchful care, though loving the little creature as much as any one, managed quietly to correct the faults which would undoubtedly otherwise have sprung up in her character, and deeply grateful some one is to her for so doing. However, of that more anon. She was, of course, rather a pet than a playmate of us youngsters; but even the least sentimental among us considered her infinitely superior to any dog, even though he could have danced a hornpipe, or monkey, however full of tricks, or parrot, however talkative, which could have been provided for that purpose. As Aunt Deborah was not much addicted to rapid locomotion, nor accustomed to walk to any distance, Katty was her constant companion. Indeed, as we were out all day shooting, or fishing, or boating, with Uncle Boz or Bambo, we saw her, except on Sundays, only in the morning and evening. When by any chance Aunt Deborah was unable to go out with her, my brother Jack was always ready to take her place; and certainly no mother could have watched over the little creature with more gentle care. It happened that Aunt Deborah had caught a cold, and was compelled to keep the house; the rest of us were going out trout-fishing with Uncle Boz; but Jack made excuses for remaining behind, wishing, in fact, to offer his services to take Katty a walk, or perhaps a row in our boat, if Bambo could be spared to accompany him; if not, he proposed asking one of the fishermen from the village, should any be found sauntering about on the beach. As it happened, Bambo could not go; but Jack did not mind that, as he knew that Bill Cockle would be ready to accompany him. We left him working away at a vessel he was rigging, and waiting patiently till the afternoon, when Aunt Deborah would let Katty go out with him. We had a capital day's sport. Uncle Boz caught ten brace of trout, I killed five, and the rest not many less. We took our dinner with us, and discussed it sitting on a green bank, under the shade of a willow, with the rapid stream flashing and sparkling by over its pebbly bed at our feet. It would be a memorable day, we all agreed, as it was a most pleasant one. What trout-fisher cannot recall some such to his memory, not to be surpassed by others in subsequent years! When we got back we found Aunt Deb in a state of agitation at the non-appearance of Katty and Jack. Bambo had gone out to look for them, and had not returned. We, of course, ran off immediately to the beach, expecting to find them there. Neither up nor down on the beach were they to be seen. We ran to where our boat was moored in the little harbour; she was not there. We cast our eyes over the sea: there were several specks in the distance, undoubtedly boats; ours might be one of them. There were also white sails in the horizon, vessels sailing to or from Scottish ports. Every fishing-boat had gone out; Uncle Boz's large boat was hauled up, undergoing repairs. We saw Bambo up at the village, making inquiries. Bill Cockle had gone away early in one of the boats. The women had been busily engaged in their houses, and had not watched the harbour. I did not for one moment believe that Jack would have taken Katty into the boat, and pulled out of the harbour by himself; yet how to account for their disappearance? Uncle Boz himself, tired as he was, very soon came down to us. He seemed quite calm; but loving the little girl as he did, I knew how anxious he must have felt. Having first examined the boat, "She'll float," he observed, and he then directed Bambo to get her gear down from the boat-house in the village. The news spread that something was wrong, and women and a few old men collected from all sides to hear about it. The children also came, and were seen talking among themselves. They had seen something unusual. We tried to elicit what it was. We, not without difficulty, discovered at last that they had seen some strange people on the beach; that they had come down in a cart or waggon, which had afterwards driven rapidly off; that they had got into a small boat, and pulled away for a lugger, which stood in to meet them. Uncle Boz inquired where the coastguard men had been at the time. They had been summoned in different directions, so that none were near at hand. "I see it all," he exclaimed; "the scoundrels! That is the way they take their revenge on me. They cannot have got far with this breeze; we must be after them." It may seem surprising that Uncle Boz should have had any enemies--that he could have offended any one; but the fact that he had is only another proof that men who act uprightly cannot at all times avoid giving offence to the bad. This part of the coast was occasionally visited by smugglers from Dunkirk, as well as from the coast of Holland. Their vessels were manned by a mixture of Dutch, French, and English, and they were in league with Englishmen of various grades, who took charge of the goods they brought over. During the previous winter, a young man, struck down by sickness, and brought to repentance, sent, just as he was dying, to Uncle Boz, and revealed to him a plot, in which he was concerned, to run a large cargo, in doing which there was great risk that the lives both of coastguard men and smugglers would be sacrificed. Uncle Boz instantly went off himself to the Inspecting Commander of the district; and so strong a force was sent down to the spot, and so sharp a look-out kept up along the coast, that the smugglers found their design impracticable, and were compelled to abandon it. Had the young smuggler survived, they would have wreaked their vengeance on him; but he was safe from them in his grave. Their rage, therefore, was turned towards Uncle Boz, as they had discovered that he had given the information, and assisted to make the arrangements which had defeated their plans. Although not wishing to act the part of a volunteer coastguard man, Uncle Boz had always set his face against the smugglers, and spoke of their proceedings as lawless and wicked. "Black is black, and white is white; and it is because people will persist in calling black white that the ignorant are left in their ignorance, and unable to discern right from wrong," he used to observe, when speaking on the subject. It seemed almost incredible, however, that the smugglers, bad as they might be, would maliciously injure a young boy and a little child, even though they might suppose, as they probably did, that they were the children of the man who had offended them. Still, such things had been done before. There was no other way of accounting for the disappearance of Jack and Katty. Jack would never have put off in the boat by himself. Had he done so she would still be visible, and there had been no wind to upset her. He would certainly not have remained out so long willingly; besides, the account given by the children, who had seen the strangers come down to the beach and push off in a boat, seemed to settle the question. We had still to wait for a crew. Uncle Boz sent up to the house for his tools, and an old carpenter in the village lent a hand, and they, with Bambo, worked away to get the boat ready for sea. We, meantime, hunted among the rocks along the shore for any traces of the missing ones, not without a feeling of fear and dread that we might discover some; then we searched the cliffs, and every cave and cranny we could think of. Poor Aunt Deborah came down, when at length her fears had been aroused, to ascertain what had become of her little darling. I never saw her so grieved and agitated before. I was afraid that she would blame Jack; but not a word against him did she utter. On the contrary, she could only say, "Poor, poor fellow! I know that he would die sooner than let the sweet angel be injured; and if she has gone, so has he." Before I heard her say that I had not realised what might have happened, and I burst into tears. While we were waiting, in the hopes that some of the men for whom Uncle Boz had sent might be found, one of the specks in the distance, which we knew to be boats, was seen approaching. Slowly she drew nearer and nearer the shore. We watched her anxiously. She might bring us some information. At length she was seen to be a fishing-boat. We hurried down to the beach, as with a light breeze she came skimming in over the calm sea. The first person who jumped out of her was Bill Cockle. "Have you seen Jack? Have you seen Katty Brand?" I eagerly cried out. Bill pulled off his hat, scratched his head, and with a look of astonishment, turning round his head as if some one had hit him, exclaimed, "No! Why, what's happened?" We told him. On which giving a slap on his thigh, and a hitch to his waistband, with a forcible expression, which I need not repeat, he exclaimed, "The villains! That's what we saw, then. We couldn't make it out. Well, I didn't--" "What was it you saw? What happened? Say, say!" we all exclaimed in one breath. Cockle's explanation was somewhat long, and sorely tried our patience. He and his mates had hauled in about half of one of their long nets, when a large lugger, they had not before seen, passed them, very nearly running them down. She stood close in, and exchanged signals with the shore. A boat in a little time was seen to come off with several people in her, and Cockle declared that he had seen a boy handed up the side of the lugger, and he was nearly certain a baby or little child. The lugger then hoisted in the boat, and made sail to the southward. As, however, there had been either a calm, or but a slight breeze ever since, from the southward, she could not have got far. This seemed to settle the question. We had now collected enough men to form a crew. We required arms and authority for boarding the lugger. Edward Grahame was with us, but though a midshipman, dressed in his uniform, with a dirk by his side, he could scarcely in his own person answer all our requirements. He was of course to go, and, to my great satisfaction, Uncle Boz gave me leave to be of the party, in consideration that it was my brother who was lost. The rest went back somewhat unwillingly to attend on Aunt Deborah. In spite of her grief, Aunt Deborah recollected that we could not live without eating, and had gone home to provide as large a store of provisions as the house could furnish. The men, meantime, got some kegs with water, and several loaves of bread and a cheese. We all ran backwards and forwards bringing the provisions Aunt Deborah had provided. We were not likely to starve, even though we might have had a chase of many days before we should overtake the lugger. Though we had collected all the weapons to be found, we were not over well armed. "Never mind, lads," cried Uncle Boz, "we have the boat's stretchers, stout hearts, and a right cause, and if we can once get alongside the villains, there's no fear but that we'll win back our little jewel, and give them some broken heads for the trouble of heart and body they've caused us." "Yes, dat we will," echoed Bambo, flourishing a heavy handspike over his head, with a vehemence which showed that age had not impaired his vigour. "We will treat dem as we did dem picarooning villains in de Vest Indies, ven you led de boarders, massa Boz, eh!" "And you followed close at my side, and saved my life, Bambo," cried Uncle Boz. "Shove away boys, lift her handsomely, she'll be afloat directly." We were running the heavy boat down the beach into the water. Just as we were about to shove off, who should appear but Lieutenant Kelson, of the coastguard, with two of his men. "There's not much chance that he'll ever set the Thames on fire," I heard Uncle Boz once remark of him, from which I concluded that he was not a very bright genius. However, he was now cordially welcomed. He possessed the authority we wanted. His men were well armed, and would help us in fighting, of which I had a secret hope that we should enjoy a fair amount. I did not know what fighting was in those days. I had never seen blood drawn--human beings in the pride of manhood, shot down, and mangled and torn by shot and shell and langrage fired by brethren's hands, writhing and shrieking in their death agony. Fighting may be a necessary evil, but an evil it is, and a dreadful one too. Mr Kelson hearing what had occurred, agreed to come, and he jumping in with his men, off we shoved amid the cheers of all who remained on shore, and their good wishes for our success. The men let fall their oars. Bob Grahame and I had one between us, and Uncle Boz steered; Kelson sitting like an admiral in his barge, and doing nothing. The little wind there had been fell completely, that was just what we wanted. If the calm continued, we should be nearly certain to come up with the lugger. Though the days were long, the sun was sinking down over the land, amid a rich orange glow which suffused the whole western sky. We were anxious before daylight had gone to catch sight of the lugger, lest we might pass her during the night. Fast as she was, however, with the light breeze which had been blowing for a short time, she might have slipped along through the water for a considerable distance. Cockle reported that she had edged off from the coast, and so having no other course to choose, we steered in the same direction, at the same time keeping a bright look-out in-shore, lest she might have afterwards kept in again, in the hopes of a chance of running some contraband. Several of the revenue cutters on the station had gone into port to refit, and the smugglers were just now indulging themselves, as do mice when the cat's away. Numerous vessels were seen in the offing, but none of them like the lugger. We pulled steadily on. It was not likely that the smuggler would have gone much to the eastward, as she was probably bound for the coast of Holland or France. We should be certain, therefore, to come up with her. Twilight lessened, and darkness was gathering round us, when the moon, a vast globe of golden hue, rose out of the water, and as she shot upwards, cast a brilliant sparkling pathway of light athwart its surface. Never was I out in a more glorious night. Had we not had serious work before us, it was one to engross all our thoughts. Even the fish seemed to enjoy it, as we could see them leaping up on either hand. Many of them must have been big fellows, by the loud splash they made. On, on we pulled. "If we don't soon come up with her, it will make our fellows very savage," observed Kelson to Uncle Boz. "Yes, we eat 'um," cried out Bambo, who was a privileged joker. The remark was appreciated by the other men. "Yes Bambo, a jolly good supper we'll make of them, the waggabonds," sung out one of the other men. It was time, however, for real supper, so we knocked off rowing, and provisions, with grog, were served out, and not sorry I was to rest my arms. A capital supper was made, and the crew seemed to enjoy it much. Once more, with renewed strength, we took to our oars. To pull all night long, with the chance of a fight at the end of it, is not so pleasant as lying snugly in bed; but, under the circumstances, I infinitely preferred being where I was--eagerness gave strength to our arms. We could not go on much longer without falling in with her, it was thought. "It depends whether she is full or empty," observed the lieutenant. "If the latter, she'll be making the best of her way across to the Continent; but if she's full she'll be hovering about the coast for the chance of running her cargo. She'll probably just now have her canvas lowered on deck, so that it will be a hard job to make her out." There seemed wisdom in this remark, but as she could have run some of her cargo when she stood in in the afternoon if she had had any on board, the general opinion was that she was steering a course for Dunkirk, to which a smuggling lugger frequenting the coast was known to belong, and it was thought that she must be that same lugger. All we hoped for was that the calm would continue. We were pulling steadily on, the men chatting with each other, when Mr Kelson sung out, "Silence! a sail ahead!" I could not help looking anxiously over my shoulder to ascertain what she was. I could just discern a dark object no great height out of the water. "She's the lugger, I really think," observed Mr Kelson. "I hope she may have some tubs aboard." "I pray that she may have the dear children safe," said Uncle Boz. "Yes, she's a lugger, there's no doubt about that," remarked the lieutenant. Everyone was now on the alert, and I saw the men feeling that their weapons were ready for use. My heart beat considerably quicker than usual. We neared the stranger. "Pull out of stroke, lads," said Uncle Boz. "They'll take us for some merchantman's crew." There were several men we could see on the deck of the lugger. It was very difficult to prevent ourselves from dashing up alongside in the way our feelings would have dictated. It seemed strange, however, that they did not exhibit any alarm at our approach. Uncle Boz steered as if going to pass her, then suddenly shearing the boat alongside, we jumped on board. "Well, what is all this about?" exclaimed a man standing aft, no one offering a show of resistance. "That we are in His Majesty's revenue service, and that you are our prisoners," cried Lieutenant Kelson. "That we have contraband on board, or that you have a right to detain us, must be proved," said the master calmly. "Step below, you will find my papers correct; there is some mistake, I suspect." The lieutenant went down into the little cabin and I followed, half hoping to find Jack and Katty; but not a sign of them was there. Uncle Boz now came below; when the mate saw him he exclaimed, "Ah, sir, I know you; I was second mate of the _Rosamond_, wrecked near your house, when you saved our lives and treated us all so kindly. What has happened?" Uncle Boz told him. "Then I'll help you if I can," said the master. "A lugger with sweeps passed us not an hour ago, quite close. I had an idea I knew the fellow, and but little honesty is there in him. Do you pull on as before, and I will follow if there comes a breeze, and lend a hand should you want me." There was no time for talking, and as the vessel was evidently honest, we tumbled into our boat and pulled on as lustily as before. We soon caught sight of another vessel. "Hurrah! there she is," cried Uncle Boz. "The fellows won't balk you this time; but we must go alongside as we did the other." The lugger had taken in her sweeps, having got well off from the land. As we drew near we began to pull carelessly as before. The people on her deck evidently did not know what to make of us. They seemed, however, satisfied, for several continued to walk up and down the deck, as they had at first been doing, hands in pockets. We quickly made them draw them out though. The boat in another instant was alongside, and we were leaping on deck. Oaths in Dutch, French, and English burst from the lips of the crew. "We are betrayed," shouted the captain of the lugger. "But cheer up, lads. Overboard with the fellows!" As he began to show fight, a knock on the head silenced him, and the crew on deck quickly succumbed. The lieutenant and his men jumped below, and secured several of the men in their berths. Uncle Boz and I meantime made our way into the cabin. A bright lamp hung from a beam above. On a locker was seated my brother Jack, Katty resting on one arm, while with his other hand he was feeding her with gruel from a basin held by a tall thin old Frenchman, dressed in a faded suit, of ancient cut, and a white nightcap on his bald head. I should have said had been feeding, for the process was arrested by the noise on deck. They all looked up as we entered, and Katty in her eagerness upset the basin as she sprang forward to throw herself into Uncle Boz's arms. She instantly ran back and took Jack by the hand, crying out, "Dear Jack couldn't help it. If he bigger, he wouldn't let naughty smuggler carry me away." They had not been ill-treated; the old Frenchman especially had been very kind to them. "Ah! yes, I have von littel grandchild lik dat at home," he remarked. So sudden had been our attack that we found plenty of things on board to condemn the vessel; while, of course, those concerned would be tried for the abduction of Jack and Katty. As the old Frenchman was clearly only a passenger, he was put on board the lugger we had previously boarded. I was glad that he escaped, on account of his kindness to sweet Katty and Jack, though I suspect that he was an absconding debtor. I should think, however, that his creditors might as well have tried to skin a flint as him. We carried the lugger in off the coastguard station, where more hands were put on board. Before noon we had placed sweet Katty in Aunt Deb's loving arms, not much the worse for her excursion. Jack went to sea, and Katty's cabinet was adorned with numberless articles strange and beautiful from all parts of the world. Jack, of course, wherever he could get a run on shore, had to come and inspect them. By many a gallant deed he won his commander's commission, and then Katty became his fond, devoted wife. In that old churchyard high above the German Ocean are three small monuments placed by some loving friends of those who lie beneath. To no one more truly can the epitaph be applied than that which is cut on each tomb--that of the brother, of the sister, and of the faithful African--_Hic jacet in pace_. STORY THREE, CHAPTER 1. THE SAN FIORENZO AND HER CAPTAIN, NARRATED BY ADMIRAL M--. There was not a happier ship in the service, when I joined her towards the end of the year 1794, than the gallant _San Fiorenzo_, Captain Sir Harry Burrard Neale, and those were not days when ships were reckoned little paradises afloat, even by enthusiastic misses or sanguine young midshipmen. They were generally quite the other thing. The crews of many ships found it that other thing, and the officers, of course, found it so likewise. If the men are not contented, the officers must be uncomfortable; and, at the same time, I will say, from my experience, that when a ship gained the title of a hell-afloat, it was always in consequence of the officers not knowing their duty, or not doing it. Pride, arrogance, and an utter disregard for the feelings of those beneath them in rank, was too prevalent among the officers of the service, and was the secret of the calamitous events which occasionally happened about that time. My noble commander was not such an one as those of whom I have spoken. There were some like him, but not many his equals. I may truly say of him "that he belonged to the race of admirals of which the navy of Old England has a right to be proud; that he was a perfect seaman, and a perfect gentleman." "He was one of the most humane, brave, and zealous commanders that ever trod a deck, to whom every man under him looked up as a father." I was with him for many, very many years--from my boyish days to manhood,--and I may safely say that I never saw him in a passion, or even out of temper, though I have seen him indignant; and never more so than when merit--the merit of the junior officers of the service--has been overlooked or disregarded. I never heard him utter an oath, and I believe firmly that he never allowed one to escape his lips. I will say of him what I dare say of few men, that, in the whole course of his life, he was never guilty of an act unworthy of the character of a Christian and a gentleman. I was with him when his career was run-- when, living in private on his own estate, the brave old sailor, who had ever kept himself unspotted from the world, spent his days in "visiting the fatherless and widows in their affliction"--walking from cottage to cottage, with his basket of provisions or medicines, or books, where the first were not required. Genuine were the tears shed on his grave, and hearty was the response as the following band gave forth the air of "The Fine Old English Gentleman, all of the Olden Time?" And now, on the borders of his estate, visible afar over the Solent Sea [Note 1], there stands a monument, raised by his sovereign and by those who knew and loved him well, all eager to add their testimony to his worth. But yet he lives in the heart of many a seaman, and will live while one remains who served under his command. But, avast! whither am I driving? My feelings have carried me away. After what I have said, it is not surprising that the _San Fiorenzo_ should have been a happy ship. Her captain made her so. From the highest to the lowest, all trusted him; all knew that he had their interest at heart--all loved him. The _San Fiorenzo_ might have been a happy ship under an inferior commander--that is possible; but I doubt very much whether her crew would have done what they did do under any officer not possessed of those high qualities for which Sir Harry was so eminently distinguished. The _San Fiorenzo_ was highly honoured, for she was the favourite ship, or rather, Sir Harry was the favourite captain of His Majesty George the Third, who, let people say what they will of him, was truly the sailors' friend, and wished to be his subjects' friend, as far as he had the power. Sir Harry was a favourite, not because he was a flatterer, but because the King knew him to be an honest man. George the Third, as is well known, was very fond of spending the summer months at Weymouth, whence he could easily put to sea in his yacht, or on board a man-of-war, placed at his disposal. He seemed never to tire of sailing, especially with Sir Harry. Whist was the constant game in the royal cabins. Sir Harry, who did everything as well as he could, though far from a good player, often beat the King, who was an indifferent one. Lord A--, a practised courtier, was, on the contrary, a remarkably good one, and generally beat Sir Harry. When, however, Lord A-- played with the King, His Majesty always came off victorious. The King used to pretend to be exceedingly puzzled. "It's very odd--very odd. I beat Lord A--, Lord A-- beats Sir Harry, and Sir Harry beats me. How can it be--how can it be?" The King was always anxious to stand out to sea, so as to lose sight of land. This, however, was too dangerous an amusement to allow him. Sir Harry's plan was to put the ship's head off-shore, and to make all sail. This satisfied the King, who was then easily persuaded to go below to luncheon, dinner, or tea, or to indulge in his favourite game. Sail was soon again quietly shortened, and the ship headed in for the shore. Sometimes the King seemed rather surprised that we should have made the land again so soon; but whether or not he suspected a trick, I cannot say. His only remark was, "All right, Sir Harry; you are always right." It was impossible for a monarch to be more condescending and affable than was the good old King to all on board. He used to go among the men, and talk to them in the most familiar way, inquiring about their adventures and family histories, and evidently showing a sympathy with their feelings and ideas. Did they love the old King? Ay, there was not a man of them who would not gladly have died for him. It was the same with the midshipmen and officers. He used to delight in calling up us youngsters, and would chat with us as familiarly as would any private gentleman. He showed his real disposition, when able thus to cast aside the cares of state, and to give way to the kindly feelings of his heart. I say again, in that respect the King and his captain were worthy of each other. The following anecdote will prove it:-- We had gone to Portsmouth, leaving the King at Weymouth, and were returning through the Needles, when, as we got off Poole harbour, a small boat, with three people in her, was seen a little on the starboard bow. One man was rowing, the other two persons were beckoning, evidently towards the ship. As we drew near, we saw, through our glasses, that the two people were an old man and woman, and, as we appeared to be passing them, their gestures became more and more vehement. Many captains would have laughed, or taken no notice of the old people. Not so Sir Harry--he had a feeling for everyone. Ordering the ship to be hove-to, he allowed the boat to come alongside. "Oh, captain, is our ain bairn Davie on board?" shouted the old people, in chorus. Sir Harry, with the benignant smile his countenance so often wore, directed that they might be assisted up the side. "Who is it you want, good people?" he asked, as soon as their feet were safely planted on the deck, where they stood, gazing round with astonished countenances. "Our ain son, Davie--David Campbell, sir," was again the reply. "Is there any man of that name on board?" inquired Sir Harry. "Let him be called aft." A stout lad soon made his appearance, and was immediately pressed in the old people's arms. This son was a truant, long absent from his home. At length, grown weary at delay, quitting their abode near Edinburgh, they had travelled south, inquiring at every port for their lost son, and only that morning had they arrived by waggon at Poole, believing that it was a port where men-of-war were to be found. A boatman, for the sake of a freight, had persuaded them to come off with him, pointing out the ship which was then coming out through the Needles. Sir Harry was so pleased with the perseverance and affection which the old couple had exhibited, that he took them on to Weymouth, when the story was told to the King. His Majesty had them presented to him, and he and Queen Charlotte paid them all sorts of attention, and at length, after they had spent some weeks with their son, dismissed them, highly gratified, to their home in the North. Queen Charlotte was as good a woman as ever lived, and, in her way, was as kind and affable as was the King. She had a quaint humour about her, too, which frequently exhibited itself, in spite of the somewhat painful formality of the usual court circle. As an example--Sir Harry had had a present of bottled green peas made to him the previous year, and, looking on them as a great rarity, he had kept them to be placed on the table before his royal guests. As he knew more about ploughing the ocean than ploughing the land, and affairs nautical than horticultural, it did not occur to him that fresh green peas were to obtained on shore. The bottled green peas were therefore proudly produced on the first opportunity. "Your Majesty," said Sir Harry, as the Queen was served, "those green peas have been kept a whole year." The Queen made no reply till she had eaten a few, and sent several flying off from the prongs of her fork. Then, nodding with a smile, she quietly said, "So I did tink." To the end of his days, Sir Harry used to laugh over the story, adding, "Sure enough, they were very green; but as hard as swan-shot." But I undertook to narrate a circumstance which exhibited Sir Harry Burrard Neale's character in its true colours. I need not enter into an account of that painful event, the Mutiny of the British Fleet. It broke out first at Spithead, on the 15th April, 1797, on board Lord Bridport's flag-ship, the _Royal George_; the crews of the other ships of the fleet following the example thus set them. The men, there can be no doubt, had very considerable grievances of which to complain; nor can it be well explained how, in those days, they could by legal means have had them redressed. One thing only is certain, mutiny was not the proper way of proceeding. We were at Spithead, and not an officer in the fleet knew what was about to occur, when, on the 14th, two of our men desired to speak with the captain, and then gave him the astounding intelligence that the ships' companies of the whole fleet had bound themselves to make certain important demands, and which, if not granted, that they would refuse to put to sea. The two men--they were quartermasters--moreover, stated that they had themselves been chosen delegates to represent the ship's company of the _San Fiorenzo_, by the rest of the fleet, but that they could assure him that all the men would prove true and loyal, and would obey their officers as far as was consistent with prudence. Sir Harry thanked them, assuring them, in return, that he would trust them thoroughly. He, however, scarcely believed at that time the extent to which the mischief had gone. The next day evidence was given of the wide spread of the disaffection. Affairs day after day grew worse and worse; and although some of the superior officers acted with great judgment and moderation, others very nearly drove matters to the greatest extremity. Meantime, the delegates of the _San Fiorenzo_ attended the meetings of the mutineers, and, though at the imminent risk of their lives, regularly brought Sir Harry information of all that occurred. He transmitted it to the Admiralty, and it was chiefly through his representations and advice that conciliatory measures were adopted by the Government. Nearly all the just demands of the seamen having been granted, they returned to their duty and it was supposed that the mutiny was at an end. Just before this, the Princess Royal had married the Duke of Wirtemberg, and the _San Fiorenzo_ had been appointed to carry Her Royal Highness over to Cuxhaven. We could not, however, move without permission from the delegates. This was granted. Our upper-deck guns were stowed below, and the larger portion of the upper-deck fitted with cabins. In this condition, when arriving at Sheerness, we found to our surprise that the red flag was still flying on board the guardship, the _Sandwich_. Supposing that her crew had not been informed of what had taken place at Spithead, Sir Harry sent our delegates on board her, that they might explain the real state of affairs. The disgust of our men was very great when they were informed that fresh demands had been made by the crews of the North Sea fleet, of so frivolous a nature that it was not probable they would be granted. Our men, in spite of the character of delegates, which had been forced on them, could not help showing their indignation, and expressing themselves in no very courteous terms. This showed the mutineers that they were not over-zealous in their cause, and our people were warned that, should they prove treacherous, they and their ship would be sent to the bottom. On returning on board, they informed Sir Harry of all that had occurred. Our delegates, at his suggestion, immediately communicated with those of the _Clyde_, an old fellow-cruiser, commanded by Captain Cunningham. That officer, on account of his justice, humanity, and bravery, enjoyed, as did Sir Harry, the confidence of his ship's company. An arrangement was therefore made between the captains and their crews that, should the mutineers persevere in their misconduct, they would take the ships out from amidst the fleet, fighting our way, if necessary, and run for protection under cover of the forts at Sheerness. Every preparation was made. We waited till the last moment. The mutineers showed no disposition to return to their duty. The _Clyde_ was the in-shore ship; she was therefore to move first [Note 2]. We watched her with intense interest, while we remained still as death. Not one of our officers appeared on deck, and but few of the men, though numerous eager eyes were gazing through the ports. The _Clyde_ had springs on her cables, we knew, but as yet not a movement was perceptible. Suddenly her seamen swarmed on the yards, the topsails were let fall and sheeted home. She canted the right way. Hurrah! all sail was made. Away she went; and, before one of the mutinous fleet could go in chase, she was under the protection of the guns on shore. It was now our turn; but we had not a moment to lose, as the tide was on the turn to ebb, when we should have had it against us. What was our vexation, therefore, when the order was given to get under weigh, to find that the pilot, either from fear, incompetency, or treachery, had declared that he could not take charge of the ship! Sir Harry would have taken her out himself; but the delay was fatal to his purpose, and before we could have moved, boats from the other ships were seen approaching the _San Fiorenzo_. They contained the delegates from the fleet, who, as they came up the side, began, with furious looks, to abuse our men for not having fired into the _Clyde_, and prevented her escaping. High words ensued, and so enraged did our men become at being abused because they did not fire on friends and countrymen, that one of the quartermasters, John Aynsley by name, came aft to the first lieutenant, and entreated that they might be allowed "to heave the blackguards overboard." A nod from him would have sealed the fate of the delegates. I thought then (and I am not certain that I was wrong) that we might at that moment have seized the whole of the scoundrels, and carried them off prisoners to Sheerness. It would have been too great a risk to have run them up to the yard-arm, or hove them overboard, as our men wished, lest their followers might have retaliated on the officers in their power. No man was more careful of human life than Sir Harry, and it was a plan to which he would never have consented. The delegates, therefore, carried things with a high hand, and, convinced that our crew were loyal to their king and country, they ordered us to take up a berth between the _Inflexible_ and _Director_, to unbend our sails, and to send our powder on board the _Sandwich_, at the mast-head of which ship the flag of the so-called Admiral Parker was then flying. That man, Richard Parker, had been shipmate with a considerable number of the crew of the _San Fiorenzo_, as acting lieutenant, but had been dismissed his ship for drunkenness, and having lost all hope of promotion, had entered before the mast. Our people had, therefore, a great contempt for him, and said that he was no sailor, and that his conduct had ever been unlike that of an officer and a gentleman. Such a man, knowing that he acted with a rope round his neck, was of course the advocate of the most desperate measures. Everything that took place was communicated immediately to Sir Harry, who advised the men to pretend compliance, and, much to our relief, the other delegates took their departure. As soon as they were gone, Sir Harry told the ship's company that, provided they would agree to stand by him, he would take the ship into Sheerness, as before intended. The men expressed their readiness to incur every possible risk to effect that purpose. The almost unarmed condition of the ship at the time must be remembered. The men set zealously to work to prepare for the enterprise. Springs were got on our cables. All was ready. The flood had made. The object was to cast in-shore. The men were at their stations. We were heaving on the spring--it broke at the most critical moment, and we cast outward. There was no help for it. Nothing could prevent us from running right in among the two ships of the mutinous fleet which I have mentioned, and which lay with their guns double shotted, and the men at quarters, with the lanyards in their hands, ready to fire at us. Our destruction seemed certain; but not for a moment did our captain lose his presence of mind. Calm as ever, he ordered the quartermaster Aynsley to appear on deck as if in command, while the officers concealed themselves in different parts of the ship, he standing where he could issue his orders and watch what was taking place. All was sheeted home in a moment, and we stood in between the two line-of-battle ships, the _Director_ and _Inflexible_. The ship, by this time, had got good way on her. It appeared that we were about to take up the berth into which we had been ordered, when Sir Harry directed that all the sheets should suddenly be let fly. This took the mutineers so completely by surprise, that not a gun was then fired at us. Sir Harry next ordered the helm to be put "hard-a-port," which caused the ship to shoot ahead of the _Inflexible_--we were once more outside our enemies. Springing immediately on deck, he took the command, crying out, in his encouraging tone, "Well done, my lads--well done!" A loud murmur of applause and satisfaction was heard fore and aft; but we had no time for a cheer. "Now clear away the bulkheads, and mount the guns," he added. Every man flew with a hearty will to obey his orders. And need there was; for scarcely were the words out of his mouth than the whole fleet of thirty-two sail opened their fire on us. The shot flew like hail around us, and thick as hail, ploughing up the water as they leaped along it, chasing each other across the surface on every side of the ship. We could have expected nothing else than to be sunk instantly, had we had time for consideration; but, as it was, wonderfully few struck our hull, while not a shroud was cut away, nor was a man hurt. The huge _Director_, close to us, might have sent us to the bottom with a broadside, but not a shot from her, that we could see, came aboard us. "They have not the heart to fire at us, the blackguards!" observed one of the men near me. "It may be that, Bill; but, to my mind, they're struck all of a heap at seeing the brave way our captain did that," answered another. "If we'd had the guns mounted he'd have fired smack into them. We send our powder aboard that pirate Parker's ship! we unbend our sails to please such a sneaking scoundrel as he!" "It's just this, that the misguided chaps are slaves against their will, and they haven't become bad enough yet to fire on their countrymen, and maybe old friends and shipmates," said a third. Such were the opinions generally expressed on board. It was reported afterwards that the _Director_ fired blank cartridges, and this may have been the case, but I think more probably that her people were first struck with astonishment at our manoeuvre, and then, with admiration at the bravery displayed, purposely fired wide of us. As, however, we were frequently struck, some shots by traitorous hands must have been aimed at us from her, or from some of the other ships. In little more than two hours the bulkheads were cleared away from the cabin door, to the break of the quarter-deck (the whole space having, as I before said, been fitted up with cabins for the suite of Her Royal Highness). The guns on both sides were got up from the hold and mounted, and we were ready for action. As soon as the task was accomplished, the men came aft in a body, and entreated, should any ships be sent after us by the mutineers, that they might be allowed to fight to the last, and go down with our colours flying, rather than yield, and return to the fleet at the Nore. Sir Harry readily promised not to disappoint their wishes. We stood on, but as yet no sign was perceptible of chase being made after us. It was possible, we thought, that no ship's company could be induced to weigh in pursuit. They well knew that we should prove a tough bargain, had any single ship come up with us. Should we prove victorious, every man might have been hung as a pirate. As to Parker, he dared not leave his fleet, as he ventured to call it. Our master, although a good navigator, did not feel himself justified in taking charge of the ship, within the boundaries of a Branch pilot, and we were therefore on the look-out for a pilot vessel, when a lugger was discovered on the lee bow, and we were on the point of bearing down to her, when we made out first a ship or two, then several sail, and lastly, a whole fleet, which we guessed must be the North Sea Fleet standing for the Nore. We were steering for them, to give the admiral notice of what had occurred, when the red flag was discovered flying on board them also. They had, as it appeared, left their station in a state of mutiny, having placed the admiral and all the officers under arrest. To avoid them altogether was impossible, and before long a frigate bore down to us. Should our real character be discovered, we must be captured by an overwhelming force. Still Sir Harry remained calm and self-possessed as ever. As the frigate approached, he ordered all the officers below, and giving the speaking-trumpet to Stanley, the quartermaster, told him to reply as he might direct. The frigate hailed and inquired what we were about. "Looking out to stop ships with provisions, that we may supply the fleet," was the answer. The people of the frigate, satisfied with this reply, proceeded to rejoin the fleet, while we, glad to escape further questioning, made sail in chase of the lugger. She was a fast craft, and led us a chase of four hours before we captured her. She proved to be the _Castor and Pollux_ privateer of sixteen guns. Having taken out the prisoners, and put a prize crew on board, we were proceeding to Portsmouth, when the lugger, being to windward, spoke a brig, which had left that place the day before, and from her gained the information that the mutiny had again broken out at Spithead. Under these circumstances, Sir Harry thought it prudent to anchor under Dungeness until he could communicate with the Admiralty. This we did; but it was a time of great anxiety, for the mutineers might consider it important to capture us, to hold Sir Harry and his officers as hostages, and to wreak their vengeance on our men. We got springs on the cable, and the ship ready for action. During the middle watch a ship was made out bearing down towards us; she was high out of the water, and was pronounced by many to be a line-of-battle ship. Sir Harry was on deck in an instant--the private signal was made--would it be answered? Yes; but there was no security in this, as, should the ship's company have mutinied, they would naturally have possessed themselves of it. The drum beat to quarters, the fighting lanterns were up, their light streaming through our ports. Our men earnestly repeated their request to be allowed to sink rather than surrender to the mutineers. No sight of the sort could be finer, as the brave fellows stood stripped to the waist, dauntless and resolute, not about to fight with a common foe, but one that would prove cruel and revengeful in the extreme. The wind was extremely light, and the stranger closed very slowly. The suspense was awful. In a short time we might be engaged in a deadly struggle with a vastly superior foe, and deadly all determined that it should be. Nearer and nearer the stranger drew; at length our captain hailed. The answer came: "The _Huzzar_! Lord Garlais! from the West Indies." She anchored close to us, and we exchanged visits. Her people, ignorant of the mutiny, could not understand the necessity of the precaution we had taken. They were so struck, when made acquainted with what had occurred, at the bravery and determination of our ship's company, that they immediately swore they would stick by us, and that, should any ship be sent to take us back to the Nore, they would share our fate, whatever that might be. I am sure that they would have proved as good as their word, but daylight came, and no enemy appeared. We lay here for some time, that Sir Harry might ascertain what was occurring on shore. He found that most active and energetic measures were being taken to repress the mutiny, and in a few days we heard that the ship's company of the _Sandwich_ had taken her into Sheerness, and allowed their late leader, Parker, to be arrested by a guard of soldiers, sent on board for that purpose by Admiral Buckner. We sailed for Plymouth, and another ship was appointed to have the honour of taking over the Princess Royal. I must say a word or two about that mutiny. I am convinced that the proportion of disaffected men was comparatively small. The seamen had grievances, but those would have been redressed without their proceeding to the extremities into which they plunged, led by a few disappointed and desperate men like Parker. Had greater energy been shown from the first, during some of the opportunities which occurred, the whole affair might have been concluded in a more dignified manner, at a much earlier date. I will instance one occasion. Having one day got leave from the delegates of our ship, while we lay off Sheerness, to go on shore, I landed at the dockyard. I found, as I passed through it, that I was followed by the whole body of delegates, walking two-and-two in procession, Parker and Davis leading, arm-in-arm. Just as we got outside the gates, the Lancashire Fencibles appeared, coming to strengthen the garrison. As soon as the seamen got near the soldiers, they began to abuse them in so scurrilous a manner, that the officer in command halted his men, and seeing the admiral and superintendent, close to whom I at the time was standing opposite the gates, he came, and, complaining of the insults offered to himself and men, asked permission to surround and capture them. So eager did I feel, that I involuntarily exclaimed, "Yes! yes! now's the time!" The admiral, on hearing me, turned sharply round, and demanded how I dared to speak in that way? "Because there they all are, sir, and we may have them in a bunch!" I replied, pointing to Parker, Davis, and the rest. The admiral told me that I did not know what I was saying; but I did, and I have no cause to suppose that I was wrong. When the truly loyal and heroic conduct of our ship's company became known, it was intended to raise a sum in every seaport town in England to present to them. From some reason, however, the Government put a stop to it, and the only subscription received was from Ludlow in Shropshire, from whence the authorities sent 500 pounds to Sir Harry Neale, which he Distributed to the ship's company on the quarter-deck. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. The "Solent Sea" is the name of the channel between the Isle of Wight and the mainland. Note 2. The plan was proposed and executed by the late Mr W. Bardo, pilot, then a mate in the navy. He returned to the _San Fiorenzo_, and piloted her as he had the _Clyde_, when her own pilot refused to take charge. STORY FOUR, CHAPTER 1. ORLO AND ERA: A TALE OF THE AFRICAN SLAVE-TRADE. There exists an extensive district on the west coast of Africa, about forty miles to the north of the far-famed river Niger, known as the Yoruba country. Sixty years ago it was one of the most thickly populated and flourishing parts of equatorial Africa, the inhabitants having also attained to a considerable amount of civilisation, and made fair progress in many industrial arts. Then came those dreadful wars, carried on by the more powerful and cruel chiefs, for the purpose of making slaves to sell to the white traders, who carried them away to toil in the plantations of North and South America and Cuba, and the prosperity of the once happy people of Yoruba was brought to an end. The savage rulers of Dahomey and Lagos now became notorious for the barbarities they inflicted on the unoffending tribes in their neighbourhood. The Yoruba country was the chief scene of their hunting expeditions. Towns and villages were attacked and burned; the able-bodied men and young women and children were carried off into slavery; the aged were ruthlessly murdered, fields and plantations were laid waste, and a howling wilderness was left behind. At length the scattered remnants of the population who had escaped from slavery and death assembled together in a spot among rocks, especially strong by nature, where they hoped to be able to make a stand against their persecutors. Here they built a town, to which they gave the name of Abbeokuta, or the place among the rocks. It increased rapidly in population and extent, for numerous were the unfortunates in search of a home, and rest, and peace. Lagos, one of the chief strongholds of the slave-dealers, which the Yorubans most had to fear, has since been taken possession of by the British, and has been declared an English colony or settlement; but Dahomey, governed by its bloodthirsty monarch, with his army of six thousand Amazons and five thousand male warriors, still exists as a terrible scourge to the surrounding territories. On the confines of the Yoruba country existed a beautiful village which had hitherto escaped the ravages of the relentless slave-hunting foe. It was situated on the banks of a rapid stream, which gave freshness to the air, and fertility to the neighbouring plantations. Palms, dates, and other trees of tropical growth, overshadowed the leaf-thatched cottages, in which truly peace and plenty might be said to reign. Although true happiness cannot exist where Christianity is not, and where the fear of the fetish and the malign influence of the spirit of evil rules supreme over the mind, the people were contented, and probably as happy as are any of the countless numbers of the still benighted children of Africa, Rumours of wars and slave-hunts reached them, but they had so long escaped the inflictions others had suffered, that they flattered themselves they should escape altogether. So little accustomed are the negro race to look to the future, contented with the pleasures of the passing moment, that as they did not actually see the danger, they allowed no anticipation of evil to mar their happiness. The hearts of the dark-skinned children of that burning clime are as susceptible of the tender sentiments of love and friendship as many of those boasting a higher degree of civilisation, and a complexion of a fairer hue. No couple, indeed, could have been more warmly attached than were young Orlo and Era, who had lately become man and wife, and taken up their abode in the village. They were industrious and happy, and from morning till night their voices might be heard singing as they went about their daily work. Orlo employed himself principally in collecting the various products of the country to sell to the traders who occasionally visited the district,--palm oil, and gold dust from the neighbouring rivulet, and elephants' tusks, and skins which he took in the chase. At length Era gave birth to a child, a little boy, which proved a great addition to their happiness, and drew still closer the bonds of their affection. Indeed no people can be fonder of their children than are the negroes of Africa. Soon after little Sobo was born Orlo set off on a hunting expedition with several other villagers, telling Era that he must get her some fresh soft skins for their child's bed, and that he must be more industrious than ever, as he had a family to provide for. Era entreated him not to be long away. "Two or three days will see me back, laden with the spoils of the chase," was his answer, in a cheerful tone. Era's heart sank within her--why, she could not tell. With anxious eyes she watched him and his companions as, with bows, and arrows, and lances in hand, they disappeared among the trees. Seldom had Orlo and his party been more successful. More than one lion, several antelopes, and numerous monkeys were killed. Even a huge elephant was conquered by their skill and cunning. The skins of the animals slaughtered were hidden in safe places, to be taken up on their return. Excited by their success they proceeded even farther than they intended. Night surprised them, and collecting together they formed a camp, with fires blazing in the centre to keep off the savage beasts roaming around. Their supper having been discussed, they were merrily laughing and talking over their adventures when they were startled by some terrific shouts and cries close to them. They grasped their arms, but before a bow could be drawn a body of warriors rushed in on them with clubs and swords, knocking over or cutting down all who stood at bay or attempted resistance. Some endeavoured to escape, but they were completely surrounded. Several were killed by their savage assailants, and their bodies were left where they fell. The greater number were secured with their arms bound tightly behind them, and they found themselves captives to the troops of the King of Dahomey, towards whose capital they were marched away in triumph. They had heard enough of the fate which had befallen so many of their countrymen to know that they must never more expect to taste the sweets of liberty; but they were scarcely aware of the horrible cruelty to which the will of the tyrant King of Dahomey might compel some of them to submit. Bitter, too, was the anguish which poor Orlo suffered when he felt that he should for ever be separated from his beloved Era. The journey was long and tedious, and the captives' feet were torn by the thorns and cut by the hard rocks over which they had to pass; but whenever they lagged behind they were urged on by the long spears of their relentless captors. Arrived at the capital, they were astonished at its extent and the number of its inhabitants, and, more than all, by the vast array they saw drawn up for the inspection of the king. They had little opportunity of seeing much, for they were soon conducted into a large low building, where they were secured by iron shackles, back to back, to a long beam, scarcely able to move. After remaining here for several days Orlo and others were separated from their companions and carried to a building on one side of the great square of the city, where all public ceremonies were performed. Dreadful shrieks assailed their ears both by day and night. They heard they were uttered by the human victims offered up by the savage king to the spirits of his departed ancestors. They were not long left in doubt as to what was to be their fate. They also were to be destroyed in the same manner. Some of their number on hearing this sank into a state of apathy, others loudly bemoaned their cruel lot, and others plotted how they might escape, but Orlo could think only of his beloved Era, and the anxiety and anguish his absence would have caused her. At length Orlo and nine others were taken out and told they were to enjoy the high privilege of being sacrificed in presence of their king. They were now dressed in white garments, and tall red caps were put on their heads. Their arms and legs were then bound securely, and they were placed in a sitting posture in small canoe-shaped troughs, and thus in a long procession were carried around the square amid the cruel shouts of the savage populace. At length they reached a high platform or slope in the centre of the square, on which sat the king, under the shade of a vast umbrella, surrounded by his courtiers and chiefs. Below the platform were collected a vast mob of savages, their hideous countenances looking up with fierce delight at the terrible drama which was to be enacted. Among the crowd stood several men of gigantic stature, even more savage-looking than the rest, armed with huge knotted clubs. These they knew instinctively were their intended executioners. Not one of them attempted to plead for mercy; that they knew were vain. Their eyes glanced hopelessly round, now on the assembled throng below, now on the groups collected on the platform, not expecting to meet a look of compassion turned towards them. But yes, among one group they see a man of strange appearance. His skin is white, and by his fine dress, glittering with gold, they believe him to be a great chief. He advances towards the king, whom, with eager look, he addresses in a strange language. What he says they cannot tell, till another man of their own colour speaks, and then they know that he is pleading for their lives; not only pleading, but offering a large ransom if they be given up to him. How anxiously they listen for the reply! The king will not hear of it. The spirit of his father complains that he has been neglected; that his nation must have become degenerate; that they have ceased to conquer, since so few captives have been sent to bear him company in the world of shades. Again the strange white chief speaks, and offers higher bribes. Curious that he should take so much trouble about some poor black captives they think. What can be his object? What can influence him? He does not plead altogether in vain. The king will give him four for the sum he offers, but no more. He would not dare thus to displease the shade of his father, and the white chief may choose whom he will. The victims gaze anxiously at his countenance. It is merciful and benign they think--unlike any they have before seen. Which of them will he select? He does not hesitate; he knows what must be passing in the hearts of those poor wretches. He quickly lays his hand on four of them, and turns away his head with sorrow from the rest. Orlo is among those he has claimed. They show but little pleasure or gratitude as they are released, and, being stripped of their sacrificial garments, are placed under charge of his attendants. The rest of the miserable captives are held up, some by men, others by the Amazonian warriors, to the gaze of the expectant multitude, who shriek and shout horribly, and then they are cast forward into the midst of the crowd, when the executioners set on them with their clubs and speedily terminate their sufferings. For several successive days is the same horrible scene enacted, the Fetish men declaring that the spirit of the late king is not yet satisfied. Orlo by degrees recovered from the stupor into which his sufferings, mental and bodily, and the anticipation of a cruel death had thrown him. He then found that the white chief, whose slave he considered himself, was no other than the captain of a British man-of-war, cruising off the coast for the suppression of the slave-trade--not that he understood very clearly much about the matter, but he had heard of the sea, and that big canoes floated on it which carried his countrymen across it to a land from which none ever came back. Still, as this captain had certainly saved his life, he felt an affection for him, and hoped that he should be allowed to remain his slave, and not be sold to a stranger. As to asking to be liberated to be sent back to Era, he did not for a moment suppose that such a request would be granted, and he therefore did not make it. At last the coast was reached, and a ship appeared, and a boat came and took them on board. The captain had seen something in Orlo's countenance which especially pleased him, so he asked whether he would like to remain with him; and Orlo, very much surprised that the option should be given him, said, "Yes, certainly." So Orlo was entered on the ship's books, and soon learned not only to attend on the captain, but to be a sailor. His affection for his patron and preserver was remarkable. Whatever Captain Fisher wished he attempted to perform to the best of his ability, while he was attentive and faithful in the extreme. He soon acquired enough English to make himself understood, while he could comprehend everything that was said to him. The _Sea Sprite_ was a very fast sailing corvette, and had already, by her speed and the sagacity with which her cruising-ground was selected, made more captures than any other craft of the squadron. Her success continued after Orlo had become one of her crew. He always got leave to go on board the prizes when they were taken possession of, and his services were soon found of value as interpreter. His object was naturally to inquire about news from his own part of the country. He was not likely to obtain any satisfactory information. Some time passed--another capture was made. He returned on board the corvette very depressed in spirits, and was often seen in tears. Captain Fisher asked him the cause of his sorrows. He had learned that at length his own village had been surprised during the night by the slave-hunters of the King of Dahomey, that not one of the inhabitants had escaped, and that all had been carried off into captivity. They had been sold to different dealers, and had been transported to the baracoons on different parts of the coast, ready for embarkation. Where Era had been carried he could not ascertain; only one thing was certain--she and her child had been seen in the hands of the Dahomian soldiers, on their way to the capital. His beloved Era was then a slave; and he by this time full well knew what slavery meant. He had seen several slave ships captured, and the horrors, the barbarities, and indignities to which the captives on board were exposed. He pictured to himself the terrible journey from the interior, the lash of the brutal driver descending on her shoulders as she tottered on with her infant in her arms, her knees bending from weakness, her feet torn with thorns and hard rocks--she who had been so tenderly cared for--whom he loved so dearly;--the thought was more than he could bear. He looked over the side of the ship, and gazed at the blue waters, and said to himself, "I shall find rest beneath them; in the world of spirits I shall meet my own Era, and be happy." One of the officers of the ship, a Christian man, had watched him. He had before observed his melancholy manner, so different to what he had at first exhibited. Lieutenant L-- called him, and asked him the cause of his sorrow. Orlo narrated his simple history. "And no one has thought all this time of imparting any knowledge of Gospel truth to this poor African," said the lieutenant to himself; and a blush rose on his own cheeks. "No time shall be lost, though," he added; and he unfolded in language suited to his comprehension, and in all its simplicity, the grand scheme of redemption whereby sinning man can be accepted by a holy and just God as freed from sin, through the great sacrifice offered once on the Cross. Orlo listened eagerly and attentively. All ideas of suicide had left his mind. He longed to know more of this wonderful, this glorious news. "Then, Orlo, would you not wish to please so merciful and kind a Master, who has done so much for you?" asked the lieutenant. "Yes, massa, dat I would," answered the African. "One way in which you can do so, is to bear patiently and humbly, as He did, the afflictions the loving God thinks fit to send. He does it in mercy, depend on that. God's ways are not our ways; but the all-powerful God who made the world must of necessity know better what is right and good than we poor frail dying creatures, whom He formed from the dust of the earth, and who, but for His will, would instantly return to dust again." "Me see, me see," answered the negro, in a tone as joyful as if he had found a pearl of great price; and so he had, for he had found Gospel truth. "God knows better than we," was his constant remark after this when he heard others complaining of the misfortunes and ills of life. The ship had now been nearly her full time in commission, and her captain was in daily expectation of receiving orders to return home. Poor Orlo's heart sank within him. He must either quit his kind master and his still kinder lieutenant, or, by leaving the coast, abandon all hopes of ever again seeing his beloved Era. To be sure, he knew that she might long ere this have been carried off to the Brazils or Cuba; and faint indeed was the expectation that they ever should meet in this world. Then, again, another feeling arose: "I am now a Christian and she is still a heathen. How can God receive her in heaven?" But after a time he thought--"Ah, but I can pray that she may become a Christian. God's ways are not our ways. He will hear my prayers--that I know. He can bring about by some of His ways what I cannot accomplish." And Orlo prayed as he had never prayed before. Captain Fisher treated Orlo with unusual kindness, and, under the circumstances, he could not have been happier on board any ship in the navy. Captain Fisher was not a man to relax in his efforts, as long as he remained on the station, to suppress the abominable traffic in human beings by all the means in his power. The _Sea Sprite_ continued cruising, accordingly, along the coast, looking in at the different stations, till one morning, at daybreak, a suspicious schooner was seen at anchor, close in with the shore. The increasing light revealed the corvette to those on board. The schooner instantly slipped her cable and stood along the coast, while the _Sea Sprite_ made all sail in chase. Of the character of the vessel there could be no doubt, or she would not have attempted to run from the man-of-war. The _Sea Sprite_ stood as close in as the depth of water would allow; farther in she dare not go. There was still a possibility of the chase escaping. Orlo, as usual, was the most eager on board. He delighted in seeing his countrymen freed from slavery, and he never abandoned the hope of meeting with Era. "I pray I meet her. I know God hear prayer," said Orlo. The wind fell. "Out boats," was the order. Captain Fisher went himself. The chase was a large schooner. A boat was seen to put off from her and pull towards the surf: whether or not she could get through it seemed a question. The English seamen bent to their oars; they were resolved to reach the chase before she could again get the breeze. They dashed alongside, and soon sprang over her bulwarks. No resistance was made. Poor Orlo, glancing round, discovered, to his disappointment, that she had no slaves on board. The master, it was found, had landed with the specie for the purchase of slaves. One of the slave crew--a mate, he looked like--appeared to have a peculiar thickness under his knees; Orlo detected it, and pointed it out to the captain. The master-at-arms was ordered to examine him. Most unwillingly the fellow tucked up his trousers--grinning horribly at Orlo all the time--when he was found to have on a pair of garters, out of each of which rolled thirty doubloons. The schooner's head being put off-shore, the boats took her in tow, till, a breeze springing up, sail was made on her for Sierra Leone. The next morning commenced with a thick mist and rain. Orlo, from his quickness of vision, was now constantly employed as one of the look-outs. He was on the watch to go aloft directly it gave signs of clearing. His impatience, however, did not allow him to remain till the mist dispersed. Away aloft he went, observing, "It must fine soon; den I see sip." He had not been many minutes at the mast-head when he shouted, "Sip in-shore!" He had discovered her royals above the mist. Sail was instantly made in chase. Some time elapsed before the _Sea Sprite_ was discovered. Suddenly the mist cleared, and there appeared close in-shore a large American slave ship. There was no doubt about her, with her great beam and wide spread of canvas. Hoisting American colours, the stranger made all sail to escape. He was standing off the land; but as on that course he would have had to pass unpleasantly near the corvette, he tacked in-shore, and then bore away along the surf, hoping thus, with his large sails, to draw ahead and escape. The light wind appeared to favour him, but Captain Fisher determined that it should not. Ordering the boats away, he took one with a strongly-armed crew, and pulled to windward to cut off the chase, while two others went to leeward, so that his chance of escaping was small indeed. The slave captain seemed to think so likewise. He dared not meet in fight the true-hearted British seaman. Regardless of the risk he and his own crew would run, of the destruction he was about to bring on hundreds of his fellow-creatures, the savage slave captain put up his helm, and ran the ship under all sail towards the shore. "What is the fellow about?" exclaimed Captain Fisher. "If that ship is full, as she seems to be, she has not less than four or five hundred human beings on board, and he'll run the risk of drowning every one of them." It was too evident, however, that this was the design of the slaver's captain. His heart was seared. Long accustomed to human suffering in every possible form, he set no more value on the lives of his cargo than if they had been so many sheep, except so far as they could be exchanged for all-potent dollars. On flew the beautiful fabric--for beautiful she was, in spite of her nefarious employment--to destruction. With all her sails set, through the roaring surf she dashed, then rose on the summit of a sea, and down she came, striking heavily, her ropes flying wildly and her sails flapping furiously in the breeze. What mattered it to the slaver's crew that they left their hapless passengers to perish! Their boats were lowered, and, with such valuables as they could secure, and some of the slaves which, for their greater value, they wished to save, they made their escape to shore, leaving the ship, with the American colours flying, to her fate. Captain Fisher and the other boats now closed with the wreck, while the corvette also was standing in. When close as she could venture to come, she anchored, and the master came off from her in a whale-boat and joined the other boats. Terrible was the sight which now met the eyes of the English seamen. Orlo beheld it, too, with horror and anguish. As the ship rolled fearfully from side to side, the terrified negroes forced their way up on deck, and in their wild despair, not knowing what to do, many leaped into the raging breakers which swept by alongside, and, helplessly whirling round and round, were soon hidden beneath the waves. One after the other the poor wretches rushed up on deck; many, following the impulse of the first, leaped overboard to meet a like speedy death; others, clinging to the wreck, were washed overboard; some of the stronger still clung on; but many yet remained below. "This is sad work," exclaimed Captain Fisher. "We must save these poor people at all hazards." A cheer was the reply, and, the men giving way, the boats dashed at great hazard through the surf to leeward of the wreck; but here it seemed almost impossible to board her from the heavy lurches she was making, sending the blocks and spars and rigging flying over their heads, and threatening to swamp the boats should they get alongside. Still Captain Fisher and his gallant followers persevered. He was the first on board, and Orlo leaped on the deck after him. The scene appeared even more horrible than at a distance. The negroes, as they could get clear of their manacles, climbed up from the slave deck, and ran to and fro, shrieking and crying out like people deprived of reason. Some ran on till they sprang overboard; others turned again, and continued running backwards and forwards, till the seamen were compelled to catch them and throw them below till the boats could be got ready for their rescue. The captain ordered Orlo to try and pacify them. He answered, that their extreme terror arose from the idea which the slaver's crew had given them, that the object of the English in taking possession of the vessel was to cut all their throats. Orlo did his best to quiet their fears when he learned the cause, assuring them the reason the British seaman had come on board was to do them good, and to try and save their lives. It was some time, however, before they would credit his assertions. The ship's barge had now been brought in and anchored just outside the rollers, while the cutter was backed in under the slaver's counter. Three of the slaves at a time were then allowed to come up, and were lowered into the boat, from which the whale-boat took them through the surf to the barge, and that when full ultimately carried them to the corvette. The process was of necessity slow, the toil was excessive, and the danger very great; but the British seamen did not shrink from it. Orlo had from the first, while acting as interpreter, been scanning the countenances of all he met, making inquiries of those who could understand his language (for all could not do so) if they could give him any information about his beloved Era. Again and again he went below, but the darkness prevented him from distinguishing any one, and the shrieks, groans, and cries from making his voice heard, or from hearing what any one might have said. Night closed on the hitherto unremitting labours of the gallant crew. They had thus saved two hundred poor wretches, but upwards of two hundred remained on board when darkness made it impossible to remove them. Still, could they be left to perish, which they probably would if left alone? The slaver's crew might return, and either attempt to land them, to keep them in captivity, or burn the ship, to prevent them from falling into the hands of the British. The risk of remaining was very great, but several officers volunteered. Orlo's friend, Lieutenant --, claimed the privilege, and Orlo begged that he might remain with him. The last performance of the boats was to bring off some rice which had been found in the captured schooner, and cooked, thoughtfully, by the captain's orders, in his coppers, in readiness for the liberated negroes. Plenty of men were ready to remain with Lieutenant --. Without this supply of food, few, probably, of the slaves on board would have survived the night; even as it was, many of those who were rescued died on their passage to the corvette, or on her decks. Lieutenant -- and his brave companions had truly a night of trial. The wind increased, the surf roared louder and louder as it broke around them, the ship rolled and struck more and more violently, till it seemed impossible that she could hold together, while all this time the unhappy captives below were shrieking and crying out most piteously for help. Poor creatures! they knew not how to pray, or to whom to pray. They thought and believed, and not without reason, that a Fetish, or spirit of evil, had got possession of them, and was wreaking his malice on their heads. Orlo gladly, by the lieutenant's orders, went frequently below to try and comfort them, and to assure them that by the return of daylight fresh efforts would be made for their rescue. Still great indeed were their sufferings. Many, both men, women, and children, died during that fearful night, from wet, cold, fear, and hunger, as they sat, still closely packed on the slave deck. Orlo's kind heart made him suffer almost as much as they were doing--the more so that he felt how little could be done to relieve them. At length the morning dawned, when it was found that the ship had driven considerably farther in towards the beach. As daylight broke, people were seen collecting on the shore; their numbers increased; they were gesticulating violently. Did they come to render assistance to their perishing fellow-countrymen? No; led on by the miscreant whites who had formed the crew of the slave ship, and deceived by their falsehoods, they had come to attempt the recapture of the ship. The corvette had, of necessity, stood off-shore for the night. Lieutenant --, hoisting a signal of distress, prepared to defend the prize to the last. He examined the shore anxiously. The slaver's crew and their black allies were bringing boats or canoes to launch, for the purpose of attacking the ship. Should the wretches succeed, he knew that his life and that of all his companions would be sacrificed. At length the corvette was seen working up under all sail. She approached; her anchor was dropped, and her boats, being lowered, pulled in towards the wreck. As they got near, the people on shore, balked in their first project, opened a hot fire of musketry on them. The boats had not come unarmed. The larger ones were immediately anchored, and, each having a gun of some weight, opened a hot fire on the beach. This was more than the slave-dealers had bargained for. They were ready enough to kill others, but had no fancy to be killed themselves. Several times the blacks took to flight, but were urged back again by the white men, till, some of the shot taking effect on them, the beach was at last cleared. The wreck was now again boarded. Lieutenant -- and his men were found almost worn out; the hold was full of water, and the ship was giving signs of breaking up. No time was to be lost. The larger boats anchored, as before, outside the rollers, and, by means of the smaller ones, communication by ropes being established, the negroes were, a few at a time, hauled through the surf. Many were more dead than alive, and several died before they reached the corvette. Some were brought up by their companions dead, and many were the heartrending scenes where fathers and mothers found that they had lost their children, husbands their wives, or children their parents. Orlo had held out bravely all the night, but his strength, towards the morning, gave way, and Lieutenant --, seeing his condition, directed that he should be carried back to the corvette, which he reached in an almost unconscious state. This living cargo was composed of all ages. There were strong men and youths, little boys, women, young girls, and children, and several mothers with infants at their breasts. How fondly and tenderly the poor creatures pressed them there, and endeavoured to shelter them from the salt spray and cold! Fully two hundred were carried on board the corvette during the morning, and it was found that the immortal spirits of nearly fifty of those who had been left on board during the night had passed away. The last poor wretch being rescued, the wreck was set on fire, both fore and aft; the flames burst quickly forth, surrounding the masts, from which still floated that flag which, professing to be the flag of freedom, has so often protected that traffic which has carried thousands upon thousands of the human race into hopeless and abject slavery. The seamen instinctively gave a cheer as they saw it disappear among the devouring flames. The labours of Captain Fisher and his brave crew were not over. They had to provide food and shelter for fully four hundred of the rescued negroes. Rice, as before, was boiled, and cocoa was given them, and those who most required care were clothed and carried to the galley fire to warm. Among the last rescued was a young woman with a little boy, on whom all her care was lavished. Though herself almost perished, before she would touch food she fed him, and when some clothing was given her she wrapped it round him. She had been found in the fore part of the ship in an almost fainting condition, where she had remained unnoticed, apparently in a state of stupor, with her little boy pressed to her heart. Orlo had been placed under the doctor's care. It was not till the next morning that he was allowed to come on deck, where his services were at once called into requisition as interpreter. Though unacquainted with the language of many of the tribes to which the captives belonged, he was generally able to make himself understood. A sail had been spread over part of the deck, beneath which the women and young children were collected. The doctor, when about to visit it, called Orlo to accompany him, as interpreter. Among them, sitting on the deck, and leaning against a gun carriage, with her arm thrown round the neck of a little boy, was a young woman, though wan and ill, still possessing that peculiar beauty occasionally seen among several of the tribes of Africa. Orlo fixed his eyes on her; his knees trembled; he rushed forward; she sprang up, uttering a wild shriek of joy, and his arms were thrown around her. He had found his long lost Era and their child. "Ah! God hear prayer; I know now!" he exclaimed joyfully. "Wife soon be Christian, and child. God berry, berry good!" Happily, the next morning the corvette fell in with another man-of-war, between which and the schooner the rescued slaves being distributed, all three made sail for Sierra Leone. The blacks were there landed, and ground given them on which to settle. Orlo begged that he and Era and their child might also be there set on shore. He did not go empty-handed, for, besides pay and prize-money, generously advanced him by his captain, gifts were showered on him both by his officers and messmates, and he became one of the most flourishing settlers in that happy colony. At length, however, wishing once more to see his own people, and to assist in spreading the truth of the Gospel, which he had so sincerely embraced, among them, he removed to Abbeokuta, where, with his wife now a Christian woman, and surrounded by a young Christian family, he is now settled, daily setting forth, by his consistent walk, the beauties and graces of the Christian faith. Whenever any of his friends are in difficulties, he always says, "Ah! God hear prayer! You pray; never fear!" STORY FIVE, CHAPTER 1. MY FIRST COMMAND AND HOW IT ENDED. THE OLD ADMIRAL'S YARN. I had been at sea about five years, and had seen some pretty hard service, when I was appointed to a dashing frigate, the _Tiger_, on the West India station. Our captain had never been accustomed to let the grass grow on his ship's bottom, and he took good care to keep that of the _Tiger_ pretty clean. Those were stirring times. England was engaged in a fierce war, both by sea and by land, with the larger proportion of the civilised nations in the world, and it was more easy to find an enemy than a friend wherever we sailed. I cannot say that we had any complaint to make with that state of things, as we came off generally the victors, and made lots of prize-money. The more of the latter we got the more we wanted, and we spent it as lavishly as if there would be no end of it. We had taken several prizes, when we received notice that a large French privateer was in those seas, committing a good deal of havoc among our merchantmen. It is said that everything is fair in love and war--in war, it may be the case; in love, nothing is fair that is not straightforward and honourable. Our captain considered that stratagem in war was, at all events, allowable, and he used to disguise the frigate in so wonderful a way, that even we ourselves, at a little distance, should not have known her. By this means many an unwary craft fell into our clutches. One day we lay becalmed, with our seemingly black and worn sails hanging against the masts, our ports concealed by canvas, painted to represent the weather-beaten sides of a big merchantman, our yards untrimmed, and all our rigging slack. At length a breeze was seen coming towards us, bringing up a large ship. When the stranger was within a couple of miles the wind fell. We were soon convinced that our trap was well baited, for we saw the stranger lower three boats, which came rapidly towards us. We, in the meantime, lowered three others, well armed and ready at a moment's notice to pull off in chase, when the enemy should discover his mistake. Not, however, till the Frenchmen were close up to us, did they find out that we were not what we appeared. We saw by their gestures of astonishment that they suspected all was not right. Before, however, they had time to pull round, our boats were after them. I was in one of them. We were alongside in two minutes--they attempted to defend themselves; they had better have been quiet; a few were knocked overboard and hauled in by our fellows, and all three boats were taken. We found that we had got the captain and second and third officers of the stranger among our prisoners, and that she was the privateer of which we were in search. The Frenchmen frantically tore their hair, and swore terribly at us for the trick we had played them. "Ah! you perfides Anglais, had we been on board our ship, you would not have taken us so easily," exclaimed the French captain. "Then, sir, you are welcome to go back and fight it out!" answered our captain. "All, morbleu lion!" cried the Frenchman, with a shrug of his shoulders, "I know what sort of fellows you are in this frigate, and I would rather stay where I am with a whole skin than return to be riddled by your shot. If my ship escapes, though, do not blame me." "Certainly not; but I have no intention that she shall escape!" said our captain, with a bow, directly afterwards ordering all the boats ahead to tow us towards the enemy. They pulled on till we got her well within range of our guns, when the painted canvas being cleared away, we opened fire. In five minutes she hauled down her colours. We found on board the crew of a large English West Indiaman, captured that morning, and supposed not to be far off, though not in sight. Depend on it we whistled with right good will for a breeze. It came at length, and disguising ourselves as before, and having the French ensign over the English, we and our big prize made sail in chase. Greatly to our delight, the merchantman was seen standing boldly towards us, attracted by the firing. It was amusing to watch the countenances of the French prisoners--they would have done their best to warn her off had they dared, but they could only make grimaces at each other, and hurl low muttered curses on our heads, while their richly-laden prize was recovered by us. She was a West Indiaman--the _Diana_. I cannot say much for the beauty of the goddess of the night, for she was a huge wall-sided ship, capable of stowing away a vast quantity of sugar and molasses, articles much in request at the time in Europe. The French prize crew were being removed when the captain sent for me. My heart fluttered unusually. "Mr Brine, you have behaved very well, very well indeed, since you joined this ship, and I have much confidence in you," he began. I bowed at the compliment--I had an idea that it was deserved, though I did not say so--I had done two or three things to be proud of, and I knew that I stood well in the captain's opinion, although I was not yet a passed midshipman; "I accordingly place you in command of the _Diana_, more willingly than I should any other midshipman. You are to take her to Bristol or Plymouth, and remember that she is of no small value to us." I thanked the captain for his good opinion of me, but begged to have a mate capable of navigating the ship, should I fall sick or lose my life; and I named Tony Fenwick, another midshipman, my junior, and a great chum of mine. I had an old follower, Paul Bott, who had been to sea with my father. His name was short, but he was a tall man. I asked if he also might come. The captain granted both my requests, and allowed me to pick out six other men for my crew. I felt wonderfully proud as I walked the deck of my first command, and certainly no two happier or better satisfied midshipmen could be found than Tony Fenwick and I, as we navigated the sugar-laden _Diana_ across the Atlantic. We only wished that we could meet a letter of marque of our own size, which might attempt to interfere with us. What thought we of tempests or foes, the possibility of wreck or recapture? We both of us hoped soon to obtain our promotion, for those were the days when a post-captain of nineteen commanded one of the finest frigates in the navy, and had dared and done deeds as gallant as any which naval history can record, and requiring knowledge, judgment, and discretion, as well as bravery. Old heads were often worn on young shoulders, though there were plenty of harum-scarum fellows, as now, who did no good to themselves and much harm to others, whenever they chanced to be placed in command. We had a fine passage across the Atlantic--Cape Clear was sighted, and we expected, in a few days at most, to carry the _Diana_ safe into port. Fenwick had the first watch on deck one morning--daylight had just broke when the look-out at the mast-head shouted, "A sail on the weatherbow--a large ship!" I heard Fenwick's reply, and jumped on deck, for I always slept in my clothes ready for work. The stranger, we concluded, was probably an English cruiser. The _Diana_ was kept accordingly on her course; still, not free from suspicion, we narrowly watched the stranger's movements. I was looking in another direction, when I heard Tony utter a loud exclamation, not complimentary to the French, and looking round, when it was now too late to escape from her power, what was my annoyance to see the hated tricolour flying from the stranger's peak! Still neither Tony nor I had any thought of yielding up our charge without a struggle. "She's a big one to tackle, and we shall have a squeak for it at best!" observed Tony, eyeing the Frenchman with no loving glance. All sail was made, but nothing but a miracle could have saved us. The men showed their opinion of what was to happen by slipping down one by one below, and putting on their best clothes, as sailors always do when they expect to fall into any enemy's hands. I have known some to do so when they expect to be wrecked, with but little prospect of saving their lives. Now they had good reason for what they did, for the Frenchman, should they take our ship, were sure not to leave us more than we had on our backs, even if so much. All we could do to escape, we did, but in vain. Before long, we found ourselves under the guns of a French seventy-four, the _Droits-de-l'Homme_, one of the squadron, with troops on board, intended for the invasion of Ireland. With sad hearts, Tony Fenwick, Paul Bott, and most of our crew found ourselves conveyed on board our captor, which soon afterwards made sail for France. It was the winter season; the nights were long, the weather tempestuous. When near the coast, two sail were seen--large ships, supposed to be British; we devoutly hoped that they might prove so. The _Droits-de-l'Homme_ made sail to escape them. Shortly afterwards two other ships were seen steering so as to cut her off from the land. They were undoubtedly enemies. Though surrounded, as they supposed, by foes, the Frenchmen made every attempt to escape, but fortune was against them. "We caught a Tartar t'other day--the Mounseers have caught half-a-dozen!" observed Tony, as we watched what was going on through one of the main-deck ports. A heavy squall, as he spoke, carried away the fore and main-top-masts. It was no easy matter for us to refrain from cheering at the accident, but the probability of getting a clout on our heads, and being sent below for our patriotism, kept us silent. "There's no fear now, that before many hours are over we shall be under our own flag again," whispered Tony to me. "The same mishap which has occurred to the Frenchman may befall our friends," I answered. "There are but two frigates in sight, but I hope that they are more than a match for a French seventy-four." The Frenchmen were so busy with clearing away the wreck of the masts to be ready for their foes, that no one thought of us and the other English prisoners they had on board. The gale increased; the sea ran high; the English frigates were seen to be reefing topsails. "Why, they are not going to desert us, I hope!" exclaimed Tony. "No, no, they are getting under snugger canvas for more easy handling, depend on that," I answered, laughing; "they are after us again--hurrah!" Before long the largest frigate approached, and suddenly hauling up, fired her broadside, which would have proved most destructive, had not the _Droits-de-l'Homme_ hauled up likewise, the troops which were posted on the upper-deck and poop replying with a heavy discharge of musketry. Fortunately, perhaps, for us, though we did not consider it so at the time, one of the French officers thought of sending us to join the other prisoners in the cable tier, out of harm's way. Most unwillingly we descended, though we should have run a great chance of having had our heads knocked off without the honour and glory. On getting below we found ourselves placed under guard, in almost total darkness. The big ship rolled and tumbled in a way which made it appear as if the waves alone would wrench her asunder; the great guns roared with greater frequency, the musketry rattled, the shot from the active frigates came crashing on board and tearing through the stout planks; there was the tramp of men bearing their wounded comrades below; their shrieks and groans, as the surgeons attempted in vain to operate on their shattered limbs; and the rush of water which came through the ports, with the fearful rolling of the ship. All these various sounds gave us an idea, and not a pleasant one, of the work going on above our heads. Now and then, too, louder reports and more terrific crashes told of guns bursting, and masts gone by the board. Hour after hour passed by, and still the fearful uproar continued. We prisoners would all of us rather have been on deck, notwithstanding the more than possibility of having our heads knocked off, than shut up in the dark, bilge-water smelling, stifling hold. "I say, these Frenchmen fight bravely, but I wish that they would give in; it would be wiser in them, and they must before long," observed Fenwick, as he sat on a cask by my side, kicking his heels against the staves. "All in good time," I answered. "But consider that this ship carries more guns than the two frigates put together, and of heavier metal; and aboard here there are more than twice as many men as will be found between them. There will be a tough fight before we get our liberty, but we shall get it, never fear." While we were speaking there was a cessation of firing. "Can she have struck?" was asked by many of our fellow-prisoners. We waited in breathless suspense. No intimation was given to us of what had occurred. "The frigates cannot have given up the fight, of that I am certain," I exclaimed. "Maybe they have just hauled off to repair damages, and will be at it again," suggested Paul. He was right. Like the voice of a giant awaking out of sleep the big ship's guns began again to roar forth, quickly followed by a duller sound, showing that her enemies were replying with as much energy as before. For long the battle raged furiously. How we unfortunates, like rats in a hole below, longed to be on deck, that we might see what was going forward! Again there was a cessation of firing. What could have happened? Had the Frenchman struck? That either of the English frigates had done so of course none of us would believe. It was a time of awful suspense to us all. One thing was certain, that though the battle might have ceased the war of the elements was raging more furiously than ever. From the way the ship rolled it was evident that she was dismasted. Various sounds, the cause of which seamen alone could understand, were heard. "I suspects, sir, as how we're in shoal water; they've let go an anchor," said Paul, calmly, though he knew full well the peril of our position. "But it doesn't hold, d'ye see, sir." Signal guns were heard. A few minutes passed, to most of us the time appeared far longer. A dull, ominous roaring sound reached even to our ears down in the depths of the ship. "We are among the breakers!" I sung out, jumping from my seat; and scarcely were the words out of my mouth when a cry was heard from above, and words of compassion reached our ears. "Pauvres Anglais! pauvres Anglais! Montez bien vites; nous sommes tous perdus!" The sentinel rushed from his post and we prisoners sprang on deck. Fenwick and I, with Paul and a few others, stopped, however, to help the more weak and helpless, for among them were women and children, unable to take care of themselves. The early dawn, as we reached the deck, revealed a scene of horror rarely equalled: breakers on every side, the masts gone, the decks slippery with human gore, and the ship driving to destruction. At a little distance lay one of the English frigates, the surf breaking over her, her fate sealed. The other was observed standing off from the Penmark Rocks, which threatened her with instant destruction. "Can she be saved?" asked Fenwick, for, in spite of our own danger, we had been intently watching her. "If her sticks stand and she is well handled; if not, Heaven have mercy on the souls of all on board, for their condition will be worse than ours!" I said, in a sad tone. "The people in the other frigate, already on shore, are badly enough off, but the sea as yet does not appear to break heavily over her." "As it will, howsom'dever, over us, before the world's a minute older," cried Paul; "I've been cast ashore more than once with your honoured father, Mr Brine, and the advice he gave us was, `Lads, hold on to the wreck till the time comes for getting ashore.' He wished to say, `Don't let the sea take you off the wreck if you can help it, but just hold on till you see that you have a fair chance of setting foot on land in safety.'" This advice was not thrown away. In another instant a terrific shock was felt; the wild seas dashed furiously over the huge wreck; shrieks arose from every part of the ship; horror and dismay were depicted on the countenances of all around us. As the foaming waters came rushing over the decks many were swept helplessly away. We and our men kept together, holding fast by the upper bulwarks. We could make out clearly a village on shore, and crowds of people, who lined the beach but were unable to render us any assistance. There were no lifeboats in those days, no apparatus for carrying ropes to a stranded ship; boats were indeed launched by the hardy fishermen, but were quickly dashed to pieces against the rocks. Rafts were built, but those who ventured on them were swept off by the furious seas. Others tried, by swimming, to convey a rope from the ship to the shore, but in vain. Thus the day closed, and a night of horrors commenced, during which numbers were washed away. Still my companions and I kept our posts. All this time not a particle of food could be obtained, as the hold was under water. Paul had observed a small boat uninjured. He told me of it; I undertook to carry a line safely by her to the shore. Fenwick and Paul agreed to accompany me, and we had no lack of other volunteers among our men. At low water we three, with seven others, stood ready to launch her. We allowed a heavy sea to roll by, "Now in with her, boys, and give way," I shouted. Through the boiling cauldron we pulled. None, indeed, but stout-hearted British seamen could have made way in such troubled waters. Sea upon sea came rolling on after us. On the summit of one we reached the beach. Before another sea could follow we had leaped out and dragged our boat high up above the power of the waters. We set to work, and had the satisfaction of saving the lives of several of the French crew; but, unhappily, the rope parted, and in vain we endeavoured to secure another. A second night passed--a third came, and few were saved. We remained on the beach to afford all the aid in our power to those still on the wreck. What occurred on board was not known to us till afterwards. The Frenchmen endeavoured to launch one of their largest boats, but discipline was at an end. In vain the officers ordered the men to keep back--it was right that the sick and wounded should first be removed. No one obeyed; a hundred and fifty men crowded into her. They shoved off, a sea rushed on, they were hid from view; the shattered boat and their lifeless corpses alone reached the shore. Eight hundred human beings, it is supposed, had by this time perished. Those few who now reached the shore, aided chiefly, I have a right to boast, by my party, reported the dreadful condition of the remainder. Numbers were dying of hunger; the decks were covered with corpses; expedients too horrible to be believed for sustaining life had been proposed. A fourth day came, and with it a more serene sky. The sea went down. "A sail! a sail!" A man-of-war brig and an armed cutter appeared. Their boats quickly approached, but the sea still broke so violently over the wreck that they were unable to get alongside. The famishing survivors, therefore, constructed some rafts, to be towed off by the boats, but many of those who ventured on them were swept away by the surf. About a hundred and fifty were, however, conveyed on board the brig that evening, leaving still nearly four hundred human beings on the wreck to endure a sixth night of horrors. The sufferings of many were more than human endurance could sustain, and next morning, when the men-of-war's boats returned, half of the hapless beings were found dead. We, meantime, when our services could be of no further avail, found ourselves, being in an enemy's country, marched off as prisoners; but I am bound to say that we were treated with the greatest kindness by the French. The spot where the wreck occurred was, we found, the Bay of Audierne, and the town near it that of Plouzenec. Here we met part of the officers and crew of the British thirty-six-gun frigate, _Amazon_, which had been wrecked with us. Her whole ship's company (six men only excepted, who had stolen the cutter and were drowned) had, by means of rafts, landed in safety by nine a.m. of the morning the frigate went on shore. This might have been partly owing to the position of the ship, but more particularly to the admirable discipline maintained on board. We rejoiced to find that the other frigate, which was the _Indefatigable_, of forty-four guns, Captain Sir Edward Pellew, had escaped the danger which threatened her. Fenwick and I were sighing over the prospect of our expected captivity, and the destruction of all our hopes of promotion, when the captain of the French ship, who had been among the last to leave the wreck, sent for us, and, complimenting us on our behaviour, assured us that as we had been fellow-sufferers with him and his people, we and our men might rely on being liberated without delay. To our great joy we and our companions were shortly afterwards placed on board a cartel and sent to England without ransom or exchange, an act of generosity on the part of the French worthy of note. STORY SIX, CHAPTER 1. OUR FIRST PRIZE--A YARN. Away on her course, before a strong north-easterly breeze, flew her Majesty's brig _Gadfly_. Every stitch of canvas she could carry was set, each sail was well trimmed, each brace hauled taut, and it might have been supposed that we were eager to reach some port where friends and pleasure awaited us. But it was far otherwise. We were quitting England and our home, that spot which contains all a seaman holds most dear, and were bound for a land of pestilence and death, the little delectable coast of Africa, to be employed for the next three years in chasing, capturing, or destroying, to the best of our power and ability, all vessels engaged in the traffic of human flesh. We touched at the Azores, and reached Sierra Leone, the chief port on that station, without meeting with any adventure worth relating. We remained there a week to wood and water, to perform which operations we shipped a dozen stout Kroomen. These people come from a province south of Sierra Leone, and are employed on board all vessels on that coast to perform such occupations as would too much expose Europeans to the heat of the sun. They are an energetic, brave, lively set of fellows, and very trustworthy; indeed, I do not know how we should have got on without them. They work very hard, and when they have saved money enough to buy themselves one or more wives, according to their tastes, they return to their own country to live in ease and dignity. As they generally assume either the names of the officers with whom they have served, or of some reigning prince or hero of antiquity, it is extraordinary what a number of retired commanders and lieutenants, not to speak of higher dignitaries, are to be found in Krooland. Sierra Leone has been so often described that I will not attempt to draw a picture of its romantic though deceitful beauties. Its blue sky and calm waters, its verdant groves and majestic mountains, its graceful villas and flowering shrubs, put one in mind of a lovely woman who employs her charms to beguile and destroy those who confide in her. On turning to my log, I find that on the --, at dawn, we unmoored ship, and under all plain sail ran out of the river of Sierra Leone. As soon as we were clear of the land we shaped a course for the mouth of the Sherbro River, a locality notorious for its numerous slave depots. On our way thither we chased several sail, but some of them got off altogether, and others proved to be either British cruisers, foreign men-of-war, or honest traders; so that not a capture of any sort or kind did we make. It was for no want of vigilance, however, on our part; early and late, at noon and at night, I was at the masthead on the look-out for a sail. I knew that if I did not set a good example of watchfulness, others would be careless; for I held the responsible post, with all the honour and glory attached to it, of first lieutenant of the _Gadfly_. "Mr Rawson," said the captain one day to me, in a good-natured tone, as I was walking the quarter-deck with him, "you will wear yourself out by your never-ceasing anxiety in looking out for slavers. There may be some, but my opinion is that they are a great deal too sharp-sighted to let us catch them in the brig. We may chance to get alongside one now and then in the boats and up the rivers, but out here it's in vain to look for them." He was new to the coast, and the climate had already impaired his usual energy. "Never fear, sir," I answered; "we may have a chance as well as others; and at all events it shall not be said that we did not get hold of any slavers for want of looking for them." The next day we made the land about the mouth of the Sherbro River, and had to beat up against as oppressive a wind as I ever recollect experiencing. One is apt to fancy that the sky and water in that climate must always be blue. Now, and on many other occasions, instead of there being any cerulean tints in any direction, the sky was of a dirty copper tinge, or rather such as is seen spread out like a canopy over London on a calm damp day in November; while the sea, which rolled along in vast and sluggish undulations, looked as if it was formed of sheets of lead of the same hue. Looking astern, one almost expected to see the wake we ploughed up remaining indelible as on a hard substance. Over the land hung a mist of the same brownish-yellow hue, hiding everything but the faint outline of the coast. "This is what I call a right-down regular Harmattan," said the master, who, like me, had been before in that delectable clime. The rest of the officers were new to it. "It will put the purser's whiskers in curl if he gives them a turn round with a marline-spike. Don't you smell the earthy flavour of the sands of Africa?" "In truth I think I do," said Jenkins, the second lieutenant, one of a group who were collected on the weather side of the quarter-deck. "I can distinguish the lions' and boa-constrictors' breath in it, too, if I'm not mistaken. Not much of Araby's spicy gales here, at all events." "Blue skies, and verdant groves, and spicy gales sound very pretty in poetry, but very little of them do we get in reality," said the master. "And when there is a blue sky there's such a dreadfully hot sun peeps out of it, that one feels as if all the marrow in one's bones was being dried up. But this won't last long. We shall have a change soon." "Glad you think so," observed Jenkins; "I'm tired of this already." "I didn't say the change would be for the better," answered the master. "We may have a black squall come roaring up from off the land, and take our topsails out of the bolt-ropes, or our topmasts over the side, before we know where we are, if you don't keep a bright look-out for it; and we shall have the rainy season beginning in earnest directly, and then look out for wet jackets." "A pleasant prospect you give us, Smith," said I. "I wish I could draw a better, but my experience won't let me differ from you." The fog and the heat continued, and the wind, which put one in mind of the blast of a furnace, was equally steady, so, that we slowly beat up till we got close in-shore. It was dark when we made our approach to the mouth of the Sherbro, and when we were off it we furled everything, and let the vessel go where she might, in the hopes that should there be a slaver inside ready to sail she might take the opportunity of running out while the land-wind lasted, and, not seeing us, might fall into our clutches. Every light was dowsed on board, and the bells were even not allowed to be struck. There we lay, like a log on the water, or, as Jenkins said, like a boa-constrictor ready to spring on its prey. Besides the regular look-outs, we had plenty of volunteer eyes peering into the darkness, in hopes of distinguishing an unsuspecting slaver. We of course kept the lead at the bottom, to mark the direction we were driving; but we did not move much, as the send of the sea on shore was counteracted by the wind blowing off it. Everybody made sure of having a prize before morning. Jenkins said he was certain of having one, and the master was very sanguine. The first watch passed away, and nothing appeared, but neither of them would go below. "I think we must have driven too much to the southward," said Jenkins to the master, growing impatient. "The written orders for the night are to hold our position. Don't you think we had better make sail back again?" "What! and show our whereabouts to the slaver, if there is one?" answered the master. "Besides, we haven't driven the sixteenth of a mile, except off-shore; and there isn't much odds about that. Hark! did not you hear some cries coming from in-shore of us?" We listened, but if sounds there were they were not repeated; and as Jenkins had the middle watch, I turned in, desiring to be called if anything occurred. I was on deck again just as the light of day was struggling into existence through the heavy canopy which hung over us; and as the sun, which must have been rising in the heavens, got higher, so the mass of vapour over the land increased in density and depth. At first it hung just above the mangrove bushes, and we could see the tops of a few lofty palm-trees on shore, and some distant mountains popping their heads above it; but by degrees they and the whole scene before us were immersed in it. The people's breakfast was just over when the captain came on deck. "No success, Mr Rawson, last night," said he. "We'll try my plan now. I'm convinced that there must be slavers up that river; so we'll send the cutter and pinnace up to look after them. Desire Mr Jenkins to be prepared to take the command of them, and let Mr Johnston go also." "Ay, ay, sir," I answered. "Shall I get the boats ready, sir?" "Yes, you may, at once," was the answer. And the boats' crews were soon busily engaged in making the necessary arrangements for their departure. With three cheers from the ship, away they pulled towards the mouth of the Sherbro. We watched them anxiously; for although the wind was off-shore, the swell which rolled in threw up a heavy surf on the bar, which at times makes the entrance to that river very dangerous. There was, however, every probability of Jenkins finding a smooth place to get across, and if not, he was ordered to return. The crews gave way with a will, and the boats flew across the dark, slow, heaving undulations, now on the summit of one of the leaden rises, and now lost to view from the deck. At last they reached the irregular line of white foam, which danced up glittering and distinct against the dark mass of land and fog beyond. Into it they seemed to plunge, and we saw no more of them, for the wall of breakers and the height of the swell entirely shut out all view beyond. With hearty wishes for the safety of our shipmates, we hoisted the topsails and ran off the land. When we had run some eight or ten miles by the log, it came on a dead calm, and there we lay, rolling and tumbling about, as the master said, like a crab in a saucepan, without being able to help ourselves. At length it cleared up a little in the north-west, and a line of whitish sky was seen under the copper. The line increased in size and blueness, till our topsails were filled with a fine strong breeze from that quarter. The brig was then kept away, in order to run down to the southernmost extremity of our station. I had just gone aloft to have a look round, when my eye fell on a sail broad on our starboard bow, which, from the size of her royals, just appearing above the horizon, I judged to be a large square-rigged vessel. I descended to the cabin to inform the captain, and to ask leave to make sail in chase. "What, another of your phantom slavers, Rawson?" he answered, laughing. "Make sail, by all means; but I'm afraid we shall not be much the wiser." Hauling up a little, I soon had every stitch of canvas on the brig which she could carry, with starboard fore-topmast studding-sails. We drew rapidly on the chase, and in half-an-hour could see nearly down to her topsails. The breeze freshened, and we went through the water in earnest. "A thumping brig; there's no doubt about it," said the master. "Observe the rakish cut of her sails; one can almost smell the niggers on board her." "She's carrying on, too, as it she was in a hurry to get away from us," I remarked. "So she is," said the captain, coming on deck. "But it strikes me that those slave-dealers generally send faster craft to sea than she appears to be. It's only some of your wise governments who don't care about the slavers being caught who send out slow-coaches, which are fit for nothing but carrying timber." "Then why should she be in such a hurry?" I observed. "A sail right ahead!" sang out the man at the mast-head. "Because she's in chase of something else," remarked the captain, laughing. "Hand me the glass. I thought so. What do you make out of that ensign which has just blown out at her peak?" I took a look through the telescope. "A Yankee brig, sir," I exclaimed, in a tone of vexation. "I should not wonder but what she is an American man-of-war, after all." Well, though it must be owned that the Yankees can build fine and fast ships when they wish to do so, and want them to go along, I must say that the chase sailed as badly as any ship-of-war I ever met. We came up with her hand-over-hand, and we were soon sufficiently near to exchange signals, when we made out that she was the United States brig-of-war the _Grampus_, in chase of a suspicious-looking craft to the southward. Exchanging a few courteous expressions with the American captain, who stood on the weather side of the poop eyeing us with a look of envy, we passed rapidly by him. "If you make yon stranger a prize, I think we ought to go shares," he said, laughing. "We sighted her first." "You shall have the whole of her if you overhaul her first," answered our captain. "Then I calculate we may as well give in, for your legs are a tarnation deal longer than ours, it seems." The sun, which now shone forth for a brief space, glittered on the bright copper of the brig as she lifted to the send of the sea, and the foam flew over her bows and washed fore and aft along her dingy sides as she tore through the water; but it would not do, the little _Gadfly_ laughed her to scorn, and, as we headed her, seemed impudently to kick up her heels at her in contempt at her slow ways. We were not long in coming up with the chase, nor in making out by the cut of her canvas, her short yards, and heavy-looking hull, that she was no slaver. As soon as we fired a gun, and hoisted our ensign and pennant, she hove-to, and on sending a boat on board we found that she was the _Mary Jane_, of Bristol, a steady-going old African trader. She had been carrying sail, both because she was on her right course, and because she could not tell but what the _Grampus_ might be a slaver or pirate, anxious to overhaul her. The master, who was a very civil old fellow, came on board, and gave us some valuable suggestions. He had witnessed some of the horrors of the middle passage, and was a strong advocate for the abolition of the slave-trade. "Africa will never improve while it exists, and it will exist as long as people find it profitable, and the governments of the world either encourage it or only take half measures to abolish it. I am sorry to own, too, that people nearer home gain too much by it to withstand the temptation of assisting those engaged in it, and I know for certain that many English merchants have account-currents with slave-dealers, and send their vessels out here full of goods expressly for them." I afterwards found that what he said was perfectly true. After taking some luncheon with us, he tumbled into his boat and stood on his course, while we hauled our wind to return to the northward. "We have not made our first prize yet, Rawson," said the captain, as I took dinner with him in his cabin that day. "No, sir; but I hope we soon shall," I replied. "Better luck next time!" As chance would have it, just after sunset we again fell in with the _Grampus_, and passed close to her. "You didn't find many woolly heads on board that 'ere craft, I calculate?" said a voice from the main rigging, followed by a loud laugh from several persons. "No," I answered, indignantly, thinking of the conversation with the master of the _Mary Jane_. "But there's a time coming when your people will bitterly regret that woolly heads or slavery exists in your country, and will wish that you long ago had done your best to abolish it. Good night, gentlemen!" There was no answer, and we rapidly flew by each other. For two or three days we cruised about as unsuccessful as before, the weather continuing fine; but the sky giving indubitable signs of the approach of the stormy and rainy season, we beat back along shore to pick up our boats. The wind had been veering about for some time, and at length seemed to have made up its mind to enjoy a stiffish blow out of the south-west. This, of course, would have kicked up a considerable surf on the bar, and as Jenkins had orders, as soon as he saw signs of such being the case, to come out and look out for us, we were in hourly expectation of falling in with the boats. We had, however, seen nothing of them, though we kept a very sharp look-out, and had almost got up to the mouth of the river, when, in the afternoon watch, I bethought me that by way of a change I would go aloft, and try if a fresh pair of eyes would see farther than those of the man stationed there. I had been up about five minutes, when my eye fell on the white canvas of a largish vessel standing along shore under easy sail. She had a most suspicious look; indeed, I felt convinced that she, at all events, was a slaver. I was on deck in an instant, and, hurrying into the captain's cabin with a look of triumph, though I tried to be perfectly calm and unconcerned, I uttered the words, "A sail on the lee beam!" "Very well, Mr Rawson. What does she look like?" said the captain. "She's a large topsail schooner, sir, and she's without doubt a slaver," I answered quite calmly, as a matter of course. "What, another of your slavers?" he answered. "I'm afraid they'll all turn out Flying Dutchmen." "Not this time, sir, I'm certain," I replied. "Shall we make sail in chase?" "Oh, certainly--certainly!" he replied. "I'll be on deck immediately myself." I flew on deck, and, without waiting for him, sang out, in a cheery voice, to the boatswain, "Turn the hands up! Make sail!" The pipe sounded along the decks with a shriller sound than usual, I thought, and the news that a suspicious sail was in sight having already travelled below, the men were all ready, and flew aloft before the last sound of the order was given. The gear of the courses was overhauled whilst the topgallant-sails and royals were being loosed, and in a few seconds all plain sail was made on the brig. The stranger, who had not apparently before seen us, was not long in following our example. He set his foresail, topgallant-sail, and royal, gaff-topsail and flying-jib, in addition to the canvas he had been before carrying, and, putting down his helm, stood off-shore on a bowline, with the intention of crossing our bows. The reason of his doing this was, that to the northward a long and dangerous reef ran off from the shore, so that he had no other means of escape. We had him, indeed, partly embayed, and yet, if he was able to carry on, it was clear that he might still manage to get out ahead of us. The _Gadfly_ sailed well, and carried her canvas admirably, but so did the stranger; and, by the way every sail on board her was set, it was evident he was in earnest in doing his best to weather on us. "What do you think of that fellow now, sir?" I said, as the captain came on deck. "There's no mistaking what she is." "Why, Rawson, I think you are right this time, at all events," was the answer. "Stand by the royals, though. We must not carry the masts over the side; and she will go along as fast without them." I saw it was time, indeed, to take in our lighter canvas, for, as we were obliged to haul more up, the masts were bending like whips, and the green seas came washing in bodily to leeward, while the spray flew in sheets over our weather bulwarks. The day wore on, and evening was fast approaching, with every prospect of a dirty night; the wind was increasing, and dark masses of clouds came rolling up from the south-west, and flying over in the opposite quarter, though as they came on faster than they disappeared, the sky overhead soon got pretty full of them. The stranger, meantime, was carrying on in gallant style--not an inch of anything did he slack. He seemed to think that it was neck or nothing with him. It must be understood that while his course was about west, and that nothing off that could he venture to go, we were able to keep rather more away. There was no chance, however, of our getting him under our guns before dark, when he, of course, would do his best to double on us. It was an exciting time, and even the most apathetic on board would not go below. We were longing to get near enough to give her a shot or two with any probability of hitting her. All this time the sea was getting up, and as she was evidently a sharp, shallow vessel, this much impeded her progress. Instead of, as when we first saw her, gliding gently through the waves, or putting them gracefully aside with her bows, she now rose and fell as they passed under her, and hammered away at them as she strove to make her onward progress. We caught one bright gleam of the sun on her copper as she lifted on the top of a wave, just as the glowing orb of day sank into the water, and in a few minutes darkness would cover the face of the deep. Now was to come the tug of war, or rather, the trial of our patience. The moon had not yet risen, although it soon would, but, in the meantime, she might tack and stand away to the southward, or she might pass ahead of us. "Try her with a shot, Mr Rawson," said the captain. "If we could hull her, the fellow would heave-to." "I would prefer knocking away some of her wings, and thus secure her, rather than trust to such slippery gentry," I thought, as I elevated one of the lee guns and fired. The shot went over her or between her masts, for no damage was done. It showed, however, that she was within range. "Have another slap at her," said the captain. "But I do not think there's much chance of hitting her with the sea we have on." This time the gunner took aim, but with no better success. Another and another shot was fired with the same want of result, and nothing seemed in any way to daunt the chase. Darkness had now come on in earnest, and we could just distinguish the schooner's sails through the gloom. A number of sharp eyes were kept on her, though they at times almost lost sight of her, and the dark clouds which hung overhead, to increase our difficulties, every now and then sent down deluges of rain, which still more impeded our prospect. After some time the captain, who had been below, returned on deck. "Whereabouts is the chase, Mr Rawson?" he asked. "Right away under the lee cat-head," I answered, "She was there a moment ago." I looked again. She was nowhere to be seen. I flew to the binnacle; we had not in any way altered our course. "Provoking enough," observed the captain, coolly. "But I thought it would be so." I had nothing to say in return, but I did not despair of seeing her again. "She must have tacked," said the captain, "and hopes to get away to the southward of us before the morning." "I think not, sir," I answered. "I suspect she'll hold her course; for, when last seen, she was drawing near us, and she hopes to pass ahead of us in the dark; but if we can but get a gleam of moonlight to show us her whereabouts, we may yet clip her wings for her before she gets away from us." Almost as I was speaking, the moon rose above the waters undimmed by a cloud, its pale light revealing the schooner just where I expected her to be. A cheer burst from the lips of many of the anxious watchers. "Now or never is the time to knock some of her spars away!" I thought, "Shall we give her another shot, sir?" I asked of the captain. "Yes; you may give her a broadside, Mr Rawson, and slap it into the fellow's hull. He deserves no mercy at our hands. But stay; we might run the chance of killing some of the unfortunate blacks who may be below." Going round to the guns, I elevated them as much as possible, and told the captains to try and hit her masts. The order was given to fire as each gun could be brought to bear. No easy task, let me observe, for so much did the brig heel over, that the men in the waist were up to their knees nearly all the time in water. It was a night to try the mettle of fellows, and none could behave better than did outs. The wind howled and whistled as it rushed through the rigging, the waves roared and splashed as we dashed through them, and threw their white crests over us, the masts seemed to bend, and the hull to utter unusual groans of complaint as we tasked her powers to the utmost. Darkness was around us, an enemy at hand, and a dangerous short, under our lee; but all hands laughed and joked with the most perfect unconcern. Again the moon was obscured, and on we tore through the foaming waters. There was no use in firing, for no aim could then be taken. Once more the clouds cleared away, and the moonbeams shone on the hull and sails of the schooner with all her canvas set, just about to cross our fore foot. "Now's your time, my men!" I sang out, as I sprung forward, luffing up at the same time, so as to get our broadside to bear on her. The foremost gun was the first fired, followed by the others in succession. Nothing daunted, the fellow was holding on, his jib-halyards alone having been carried away, and the jib was slashing about under his bows. "By Jupiter! he'll weather on us now, if we don't take care and slip away in the wind's eye," I exclaimed. The captain thought so too; and again ordering me to fire right at her hull, a yaw was given, and gun after gun as they were brought to bear was poured into the slaver. The effects of the shot made her fly up into the wind. Several of her braces and halyards were cut away, and, she now nearly a wreck, we in a few minutes were close aboard her. "Hands, shorten sail." In three seconds Her Majesty's brig was under topsails, hove-to alongside her prize. "Mr Rawson," said the captain, addressing me, "there will be some difficulty in boarding that vessel, and I wish that you would go in the gig and take possession of her. She is our first prize, remember, and it would not do to let her slip through our fingers." "Ay, ay, sir. Gig's crew away, then?" I sung out, as I stepped to the binnacle to take the bearings of the schooner from us. Luckily I did so, for we could only then just distinguish her, and a dark mass of clouds driving across the moon shut her out completely from our sight. "Bear a hand there, and lower away the gig!" I sung out, for I was anxious to shove off before the brig entirely lost her way through the water. It was not particularly pleasant work in the heavy sea there was running having to grope about in the dark for a craft manned probably by desperadoes, who would be too happy to cut our throats if they had the opportunity. I had a brace of pistols, and a few cutlasses had been thrown into the boat. Thus prepared we cast off, and the men bent bravely to their oars as the boat topped the heavy seas over which we had to pass. The brig showed a light for us to steer by, but the schooner was in no way so civil. On we pulled, however, in the hope of hitting her, but though we had gone over fully the distance I calculated she must have been from us, yet nothing of her could we see. I was almost in despair, and as while looking for her I could not attend carefully to the boat's steering we shipped two or three heavy seas, which almost swamped her, and we had to bale them out as fast as we could. For some time the men lay on their oars, just keeping the boat's head to the seas while we looked round for the chase. "She has gone! The rascal took the opportunity of the last shower to sneak off," I thought. "Pleasant. But patience; c'est la fortune de la guerre." Disconsolate enough I was steering back for the faint glimmer of light which I believed proceeded from the lantern on board the _Gadfly_, when I fancied I heard the loud flapping of a sail near us. I looked earnestly into the darkness. "There she is, sir," sung out the coxswain. "You're right. Give way, my boys," I cried; and in a few minutes we were alongside the schooner. Not a rope was thrown to us, nor was any assistance offered, so we had to scramble on board as best we could. It was fortunate that we met with no resistance, from which we afterwards found we had had a narrow escape, when all our lives would have been sacrificed. As we leaped down on board over the bulwarks we found only one man on deck, on the after-part of which he was walking by himself, evidently in a furious rage, by the manner in which he cursed and gesticulated. As the light of the lantern fell on his countenance I thought I had never seen one with a more diabolical expression. He was a little man, slightly built, with dark weather-beaten, and sharp features, excessively ugly. His eyes were small, but black as jet, and I fancied that I could see them twinkling even in the dark. The crew had all been sent below, but we soon roused them up, twenty in number; fierce, cut-throat-looking villains most of them were. The between-decks we found crowded with slaves; and we found, when we came to count them, that there were three hundred men, women, and children, so closely packed that they could not lie down even to rest. They had suffered dreadfully during the chase, with the fright and heat, and from having the hatches battened down. Our first business was to shorten sail, which we made the Spaniards and Portuguese who formed the crew go aloft to do; and we then edged the schooner down to where the brig was, and lay-to close to her. The master of the slaver, when at length he became convinced that there was no help for what had occurred, grew more calm, and he then told me that everything he had in the world was embarked on board that craft, that he had set his canvas and made every sheet and tack fast, when, sending all his people below, the hatches being battened down, he himself had taken the helm, determined to weather us or to run his vessel under water. "I should have escaped, too," he continued, "if your cursed shot had not carried away my topsails while all the hands were below. A quarter of an hour more and you might have looked for me in vain." I did not tell him how nearly we were missing him after all; indeed I had enough to do to watch him and his crew, and to see that they did not play us any trick. All the men I confined in the fore peak, after securing all the arms I could find, while I allowed him to turn into his own berth, where he slept, or pretended to sleep. I never passed a more anxious night, what with the stench and the groans of the wretched slaves, and the risk of a crew of desperadoes rising on us. We kept, however, as close to the _Gadfly_ as we could, and hailed every time the bell was struck, to say all was right. Towards morning the wind moderated and the sea went down, and at daylight a prize crew came on board to set the schooner to rights. This we were not long in doing, as her damages were slight, and such as, had the slaver's people been more determined, they might without difficulty have repaired. There was by that time merely a light breeze, and as soon as we got the canvas on the schooner we found that we could sail round and round the brig, so that it was fortunate we had managed to wing her before the sea went down, or we should have had no chance with her. While the slave captain was still asleep, and the rest of his crew were below, one of the fellows shoved his head up the fore hatchway, and asked to speak with me. I told him to come aft, and I recognised him as a Portuguese whom I had taken once before in the West Indies. With an affrighted look he glanced towards the round-house on deck, where the captain was sleeping, and motioned me to come as far from it as possible. "I have run every risk, senhor, to come and warn you of danger, in the hope that you will be lenient to us," he began. "That man in there, senhor, is the very devil. Don't you recollect him? You took him in the _Andorinha_, off the Havannah. He was really her master, though he pretended to be the mate." It had struck me from the first that I had seen the fellow's face before, but I could not recollect where. "Yes, I remember him," I replied. "But what of that?" "Why, senhor, you know what a desperate fellow he was then, and he has not altered. Even last night, when we rounded to to prevent your sinking us, he called us all aft, and asking us if we would stick by him, proposed heaving some shot into your gig as you came alongside, knocking you and your people on the head, and while your vessel was looking about to pick up the sinking boat, in the dark to try and slip away from you. He was in a furious rage when we would not consent. Some were afraid of the plan miscarrying, and of being caught notwithstanding, and hung for murder. Others were unwilling to kill you, as you never ill-treat your prisoners, of which number pray rank me, and while he was still urging his project you jumped on board. You had a narrow escape though, senhor, for he was nearly pistolling you as you appeared, to set us the example." So I felt, especially when I saw the diabolical-looking little villain soon after appear on deck. I promised the informer that I would not forget him, and would be on my guard, though I did not give him any credit for disinterested motives in mentioning what had occurred. I had no difficulty by daylight in recognising my friend the captain, nor shall I again forget his ugly mug in a hurry. He also saw that he was known, and had the impudence to claim me as an old acquaintance. Everything being put to rights on board the schooner, I handed her over to a mate and the crew, who were to take her to Sierra Leone. Before leaving her, however, I had all the slaves up on deck, a third at a time, and had them washed and cleaned, as also the hold, as well as circumstances would allow. A great number of the poor wretches died before they reached their port; not on account of bad weather, or the length of the voyage, but from their having been a long time confined in the barracoons previously to their being embarked. The little captain and most of his crew, however, we sent on board the _Gadfly_, as it would not have been prudent to trust him in the schooner. With a flowing sheet our first prize stood away for Sierra Leone, and three hearty cheers accompanied her on her course. "We've not made a bad night's work of it, master," said I, as I sat down to breakfast with him. "No," he answered, "if the prize ever reaches her port." "Why should you think she will not?" I asked. "It's better not to be too sanguine. There's many a slip between the cup and the lip," was the reply. "Too true an adage," I felt. "I'm sure I've found it so in my course through life." We, meantime, stood in-shore to look for our boats. The night closed in without our meeting with them, till at length we became seriously alarmed for their safety. The next day, when just off the mouth of the Sherbro, two black objects were descried from the mast-head. We made towards them, and with no little satisfaction welcomed our shipmates on board. They had had hard work of it, with damp fogs or rain nearly half the time, and without having enjoyed any other shelter than such as the boats and a sail could afford. Poor Jenkins was ill with fever, as were several of the people, and they were for some time on the doctor's list. We now shaped a course for Sierra Leone, to assist in the condemnation of our prize. We found her arrived there safe enough, and having been taken with slaves on board, there was no doubt of her capture being legal. We were not sorry to get rid of the little slave captain and his crew. He kept up his character to the last, and I never met a man so energetic and daring in doing evil. Before we left we discovered that he was trying to induce some other slave captains and their crews to join with him in cutting out a condemned slaver which lay in the harbour; but it appeared that they considered the risk of the undertaking too great to attempt it. He formed afterwards several other similar projects, and was finally shipped off to the Havannah as too dangerous a character to remain in the colony. We afterwards captured a number of slavers, but none of them afforded us so much interest and gratification as the taking of our first prize. Story 7--Chapter 1. CAST AWAY ON A SAND-BANK: OR, MY EXPERIENCES OF LIFE ON THE OCEAN. Midshipman wanted for a first-class India trader! "Oh! mother, that will just do for me!" I exclaimed. "Do let me go; I shall be back in no time, and have all sorts of yarns to tell you." I pressed and pressed. My mother saw that I should do little good by remaining longer at school, or thought so at all events, and I gained my point. Within a month I found myself on board the good ship _Betsey Blair_, of six hundred tons, Captain Joseph Johns, master, gliding over the Atlantic at the rate of nine knots an hour, bound out to Singapore. We had two mates, a surgeon, two midshipmen besides myself, one of whom was making his first voyage, and three apprentices who had never before been to sea, with a crew, including the boatswain, of five-and-twenty hands. I did not find things quite as pleasant as I had expected, from reading "Tom Cringle's Log" and Captain Marryat's novels, and other romantic tales of the sea. Captain Johns was every inch a sailor. He told us midshipmen that he intended we should become sailors, and he began by sending us aloft the first calm day to black down the rigging and grease the masts. I began to go aloft with my span new uniform on. "No! no!" he said, calling me down, "the second mate will serve you out a shirt and trousers fit for that work." The mates laughed and the men laughed also. I got the shirt and trousers, and spent a couple of hours aloft, making good use of tar-brush and grease-pot, till my clothes were as black as the rigging and as greasy as the masts. It was my first real lesson in the duty of a seaman. I am now much obliged to our worthy master. I mention it to show that the realities of a midshipman's life on board a merchantman, if the captain does his duty, are not quite what young gentlemen anticipate. We had a quick passage to Singapore. There discharging our cargo, which, from that important mart of the East, was distributed in small craft in all directions among the numberless islands of those seas, we got ready for our return home, having to call at Melbourne on our way. Having taken in our cargo, we polished up, and hearing that several passengers were coming on board, we midshipmen put on our best uniforms to receive them, flattering ourselves that, as the paint-brushes and polishing leathers had been kept going, we and the ship cut a very respectable appearance. Captain Johns was proud of his ship, and prouder still of keeping his crew in perfect order. We had several passengers, a Mr and Mrs Haliday and three children, a Mrs Burnett, Mrs Magnus, and a Mr Turner, a merchant. The ladies were going home, I believe, on account of health. My chief friend on board was the surgeon of the ship, Mr Gilbert. He was a young man, but very intelligent and scientific, and took a pleasure in imparting the information he possessed. There seemed thus every prospect of our having a pleasant voyage home. Mr Crawford was the first mate. I was in his watch. Our second mate was a Mr Morgan. With colours flying, our smart little ship stood out of the harbour of Singapore. The weather was fine and the sea smooth. "Do you think we shall have this sort of weather all the way home," asked Mr Haliday, who was a timid man, and anxious about his wife and family. "Well, sir, I have made three or four passages, when we carried the fine weather the whole way out and home, but if we do not, we must do our best and trust to God, Mr Haliday, that is my maxim, and I have always found it hold good. I have been at sea ever since I was a boy, and in more hurricanes and gales of wind than I can well count up, and yet I never was shipwrecked, and here I am alive and well," answered Captain Johns, to whom the question had been put. "But, captain, there is a saying, `the pitcher which goes often to the well gets broken at last.'" "That, I rather think, means to refer to those who tempt God, and a man who has to run into danger in the way of duty is not to my mind doing that. We must trust God whatever happens, Mr Haliday. Even if the stout little ship were to be cast away, He would find a means for our escape if He thought fit." I overheard this conversation, and it made a strong impression on me. For some time the fine weather continued, when it came on very thick, with baffling winds. For three days or more we had been unable to take an observation. The chief mate had the morning watch. Soon after I got on deck I heard him sing out, "Keep a sharp look-out there forward!" Then stepping aft he said to the man at the helm, "Keep the ship north-by-west." The wind, I should say, at this time was west-by-south, and we were going nearly nine knots through the water. The events of that morning were vividly impressed upon my memory. "Mr Jennings," said the first mate to me, "what is that black look in the water ahead!" I ran forward. The look-out man declared that it was the reflection of a heavy black cloud hanging just over the ship. "It is no such thing!" exclaimed the mate, sharply looking over the gangway. "Hard up with the helm! All hands on deck! Wear ship!" I, with the watch on deck, flew to the braces. The ship wore round, but almost before we could touch the ropes a terrific crash was heard, and she struck heavily aft. The following sea drove her broadside on to the reef, part of which we now saw clearly rising out of the water not a cable's length from us. The first crash sent the captain and other officers rushing on deck, while cries and shrieks arose from the poor passengers in the cabin. The next sea which struck her, after she had touched, came flying over us, and there seemed scarcely a possibility of our saving our lives. "Lads!" shouted the captain, "obey my orders, and I will do my best for you. See to cutting away the masts. Clear the rigging as the masts are cut away. Mr Jennings, clear the pinnace for launching." Another midshipman was sent down to entreat the passengers to remain quiet below till the boats were ready, assuring them that they would run great risk of losing their lives if they came on deck. Although the masts were quickly cut away, the ship continued to lurch heavily upon the reef, and it seemed that she must quickly go to pieces. She now lay completely on her beam ends, so that it was difficult to stand on her deck. I had made the pinnace ready for launching, but she was a heavy boat, and though all hands exerted themselves to the utmost, we could not manage it, our good captain getting his leg jammed in the attempt. We hauled him up to the weather bulwarks, where he held on, still giving his orders. Our next attempt was to launch the jolly-boat. To do this we had to hoist her up to the davits on the upper quarter. When placing oars, and a couple of good hands in her, we watched our opportunity, and, after a sea had broken over us, quickly bailing her out, allowed her to glide into the water. Captain Johns ordered the men to pull to the rock which we had at first seen, and which lay a short distance inside the reef. We had a small well-built lifeboat. To preserve her from injury was of the greatest importance. We got her up in the same way to the upper davits and launched her in safety. As soon as this was done the ladies and children were brought up from the cabin, which was already half full of water, and, being placed in her, she pulled away for the jolly-boat. The ladies' husbands watched them anxiously. It was impossible to say at what moment the ship would break up. So terrific were the blows she was receiving that it seemed scarcely possible she could hold together many minutes; indeed, already portions of her had been torn away, and were seen floating to leeward. In the next trip the men passengers and the young seamen were taken to the jolly-boat. "Do you, Jennings, and you, Mr Gilbert, go in her," said the captain. "No, sir, thank you, I will stay by you," I answered. "I order you both into the boat. I am not to be disobeyed," he exclaimed. Of course we could not refuse. Already the jolly-boat, when we got into her, was very full, and there seemed some risk of her being swamped. Just then one of the seamen struck his boat-hook down alongside. "Why, the water is quite shallow here!" he exclaimed. "Overboard lads! The ladies shall run no risk on our account;" and six or eight men instantly jumped into the water, holding on to the boat, it being tolerably smooth under the lee of the rock where she lay. By the last trip the master came off, bringing some charts and nautical instruments, which he had secured. "What about food?" some one asked. A small quantity, it appeared, had been secured, but not a drop of fresh water had been brought off. The master now ordered some of the men to get into the lifeboat, and we were pretty evenly divided among the two. "How far off are we from the Australian coast?" asked Mr Haliday. "Four hundred miles at the nearest," was the answer. "It is true, my friends," said the master, "but half-a-mile off there is a sand-bank. We will make for that, and there pray that God will give us the means of escape." The grey dawn broke soon after we reached the bank, where we landed in safety. "Now, my friends," said the master, as we stood grouped around him, "let us lift up our hearts in thankfulness to that merciful God who has thus far preserved us." Hearty and sincere was, I feel assured, the prayer that rose from that barren sand-bank. We thanked God for preserving us, and we prayed that He might yet watch over us, and carry us in safety to land. The bank was scarcely more than a hundred and fifty yards long, and about a third of the width. Still we had reason to be thankful. Not a life had been lost, in spite of the fearful risk we had run. Had a gale been blowing, however, not one of us could have escaped. As the sun rose our clothes quickly dried, but its rays soon became fearfully hot, and beat down upon our unprotected heads. The master was suffering all this time from the injury he had received, and was obliged to lie down. He, however, first directed the two mates to return with the boats to the wreck, to bring off whatever they could find likely to be of use, and anxiously we watched them as they pulled away. Our lives depended upon the success of their expedition. Meantime, the hot sun increased, and we all began to suffer from thirst. It was sad to see the poor little children crying for water when there was none to give them. Some of us, with pieces of board, began to dig in the sand, hoping to find water, but after making several deep holes we came each time to the coral rock. That, however, was moist and free from salt. Though the amount of fluid we could obtain was trifling, it afforded us some slight relief to lick the bare rock, and helped to cool our tongues. At length the boats returned. Eagerly we all hurried down to welcome them, and haul them up on the beach. A shout of joy arose when we found that the jolly-boat had a cask of water on board, besides some provisions--a cheese, some potted meat, and some biscuit. How thankfully we poured the sweet liquid down our throats. Captain Johns, however, would allow only half-a-gill to each of us, all sharing alike. These things might prolong our lives for a short time, but yet our hopes of escaping were small indeed. The wreck still hung together, but the wind appeared to be again getting up; indeed, there was so much sea, that the captain was afraid of sending back the boats. Anxiously that night passed away, but our courage was kept up by the captain's cheerful and manly voice. "Trust in God, friends," he continued to say, "that is the best advice I can give you. As I have said before, I will do my best, and I hope all you will do your best, and let us never despair." Next morning, in spite of the heavy sea running, the mates pushed off in the boats in the hopes of obtaining further supplies from the wreck. Dangerous as was the undertaking, the condition of our party on the sand-bank was not less perilous, for should the boats be lost, our fate, in all human probability, would be sealed. We watched them anxiously. Now they appeared on the crest of a sea, now they were hidden by the foaming breakers. At length they were altogether lost to sight from the sand-bank. We stood, our hands on each others' shoulders, our necks stretched out, eagerly watching for their return. Now a dark object was seen. We thought it was one of the boats. No, it was a piece of the wreck. Another and another piece appeared. Some drove on to the beach, and we hurried down to secure them. At length I saw the lifeboat drawing near. Alas! was the other lost? "See! see! she is astern of her!" cried someone. On they both came, and we hurried down to welcome them. Both of them came laden. In the jolly-boat were some sails, and several casks of provisions, and in the lifeboat, among other things, a small keg of lime-juice. The surgeon spied it out, and literally shouted for joy. "It may be the saving of our lives," he exclaimed; "and will at all events keep scurvy at bay." That night we were able to erect a tent for the poor women and children, as also for some of the men passengers, and two or three of the seamen and boys who were suffering from exposure. Still my friend the surgeon looked grave. "Jennings," he said to me, as we were taking a turn together, "there is one thing I dread more than all others--the want of water. What we have will go a very, very short way, and then--! My lad, do you know what it is to die of thirst--the throat becoming drier and drier, the tongue swelling, and getting as hard as shoe-leather, and blacker and blacker, the sight growing dim, the voice failing?" "A fearful picture!" I said. "What is to be done?" "Why, we must go off at all risks, and see if we cannot get materials from the wreck to form a still. The ship struck at high water, I observed, and possibly what we want, even though washed out of her, may be obtained at low water. Will you go off with me to make the search?" I, of course, agreed, and the second mate steered the lifeboat. A fresh crew was quickly found, and we put off from the bank. "Another night may see the wreck broken up, and we may lose everything," observed the surgeon. We pulled on. The wreck had by this time driven up so far on the reef that at dead low water part of the coral rock was exposed, and we could wade up to her. We hunted about till we came upon some copper piping. "This is valuable," exclaimed the surgeon. We next found a boiler, and afterwards a large cistern, still inside the vessel. We got it out, though not without difficulty, and on board the boat. Several tools, an iron ladle and some solder were also found; indeed, we regretted that the jolly-boat had not come off, that many more things might have been landed. All we could hope was that the weather would continue moderate, and that other articles might be saved on the following day. We returned in safety with our prize. As soon as we landed, the surgeon summoned the blacksmith and his mate to his assistance, and a fire being lighted, immediately set to work to erect a still. A shout of joy was raised when the first fresh water was seen to issue from it. We lay down that night with one of our chief causes of anxiety removed. "We may thank God for this," said the master, summoning all the people round him. "Now I have a proposal to make. It is clear we cannot remain on this reef for ever. I wish to know whether those who are fit to assist in the work will undertake the building of a boat, in which we may reach the mainland." A considerable number held up their hands to signify their readiness to assist in what he proposed. "Then, my friends," he said, "I will divide you into three parties--one to assist Mr Gilbert in distilling the water, another to visit the wreck and obtain all the materials which can be saved, while the third will be employed in building the boat." All agreed to this proposal, and early next morning, as soon as daylight broke, we were on our feet ready to commence work. I was employed with the second mate in going off to the wreck, while the first mate and the master assisted the carpenter's crew in building the boat. We were fortunate in obtaining all sorts of articles, amongst others, useful tools and a supply of clothing. With the articles we found, the surgeon improved his machinery for distilling the water, and at length he produced nearly thirty gallons a-day. Our provisions, however, were getting short, and at length we were reduced to half-a-pound of flour a-day, which we made up into puddings with salt-water--very heavy dough, but it stopped our hunger and kept us alive. It took us just a month from the day the boat's keel was laid till she was launched. It was a day not to be forgotten. The ladies and children stood round cheering lustily. We called her the _Hope_. She sat well on the water, but leaked considerably. We had therefore to haul her up again, and stop the leaks. When again launched she was found to be thoroughly watertight. It took us two days to get her rigged and stowed. All the casks we had been able to save were filled with water, Mr Gilbert working day and night to obtain a supply. At length, after a residence of five weeks on the sand-bank, which would assuredly have proved our grave, had it not been for the invention of our surgeon, we bade the sand-bank farewell, and stood towards Moreton Bay, on the Australian coast. The wind was fair and moderate. About thirty of us were on board the _Hope_, while six preferred trusting their fortunes to the lifeboat. The wind shifting, when we were, according to our calculations, about twenty leagues off the land, drove us to the mouth of the Brisbane river. A somewhat heavy sea was running, but the _Hope_ behaved beautifully, and our captain knew the entrance. What an idea it gave us of perfect rest, when, after being tossed about for so many days, we glided up the tranquil river! The settlers came down as we reached the shore, and warmly welcomed us. "Thanks, friends, thanks!" said our good master, "but before I thank you I desire to thank One by whose means we have been preserved," and kneeling down, the fine old man poured out his heart in prayer. I am thankful to say that one and all of us followed his example, and if we did not pray with as much fervour and earnestness as he did, I believe that the prayer and the gratitude we expressed came from our hearts. Story 8--Chapter 1. OWEN'S REVENGE--A TALE OF THE SEA. I was then scarcely ten years old. My father possessed a fine estate, and we lived in the greatest luxury. I had ridden out by myself on my pony, and had reached a somewhat secluded part of the park, where the bridle-path passed among grassy knolls, and tall trees, flinging their branches across a narrow dell, formed a thick canopy overhead, and gave a somewhat gloomy aspect to the sequestered spot. It was one I seldom visited, and I was wondering whether sprites or fairies, good or bad, of whom I had heard the country people speak, really came there to gambol and play their pranks, when a figure started up from behind a bush with a menacing gesture, and before I could make my pony gallop on to escape him, I found the rein seized by a stout man with bushy whiskers, a sunburnt countenance, and, as I then thought, very unpleasant features. He appeared to me much older than he probably really was, comparing, as I naturally did, his fare with those on which I was most accustomed to look. Though his features were rough, he was tolerably well dressed, and did not look like a common ruffian who designed to rob me. For more than a minute he held my rein in the attitude of forcing back my pony, and glared fiercely at me. "I have come to look at you, that I may know you again when we meet," he exclaimed at length; and, to my surprise, the tone of his voice was that of a gentleman. "You have deprived me of my inheritance--you have come between me and fortune and happiness and the only things worth living for in this world, and I am determined to have my revenge. While we remain together on earth, I will pursue you--whatever your course in life may be, I will find you out; I will balk you in your dearest wishes--I will prove your bane in whatever you undertake--I will destroy your happiness--I will stand like a lion in your path, and bar your progress. I will not injure you in life or limb--I might kill you, but I will not do that--as you have injured me by legal means, so will I keep within the law in taking my revenge, but it will be a full one notwithstanding. Now go, youngster, and my bitter curses go with you! You may tell your fond father and mother what you have heard; their love cannot protect you--their anger cannot overtake me. Before they could decide what to do I shall be far away beyond their reach; and tell them that, though they may not for many a long day hear of me, that I bide my time. Now go--go--or I may be tempted to do more than I intended, and remember that I hate you!" He flung the pony's head from him, making the animal rear and almost fall back over me, but I stuck on, and, digging my spurs into his flanks, dashed on along the path, leaving the man gazing fiercely at me with his fist clenched and his arm extended in the direction I had taken. When I again took one more alarmed look round, he had disappeared. My first impression was that the man was mad, but still his curses and his threats and fierce looks frightened me, and I must own that I felt somewhat inclined to cry. I did not, though, but galloped on as hard as I could till I reached the house. Giving my pony to a groom, I ran up into my room without speaking, and, locking myself in, burst into a fit of tears. Two hours afterwards my mother, wondering at my non-appearance in the drawing-room, came to my door, and when I opened it and exhibited my scared countenance, she inquired if anything dreadful had happened. "Oh no--nothing," I answered. "Only an odd man appeared in the woods, and said something strange--but it's all right now." This was the only account I ever gave of the adventure. It was surmised that I had met a gipsy, who probably hoped to extort money from me. My father made inquiries in every direction, and gave notice that he should prosecute any rogues and vagabonds found trespassing on his property. I, however, could not help often thinking over the adventure, and wondering what the man could have meant when he said that I had come between him and fortune. I determined to try and get my mother to solve the mystery, so one day I asked her, casually, if my father had inherited his estate, or how it was that he became possessed of it. She seemed surprised at the question, but told me, with some hesitation, it seemed to me, that he had gained the property a short time before, after a long-contested lawsuit. Somebody coming in prevented me from asking further questions, and my mother never again alluded to the subject. Story 8--Chapter 2. Three years passed by. I had been seized with an ardent desire to go to sea, and as my parents had never been in the habit of thwarting my wishes, they could not refuse me this somewhat unreason able one in a young gentleman heir to some fifteen thousand a year. What they might have done had I been an only son I do not know, but as I had several brothers and sisters, they considered, I conclude, that should I be expended in fighting my country's battles, my place as heir might readily be supplied by my next brother, who highly applauded my determination. To do him justice, however, I am very certain that he had no selfish motives in so doing; indeed, his great wish was to be allowed to go also, and share my fortunes. The matter settled, while my father wrote to our county member to beg that he would look out for a good ship for me, I wrote to my tailor, directing him to make me a uniform without delay, and to arrange my outfit. Young gentlemen with large expectations are as fond of fine clothes as are sometimes poor ones; and on the day my uniform arrived, and during three months or so afterwards, I took every opportunity of wearing it in public. Young as I was, I was made a good deal of in the neighbourhood, and it thus became pretty widely known that I was about to go to sea; or, as I told people, with no small amount of vanity, to become an officer in the navy. I believe that very few young gentlemen ever went to sea with a better kit than I had when I at length was directed to join the _Ianthe_ frigate, of forty guns, commanded by Captain Hansome. I found that I was not thought nearly so much of on board as I had been in our county, at those houses where five or six flaxen-haired young ladies formed part of the family. I remember that Jack wrote me word, however, that they had begun to make fully as much of him on one occasion when it was supposed that war would break out, and on another when it was reported that the frigate had been sent to the West Indies; but that might have been only his fancy. My father was unwell, so the steward took me to Portsmouth, and he, not liking the look of the somewhat foam-covered Solent Sea, sent me off under the charge of a waterman in a shore boat to the ship, which lay at Spithead. We had a dead beat, and I was very sick before we got half-way across. The first lieutenant was on deck as I crawled up the side. "You have not been to sea before," he observed, glancing at my woe-begone countenance, and then at the numberless articles handed up after me. "A pity your friends hadn't any one to tell them that a frigate has no lumber-room for the stowage of empty boxes. Boy! send Mr Owen here." The lieutenant did not wait for an answer, and I stood expecting some other remark to be made to me, but he did not deign to address me again. While looking about and wondering at the strange appearance of the frigate's deck, of which I had no previous conception, I saw a broad-shouldered man, with large whiskers and a sunburnt countenance, in the uniform of a master's mate, appear from below, and approach. He touched his cap to the lieutenant, without looking at me, and asked for what he wanted him. "To take charge of this youngster, Mr Owen," answered the lieutenant. "You must dispose of his traps as you best can. The superfluous ones will, I doubt not, be soon expended. Introduce him to the mess, and see that he gets into no mischief." "Ay, ay, sir. I have had many a youngster to look after in my time (some are now post-captains), and I know how to treat them," he answered, glancing at me with as much indifference as if I were a lady's poodle committed to his charge. There was a sympathy between the lieutenant and the mate--the first might have been an admiral as far as age was concerned, the second a post-captain. Without speaking, he led me into the midshipman's berth. There were a good many people seated round the table, of all ages-- assistant-surgeons, and clerks, and master's-assistants, besides midshipmen and master's mates, as passed midshipmen were called. "Let me introduce to your favourable notice, gentlemen, Mr Harry Nugent," he said, leading me in by the hand with much ceremony, but speaking in a tone which sounded somewhat sarcastic. It struck me as odd at the time that he should have known my name, as the lieutenant had not told him. "I must go and look after his traps," he added, as the rest of the party made room for me. They treated me kindly enough, offering me dinner, which had just been placed on the table, but the food looked very coarse, and I was too sick to touch anything. They soon drew from me all the information I had to give about myself, and when they learned that I was an elder son, with large expectations, and was to have what seemed an unlimited supply of money, some of the older ones treated me with far more respect than at first. "I wonder what could have induced you to come to sea, to be kicked and cuffed by your superiors, till you are big enough to kick and cuff others in return," observed an oldster, John Pearson I found was his name. "If I had had a tenth of your tin, I'd have stayed on shore to the end of my days. The sea is only fit for poor beggars like you and me, Owen. Isn't that the case?" A curious expression passed over Owen's countenance, and a frown settled on his brow, as, having disposed of my property and just retaken his seat, he answered: "I suppose Nugent comes to sea to show us what a pleasant life it may prove to a man of fortune, eh!" "No!" I answered, with simplicity. "I came to sea because I have read of Howe and Jervis and Nelson and Collingwood, and because I expected to find it a field of fame and glory, as they did." There was a general laugh, in which the youngsters joined the loudest. "A sucking Collingwood!" cried one. "A field of water, which the ship has to plough," said another, who set up for a wit. There was no end to their remarks. "Never mind, Nugent," remarked Owen. "We'll soon get you out of those antiquated notions." He was as good as his word, and I soon learned to look at a life at sea in a very different light to what I had done when I determined to follow it. Still, pride made me resolve to stick to it, and when I wrote home, to speak as if I were thoroughly satisfied with my choice. Two days after I joined, the frigate sailed for the Mediterranean. Owen did his best to gain my confidence, and so far succeeded, that, being placed in his watch, I was his constant companion. I was at first shocked at his opinions and open acknowledgment of his very lax morals, and though in the latter respect he might not have been much worse in reality than others in the mess, I observed that by degrees some of them, especially Pearson, began rather to tight shy of him. Often I remarked an expression on his countenance which was most disagreeable, and two or three times as I looked at him the idea came across my mind that I had seen him before. Once, and only once, I thought he must be the person who had so frightened me years before in the park, but I dismissed the idea as preposterous, as that person was a great deal older than Owen, who, besides, seemed too careless, easy-going a fellow to do anything of that sort. In the Mediterranean, that most delightful of stations to a man who has plenty of money in his pocket, we visited a number of places. Whenever Owen went on shore he took me with him, and did not scruple to make use of my purse, in order, as he said, that he might initiate me into the mysteries of life. Those who are acquainted with what a midshipman's life on shore often is, may easily conceive the description of scenes into which he introduced me. With the wariness of the serpent, however, he took care not too early to shock my moral sense, and therefore only gave me glimpses of the scenes to which I have alluded. We were at Naples for some months. As my father had begged the captain, whenever duty would permit, to give me every opportunity of seeing all that was to be seen in the places we visited, I constantly got leave to go on shore, and being under charge of so old and staid a Mentor as Owen, I was allowed to remain away from the ship for several days together. Night after night we went to the opera; then to some billiard or gambling-rooms; and finally repaired to some place to sup, when Owen took care to order the richest viands and the best wines at my expense. He drank hard, though he did not get drunk exactly, and he encouraged me to drink, telling me that it was a manly thing, and that after a little time I should be able to drink as much as he could with impunity. One day I returned on board feeling and looking, I doubt not, very ill. While Owen was on deck, Pearson, who was always very kind to me, took me aside, and asked me, in the gentlest and most friendly way, how I spent my time on shore. I told him exactly how I had been employed. "Take my advice, youngster, and follow a better leader than Owen seems to be, or rather act as your own sense of right and duty would prompt you," he said, in a kind tone. "I most heartily wish you well, and admire the spirit which prompted you to come to sea, when you might have lived luxuriously on shore. You have everything before you which can make life pleasant, but if you follow the course into which it is very clear Owen intends to lead you, your life itself will be shortened, and you will be incapacitated from enjoying the advantages you possess." I felt the truth of what Pearson had said, and told him that I would follow his advice. The next day I was engaged to go on shore with Owen. I did not choose to refuse to go, but resolved to be cautious how I complied with any of his proposals. He had told the captain that we were to ride out to visit some spot of interest in the neighbourhood, and I had fully intended going. When we got on shore, he declared that he had hurt his leg, and could not ride, and proposed resorting to a billiard-room. To this, as I did not know what to do with myself alone, I did not object, but after playing for some time, he declared that it was very slow work, and suggested that we should go to a gambling-house near at hand, where we might obtain liquor and refreshments of all sorts. I fortunately knew the character of the place, and remembering my promise to Pearson, positively refused to accompany him. He looked astonished at first, and then set to work to overcome my scruples. I was firm, and thank Heaven I was, for if a man breaks a newly-formed resolution to act rightly, he is very apt to go back to his old courses, and to continue in them more recklessly than before. "If you don't want to lose your money don't play high stakes, and if you are afraid of getting drunk, I'll watch that you don't take more than is good for you," he whispered to me. "But don't sit there like a booby." "I should be one if I followed your suggestions, for I have no taste for either gambling or drinking, and I do not want to get it," I answered, firmly. "Once for all, I will not go." He uttered a faint laugh as he said, "What has come over the fellow? However, lend me five sovereigns, and I'll try my luck. If I lose, I shall be in your debt; if I win, I will pay you double." "I want no profits," I answered, giving him my purse, from which he helped himself. "I'll take a stroll along the shore of the bay, and come back for you in time for the opera." Taking back my purse, without waiting to hear what he said, I hurried out. On returning to the billiard-room, after a pleasant walk, at the hour I had named, Owen was not there, and I was told that an English officer, who had been desperately wounded in an affray, was lying in a house close by, and apparently dying. I hurried to the spot, and found, as I expected, Owen. He was unconscious, and so I engaged some porters, and had him conveyed immediately on board, where I knew that he would receive better treatment than elsewhere from our surgeon. When he came to himself, and heard that I had had him brought on board, he was very angry at my interference, though the surgeon assured me that by my promptitude his life had been saved. According to his account, he had received his wound from an assassin, who, probably mistaking him for some one else, had rushed out and struck him with his dagger; but the surgeon, who was not among his admirers, hinted that this was impossible, and that there would have been no great loss to the world had the wound been half-an-inch deeper. He was a long time recovering, and as he never offered to repay me the five pounds I had lent him, I concluded that his wound had made him forget the matter. Pearson lost no opportunity of strengthening me in my resolution not to yield to any temptations Owen might throw in my way. The latter, however, was not easily to be turned from his purpose. Again and again he tried to prevail on me to accompany him on shore, laughing at my scruples, and accusing me of parsimony and meanness. I did not give him credit for any other motive for his wish to have me as his companion beyond the very natural one of a desire to enjoy the use of my purse. When he found that he had lost his influence over me, and that the move he attempted to regain it the more I kept aloof from him, his whole manner towards me in private changed, though in public, especially in presence of the captain and lieutenant, it was as friendly as before. I now found myself subject to a number of petty annoyances, of which I was nearly certain that he was the author, though I could not trace them completely. My hammock was over and over again cut down by the head, to the risk of breaking my neck; my chest was rifled, and articles of value in it destroyed, and even my uniforms were so injured, that at last I could scarcely appear respectably on the quarter-deck. When my watch was over, and I came down to meals, I found that the worst of everything had been kept for me, often food that was scarcely eatable. At the mess-table, though still pretending great regard, he lost no opportunity of making sarcastic remarks, and placing me on every occasion in a wrong position. I found, too, that stories greatly to my prejudice were put about, of a character difficult if not impossible to refute. Had it not been for Pearson, my existence on board would have been intolerable, but as he never in the remotest degree benefited by my purse, his interest in me was above suspicion, and he stoutly maintained that the stories were false, and invented by some one wishing to do me an injury. Had my friends wished to disgust me with the sea, they could scarcely have adopted a better plan than engaging Owen to treat me as I had every reason to believe he was now doing. I should, in truth, have been completely disgusted, but my pride came to my aid, and prevented me from making any complaint. In other respects, I liked a sea life, and as Pearson, who was much respected, sided with me, many of the better-disposed midshipmen remained my friends. Thus passed the first three years of my naval career. Story 8--Chapter 3. The frigate was ordered home to be paid off. I had found out one thing, that fortune will not secure uninterrupted happiness even to a midshipman. I had begun to suspect, also, that the romantic notions I had entertained of fame and glory were in a great degree illusory; at all events, that there was a great deal of hard, matter-of-fact, and somewhat dirty, disagreeable work to be gone through. I discussed with Pearson the advisability of my leaving the service. He asked me what I should do with myself if I did? I confessed that I did not know, and that I had no desire to go back to school, to a private tutor, or to college. "Then stay in the service, and see the world," he answered. "I have heard of a ship fitting for the Pacific, on board which my friends can procure me a berth, and I have no doubt that you can also get appointed to her if you apply in time." I took his suggestion, wrote immediately to my father to beg that he would make interest to have me appointed to the _Sappho_ frigate, fitting at Portsmouth, and, though he was greatly surprised at my taste, he did not refuse my request. After a short stay at home--sufficiently long to recount my adventures in the Mediterranean, and to grow tired of doing nothing--I joined my new ship at Spithead the day after she came out of harbour. I found Pearson on board, but some of the officers had not joined, nor had the ship her full complement of men. Pearson liked the captain and officers he had seen, and expressed an opinion that we should have a very pleasant voyage. I anticipated great pleasure in visiting Peru and Mexico, and the numerous strange islands in the Pacific of which I had read, and perhaps Australia, and China, and Japan, and longed to be away. The evening before the ship was to sail, Pearson came into the berth where I was sitting alone, and said: "I must prepare you for what is not likely to be pleasant. Owen has joined; but follow my advice--receive him as an old shipmate, take no notice of his former conduct, and treat him frankly, and you will probably conquer his hostility. At all events, he knows by this time that I will not allow him to play you the tricks he before did with impunity." On going on deck, I saw Owen talking to a group of mates and midshipmen. He expressed no surprise at finding Pearson and me on board, and though there was an unpleasant look in his eye, there was nothing to find fault with in his manner. We had a quick passage round the Horn. Owen appeared either very greatly changed, or proved that to his other arts he could practise hypocrisy. Our captain was a religious man, and, what was rare in those days, used to invite the officers in to read the Bible with him. Owen, who used to say that he had never been into a church since he came to sea, was among the most constant in his attendance, and completely won the confidence of the captain, who spoke of him as an excellent man who had not received his deserts. Owen, on the strength of this, insinuated that my religious principles were very defective, and offered to instruct me. He made a commencement, and might have succeeded in instilling principles not such as our excellent captain supposed he would, but directly the reverse, had not Pearson, to whom I repeated what he said, again interfered, and threatened to expose him if he continued to utter such sentiments. He excused himself by declaring that I had mistaken his meaning; but Pearson knew well enough that I had not; and I soon saw by his change of manner that he was devising some new scheme to do me harm. When once, however, among the coral islands of the Pacific, we were so constantly employed in looking out for reefs and rocks, that we had little time for polemical discussions. Although the inhabitants of some of the islands had in those days already become partially civilised under missionary teaching, a large number were fierce and treacherous savages, and in our intercourse with them we were compelled to be very wary, to avoid the fate of Captain Cook, and that of the crews of many other ships which had been cut off in those seas. We had already discovered that the Pacific can be anything but tranquil at times, by two heavy gales we had already experienced, but of late we had light breezes and calms. At length our water began to run short, and it became necessary to obtain a supply without delay. A look-out was therefore kept for an island where it could be procured. Before long an island was sighted, and three boats were ordered away to explore it. Owen commanded one of them, and I was ordered to go in her. I was glad enough to get on shore, though I would rather have been with any one else. As there appeared to be no inhabitants, we were to land at different places, so as the more readily to find water. We steered for a point which would take us farther from the ship than the other boats. All hands were in high spirits with the thought of a lark on shore. A narrow passage was found in the surrounding reef, and we ran the boat into a beautiful and sheltered bay, with the trees coming down on either side almost to the water's edge. If water was to be found here it would be easy to fill the casks and roll them down to the boats. In vain we hunted about in every direction--no water was to be found. Owen then ordered the men to dig; but they were unsuccessful. Some time was thus occupied, but he declared that he would not return without finding water, and that we must divide, some to push farther inland, and others along the shore. Greatly to my disgust he ordered me to remain by the boat, and I observed, as he spoke, that evil look with which he often regarded me. He led one party along the shore to the right, while he sent another more inland. Only one boy was left with me. They had been gone some little time, when the report of a gun from the ship reached my ear. It was the signal of recall. Another soon followed; I hoped that the absent parties would hear the signal, or would soon return. A third, and then the report of several guns in quick succession reached my ear. There was evidently danger to be apprehended. I had little doubt, on observing the changed appearance of the sky, that a gale was expected, though in the sheltered bay where the boat was I had not remarked any threatening signs. All I could do was to keep the boat afloat, so that we might shove off directly the other parties arrived. I looked eagerly out along the shore, but no one was to be seen. The ship had ceased firing; indeed, from the appearance of the sea outside, it was evident that the gale had commenced, and that she had been compelled, for her own safety, to stand off-shore. Our only resource, therefore, would be to wait till the gale should have blown itself out, and the frigate could come back to pick us up. I now became very anxious, for I thought that Owen must have observed the change in the weather, and that something must have occurred to have prevented him from returning. I was eagerly looking about in every direction, when I caught sight of some persons running among the trees towards the boat. I soon distinguished some of the boat's crew, with Owen among them. They had good reason for running fast, for behind came a crowd of savages, shouting and shrieking, and brandishing clubs and spears. Now and then our people would face about, fire their pistols, and then again retreat. As they drew near, Owen shouted to me to be ready to hand out the muskets, which lay in the bottom of the boat. The boy and I did as we were directed, but the savages, believing that their enemies were about to escape them, made a dash forward, and two of the crew lay gasping on the sand, struck down by their clubs, while the foremost scrambled into the boat to escape a similar fate. The first impulse of each man as he got on board was to seize an oar to shove off, Owen setting the example; but as soon as the boat was afloat, the muskets were taken up, and a volley fired into the midst of the savages, who were wading in after us. It had the effect of keeping them back till we were out of their reach. Yet what a fearful predicament we were in--a storm raging outside, while we dare not approach the shore. The savages had canoes, so that we could not even wait under the lee of the land for fine weather. Owen announced his determination to stand out and run before the gale. We had a fine sea boat, capable of going through very heavy weather. Oh, the horrors of that voyage! We thought of the fate of our companions left on shore, that was undoubtedly ere this sealed. Our numbers were fearfully diminished. Owen told us to be thankful, as we had thus more food left to support our lives. I thought that it mattered very little whether we had more or less food, for even should our boat weather the gale, it was very improbable that we should fall in with the ship again, and must be starved, at all events. On we ran through the passage in the reef. As we got clear of the land, it required all Owen's skill to steer the boat amid the fearful seas, which threatened every instant to engulf her. Four hands continued baling, without stopping; and even these could scarcely keep the boat from foundering. On, on we flew. Night came on, still the gale did not abate. Owen's countenance, as the darkness closed around us, looked grim and firm; but there was a look of horror (it was not common fear) in his eye which I can never forget. He kept his post, steering the boat through that livelong night without uttering a word. Day came back, and there he sat as before, keeping the boat on the only course which could afford us a possibility of escape. Not till then would he allow the coxswain, who had escaped, to take his place. On we went as before, all day long. "Where were we going?" we asked ourselves. No one could reply. Food was served out; few had an inclination to eat. It was fortunate, for we had but a scanty allowance, and still less to drink--a bottle of rum and a small keg of water. Another night and a day, and again a night, and one of our number sank exhausted. Owen still kept up, looking fierce and determined as ever. Day came, and land appeared right ahead--a high, rocky, and tree-covered island; but there was a barrier reef round it, over which the seas, rising with foam-covered summits, beat furiously. Our utter destruction seemed inevitable. To haul our wind and stand off was now impracticable. Owen stood up, and, casting a glance around, steered boldly on. I saw that there was a break in the wall of foam, but a very narrow one. We had little time for thought before we were among the raging breakers. A sea came roaring; on. I felt the boat lifted, and the next moment was struggling with grim death in the yeasty waters. Story 8--Chapter 4. As I came to the surface I caught a glimpse of the shore, and struck out for it, but it seemed far distant. I swam like a man in his sleep; in vain, my strength was failing me, a mist came over my eyes, and I could no longer see the shore, when I felt a powerful hand grasping my shoulder, and ere long was conscious that I had been hauled out of the water and placed high up on the warm sand. I opened my eyes at length, and the first object on which they rested was the vindictive countenance of Owen, as he gazed at me. I say vindictive, because that was the expression which had often puzzled me. Yet why should he nourish such feelings towards me? "So you are alive, are you?" he remarked, when he saw that I had regained my consciousness. "It might have been better for you had you gone with the rest, for we are the only survivors. However, I had too long a score with you to lose you, if I could bring you on shore safe." "Then I am indebted to you for my life," I remarked. "Yes, but the debt is not a heavy one, and you may think me entitled to very small thanks; for let me tell you your existence here will be no sinecure. I intend to make you slave and toil for me as you have never toiled before. At length I have you in my power. Ha, ha, ha!" And he laughed wildly. "Your wealth will avail you nothing here, your refinement, your education, your romantic aspirations. You are now my slave, and I your master. Ha, ha, ha!" This greeting was not calculated to aid my recovery, but, in spite of it, my strength returned, and I was able to get up on my feet. "I am ready to obey you," I said calmly. "You saved my life, and it is my duty to serve you as far as I have the power." "Always talking of your duty!" he exclaimed, with a sneer. "It shall not be a light one, let me tell you. Now, as you can walk, find some food--shell-fish and water. I don't ask for impossibilities, but take care you do not touch any till I have eaten." I must obey him, so, observing some rocks, I hurried towards them, and with my pocket-knife cut off as many mussels and other shell-fish as I could carry. He had had a flint and steel and a powder-flask in his pocket, and had thus without difficulty kindled a fire. While he dressed and ate the shell-fish he sent me off to look for water. I went with the fear every instant of falling into the hands of savage natives, and it was not till I discovered the small size of the island that I began to hope that there might be none upon it. I hunted about for some time, till I at length came upon a stream of pure water bubbling out of a rock. My difficulty was to convey it to Owen. Some cocoa-nut shells were lying about. One less split than the rest I filled with water, but the greater part was spilt before I reached him. He cursed me for an idle hound for not bringing a larger supply, and sent me back for more. Fortunately, I observed some shells on the shore. These I slung round my neck, and with them brought as much water as he could require. Not till then did he allow me to cook any of the shell-fish I had collected. He had eaten all he himself had dressed. He then ordered me to collect materials for a hut, and when I expostulated, as I had only my pocket-knife to work with, he struck me with a stick, and said I must see to finding a better tool. Still, as I had determined to do my utmost to please him, I set to work to collect all the pieces of drift timber I could find. To my satisfaction, I discovered also the boat's sail and some rope cast on shore, and these articles, with a number of thin sticks which I succeeded in cutting, I piled up near where he sat, and asked him what else he required. "To help me build my hut," he growled out. By fixing the thinner sticks into the sand, fastening them at the top, and stretching the sail over them, I formed something like an Indian wigwam, strengthened by the heavier pieces of driftwood. I observed that Owen moved about with difficulty, and looked ill, but he made no remark on the subject. "Now go and collect dry leaves and grass for my bed. Be off with you," he exclaimed, glaring fiercely at me. I obeyed as before, but when I returned, time after time, laden with bundles of grass, not an expression of approval even did he utter. Thus he kept me employed for the greater part of the day, and when I proposed collecting some grass for my own bed, he told me that I could not occupy his hut but must form one of boughs for myself. Such is an example of the way he treated me, not for one day only, but for day after day, not one passing without my being struck and cursed. It is wonderful that I could have borne it, but I was not weary of my life, and I had resolved to show my gratitude to him for having preserved it. I was very anxious, however, to escape, and whenever I could get away from him, I used to go to the highest part of the island to look out, in the hopes of a ship appearing. With indefatigable labour, I cut out a long pole and fixed it in the ground, with a part of my shirt, as a signal, fastened to the end. When Owen found out what I had done, he ordered me to take it down, and not again to visit the hill. "Ah! ha! youngster, you've friends you wish to return to, and wealth you long to enjoy. I have neither, and I don't intend to let you go while I can prevent it." This was almost more than I could bear, and I could not trust myself to reply to him. I might fill a volume with my extraordinary life on that islet in the Pacific--how I slaved on for that determined, stern, evil-disposed man. Constant occupation enabled me to keep my own health. I found cocoa-nuts and numerous roots and fruits, and invented various ways of cooking them. I even made clothes of the bark of the paper mulberry-tree, so that I was able to save my own before they were quite worn out. Thus months passed away. I might have lived there from youth to old age, as far as the necessaries of life were concerned, but it was dreary work. Owen grew worse and worse, and I became convinced that his days were numbered. He did not seem to be aware of the state of the case, though rapidly growing weaker. I may honestly say that I felt deep compassion for him. I told him at last that I thought him very ill, and feared that he would not recover. "Don't flatter yourself with that. I shall recover sufficiently to make you wish that you had never seen me," he answered, as he raised himself on his arm and glared fiercely at me. I thought that he uttered but an empty threat which he had no power to execute. Still he lived on, and I tended him as if he had been a friend or brother. I had made my hut at some little distance from his. I had one night gone to sleep, leaving him not worse than he had been for some time past, when I suddenly awoke with a start, and hearing a noise looked out. What was my horror to see Owen stalking stealthily along with a huge piece of heavy driftwood uplifted in his hands, as if it were a club. I darted out on the other side of the hut as down came the log with a crash above where my head had just been laid, and a fearful shriek rang through the night air. I expected to see Owen following me, but he lay, as I looked back, across the ruins of my hut. I slowly approached--he did not move--the timber had fallen from his grasp. I touched his hand. He was dead. I must bring my tale to a close. I was convinced that the wretched man was mad, though, from what afterwards came to my knowledge, there was more reason than I had supposed why his madness should have taken the form of hatred towards me. I cannot describe how I managed to pass the many dreary days I was destined to spend in solitude on that island, or how I was at length rescued by a South-Sea whaler, and ultimately fell in with my own ship, on board which I was heartily welcomed, having long been given up as lost. Owen's death excited universal horror. Pearson told me that he had been directed by the captain to examine his papers, among which he found parts of a journal, in which he described his bitter disappointment on discovering that the estate which he thought would be his had gone to another, and how, considering himself wronged, he had resolved to wreak his vengeance on the head of the person who had obtained what he conceived ought to have been his; how he had gone to see me, and finding that I had resolved to enter the navy, how he had formed the diabolical plan which he had attempted to carry out, but in every step of which he had been so mercifully frustrated. I immediately wrote home to say that I was alive and well, with an account of my adventures, and expressed a hope that my letter would arrive in time to prevent Jack from being spoilt by the flatteries and indulgences he might receive as an elder son, advising that, if he appeared the worse for them, to effect a radical cure he should be forthwith packed off to sea. Story 9--Chapter 1. PAUL PETHERWICK THE PILOT--A TALE OF THE CORNISH COAST. The _Sea-Gull_ Pilot-boat, hailing from Penzance, and owned and commanded by old Paul Petherwick, lay hove-to, one winter's day many years back, in the chops of the Channel. The dark-green seas rose up like walls capped with snow on either side of the little craft; now she floated on the foaming, hissing summit of one of them, again to sink down into the deep watery trench from which she had risen. Thus, as rising and falling, her white staysail glancing brightly, she looked not unlike the sea-bird whose name she bore. Old Paul was the only person on deck, and he had lashed himself to the bulwarks. His white hair, escaping from under his "sou'-wester," streamed in the wind, and ever and anon he turned his head aside to avoid the showers of spray which flew over him, covering his flushing coat with wet. Again he would look out in search of any homeward-bound vessel which might need his services. His heart was heavy, for the previous night a fearful sea had struck the cutter, and washed his mate, Peter Buddock, and another man overboard. The latter had seized a rope, but it had slipped from his grasp; and poor Buddock was carried far away, his shriek of despair as he sank beneath the waves being his last utterance which reached the ears of his shipmates. Another of Paul's crew, an old hand, had been injured by a blow from a block, and the rest were young men, willing and active enough, but not able to take entire charge of the cutter. Still, old Paul was a determined man, and as long as there was a chance of meeting a vessel to pilot up Channel, and as long as the cutter could keep the sea, he would not give in. Hour after hour passed by. Suddenly the crew, sitting round the stove in the little after-cabin, heard a loud report, followed by a deep groan. The trysail gaff had parted, and, falling, had struck the old pilot to the deck. They carried him below, and placed him in his berth. Not a moment was to be lost if their own lives were to be saved. The helm was put up, and the little craft, paying off under her head-sail, before the rough sea, which came roaring onwards, had reached her, was running up Channel towards the Cornish coast. Old Paul continued to groan, seeming unconscious, and evidently suffering great pain. One or other of his young crew every now and then went below to ask him the right course to steer, for not even the outline of the coast could be seen. It was getting very dark, and thick flakes of snow were beginning to fall. The old pilot probably did not comprehend them; not a word could he utter. They endeavoured, therefore, to rig a spar on which to set the trysail; but no sooner did they hoist it than it was carried away, and at length they gave up the attempt in despair. They could not, therefore, heave the cutter to, and were obliged to run on. One of them went below, and endeavoured by every means he could think of to bring the old man to consciousness. The darkness increased as the night advanced, and the snow came down thicker and thicker. On flew the cutter. "We must be nearing the land," said Jacob Pinner, the best seaman of the crew. "I wish that the old man would rouse up. I don't like the look of things, mates, that I don't." Scarcely had he spoken when a deep, sullen roar, easily distinguished by a seaman amid the howling of the tempest, struck on the ears of the crew. "Breakers! breakers ahead!" they shouted. "Port the helm--hard a-port!" cried a deep voice. It was that of the old pilot. The sound of the breakers had reached his ears even below, and roused him up. The order came too late. At that moment there was a loud crash; the cutter struck, and her rudder was carried away. The following sea lifted her and carried her on, while other seas came roaring up, and hissed and foamed round her. Though they covered her with sheets of spray, her crew were still able to cling to the rigging and preserve their lives. Providentially, most of the hours of the night were already spent, for they could not long have endured the cold and wet to which they were exposed. When daylight broke they found that they were near the end of a reef, about a mile from the shore. The gale had greatly abated. The tide was low. Inside of the reef there was smooth water. If they could launch their boat, which had remained on deck uninjured, they might save themselves before the return of the tide, when the cutter would be sure to go to pieces. Though the little boat narrowly escaped being stove in, the attempt was successful. The shore was reached. It was close to Paul Petherwick's house, some miles to the eastward of the port to which the cutter belonged. Close to the spot where Paul and his crew landed, on the shore of a romantic bay, stood the residence of Sir Baldwin Treherne, known as the Manor House. Sir Baldwin was lord of the manor--a kind, warm-hearted, generous man. He had himself been at sea in his youth, but on coming into his estate had given up the profession. He had learned when at sea, probably from experiencing some of the hardships sailors have to endure, to sympathise with them, and to feel for their sufferings. He had seen through his telescope, while dressing in the morning, the wreck on the reef, and had immediately set off to find out what assistance could be rendered to the crew. He met the old pilot and his people not far from the shore, and insisted on their coming at once to the Manor House to be warmed and fed. Paul Petherwick would indeed have been unable to have reached his own home, as his strength and spirits were already exhausted. As the day advanced the wind again increased, and when the tide rose the _Sea-Gull_, battered by the waves, was seen quickly to disappear. Great was old Paul's grief as he watched the destruction of the vessel. "God's will be done," he said, bowing his head. "My poor wife and children, what will become of them? With her goes all the means I have of supporting them, and part of her cost is still unpaid." The kind baronet overheard him. "Paul, we have known each other a good many long years," he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. "I should like to make you a Christmas-box. Let you and me go off to Plymouth to-morrow, and see if we cannot fall in with as fine a cutter as the _Sea-Gull_. It won't do to be letting our ships knock about the chops of the Channel this winter weather without you to show them the way up; so I'll find you a craft, and may she have better luck than the poor _Sea-Gull_!" "Oh, Sir Baldwin, you are very good; so good, I shall never be able to repay you," exclaimed Paul Petherwick, respectfully pressing the kind baronet's hand. "I am paid beforehand with all the blessings I enjoy," answered Sir Baldwin. "They came to me without my having toiled for them, far less deserved them; I am bound to make the best use of them in my power, so say no more about the matter." A new cutter was found and purchased, and named the _Lady Isabel_, after Sir Baldwin's wife; and for many a day, in summer and winter, Paul Petherwick sailed her in pursuit of his calling. Story 9--Chapter 2. There was not a finer lad in the country round than Sir Baldwin's third son, his blue-eyed, light-haired, merry, laughing boy Harry. When he came home from school for the summer holidays, Harry declared his fixed intention of going to sea. Sir Baldwin, after several conversations with his son, felt convinced that it was his settled wish to enter the navy, and forthwith set about obtaining a berth for him as a midshipman on board a man-of-war. There was but little difficulty in doing this; for, after a short peace, England was again at war with France and Spain and other countries, and ships were being fitted out as fast as they could be got ready. Harry was in high glee. The dream of his life was to be realised. He had not talked about the matter. People often, when they are very earnest in wishing for a thing, do not talk about it. Sir Baldwin took him to Plymouth; his outfit was soon procured, and he was entered on board the _Phoenix_, a dashing 36-gun frigate, destined for the West India station; a part of the world where there was every chance of her having plenty of fighting. Captain Butler, her brave commander, lost no time in getting his crew into an efficient state by exercising them constantly at their guns, and in shortening and making sail. Harry Treherne thus rapidly acquired a knowledge of the profession he had chosen. He had determined to be a good sailor; he gave his mind to the work, and considered no details beneath his notice; consequently, everybody was ready to give him instruction; he gained the confidence of the officers and the respect of the men. "A sail on the lee bow!" shouted the look-out man at the mast-head. The cry made the captain and officers on deck turn their glasses in the direction indicated. The helm was put up, and at length, through the haze of a warm summer morning, the stranger was discovered, with her mizen topsail aback and her main topsail shivering, evidently awaiting the arrival of the _Phoenix_. She was clearly an enemy's frigate, heavily armed. The _Phoenix_ had been disguised to look as much as possible like a corvette, a much smaller class of vessel, and it was more than possible that the Frenchmen might find that they had caught a Tartar. "We shall have some glorious fighting," cried little Tommy Butts, the smallest midshipman on board. "We shall thrash 'em in quarter less no time. I hope that we shall have to board; that's the way I should like to take the enemy." "Why, your cutlass would run away with you, Tommy," said a big mate, who delighted to sneer at Tommy. "It is a shame to send such children as you to sea." "His spirit may run away with him," observed Harry. "Never mind what old Hulks says; Nelson was a little chap, and he did a few things to be proud of." Many a joke and laugh were indulged in as the men, stripped to the waist, stood at their guns, while the frigate approached her powerful antagonist. At length, as she got within range, the Frenchman opened his fire, the shot flying through the sails and wounding severely the masts, yards, and rigging. Not a gun, however, was discharged on board the _Phoenix_ in return till it could take deadly effect. The _Didon_, the French frigate, however, from fast sailing and clever manoeuvring, always managed to keep in such a position that the guns of the _Phoenix_ could not bear on her. At length the English losing patience, ran right down on the _Didon_ to windward, and thus the two antagonists were brought broadside to broadside. This was the longed-for moment, and the British crew made up for the previous delay by working their guns with a rapidity which soon strewed the decks of the enemy with the dead and wounded, damaged her hull, and cut up her rigging. Again the French ship got clear; but, as she had lost several of her sails, the _Phoenix_ was more of a match for her. Once more the antagonists closed, this time in a deadly embrace, the bow of the _Didon_ running into the quarter of the _Phoenix_. "We have you now," cried the gallant captain, lashing, with the help of some of his men, the bowsprit of the enemy to his own mizen mast. While he was so employed, Harry Treherne and Tommy Butts saw a Frenchman taking deliberate aim at him. Tommy had got hold of the musket of a marine who had fallen wounded. "See, Harry, what a little chap can do!" he exclaimed; at the same moment firing at the Frenchman, who fell, his musket going off and sending the bullet flying just above the captain's head. Captain Butler saw the act, and nodded his thanks, for he had no time to speak. The next proceeding was to bring a heavy gun to fire through a port which had been formed by enlarging one of the cabin windows. Several seamen fell, picked off by the French marines, till the gun was in its place. When, however, it once opened fire, its effects were terrible indeed, full twenty of the Frenchmen being struck down at the first discharge. Meantime the English marines kept up so hot a fire on the _Didon's_ forecastle, that the seamen could not venture on it to fire the gun which had been placed there. At length, however, the antagonists separated, both presenting a woeful appearance. Instead of the clouds of canvas swelling proudly to the breeze with which they had entered into action, rope-ends and riddled sails hung drooping down from every mast and yard. The fight was not over; the crew of the _Phoenix_ busily employed themselves in repairing damages, and, having knotted and spliced the rigging, and trimmed sails, she stood towards the _Didon_. With the first fresh puff of wind the foremast of her opponent went over the side, and at the moment she was about to open her fire the brave captain of the _Didon_ hauled down her colours, finding that he could neither escape nor fight with any prospect of success. Loud cheers burst from the British crew. This was Harry's first fight. It was indeed a hard-fought one. Twelve men had been killed and twenty-eight wounded of the crew; while the _Didon_ had lost no less than twenty-seven officers and men killed, and forty-four wounded, out of a crew of 330, while the _Phoenix_ went into action with only 245 men. She and her prize arrived safely at Plymouth. She only remained long enough to refit, and once more was at sea, and on her way back to the West Indies. Harry's next exploit was of a different character. Passing near the Isle of Pines, two schooners and a brig were discovered far up a bight, protected by a battery. There was little doubt that they were privateers, and likely to do damage to British shipping. "We must cut those vessels out," observed the captain. The frigate stood off the land as if she was going away, but at night once more stood back. As soon as she was well in with the land she hove-to, and three boats were manned and lowered. Harry was appointed to go in one of them. They were to pull up the harbour and attack the three vessels, and, if necessary, one boat's crew was to land and storm the fort. With muffled oars they pulled up the harbour. They could just make out the vessels as they lay floating in silence on the calm water, a light wind blowing off-shore. The boats got close up to the brig before they were discovered. The enemy then, who had rushed to their guns, which were run out, opened a hot fire from them, with muskets and pistols; but the boats being close the shots passed over the heads of their crews. With loud cheers the British sprang up the sides of the brig. The crew bravely stood to their arms, but were speedily overpowered by the impetuosity of the boarders, and were cut down or driven below, some in their terror leaping overboard. While Harry Treherne and his crew remained on board, the other two boats proceeded to the attack of the schooners. He, meantime, having secured the prisoners below, sent some of his hands aloft to loose sails while the cable was cut, and in a few minutes the captured brig was standing out of the harbour. The roar of the guns, the clashing of steel, and the rattle of musketry had aroused the garrison of the fort, which opened fire on the brig. The shots fell around her, and several went through her sails, but no one was hurt. As he passed near the schooners he listened anxiously for the signal which was to announce their capture. First one loud cheer and then another told him that the work was done, and they were soon perceived following under all sail, little heeding the fire from the fort. Harry Treherne, with all the officers and men engaged, was warmly commended for the spirited way in which the exploit had been performed. It was not the only deed of naval daring in which he took an active part. At length the frigate was ordered to Bermuda on her way home. Within a short distance of that island a suspicious vessel was seen from the mast-head. Sail was made in chase. The stranger on discovering the frigate did her utmost to escape, steering to the eastward, the wind being from the west. A stern chase is a long chase. The night was clear and the stranger was kept in sight. When morning dawned the frigate had scarcely gained on her. This made the captain still more eager to overtake her. All that day the chase continued--the frigate gaining, however, somewhat on the stranger, a large fore-and-aft schooner. At length, at sundown, it fell calm, and fears were entertained that, should a mist rise, the schooner might escape during the night. The captain therefore, sent three of the boats to capture her. They had been discovered some time before they got alongside. Boarding nettings were up, small-arm men were stationed at the bow and stern, and as they drew near the guns opened a hot fire with grape and canister. Still the British seamen, not to be daunted, dashed on, and, climbing up the sides and cutting their way through the nettings, in another minute the schooner's deck was won. She proved to be a Spanish privateer, a very fine new vessel. A light breeze at daybreak enabled the frigate to come up with her. The prisoners were transferred to the frigate, and the command of the prize given to old Hulks, the mate, who had been Tommy Butt's tyrant; and Harry Treherne was sent as his second in command, with orders to proceed to Plymouth. Old Hulks had several failings: whenever spirits came in his way he could not refrain from them. Harry had, therefore, the chief charge of the schooner. It was the winter season, and as they approached the chops of the Channel the weather became very bad. Old Hulks, however, declared that he must be home by Christmas, and ordered Harry to crack on all the sail the schooner could carry night and day. Harry had taken his observations as long as the sun could be seen, but for some days the sky had been obscured by clouds. He believed that they were not far from the Land's End, and well over to the British coast. Old Hulks insisted that they were too far to the southward, and ordered the schooner to be headed more to the northward. Night was approaching. It was Christmas Eve. The wind was strong, and a heavy snowstorm prevented the possibility of their sighting the land. "Never mind, Harry; we shall see it in the morning,--about Plymouth, I take it, and I shall be at home in plenty of time for our Christmas dinner, and you shall dine with me, as you won't be able to get to your own place." "I wish that I could think so. We are nearer the English coast than you suppose," said Harry. "Well, heave the schooner to at midnight," answered old Hulks. "I shall go below--call me then; it's fearfully cold." Harry was compelled to obey the orders of his superior. He, however, kept as good a look-out as he possibly could, wishing anxiously for midnight. The hour was approaching. The wind blew stronger and stronger, and the snow came down, covering the deck, and making it impossible to see beyond the bowsprit end. Suddenly there was a loud crash--the vessel groaned from stem to stern, the foremast went by the board. Loud cries arose: "We are on the rocks! We are on the rocks! Heaven protect us!"--was echoed from mouth to mouth. Story 9--Chapter 3. A large merry Christmas party was assembled under Sir Baldwin Treherne's hospitable roof. All sorts of games had been carried on till a late hour, and everybody was in high spirits. "Oh, if dear Harry was here it would be perfect," exclaimed one of his sisters, the gentle Mary, who had been his chief playmate in his childhood. "Oh, Harry is all right, enjoying the warm weather in the West Indies, instead of being frozen as we are here." "Lucky dog!" said one of his brothers. They all went to bed at last. More than one prayer in the house was offered up that night for young Harry's safety. Christmas morning came. The sky was overcast, the snow was falling thickly. Sir Baldwin had promised to visit during the day a poor family; the mother lay dying. "I cannot begin this blessed day better than by a work of love," he said to himself, as he looked out on the snow-covered landscape. "If I put it off till the afternoon she may no longer be here." He never allowed the weather to prevent him from going out. With a thick greatcoat on, a stout stick in one hand, he set forth through the snow on his errand of mercy, long before the rest of the family had left their rooms. He was just going into the cottage when he met Paul Petherwick, with his pilot-coat, sea-boots, and a spy-glass under his arm, accompanied by several of his crew, carrying oars and coils of rope and other ship's gear. "What, Paul, are you going to sea such a morning as this--Christmas morning, too?" asked the baronet, in a tone of surprise. "Yes, Sir Baldwin, that I am; for you see, sir, I was one Christmas day, as you will remember, tossing about on yon stormy sea till my craft was driven on shore, and I and my crew well-nigh lost. I should have been thankful if any brother pilot had been out on that morning to have towed the _Sea-Gull_ into port. For what I know, there are some poor fellows out of their reckoning; and if I can fall in with them, and pilot them up Channel, I shall be doing as I should like to be done by." "You are right, my friend. Heaven protect and prosper you," said the baronet. "You'll come up in the evening to hear the carol-singers. There'll be a cup of mead ready for you, and for your people, too, if they will come." "Thank ye, Sir Baldwin; we'll come," said several voices, and the pilot's crew hurried down to their boat. The pilot vessel made several tacks along shore before stretching out to sea. She had made her last tack, and was standing off the land when, near the very reef on which the _Sea-Gull_ was lost, Paul thought he saw the mast of a vessel. He called for his spy-glass. The boy brought it to him. Just then the snow cleared off somewhat. "There are some poor fellows clinging to it, too," he exclaimed. "Ease off the jib-sheet! Down with the helm! we must beat up to them." "Poor fellows! poor fellows! I hope that they will hold on till we reach them," he exclaimed several times, as he himself went to the helm, that he might make the vessel do her best, for tide and wind were against her. Just then a large ship hove in sight, with a signal for a pilot. "She can wait; these poor fellows cannot," he said, as he looked towards her. "She would have paid us heavy pilotage, too." As the _Lady Isabel_ drew near the wreck, one of the people on the mast was seen waving a hat feebly. The others appeared to be lashed to it, but unable to move. The cutter was hove-to and the boat lowered. There was a broken sea running, and it was a work of difficulty and danger. Six men were clinging to the mast, most of them more dead than alive from the wet and cold. "Take our young officer off first, pilot," said one of the men; "he's furthest gone." Two of the most active of the pilot's crew climbed the mast, and brought down the almost lifeless form of a young midshipman. Only two other men could be carried in the small pilot-boat at a time. "Why, if it isn't Master Harry Treherne!" exclaimed old Paul Petherwick, as he received the lad in his arms, and deposited him in the bottom of the boat. "Pull, my sons, pull! the sooner we get him between the warm blankets the better." Harry Treherne, for it was indeed he, was quickly conveyed on board the _Lady Isabel_, and placed in the old pilot's bed, where, with the aid of a glass of grog (the sailor's specific in all maladies--in this instance the best that could be applied), he soon regained his consciousness. His first inquiries were for the rest of his crew. Five had been saved, but the rest, with old Hulks, had been lost. The cutter was now rapidly nearing the small harbour close to the manor house. Sir Baldwin saw her coming, and having observed her manoeuvres near the wreck, was sure that she was bringing some shipwrecked seamen on shore. "We have got some one here who will be glad to see you, Sir Baldwin," said Paul, as he and his men lifted a sailor wrapped up in blankets out of the boat. "Father, dear father, I am all right! don't be alarmed. Only rather weak from having been out in the cold all night," cried a voice which Sir Baldwin recognised as that of his son Harry. "Paul, you have repaid me, and more than repaid me," exclaimed the baronet, after the first greetings with Harry were over. "I knew that you would. Do what is right and kind on all occasions, and good will come out of it somehow or other, though we do not always exactly see how it is to be. That is what I have always said, and what has happened is a strong proof that what I have said is true." The shipwrecked seamen were received into the manor house, and carefully tended. Harry was almost himself again by the evening, and all agreed that that Christmas Day, if not as merry, was as happy as any that the family had spent. They had many great blessings to be thankful for, and among them, not the least to the parents' hearts, was that their sailor-boy, after all the perils he had gone through, had once more been restored to them in safety. THE END. 
13148	----	[Transcriber's note: The spelling inconsistencies of the original have been retained in this etext. In some cases, they have been denoted by [sic].] PETER SIMPLE AND THE THREE CUTTERS BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT VOL I LONDON J.M. DENT AND CO BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN AND CO. MDCCCXCV Contents VOLUME I LIST OF MARRYAT'S WORKS, ETC ix BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION xi PREFATORY NOTE TO PETER SIMPLE AND THE THREE CUTTERS xxxiv _PETER SIMPLE_ CHAPTER I 1 CHAPTER II 7 CHAPTER III 12 CHAPTER IV 18 CHAPTER V 24 CHAPTER VI 30 CHAPTER VII 37 CHAPTER VIII 43 CHAPTER IX 52 CHAPTER X 60 CHAPTER XI 67 CHAPTER XII 74 CHAPTER XIII 87 CHAPTER XIV 98 CHAPTER XV 111 CHAPTER XVI 124 CHAPTER XVII 139 CHAPTER XVIII 148 CHAPTER XIX 157 CHAPTER XX 164 CHAPTER XXI 172 CHAPTER XXII 181 CHAPTER XXIII 191 CHAPTER XXIV 197 CHAPTER XXV 203 CHAPTER XXVI 212 CHAPTER XXVII 219 CHAPTER XXVIII 228 CHAPTER XXIX 239 CHAPTER XXX 247 LIST OF MARRYAT'S WORKS. IN THE ORDER OF PUBLICATION. By FREDERICK MARRYAT. _Born_, July 1792. _Died_, Aug. 1848. *SUGGESTIONS FOR THE ABOLITION OF THE PRESENT SYSTEM OF IMPRESSMENT IN THE NAVAL SERVICE 1822 ADVENTURES OF A NAVAL OFFICER, OR FRANK MILDMAY 1829 THE KING'S OWN 1830 NEWTON FORSTER 1832 PETER SIMPLE 1834 JACOB FAITHFUL 1834 PACHA OF MANY TALES 1835 MR MIDSHIPMAN EASY 1836 JAPHET IN SEARCH OF A FATHER 1836 THE PIRATE AND THE THREE CUTTERS 1836 *A CODE OF SIGNALS FOR THE USE OF VESSELS EMPLOYED IN THE MERCHANT SERVICE 1837 SNARLEY-YOW, OR THE DOG FIEND 1837 THE PHANTOM SHIP 1839 *DIARY IN AMERICA 1839 OLLA PODRIDA 1840 POOR JACK 1840 MASTERMAN READY 1841 JOSEPH RUSHBROOK, OR THE POACHER 1841 PERCIVAL KEENE 1842 NARRATIVE OF THE TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES OF MONSIEUR VIOLET 1843 SETTLERS IN CANADA 1844 THE MISSION, OR SCENES IN AFRICA 1845 THE PRIVATEER'S MAN 1846 THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW FOREST 1847 THE LITTLE SAVAGE 1848-49 VALERIE 1849 This edition will include all the novels and tales, only omitting the three items marked in the above list with an asterisk. The text will be, for the most part, that of the first editions, except for the correction of a few obvious errors and some modernisation of spelling. _Rattlin the Reefer,_ so frequently attributed to Marryat, will not be reprinted here. It was written by Edward Howard, subeditor, under Marryat, of the _The Metropolitan Magazine,_ and author of _Outward Bound,_ etc. On the title-page it is described simply as _edited_ by Marryat and, according to his daughter, the Captain did no more than stand literary sponsor to the production. In 1850, Saunders and Otley published:--_The Floral Telegraph, or, Affections Signals_ by the late Captain Marryat, R.N., but Mrs Lean knows nothing of the book, and it is probably not Marryat's work. _The Life and Letters of Captain Marryat: by Florence Marryat (Mrs Lean), in 2 vols.: Richard Bentley_ 1872, are the only biographical record of the novelist extant. In some matters they are very detailed and personal, in others reticent. The story has been spiritedly retold, with reflections and criticisms, by Mr David Hannay in the "Great Writers" Series, 1889. The frontispiece is from a print, published by Henry Colburn in 1836, after the portrait by Simpson, the favourite pupil of Sir Thomas Lawrence, which was "considered more like him than any other." Count D'Orsay took a portrait of Marryat, in coloured crayons, about 1840, but it was not a success. A portrait, in water colours, by Behnes, was engraved as a frontispiece to _The Pirate and The Three Cutters._ His bust was taken by Carew. R.B.J. Frederick Marryat Without yielding implicit credence to the handsome pedigree of the Marryats supplied by Mrs Lean, the novelist's daughter, we may give a glance in passing to the first-fruits of this family tree. They-- naturally--came over with the Conqueror, and emerged from obscurity under Stephen as the proud "possessors of much lands at the village of Meryat, Ashton Meryat, and elsewhere in Somersetshire ... One Nicotas de Maryet is deputed to collect the ransom of Richard Coeur de Leon through the county of Somerset ... In the reign of Edward I., Sir John de Maryet is called to attend the Great Parliament; in that of Edward II., his son is excommunicated for embowelling his deceased wife; 'a fancy,' says the county historian, 'peculiar to the knightly family of Meryat.'" Mrs Lean quotes records of other Meryat "hearts" to which an honourable burial has been accorded. The house of Meryat finally lost its property on the fall of Lady Jane Grey, to whom it had descended through the female line. Captain Marryat belonged to the Suffolk branch of the family, of whom "one John de Maryat had the honour of dancing in a masque before the Virgin Queen at Trinity College, Cambridge ... was sent to aid the Huguenots in their wars in France ... escaped the massacre of St Bartholemew and, in 1610, returned to England." Here he married "Mary, the daughter and heiress of Daniel Luke, of the Covent Garden (a rank Puritan family in _Hudibras_), and again settled in his paternal county of Suffolk." Less partial biographers neglect to trace the Marryats beyond this Huguenot officer, who is described by them as a refugee. Whatever may be the truth of these matters, it is certain that during the 17th and 18th centuries the Maryats were a respectable, middle-class Puritan family--ministers, doctors, and business men. In the days of the merry monarch a John Marryat became distinguished as a "painful preacher," and was twice expelled from his livings for non-conformity. Captain Marryat's grandfather was a good doctor, and his father, Joseph Marryat of Wimbledon House, was an M.P., chairman for the committee of Lloyd's, and colonial agent for the island of Grenada--a substantial man, who refused a baronetcy, and was honoured by an elegy from Campbell. He married Charlotte Geyer, or Von Geyer, a Hessian of good descent. Frederick, born July 10, 1792, was one of fifteen sons and daughters, "of whom ten attained maturity, and several have entered the lists of literature." His eldest brother, Joseph, was a famous collector of china, and author of _Pottery and Porcelain_; the youngest, Horace, wrote _One Year in Sweden, Jutland and the Danish Isles_; and his sister, Mrs Bury Palliser, was the author of _Nature and Art_ (not to be confounded with Mrs Inchbald's novel of that name), _The History of Lace_, and _Historic Devices, Badges and War Cries_. His father and grandfather published political and medical works, respectively, while the generation below was equally prolific. Marryat's youngest son, Frank, described his travels in _Borneo and the Eastern Archipelago_ and _Mountains and Molehills_, or _Recollections of a Burnt Journal_; and his daughter Florence, Mrs Lean, the author of his _Life and Letters_, has written a great many popular novels. We can record little of Marryat's boyhood beyond a general impression of his discontent with school-masters and parents. Mr Hannay is probably right in regarding his hard pictures of home and school life as reflections of his own experience. It is said that on one occasion he was found to be engaged in the pursuit of knowledge while standing on his head; and that he accounted for the circumstance with a humorous philosophy almost worthy of Jack Easy--"Well! I've been trying for three hours to learn it on my feet, but I couldn't, so I thought I would try whether it would be easier to learn it on my head." Another anecdote, of a contest with his school-fellow Babbage, is interesting and characteristic. It appears that the inventor of the calculating machine, unlike Marryat, was a very diligent lad; and that he accordingly arranged, with some kindred spirits, to begin work at three in the morning. The restless Marryat wished to join the party, but his motives were suspected and the conspirators adopted the simple expedient of not waking him. Marryat rolled his bed across the door, and Babbage pushed it away. Marryat tied a string from his wrist to the door handle, and Babbage unfastened it. A thicker string was cut, a chain was unlinked by pliers, but at last the future captain forged a chain that was too stout for the future mathematician. Babbage, however, secured his revenge; as soon as his comrade was safely asleep he slipped a piece of pack thread through the chain and, carrying the other end to his own bed, was enabled by a few rapid jerks to waken Marryat whenever he chose. Apparently satisfied with his victory in the gentle art of tormenting, Babbage yielded voluntarily upon the original point of dispute. Marryat and others joined the reading party, transformed it to a scene of carnival, and were discovered by the authorities. Meanwhile Marryat was constantly running away--to sea; according to his own account because he was obliged to wear his elder brother's old clothes. On one occasion his father injudiciously sent him back in a carriage with some money in his pocket. The wise youth slipped out, and finding his way home by some quiet approach, carried off his younger brothers to the theatre. He finally ran away from a private tutor, and Mr Marryat recognised the wisdom of compliance. Being then fourteen, that is of age to hold a commission, Frederick was allowed to enter the navy, and on the 23rd of September 1806, he started on his first voyage on board H.M.S. _Impérieuse_, Captain Lord Cochrane, for the Mediterranean. He could scarcely have entered upon his career under better auspices. In a line-of-battle ship he would have had no chance of service at this stage of the war, when the most daring of the French could not be decoyed out of port; but the frigates had always more exciting work on hand than mere patrolling. There were cruisers to be captured, privateers to be cut off, convoys to be taken, and work to be done on the coast among the forts. And Lord Cochrane, Earl of Dundonald, was not the man to neglect his opportunities. His daring gallantry and cool judgment are accredited to most of Marryat's captains, particularly in _Frank Mildmay_, where the cruise of the _Impérieuse_ along the Spanish coast is most graphically and literally described. Cochrane's _Autobiography_ betrays the strong, stern individuality of the man, invaluable in action, somewhat disturbing in civil life. As a reformer in season and out of season, at the Admiralty or in the House of Commons, his zeal became a bye-word, but Marryat knew him only on board his frigate, as an inspiring leader of men. He never passed an opportunity of serving his country and winning renown, but his daring was not reckless. "I must here remark," says Marryat in his private log, "that I never knew any one so careful of the lives of his ship's company as Lord Cochrane, or any one who calculated so closely the risks attending any expedition. Many of the most brilliant achievements were performed without loss of a single life, so well did he calculate the chances; and one half the merit which he deserves for what he did accomplish has never been awarded him, merely because, in the official despatches, there has not been a long list of killed and wounded to please the appetite of the English public." Marryat has left us a graphic account of his first day at sea:-- "The _Impérieuse_ sailed; the Admiral of the port was one who _would_ be obeyed, but _would not_ listen always to reason or common sense. The signal for sailing was enforced by gun after gun; the anchor was hove up, and, with all her stores on deck, her guns not even mounted, in a state of confusion unparalleled from her being obliged to hoist in faster than it was possible she could stow away, she was driven out of harbour to encounter a heavy gale. A few hours more would have enabled her to proceed to sea with security, but they were denied; the consequences were appalling, they might have been fatal. In the general confusion some iron too near the binnacles had attracted the needle of the compasses; the ship was steered out of her course. At midnight, in a heavy gale at the close of November, so dark that you could not distinguish any object, however close, the _Impérieuse_ dashed upon the rocks between Ushant and the Main. The cry of terror which ran through the lower decks; the grating of the keel as she was forced in; the violence of the shocks which convulsed the frame of the vessel; the hurrying up of the ship's company without their clothes; and then the enormous wave which again bore her up, and carried her clean over the reef, will never be effaced from my memory." This, after all, was not an inappropriate introduction to the stormy three years which followed it. The story is written in the novels, particularly _Frank Mildmay[1]_ where every item of his varied and exciting experience is reproduced with dramatic effect. It would be impossible to rival Marryat's narrative of episodes, and we shall gain no sense of reality by adjusting the materials of fiction to an exact accordance with fact. He says that these books, except _Frank Mildmay,_ are "wholly fictitious in characters, in plot, and in events," but they are none the less truthful pictures of his life at sea. Cochrane's _Autobiography_ contains a history of the _Impérieuse_; it is from _Peter Simple_ and his companions that we must learn what Marryat thought and suffered while on board. Under Cochrane he cruised along the coast of France from Ushant to the mouth of the Gironde, saw some active service in the Mediterranean, and, after a return to the ocean, was finally engaged in the Basque Roads. A page of his private log contains a lively _resumé_ of the whole experience:-- "The cruises of the _Impérieuse_ were periods of continual excitement, from the hour in which she hove up her anchor till she dropped it again in port; the day that passed without a shot being fired in anger, was to us a blank day: the boats were hardly secured on the booms than they were cast loose and out again; the yard and stay tackles were forever hoisting up and lowering down. The expedition with which parties were formed for service; the rapidity of the frigate's movements night and day; the hasty sleep snatched at all hours; the waking up at the report of the guns, which seemed the only keynote to the hearts of those on board, the beautiful precision of our fire, obtained by constant practice; the coolness and courage of our captain, inoculating the whole of the ship's company; the suddenness of our attacks, the gathering after the combat, the killed lamented, the wounded almost envied; the powder so burnt into our face that years could not remove it; the proved character of every man and officer on board, the implicit trust and adoration we felt for our commander; the ludicrous situations which would occur in the extremest danger and create mirth when death was staring you in the face, the hair-breadth escapes, and the indifference to life shown by all--when memory sweeps along these years of excitement even now, my pulse beats more quickly with the reminiscence." After some comparatively colourless service in other frigates, during which he gained the personal familiarity with West Indian life of which his novels show many traces, he completed his time as a midshipman, and in 1812, returned home to pass. As a lieutenant his cruises were uneventful and, after being several times invalided, he was promoted Commander in 1815, just as the Great War was closing. He was now only twenty-three, and had certainly received an admirable training for the work with which he was soon to enchant the public. Though never present at a great battle, and many good officers were in the same position, he had seen much smart service and knew from others what lay beyond his own experience. He evidently took copious notes of all he saw and heard. He had sailed in the North Sea, in the Channel, in the Mediterranean, and along the Eastern coast of America from Nova Scotia to Surinam. He had been rapidly promoted. It is tolerably obvious that, both as midshipman and lieutenant, he evinced the cool daring and manly independence that characterises his heroes, with a dash perhaps of Jack Easy's philosophy. It was a rough life and he was not naturally amenable to discipline, but probably his superiors made a favourite of the dashing handsome lad. The habit, which helps to redeem Frank Mildmay and even graces Peter Simple, of saving others from drowning, was always his own. His daughter records, with pardonable pride, that he was presented while in the navy with twenty-seven certificates, recommendations, and votes of thanks for having saved the lives of others at the risk of his own, besides receiving a gold medal from the Humane Society. During the peace of 1815 he "occupied himself in acquiring a perfect knowledge of such branches of science as might prove useful should the Lords of the Admiralty think fit to employ him in a voyage of discovery or survey." A vaguely projected expedition to Africa was, however, relinquished on account of his marriage with "Catherine, second daughter of Sir Stephen Shairp, Knt., of Houston, Co. Linlithgow (for many years Her Britannic Majesty's Consul-General, and twice _chargé d'affaires_ at the court of Russia);" which took place in January 1819. In this same year he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, according to tradition on account of his skill in drawing caricatures. He was at sea again soon after his marriage as commander of the _Beaver_ sloop, in which commission he was sent to mount guard over Napoleon at St Helena until his death. He took a sketch of the dead emperor in full profile, which was engraved in England and France, and considered a striking likeness. He was meanwhile no doubt perfecting the code of signals for the use of merchant vessels of all nations, including the cipher for secret correspondence, which was immediately adopted, and secured to its inventor the Cross of the Legion of Honour from Louis Philippe. It was not actually published in book form till 1837, from which date its sale produced an appreciable income. After returning in the _Rosario_ with the despatches concerning Napoleon's death, he was sent to escort the body of Queen Caroline to Cuxhaven. He was then told off for revenue duty in the Channel, and had some smart cruising for smugglers until the _Rosario_ was pronounced unseaworthy and paid off on the 22nd of February 1822. As a result of this experience he wrote a long despatch to the Admiralty, in which he freely criticised the working of the preventive service, and made some practical suggestions for its improvement. In 1822 he also published _Suggestions for the abolition of the present system of impressment in the Naval Service_, a pamphlet which is said to have made him unpopular with Royalty. He frequently in his novels urges the same reform, which he very earnestly desired. He was appointed to the _Larne_ in March 1823, and saw some hard service against the Burmese, for which he received the thanks of the general and the Indian Government, the Companionship of the Bath, and the command of the _Ariadne_. Two years later, in November 1830, he resigned his ship, and quitted active service, according to Mrs Lean, because of his appointment as equerry to His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex. He was probably influenced, however, by a distaste for routine duties in time of peace, the claims of a growing family, and literary ambitions. He had already published _Frank Mildmay_, and received for it the handsome sum of £400, and negotiations were very possibly on foot concerning _The King's Own_, of which the composition had been completed. There is considerable difficulty in following the remainder of Marryat's life, owing to the silence of our only authority, Mrs Lean. No reasons can be assigned for the sudden flittings in which he constantly indulged, or for his hasty journeys to America and to the Continent. He was clearly impulsive in all things, and, though occasionally shrewd, betrayed a mania for speculation. Moreover, he was naturally addicted to the Bohemian pleasures of life, being somewhat promiscuous in hospitality, and absolutely prodigal in the art of making presents. To satisfy these various demands on his pocket, he was often driven to spells of desperate work, in spite of the really handsome sums he received from the publishers and editors with whom he was always at variance. His first regular establishment was Sussex House, Hampstead, which he soon "swapped," after dinner and champagne, for a small estate of 1000 acres at Langham, Norfolk; though he did not finally settle in the country till 1843. His original occupation of Langham, which realised him a steady annual deficit, was followed by a return to London, a visit to Brighton and, in 1835, a journey on the Continent to Brussels and Lausanne. He had, meanwhile, been contributing to _The Metropolitan Magazine,_ which he edited from 1832 to 1835, finally selling his proprietary rights to Saunders and Otley for £1050. His editorial work was arduous, and many of his own compositions were first published in _The Metropolitan._ Here appeared _Newton Forster,_ 1832, _Peter Simple,_ 1833, _Jacob Faithful, Midshipman Easy,_ and _Japhet in search of a Father_(!) 1834, besides a comedy in three acts, entitled _The Gipsy,_ a tragedy called _The Cavalier of Seville,_ and the miscellaneous papers afterwards collected under the title, _Olla Podrida._ In 1833 he stood, as a reformer, for Tower Hamlets, but his methods of canvassing were imprudent. He dwelt upon his own hobbies, and disregarded those of the electors. He apparently expected to carry the day by opposing the pressgang in a time of peace, and even permitted himself to repudiate philanthropy towards the African negro. The gallantry with which, on one occasion, he saved the lives of his audience when the floor of the room had fallen in, was not permitted to cover the rash energy of his reply to a persistent questioner:--"If ever you, or one of your sons, should come under my command at sea and deserve punishment, if there be no other effectual mode of conferring it, _I shall flog you."_ It is hardly necessary to add that he lost the election. He afterwards failed in a plan for the establishment of brevet rank in the army, but gave some valuable assistance in the preparation of the Merchant Shipping Bill of 1834. It was about this time that Marryat is currently reported to have challenged F.D. Maurice to a duel. The latter had published an anonymous novel, called _Eustace Conway,_ in which "a prominent character, represented in no amiable colours, bore the name of Captain Marryat." The truth of the story seems to be that the Captain went in hot wrath to Bentley, and demanded an apology or a statement that the coincidence was unintentional. Maurice replied, through his publisher, that he had never heard of Captain Marryat. It may be questioned whether the apology was not more galling than the original offence. In 1834 some legal difficulties arose in connection with his father's memory, which Marryat accepted with admirable philosophy:-- "As for the Chancellor's judgment," he told his mother, "I cannot say that I thought anything about it, on the contrary, it appears to me that he might have been much more severe if he had thought proper. It is easy to impute motives, and difficult to disprove them. I thought, considering his enmity, that he let us off cheap; as there is no _punishing a chancellor,_ and he might say what he pleased with impunity. I did not therefore _roar_, I only _smiled_. The effect will be nugatory. Not one in a thousand will read it; those who do, know it refers to a person not in this world; and of those, those who knew my father will not believe it, those who did not will care little about it, and forget the name in a week. Had he given the decision in our favour, I should have been better pleased, _but it's no use crying; what's done can't be helped."_ This letter was written from Brighton, and the following year found Marryat on the Continent, at home in a circle of gay spirits who might almost be called the outcasts of English society. They were pleasure-seekers, by no means necessarily depraved but, by narrow incomes or other causes, driven into a cheerful exile. The captain was always ready to give and take in the matter of entertainment, and he was invited everywhere though, on one occasion at least, it is recorded that he proved an uncongenial guest. Having dined, as a recognised lion among lions, he "didn't make a single joke during the whole evening." His host remarked on his silence the next morning, and Marryat replied:-- "Oh, if that's what you wanted you should have asked me when you were alone. Why, did you imagine I was going to let out any of my jokes for those fellows to put in their next books? No, that is not _my_ plan. When I find myself in such company _as that_ I open my ears and hold my tongue, glean all I can, and give them nothing in return." He did not always, however, play the professional author so offensively, and we hear of his taking part in private theatricals and dances, preparing a Christmas tree for the children, and cleverly packing his friends' portmanteaux. Meanwhile, he was writing _The Pirate and Three Cutters,_ for which he received £750, as well as _Snarley-yow_ and the _Pacha of many Tales._ He had been contributing to the _Metropolitan_ at 15 guineas a sheet, until he paid a flying visit to England in 1836 in order to transfer his allegiance to the _New Monthly Magazine,_ from which he secured 20 guineas. Mrs Lean states that her father received £1100 each for _Peter Simple, Jacob Faithful, Japhet,_ and _The Pacha of many Tales;_ £1200 for _Midshipman Easy,_ £1300 for _Snarley-yow,_ and £1600 for the _Diary in America._ Yet "although Captain Marryat and his publishers mutually benefited by their transactions with each other, one would have imagined, from the letters exchanged between them, that they had been natural enemies." She relates how one of the fraternity told Marryat he was "somewhat eccentric--an odd creature," and added, "I am somewhat warm-tempered myself, and therefore make allowance for yours, which is certainly warm enough." Marryat justified the charge by replying:-- "There was no occasion for you to make the admission that you are somewhat warm-tempered; your letter establishes that fact. Considering your age, you are a little volcano, and if the insurance were aware of your frequent visits at the Royal Exchange, they would demand double premium for the building. Indeed, I have my surmises _now_ as to the last conflagration. * * * * * Your remark as to the money I have received may sound well, mentioned as an isolated fact; but how does it sound when it is put in juxtaposition with the sums you have received? I, who have found everything, receiving a pittance, while you, who have found nothing but the shop to sell in, receiving such a lion's share. I assert again that it is slavery. I am Sinbad the sailor, and you are the old man of the mountain, clinging on my back, and you must not be surprised at my wishing to throw you off the first convenient opportunity. The fact is, you have the vice of old age very strong upon you, and you are blinded by it; but put the question to your sons, and ask them whether they consider the present agreement fair. Let them arrange with me, and do you go and read your Bible. We all have our ideas of Paradise, and if other authors think like me, the most pleasurable portion of anticipated bliss is that there will be no publishers there. That idea often supports me after an interview with one of your fraternity." Marryat only returned to England a few months before hurrying off to America in April 1837. The reasons for this move it is impossible to conjecture, as we can scarcely accept the apparent significance of his comments on Switzerland in the _Diary on the Continent:--_ "Do the faults of these people arise from the peculiarity of their constitutions, or from the nature of their government? To ascertain this, one must compare them with those who live under similar institutions. _I must go to America--that is decided_." He was received by the Americans with a curious mixture of suspicion and enthusiasm. English men and women of letters in late years had been visiting the Republic and criticising its institutions to the mother country--with a certain forgetfulness of hospitalities received that was not, to say the least of it, in good taste. Marryat was also an author, and it seemed only too probable that he had come to spy out the land. On the other hand, his books were immensely popular over the water and, but for dread of possible consequences, Jonathan was delighted to see him. His arrival at Saratoga Springs produced an outburst in the local papers of the most pronounced journalese:-- "This distinguished writer is at present a sojourner in our city. Before we knew the gallant Captain was respiring our balmy air, we really did wonder what laughing gas had imbued our atmosphere--every one we met in the streets appeared to be in such a state of jollification; but when we heard that the author of _Peter Simple_ was actually puffing a cigar amongst us we no longer marvelled at the pleasant countenances of our citizens. He has often made them laugh when he was thousands of miles away. Surely now it is but natural that they ought to be tickled to death at the idea of having him present." The Bostonians were proud to claim him as a compatriot through his mother, and a nautical drama from his pen--_The Ocean Wolf, or the Channel Outlaw_--was performed at New York with acclamation. He had some squabbles with American publishers concerning copyright, and was clever enough to secure two thousand two hundred and fifty dollars from Messrs Carey & Hart for his forthcoming _Diary in America_ and _The Phantom Ship,_ which latter first appeared in the _New Monthly,_ 1837 and 1838. He evidently pleased the Americans on the whole, and was not unfavourably impressed by what he saw, but the six volumes which he produced on his return are only respectable specimens of bookmaking, and do not repay perusal. It was, indeed, his own opinion that he had already written enough. "If I were not rather in want of money," he says in a letter to his mother, "I certainly would not write any more, for I am rather tired of it. I should like to disengage myself from the fraternity of authors, and be known in future only in my profession as a good officer and seaman." He had hoped to see some service in Canada, but the opportunity never came. In England, to which he returned in 1839, the want of money soon came to be felt more seriously. His father's fortune had been invested in the West Indies, and began to show diminishing returns. For this and other reasons he led a very wandering existence, for another four or five years, until 1843. A year at 8 Duke Street, St James, was followed by a short stay with his mother at Wimbledon House, from which he took chambers at 120 Piccadilly, and then again moved to Spanish Place, Manchester Square. Apparently at this time he made an unsuccessful attempt to return to active service. He was meanwhile working hard at _Poor Jack, Masterman Ready, The Poacher, Percival Keene,_ etc., and living hard in the merry circle of a literary Bohemia, with Clarkson Stanfield, Rogers, Dickens, and Forster; to whom were sometimes added Lady Blessington, Ainsworth, Cruickshank, and Lytton. The rival interests served to sour his spirits and weaken his constitution. The publication of _The Poacher_ in the _Era_ newspaper involved its author in a very pretty controversy. A foolish contributor to _Fraser's Magazine_ got into a rage with Harrison Ainsworth for _condescending_ to write in the weekly papers, and expressed himself as follows:-- "If writing monthly fragments threatened to deteriorate Mr Ainsworth's productions, what must be the result of this _hebdomadal_ habit? Captain Marryat, we are sorry to say, has taken to the same line. Both these popular authors may rely upon our warning, that they will live to see their laurels fade unless they more carefully cultivate a spirit of _self-respect._ That which was venial in a miserable starveling of Grub Street is _perfectly disgusting_ in the extravagantly paid novelists of these days--the _caressed_, of generous booksellers. Mr Ainsworth and Captain Marryat ought to disdain such _pitiful peddling._ Let them eschew it without delay." Marryat's reply was, spirited and manly. After ridiculing _Fraser's_ attempt "to set up a standard of _precedency_ and _rank_ in literature," and humorously proving that an author's works were not to be esteemed in proportion to the length of time elapsing between their production, he turned to the more serious and entirely honest defence that, like Dickens, he was supplying the lower classes with wholesome recreation:-- "I would rather write for the instruction, or even the amusement of the poor than for the amusement of the rich; and I would sooner raise a smile or create an interest in the honest mechanic or agricultural labourer who requires relaxation, than I would contribute to dispel the _ennui_ of those who loll on their couches and wonder in their idleness what they shall do next. Is the rich man only to be amused? are mirth and laughter to be made a luxury, confined to the upper classes, and denied to the honest and hard-working artisan?... In a moral point of view, I hold that I am right. We are educating the lower classes; generations have sprung up who can read and write; and may I enquire what it is that they have to read, in the way of amusement?--for I speak not of the Bible, which is for private examination. They have scarcely anything but the weekly newspapers, and, as they cannot command amusement, they prefer those which create the most excitement; and this I believe to be the cause of the great circulation of the _Weekly Dispatch,_ which has but too well succeeded in demoralising the public, in creating disaffection and ill-will towards the government, and assisting the nefarious views of demagogues and chartists. It is certain that men would rather laugh than cry--would rather be amused than rendered gloomy and discontented--would sooner dwell upon the joys or sorrows of others in a tale of fiction than brood over their own supposed wrongs. If I put good and wholesome food (and, as I trust, sound moral) before the lower classes, they will eventually eschew that which is coarse and disgusting, which is only resorted to because no better is supplied. Our weekly newspapers are at present little better than records of immorality and crime, and the effect which arises from having no other matter to read and comment upon, is of serious injury to the morality of the country ... I consider, therefore, that in writing for the amusement and instruction of the poor man, I am doing that which has but been too much neglected--that I am serving my country, and you surely will agree with me that to do so in not _infra. dig._ in the proudest Englishman; and, as a Conservative, you should commend rather than stigmatise my endeavours in the manner which you have so hastily done." It has been said that Marryat's wandering ceased in 1843, and it was in that year that he settled down at Langham to look after his own estate. Langham is in the northern division of Norfolk, half way between Wells-next-the-Sea and Holt. The Manor House, says Mrs Lean, "without having any great architectural pretensions, had a certain unconventional prettiness of its own. It was a cottage in the Elizabethan style, built after the model of one at Virginia Water belonging to his late majesty, George IV., with latticed windows opening on to flights of stone steps ornamented with vases of flowers, and leading down from the long narrow dining-room, where (surrounded by Clarkson Stanfield's illustrations of _Poor Jack_, with which the walls were clothed) Marryat composed his later works, to the lawn behind. The house was thatched and gabled, and its pinkish white walls and round porch were covered with roses and ivy, which in some parts climbed as high as the roof itself." In the unpublished fragment of his _Life of Lord Napier_ Marryat had declared that retired sailors naturally turned to agriculture, and frequently made good farmers. A sailor on land, he rather quaintly remarks, is "but a sort of Adam--a new creature, starting into existence as it were in his prime;" and "the greatest pleasures of man consist in imitating the Deity in his _creative_ power." The anticipated _pleasure_ in farming he did to a great extent realise, but the _profits_ were still to seek. It can only be said that his losses were rather smaller that they had been in his absence. Thus:-- 1842. Total receipts, £154 2 9 " Expenditure, 1637 0 6 1846. Total receipts, 898 12 6 " Expenditure, 2023 10 8 His former tenant had indeed shown but little respect for the property. Besides taking all he could out of the land without putting anything into it, he fitted up the drawing-room of the manor (which in its brightest days had been known in the village as the "Room of Thousand Columns," from an effect produced by mirrors set in the panels of folding doors, reflecting trellised pillars,) with rows of beds, which he let out to tramps at twopence a night! Of these latter years on the farm we can gather some distinctly pleasant impressions. Marryat was evidently a good master at all times. He delighted to arrange for festivities in the servants' hall, but he was also very tolerant to poachers, and considered it his first duty to find work for his men when times were bad. His model pigsties and cottages were unpopular, but he loved his animals and understood them. The chief merit of his lazy and somewhat asinine pony Dumpling consisted in his talent for standing still. Upon this patient beast the captain would occasionally sally forth to shoot, assisting his natural short-sightedness by a curious "invention of his own;"--a plain piece of crystal surrounded by a strip of whalebone, hanging in front of his right eye from the brim of his "shocking bad hat." He was a careless dresser, but scrupulously clean; no smoker, but very fond of snuff. He had a fancy for pure white china which had to be procured from the Continent. Cordial invitations from friends seldom drew him from his self-imposed labours, and it appears that, in spite of his son's debts and other domestic troubles, he led a fairly contented existence among his dogs and his children. To the latter, though occasionally passionate, he was "a most indulgent father and friend." He never locked anything away from them, or shut them out of any room in the house. Though severe on falsehood and cowardice, he was indifferent to mischief, and one is certainly driven to pity for the governess who was summoned to look after them. His methods in this connection were original. "He kept a quantity of small articles for presents in his secretary; and at the termination of each week the children and governess, armed with a report of their general behaviour, were ushered with much solemnity into the library to render up an account. Those who had behaved well during the preceding seven days received a prize, because they had been so good; and those who had behaved ill also received one, in hopes that they would never be naughty again: the governess was also presented with a gift, that her criticism on the justice of the transaction might be disarmed." The father was not a strict disciplinarian, and it is related that when a little one had made "a large rent in a new frock," for which she expected punishment from her governess, and ran to him for advice, he "took hold of the rent and tore off the whole lower part of the skirt," saying, "Tell her I did it." The sons were seldom at home, but in spite of a certain constitutional wildness and lack of prudence, they were evidently a gallant couple, delighting their father's heart. Frederick, the eldest, became a distinguished officer, after conquering a strong propensity to practical joking, and was much regretted in the service when wrecked at the age of twenty-seven. He was last seen "upbraiding, in his jocular manner, some people who were frightened, when a sea swept over the ship and took him with it." Frank was entered upon the roll of the navy at the tender age of three, and presented to the Port Admiral of Plymouth in full costume. The officer patted him on the head, saying "Well, you're a fine little fellow," to which the youngster replied, "and you're a fine old cock, too." He became a cultivated and bold traveller, beloved by his friends, and not unknown to fame. He only survived his father a few years, and died at the age of twenty-eight. Marryat now began his charming series of stories for children, a work to which he turned for a practical reason that sounds strangely from his impulsive lips:-- "I have lately taken to a different style of writing, that is, for young people. My former productions, like all novels, have had their day, and for the present, at least, will sell no more; but it is not so with the _juveniles_; they have an annual demand, and become _a little income_ to me; which I infinitely prefer to receiving any sum in a mass, which very soon disappears somehow or other." Save for a little tendency to preachment, these volumes, particularly _Masterman Ready_, and _The Children of the New Forest_, are admirably suited to their purpose from the genuine childlikeness of their conception and treatment. Meanwhile Marryat's health was rapidly giving way, and almost his last appearance before the public was in 1847, when he addressed a pathetic, but fairly dignified letter to the First Lord of the Admiralty, as a protest against some affront, which he suspected, to his professional career. The exact circumstances of the case cannot be now discovered, but it may be readily conjectured that the formalism of official courtesy did not match with the Captain's taste, and that the necessity for self-control on his own part had irritated his resentment. The First Lord expressed his regret at having wounded a distinguished officer, and bestowed on him a good service pension. It may be said that the pension came too late, if indeed it would at any time have been particularly serviceable. Marryat was now engaged in that melancholy chase for health which generally augurs the beginning of the end. He had ruptured two blood vessels, and was in great danger from the constitutional weakness which had first attacked him as a young lieutenant in the West Indies. He moved to his mother's house in order to consult the London doctors. A mild climate was recommended, and he went down to Hastings, where the news of his son's death destroyed his own chances of recovery. After about a month's trial of Brighton, he came back to the London doctors who told him that "in six months he would be numbered with his forefathers." He went home to Langham to die. Through the summer of 1848 he lingered on, "in the 'room of a thousand columns,' with the mimic sky, and birds, and flowers, above and around him, where he chose to lie upon a mattress, placed on the ground, and there, almost in darkness, often in pain, and without occupation, he lay--cheerful and uncomplaining, and at times even humorous." His daughters frequently read aloud to him, and he always asked for fresh flowers. At the last he became delirious, though continuing to dictate pages of talk and reflection. On the morning of August 9th, 1848, he expired in perfect quiet. "Although not handsome," says Mrs Lean, "Captain Marryat's personal appearance was very prepossessing. In figure he was upright and broad-shouldered for his height, which measured 5ft. 10in. His hands, without being undersized, were remarkably perfect in form, and modelled by a sculptor at Rome on account of their symmetry. The character of his mind was borne out by his features, the most salient expression of which was the frankness of an open heart. The firm decisive mouth, and massive thoughtful forehead were redeemed from heaviness by the humorous light that twinkled in his deep-set grey eyes, which, bright as diamonds, positively flashed out their fun, or their reciprocation of the fun of others. As a young man, dark crisp curls covered his head; but later in life, when, having exchanged the sword for the pen and the plougshare [sic], he affected a soberer and more patriarchal style of dress and manner, he wore his grey hair long, and almost down to his shoulder. His eyebrows were not alike, one being higher up and more arched than the other, which peculiarity gave his face a look of enquiry, even in repose. In the upper lip was a deep cleft, and in the chin as deep a dimple." Christopher North describes Captain Marryat as "a captain in the navy, and an honour to it--an admirable sailor, and an admirable writer--and would that he were with us on the leads, my lads, for a pleasanter fellow, _to those who know him,_ never enlivened the social board." It is evident, indeed, that an intimate knowledge of his character was necessary to its appreciation, for his daughter declares that "like most warm-hearted people he was quick to take offence, and no one could have decided, after an absence of six months, with whom he was friends, and with whom he was not." One of the said friends wrote truly:-- "His faults proceeded from an _over-active_ mind, which could never be quiet--morning, noon, or night. If he had no one to love, he quarrelled for want of something better to do; he planned for himself and for everybody, and changed his mind ten times a-day." "Many people have asked," says Mrs Lean "whether Captain Marryat, when at home, was not 'very funny.' No, decidedly not. In society, with new topics to discuss, and other wits about him on which to sharpen his own --or, like flint and steel, to emit sparks by friction--he was as gay and humorous as the best of them; but at home he was always a thoughtful, and, at times, a very grave man; for he was not exempt from those ills that all flesh is heir to, and had his sorrows and his difficulties and moments of depression, like the rest of us. At such times it was dangerous to thwart and disturb him, for he was a man of strong passions and indomitable determination." It is not difficult to conceive the character in outline--"wise English-hearted Captain Marryat," Kingsley calls him. He was incapable of any mean low vices, but his zest for pleasure was keen, and never restrained by motives of prudence or consideration for others. His strong passions at times made him disagreeably selfish and overbearing, qualities forgiven by acquaintances for his social brilliancy, and by friends for his frank affection. With some business talents and practical shrewdness, he was quite incapable of wisely conducting his affairs, by reason of a mania for speculation and originality. There was considerable waste of good material in his fiery composition. His books reveal the higher standard of his true nature. Their merits and faults are alike on the surface. Lockhart declared that "he stood second in merit to no living novelist but Miss Edgeworth. His happy delineations and contrasts of character, and easy play of native fun, redeem a thousand faults of verbosity, clumsiness, and coarseness. His strong sense, and utter superiority to affectation of all sorts, command respect, and in his quiet effectiveness of circumstantial narrative he sometimes approaches old Defoe." It is easy to criticise Marryat, for his grammar is reckless, he could not construct a plot, he wrote too much and too rapidly in order to earn money. But then he was an altogether admirable _raconteur_, and for the purposes of narration his style was peculiarly appropriate--simple, rapid, lucid, and vigorous. He does not tax our powers of belief beyond endurance, or weary us with wonder. His crises are the more effective from the absence of any studied introduction or thunderous comment; and he carries his readers through stirring adventures of storm and battle with a business-like precision that silences doubt. He breathes the spirit of the sea, himself a genuine sailor, almost as childlike and simple as one of his own creations. His books are real voyages, in which a day of bustle and danger is followed by peace and quiet, yarns on the quarter-deck, and some practical joking among the middies. He delights in the exhibition of oddities, and the telling of tall stories outside the regular course of the narrative, which bubbles over with somewhat boisterous fun. And his humour is genuine and spontaneous; it is farcical without descending to buffoonery. His comic types are built up on character, and, if not subtle, are undeniably human and living. They are drawn, moreover, with sympathy. The whole tone of Marryat's work is singularly fresh, wholesome, and manly. His heroes endure rough handling, but they fight their way, for the most part, to the essential qualities of gentlemen. They are no saints; but excellent comrades, honest lovers, and brave tars. R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON. FOOTNOTES: [1] In dwelling upon the autobiographical nature of the _incident_, in _Frank Mildmay,_ it is necessary to guard against the supposition that Marryat's _character_ in any way resembled his hero's. See further Preface to _F M._ PREFATORY NOTE TO PETER SIMPLE AND THE THREE CUTTERS From _Nodes Ambrosianæ_:-- _Shepherd_ [HOGG]. Did Marry yacht write _Peter Simple_? Peter Simple in his ain way's as gude's Parson Adams ... He that invented Peter Simple's a Sea-Fieldin'. * * * * * _Peter Simple_ is printed from the first edition, in three volumes. Saunders and Otley, 1834. _The Three Cutters_ is printed from the first edition. Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, and Longman, 1836. _The Three Cutters_ was first published in one volume with _The Pirate_, containing a portrait of Marryat--Drawn by W. Behnes, engraved by H. Cook; and "illustrated with twenty splendid engravings from drawings by Clarkson Stanfield, Esq., R.A." Peter Simple Chapter I The great advantage of being the fool of the family--My destiny is decided, and I am consigned to a stockbroker as part of His Majesty's sea stock--Unfortunately for me Mr Handycock is a bear, and I get very little dinner. If I cannot narrate a life of adventurous and daring exploits, fortunately I have no heavy crimes to confess; and, if I do not rise in the estimation of the reader for acts of gallantry and devotion in my country's cause, at least I may claim the merit of zealous and persevering continuance in my vocation. We are all of us variously gifted from Above, and he who is content to walk, instead of to run, on his allotted path through life, although he may not so rapidly attain the goal, has the advantage of not being out of breath upon his arrival. Not that I mean to infer that my life has not been one of adventure. I only mean to say that, in all which has occurred, I have been a passive, rather than an active, personage; and, if events of interest are to be recorded, they certainly have not been sought by me. As well as I can recollect and analyze my early propensities, I think that, had I been permitted to select my own profession, I should in all probability have bound myself apprentice to a tailor; for I always envied the comfortable seat which they appeared to enjoy upon the shopboard, and their elevated position, which enabled them to look down upon the constant succession of the idle or the busy, who passed in review before them in the main street of the country town, near to which I passed the first fourteen years of my existence. But my father, who was a clergyman of the Church of England, and the youngest brother of a noble family, had a lucrative living, and a "soul above buttons," if his son had not. It has been from time immemorial the heathenish custom to sacrifice the greatest fool of the family to the prosperity and naval superiority of the country, and, at the age of fourteen, I was selected as the victim. If the custom be judicious, I had no reason to complain. There was not one dissentient voice, when it was proposed before all the varieties of my aunts and cousins, invited to partake of our new-year's festival. I was selected by general acclamation. Flattered by such an unanimous acknowledgment of my qualification, and a stroke of my father's hand down my head which accompanied it, I felt as proud, and, alas! as unconscious as the calf with gilded horns, who plays and mumbles with the flowers of the garland which designates his fate to every one but himself. I even felt, or thought I felt, a slight degree of military ardour, and a sort of vision of future grandeur passed before me, in the distant vista of which I perceived a coach with four horses and a service of plate. It was, however, driven away before I could decipher it, by positive bodily pain, occasioned by my elder brother Tom, who, having been directed by my father to snuff the candles, took the opportunity of my abstraction to insert a piece of the still ignited cotton into my left ear. But as my story is not a very short one, I must not dwell too long on its commencement. I shall therefore inform the reader, that my father, who lived in the north of England, did not think it right to fit me out at the country town, near to which we resided; but about a fortnight after the decision which I have referred to, he forwarded me to London, on the outside of the coach, with my best suit of bottle-green and six shirts. To prevent mistakes, I was booked in the way-bill "to be delivered to Mr Thomas Handycock, No. 14, Saint Clement's Lane--carriage paid." My parting with the family was very affecting; my mother cried bitterly, for, like all mothers, she liked the greatest fool which she had presented to my father, better than all the rest; my sisters cried because my mother cried; Tom roared for a short time more loudly than all the rest, having been chastised by my father for breaking his fourth window in that week;--during all which my father walked up and down the room with impatience, because he was kept from his dinner, and, like all orthodox divines, he was tenacious of the only sensual enjoyment permitted to his cloth. At last I tore myself away. I had blubbered till my eyes were so red and swollen, that the pupils were scarcely to be distinguished, and tears and dirt had veined my cheeks like the marble of the chimney-piece. My handkerchief was soaked through with wiping my eyes and blowing my nose, before the scene was over. My brother Tom, with a kindness which did honour to his heart, exchanged his for mine, saying, with fraternal regard, "Here, Peter, take mine, it's as dry as a bone." But my father would not wait for a second handkerchief to perform its duty. He led me away through the hall, when, having shaken hands with all the men and kissed all the maids, who stood in a row with their aprons to their eyes, I quitted my paternal roof. The coachman accompanied me to the place from whence the stage was to start. Having seen me securely wedged between two fat old women, and having put my parcel inside, he took his leave, and in a few minutes I was on my road to London. I was too much depressed to take notice of anything during my journey. When we arrived in London, they drove to the Blue Boar (in a street, the name of which I have forgotten). I had never seen or heard of such an animal, and certainly it did appear very formidable; its mouth was open and teeth very large. What surprised me still more was to observe that its teeth and hoofs were of pure gold. Who knows, thought I, that in some of the strange countries which I am doomed to visit, but that I may fall in with, and shoot one of these terrific monsters? with what haste shall I select those precious parts, and with what joy should I, on my return, pour them as an offering of filial affection into my mother's lap!--and then, as I thought of my mother, the tears again gushed into my eyes. The coachman threw his whip to the ostler, and the reins upon the horses' backs; he then dismounted, and calling to me, "Now, young gentleman, I'se a-waiting," he put a ladder up for me to get down by; then turning to a porter, he said to him, "Bill, you must take this here young gem'man and that ere parcel to this here direction.--Please to remember the coachman, sir." I replied that I certainly would, if he wished it, and walked off with the porter; the coachman observing, as I went away, "Well, he is a fool--that's sartain." I arrived quite safe at St Clement's-lane, when the porter received a shilling for his trouble from the maid who let me in, and I was shown up into a parlour, where I found myself in company with Mrs Handycock. Mrs Handycock was a little meagre woman, who did not speak very good English, and who appeared to me to employ the major part of her time in bawling out from the top of the stairs to the servants below. I never saw her either read a book or occupy herself with needlework, during the whole time I was in the house. She had a large grey parrot, and I really cannot tell which screamed the worse of the two--but she was very civil and kind to me, and asked me ten times a day when I had last heard of my grandfather, Lord Privilege. I observed that she always did so if any company happened to call in during my stay at her house. Before I had been there ten minutes, she told me that she "hadored sailors--they were the defendiours and preserviours of their kings and countries," and that "Mr Handycock would be home by four o'clock, and then we should go to dinner." Then she jumped off her chair to bawl to the cook from the head of the stairs--"Jemima, Jemima!--ve'll ha'e the viting biled instead of fried." "Can't, marm," replied Jemima, "they be all begged and crumbed, with their tails in their mouths." "Vell, then, never mind, Jemima," replied the lady.--"Don't put your finger into the parrot's cage, my love--he's apt to be cross with strangers. Mr Handycock will be home at four o'clock, and then we shall have our dinner. Are you fond of viting?" As I was very anxious to see Mr Handycock, and very anxious to have my dinner, I was not sorry to hear the clock on the stairs strike four, when Mrs Handycock again jumped up, and put her head over the banisters, "Jemima, Jemima, it's four o'clock!" "I hear it, marm," replied the cook; and she gave the frying-pan a twist, which made the hissing and the smell come flying up into the parlour, and made me more hungry than ever. Rap, tap, tap! "There's your master, Jemima," screamed the lady. "I hear him, marm," replied the cook. "Run down, my dear, and let Mr Handycock in," said his wife. "He'll be so surprised at seeing you open the door." I ran down, as Mrs Handycock desired me, and opened the street-door. "Who the devil are you?" in a gruff voice, cried Mr Handycock; a man about six feet high, dressed in blue cotton-net pantaloons and Hessian boots, with a black coat and waistcoat. I was a little rebuffed, I must own, but I replied that I was Mr Simple. "And pray, Mr Simple, what would your grandfather say if he saw you now? I have servants in plenty to open my door, and the parlour is the proper place for young gentlemen." "Law, Mr Handycock," said his wife, from the top of the stairs, "how can you be so cross? I told him to open the door to surprise you." "And you have surprised me," replied he, "with your cursed folly." While Mr Handycock was rubbing his boots on the mat, I went upstairs rather mortified, I must own, as my father had told me that Mr Handycock was his stockbroker, and would do all he could to make me comfortable: indeed, he had written to that effect in a letter, which my father showed to me before I left home. When I returned to the parlour, Mrs Handycock whispered to me, "Never mind, my dear, it's only because there's something wrong on 'Change. Mr Handycock is a _bear_ just now." I thought so too, but I made no answer, for Mr Handycock came upstairs, and walking with two strides from the door of the parlour to the fire-place, turned his back to it, and lifting up his coat-tails, began to whistle. "Are you ready for your dinner, my dear?" said the lady, almost trembling. "If the dinner is ready for me. I believe we usually dine at four," answered her husband, gruffly. "Jemima, Jemima, dish up! do you hear, Jemima?" "Yes, marm," replied the cook, "directly I've thickened the butter;" and Mrs Handycock resumed her seat, with, "Well, Mr Simple, and how is your grandfather, Lord Privilege?" "He is quite well, ma'am," answered I, for the fifteenth time at least. But dinner put an end to the silence which followed this remark. Mr Handycock lowered his coat-tails and walked downstairs, leaving his wife and me to follow at our leisure. "Pray, ma'am," inquired I, as soon as he was out of hearing, "what is the matter with Mr Handycock, that he is so cross to you?" "Vy, my dear, it is one of the misfortunes of mater-mony, that ven the husband's put out, the vife is sure to have her share of it. Mr Handycock must have lost money on 'Change, and then he always comes home cross. Ven he vins, then he is as merry as a cricket." "Are you people coming down to dinner?" roared Mr Handycock from below. "Yes, my dear," replied the lady, "I thought that you were washing your hands." We descended into the dining-room, where we found that Mr Handycock had already devoured two of the whitings, leaving only one on the dish for his wife and me. "Vould you like a little bit of viting, my dear?" said the lady to me. "It's not worth halving," observed the gentleman, in a surly tone, taking up the fish with his own knife and fork, and putting it on his plate. "Well, I'm so glad you like them, my dear," replied the lady meekly; then turning to me, "there's some nice roast _weal_ coming, my dear." The veal made its appearance, and fortunately for us, Mr Handycock could not devour it all. He took the lion's share, nevertheless, cutting off all the brown, and then shoving the dish over to his wife to help herself and me. I had not put two pieces in my mouth before Mr Handycock desired me to get up and hand him the porter-pot, which stood on the sideboard. I thought that if it was not right for me to open a door, neither was it for me to wait at table--but I obeyed him without making a remark. After dinner, Mr Handycock went down to the cellar for a bottle of wine. "O deary me!" exclaimed his wife, "he must have lost a mint of money--we had better go up stairs and leave him alone; he'll be better after a bottle of port, perhaps." I was very glad to go away, and being very tired, I went to bed without any tea, for Mrs Handycock dared not venture to make it before her husband came up stairs. Chapter II Fitting out on the shortest notice--Fortunately for me, this day Mr Handycock is a bear, and I fare very well--I set off for Portsmouth-- Behind the coach I meet a man before the mast--He is disguised with liquor, but is not the only disguise I fall in with in my journey. The next morning Mr Handycock appeared to be in somewhat better humour. One of the linendrapers who fitted out cadets, &c, "on the shortest notice," was sent for, and orders given for my equipment, which Mr Handycock insisted should be ready on the day afterwards, or the articles would be left on his hands; adding, that my place was already taken in the Portsmouth coach. "Really, sir," observed the man, "I'm afraid--on such very short notice--" "Your card says, 'the shortest notice,'" rejoined Mr Handycock, with the confidence and authority of a man who is enabled to correct another by his own assertions. "If you do not choose to undertake the work, another will." This silenced the man, who made his promise, took my measure, and departed; and soon afterwards Mr Handycock also quitted the house. What with my grandfather and the parrot, and Mrs Handycock wondering how much money her husband had lost, running to the head of the stairs and talking to the cook, the day passed away pretty well till four o'clock; when, as before, Mrs Handycock screamed, the cook screamed, the parrot screamed, and Mr Handycock rapped at the door, and was let in--but not by me. He ascended the stair swith [sic] three bounds, and coming into the parlour, cried, "Well, Nancy, my love, how are you?" Then stooping over her, "Give me a kiss, old girl. I'm as hungry as a hunter. Mr Simple, how do you do? I hope you have passed the morning agreeably. I must wash my hands and change my boots, my love; I am not fit to sit down to table with you in this pickle. Well, Polly, how are you?" "I'm glad you're hungry, my dear, I've such a nice dinner for you," replied the wife, all smiles. "Jemima, be quick and dish up--Mr Handycock is so hungry." "Yes, marm," replied the cook; and Mrs Handycock followed her husband into his bedroom on the same floor, to assist him at his toilet. "By Jove, Nancy, the _bulls_ have been nicely taken in," said Mr Handycock, as we sat down to dinner. "O, I am so glad!" replied his wife, giggling; and so I believe she was, but why I did not understand. "Mr Simple," said he, "will you allow me to offer you a little fish?" "If you do not want it all yourself, sir," replied I politely. Mrs Handycock frowned and shook her head at me, while her husband helped me. "My dove, a bit of fish?" We both had our share to-day, and I never saw a man more polite than Mr Handycock. He joked with his wife, asked me to drink wine with him two or three times, talked about my grandfather; and, in short, we had a very pleasant evening. The next morning all my clothes came home, but Mr Handycock, who still continued in good humour, said that he would not allow me to travel by night, that I should sleep there and set off the next morning; which I did at six o'clock, and before eight I had arrived at the Elephant and Castle, where we stopped for a quarter of an hour. I was looking at the painting representing this animal with a castle on its back; and assuming that of Alnwick, which I had seen, as a fair estimate of the size and weight of that which he carried, was attempting to enlarge my ideas so as to comprehend the stupendous bulk of the elephant, when I observed a crowd assembled at the corner; and asking a gentleman who sat by me in a plaid cloak, whether there was not something very uncommon to attract so many people, he replied, "Not very, for it is only a drunken sailor." I rose from my seat, which was on the hinder part of the coach, that I might see him, for it was a new sight to me, and excited my curiosity, when to my astonishment, he staggered from the crowd, and swore that he'd go to Portsmouth. He climbed up by the wheel of the coach, and sat down by me. I believe that I stared at him very much, for he said to me, "What are you gaping at, you young sculping? Do you want to catch flies? or did you never see a chap half-seas-over before?" I replied, "That I had never been at sea in my life, but that I was going." "Well, then, you're like a young bear, all your sorrows to come--that's all, my hearty," replied he. "When you get on board, you'll find monkey's allowance--more kicks than half-pence. I say, you pewter-carrier, bring us another pint of ale." The waiter of the inn, who was attending the coach, brought out the ale, half of which the sailor drank, and the other half threw into the waiter's face, telling him that was his "allowance: and now," said he, "what's to pay?" The waiter, who looked very angry, but appeared too much afraid of the sailor to say anything, answered fourpence; and the sailor pulled out a handful of banknotes, mixed up with gold, silver, and coppers, and was picking out the money to pay for his beer, when the coachman, who was impatient, drove off. "There's cut and run," cried the sailor, thrusting all the money into his breeches pocket. "That's what you'll learn to do, my joker, before you've been two cruises to sea." In the meantime the gentleman in the plaid cloak, who was seated by me, smoked his cigar without saying a word. I commenced a conversation with him relative to my profession, and asked him whether it was not very difficult to learn. "Larn," cried the sailor, interrupting us, "no; it may be difficult for such chaps as me before the mast to larn; but you, I presume, is a reefer, and they an't got much to larn, 'cause why, they pipe-clays their weekly accounts, and walks up and down with their hands in their pockets. You must larn to chaw baccy, drink grog, and call the cat a beggar, and then you knows all a midshipman's expected to know nowadays. Ar'n't I right, sir?" said the sailor, appealing to the gentleman in a plaid cloak. "I axes you, because I see you're a sailor by the cut of your jib. Beg pardon, sir," continued he, touching his hat, "hope no offence." "I am afraid that you have nearly hit the mark, my good fellow," replied the gentleman. The drunken fellow then entered into conversation with him, stating that he had been paid off from the _Audacious_ at Portsmouth, and had come up to London to spend his money with his messmates, but that yesterday he had discovered that a Jew at Portsmouth had sold him a seal as gold, for fifteen shillings, which proved to be copper, and that he was going back to Portsmouth to give the Jew a couple of black eyes for his rascality, and that when he had done that he was to return to his messmates, who had promised to drink success to the expedition at the Cock and Bottle, St Martin's Lane, until he should return. The gentleman in the plaid cloak commended him very much for his resolution; for he said, "that although the journey to and from Portsmouth would cost twice the value of a gold seal, yet, that in the end it might be worth a _Jew's Eye_." What he meant I did not comprehend. Whenever the coach stopped, the sailor called for more ale, and always threw the remainder which he could not drink into the face of the man who brought it out for him, just as the coach was starting off, and then tossed the pewter pot on the ground for him to pick up. He became more tipsy every stage, and the last from Portsmouth, when he pulled out his money, he could find no silver, so he handed down a note, and desired the waiter to change it. The waiter crumpled it up and put it into his pocket, and then returned the sailor the change for a one-pound note; but the gentleman in the plaid had observed that it was a five-pound note which the sailor had given, and insisted upon the waiter producing it, and giving the proper change. The sailor took his money, which the waiter handed to him, begging pardon for the mistake, although he coloured up very much at being detected. "I really beg your pardon," said he again, "it was quite a mistake;" whereupon the sailor threw the pewter pot at the waiter, saying, "I really beg your pardon, too,"--and with such force, that it flattened upon the man's head, who fell senseless on the road. The coachman drove off, and I never heard whether the man was killed or not. After the coach had driven off, the sailor eyed the gentleman in the plaid cloak for a minute or two, and then said, "When I first looked at you I took you for some officer in mufti; but now that I see you look so sharp after the rhino, it's my idea that you're some poor devil of a Scotchman, mayhap second mate of a marchant vessel--there's half a crown for your services--I'd give you more if I thought you would spend it." The gentleman laughed, and took the half-crown, which I afterwards observed that he gave to a grey-headed beggar at the bottom of Portsdown Hill. I inquired of him how soon we should be at Portsmouth; he answered that we were passing the lines; but I saw no lines, and I was ashamed to show my ignorance. He asked me what ship I was going to join. I could not recollect her name, but I told him it was painted on the outside of my chest, which was coming down by the waggon; all that I could recollect was that it was a French name. "Have you no letter of introduction to the captain?" said he. "Yes I have," replied I; and I pulled out my pocket-book in which the letter was. "Captain Savage, H.M. ship _Diomede_," continued I, reading to him. To my surprise he very coolly proceeded to open the letter, which, when I perceived what he was doing, occasioned me immediately to snatch the letter from him, stating my opinion at the same time that it was a breach of honour, and that in my opinion he was no gentleman. "Just as you please, youngster," replied he. "Recollect, you have told me I am no gentleman." He wrapped his plaid around him, and said no more; and I was not a little pleased at having silenced him by my resolute behaviour. Chapter III I am made to look very blue at the Blue Posts--Find wild spirits around, and, soon after, hot spirits within me; at length my spirits overcome me Call to pay my respects to the Captain, and find that I had had the pleasure of meeting him before--No sooner out of one scrape than into another. When we stopped, I inquired of the coachman which was the best inn. He answered "that it was the Blue Postesses, where the midshipmen leave their chestesses, call for tea and toastesses, and sometimes forget to pay for their breakfastesses." He laughed when he said it, and I thought that he was joking with me; but he pointed out two large blue posts at the door next the coach-office, and told me that all the midshipmen resorted to that hotel. He then asked me to remember the coachman, which, by this time I had found out implied that I was not to forget to give him a shilling, which I did, and then went into the inn. The coffee-room was full of midshipmen, and, as I was anxious about my chest, I inquired of one of them if he knew when the waggon would come in. "Do you expect your mother by it?" replied he. "Oh no! but I expect my uniforms--I only wear these bottle-greens until they come." "And pray what ship are you going to join?" "The _Die-a-maid_--Captain Thomas Kirkwall Savage." "The _Diomede_--I say, Robinson, a'n't that the frigate in which the midshipmen had four dozen apiece for not having pipe-clayed their weekly accounts on the Saturday?" "To be sure it is," replied the other; "why the captain gave a youngster five dozen the other day for wearing a scarlet watch-riband." "He's the greatest Tartar in the service," continued the other; "he flogged the whole starboard watch the last time that he was on a cruise, because the ship would only sail nine knots upon a bowline." "Oh dear," said I, "then I'm very sorry that I am going to join him." "'Pon my soul I pity you: you'll be fagged to death: for there's only three midshipmen in the ship now--all the rest ran away. Didn't they, Robinson?" "There's only two left now; for poor Matthews died of fatigue. He was worked all day, and kept watch all night for six weeks, and one morning he was found dead upon his chest." "God bless my soul!" cried I; "and yet, on shore, they say he is such a kind man to his midshipmen." "Yes," replied Robinson, "he spreads that report every where. Now, observe, when you first call upon him, and report your having come to join his ship, he'll tell you that he is very happy to see you, and that he hopes your family are well--then he'll recommend you to go on board and learn your duty. After that, stand clear. Now, recollect what I have said, and see if it does not prove true. Come, sit down with us and take a glass of grog; it will keep your spirits up." These midshipmen told me so much about my captain, and the horrid cruelties which he had practised, that I had some doubts whether I had not better set off home again. When I asked their opinion, they said, that if I did, I should be taken up as a deserter and hanged; that my best plan was to beg his acceptance of a few gallons of rum, for he was very fond of grog, and that then I might perhaps be in his good graces, as long as the rum might last. I am sorry to state that the midshipmen made me very tipsy that evening. I don't recollect being put to bed, but I found myself there the next morning, with a dreadful headache, and a very confused recollection of what had passed. I was very much shocked at my having so soon forgotten the injunctions of my parents, and was making vows never to be so foolish again, when in came the midshipman who had been so kind to me the night before. "Come, Mr Bottlegreen," he bawled out, alluding, I suppose, to the colour of my clothes, "rouse and bitt. There's the captain's coxswain waiting for you below. By the powers, you're in a pretty scrape for what you did last night!" "Did last night!" replied I, astonished. "Why, does the captain know that I was tipsy?" "I think you took devilish good care to let him know it when you were at the theatre." "At the theatre! was I at the theatre?" "To be sure you were. You would go, do all we could to prevent you, though you were as drunk as David's sow. Your captain was there with the admiral's daughters. You called him a tyrant and snapped your fingers at him. Why, don't you recollect? You told him that you did not care a fig for him." "Oh dear! oh dear! what shall I do? what shall I do?" cried I: "My mother cautioned me so about drinking and bad company." "Bad company, you whelp--what do you mean by that?" "O, I did not particularly refer to you." "I should hope not! However, I recommend you, as a friend, to go to the George Inn as fast as you can, and see your captain, for the longer you stay away, the worse it will be for you. At all events, it will be decided whether he receives you or not. It is fortunate for you that you are not on the ship's books. Come, be quick, the coxswain is gone back." "Not on the ship's books," replied I sorrowfully. "Now I recollect there was a letter from the captain to my father, stating that he had put me on the books." "Upon my honour, I'm sorry--very sorry indeed," replied the midshipman; --and he quitted the room, looking as grave as if the misfortune had happened to himself. I got up with a heavy head, and heavier heart, and as soon as I was dressed, I asked the way to the George Inn. I took my letter of introduction with me, although I was afraid it would be of little service. When I arrived, I asked, with a trembling voice, whether Captain Thomas Kirkwall Savage, of H.M. ship _Diomede_, was staying there. The waiter replied, that he was at breakfast with Captain Courtney, but that he would take up my name. I gave it him, and in a minute the waiter returned, and desired that I would walk up. O how my heart beat!--I never was so frightened--I thought I should have dropped on the stairs. Twice I attempted to walk into the room, and each time my legs failed me; at last I wiped the perspiration from my forehead, and with a desperate effort I went into the room. "Mr Simple, I am glad to see you," said a voice. I had held my head down, for I was afraid to look at him, but the voice was so kind that I mustered up courage; and, when I did look up, there sat with his uniform and epaulets, and his sword by his side, the passenger in the plaid cloak, who wanted to open my letter, and whom I had told to his face, that he was _no gentleman_. I thought I should have died as the other midshipman did upon his chest. I was just sinking down upon my knees to beg for mercy, when the captain perceiving my confusion, burst out into a laugh, and said, "So you know me again, Mr Simple? Well, don't be alarmed, you did your duty in not permitting me to open the letter, supposing me, as you did, to be some other person, and you were perfectly right, under that supposition, to tell me that I was not a gentleman. I give you credit for your conduct. Now sit down and take some breakfast." "Captain Courtney," said he to the other captain, who was at the table, "this is one of my youngsters just entering the service. We were passengers yesterday by the same coach." He then told him the circumstance which occurred, at which they laughed heartily. I now recovered my spirits a little--but still there was the affair at the theatre, and I thought that perhaps he did not recognize me. I was, however, soon relieved from my anxiety by the other captain inquiring, "Were you at the theatre last night, Savage?" "No; I dined at the admiral's; there's no getting away from those girls, they are so pleasant." "I rather think you are a little--_taken_ in that quarter." "No, on my word! I might be if I had time to discover which I liked best; but my ship is at present my wife, and the only wife I intend to have until I am laid on the shelf." Well, thought I, if he was not at the theatre, it could not have been him that I insulted. Now if I can only give him the rum, and make friends with him. "Pray, Mr Simple, how are your father and mother?" said the captain. "Very well, I thank you, sir, and desire me to present their compliments." "I am obliged to them. Now I think the sooner you go on board and learn your duty the better." (Just what the midshipman told me--the very words, thought I--then it's all true--and I began to tremble again.) "I have a little advice to offer you," continued the captain. "In the first place, obey your superior officers without hesitation; it is for me, not you, to decide whether an order is unjust or not. In the next place, never swear or drink spirits. The first is immoral and ungentleman-like, the second is a vile habit which will grow upon you. I never touch spirit myself, and I expect that my young gentlemen will refrain from it also. Now you may go, and as soon as your uniforms arrive, you will repair on board. In the meantime, as I had some little insight into your character when we travelled together, let me recommend you not to be too intimate at first sight with those you meet, or you may be led into indiscretions. Good morning." I quitted the room with a low bow, glad to have surmounted so easily what appeared to be a chaos of difficulty; but my mind was confused with the testimony of the midshipman, so much at variance with the language and behaviour of the captain. When I arrived at the Blue Posts, I found all the midshipmen in the coffee-room, and I repeated to them all that had passed. When I had finished, they burst out laughing, and said that they had only been joking with me. "Well," said I to the one who had called me up in the morning, "you may call it joking, but I call it lying." "Pray, Mr Bottlegreen, do you refer to me?" "Yes, I do," replied I. "Then, sir, as a gentleman, I demand satisfaction. Slugs in a saw-pit. Death before dishonour, d----e!" "I shall not refuse you," replied I, "although I had rather not fight a duel; my father cautioned me on the subject, desiring me, if possible, to avoid it, as it was flying in the face of my Creator; but aware that I must uphold my character as an officer, he left me to my own discretion, should I ever be so unfortunate as to be in such a dilemma." "Well, we don't want one of your father's sermons at second-hand," replied the midshipman, (for I had told them that my father was a clergyman); "the plain question is, will you fight, or will you not?" "Could not the affair be arranged otherwise?" interrupted another. "Will not Mr Bottlegreen retract?" "My name is Simple, sir, and not Bottlegreen," replied I; "and as he did tell a falsehood, I will not retract." "Then the affair must go on," said the midshipman. "Robinson, will you oblige me by acting as my second?" "It's an unpleasant business," replied the other; "you are so good a shot; but as you request it, I shall not refuse. Mr Simple is not, I believe, provided with a friend." "Yes, he is," replied another of the midshipmen. "He is a spunky fellow, and I'll be his second." It was then arranged that we should meet the next morning, with pistols. I considered that as an officer and a gentleman, I could not well refuse; but I was very unhappy. Not three days left to my own guidance, and I had become intoxicated, and was now to fight a duel. I went up into my room and wrote a long letter to my mother, enclosing a lock of my hair; and having shed a few tears at the idea of how sorry she would be if I were killed, I borrowed a bible from the waiter, and read it during the remainder of the day. Chapter IV I am taught on a cold morning, before breakfast, how to stand fire, and thus prove my courage--After breakfast I also prove my gallantry--My proof meets reproof--Woman at the bottom of all mischief--By one I lose my liberty, and, by another, my money. When I began to wake the next morning I could not think what it was that felt like a weight upon my chest, but as I roused and recalled my scattered thoughts, I remembered that in an hour or two it would be decided whether I were to exist another day. I prayed fervently, and made a resolution in my own mind that I would not have the blood of another upon my conscience, and would fire my pistol up in the air. And after I had made that resolution, I no longer felt the alarm which I did before. Before I was dressed, the midshipman who had volunteered to be my second, came into my room, and informed me that the affair was to be decided in the garden behind the inn; that my adversary was a very good shot, and that I must expect to be winged if not drilled. "And what is winged and drilled?" inquired I. "I have not only never fought a duel, but I have not even fired a pistol in my life." He explained what he meant, which was, that being winged implied being shot through the arm or leg, whereas being drilled was to be shot through the body. "But," continued he, "is it possible that you have never fought a duel?" "No," replied I; "I am not yet fifteen years old." "Not fifteen! why I thought you were eighteen at the least." (But I was very tall and stout for my age, and people generally thought me older than I actually was.) I dressed myself and followed my second into the garden, where I found all the midshipmen and some of the waiters of the inn. They all seemed very merry, as if the life of a fellow-creature was of no consequence. The seconds talked apart for a little while, and then measured the ground, which was twelve paces; we then took our stations. I believe that I turned pale, for my second came to my side and whispered that I must not be frightened. I replied, that I was not frightened, but that I considered that it was an awful moment. The second to my adversary then came up and asked me whether I would make an apology, which I refused to do as before: they handed a pistol to each of us, and my second showed me how I was to pull the trigger. It was arranged that at the word given, we were to fire at the same time. I made sure that I should be wounded, if not killed, and I shut my eyes as I fired my pistol in the air. I felt my head swim, and thought I was hurt, but fortunately I was not. The pistols were loaded again, and we fired a second time. The seconds then interfered, and it was proposed that we should shake hands, which I was very glad to do, for I considered my life to have been saved by a miracle. We all went back to the coffee-room, and sat down to breakfast. They then told me that they all belonged to the same ship that I did, and that they were glad to see that I could stand fire, for the captain was a terrible fellow for cutting-out and running under the enemy's batteries. The next day my chest arrived by the waggon, and I threw off my "bottle-greens" and put on my uniform. I had no cocked hat, or dirk, as the warehouse people employed by Mr Handycock did not supply those articles, and it was arranged that I should procure them at Portsmouth. When I inquired the price, I found that they cost more money than I had in my pocket, so I tore up the letter I had written to my mother before the duel, and wrote another asking for a remittance, to purchase my dirk and cocked hat. I then walked out in my uniform, not a little proud, I must confess. I was now an officer in his Majesty's service, not very high in rank, certainly, but still an officer and a gentleman, and I made a vow that I would support the character, although I was considered the greatest fool of the family. I had arrived opposite a place called Sally Port, when a young lady, very nicely dressed, looked at me very hard and said, "Well, Reefer, how are you off for soap?" I was astonished at the question, and more so at the interest which she seemed to take in my affairs. I answered, "Thank you, I am very well off; I have four cakes of Windsor, and two bars of yellow for washing." She laughed at my reply, and asked me whether I would walk home and take a bit of dinner with her. I was astonished at this polite offer, which my modesty induced me to ascribe more to my uniform than to my own merits, and, as I felt no inclination to refuse the compliment, I said that I should be most happy. I thought I might venture to offer my arm, which she accepted, and we proceeded up High Street on our way to her home. Just as we passed the admiral's house, I perceived my captain walking with two of the admiral's daughters. I was not a little proud to let him see that I had female acquaintances as well as he had, and, as I passed him with the young lady under my protection, I took off my hat, and made him a low bow. To my surprise, not only did he not return the salute, but he looked at me with a very stern countenance. I concluded that he was a very proud man, and did not wish the admiral's daughters to suppose that he knew midshipmen by sight; but I had not exactly made up my mind on the subject, when the captain, having seen the ladies into the admiral's house, sent one of the messengers after me to desire that I would immediately come to him at the George Inn, which was nearly opposite. I apologised to the young lady, and promised to return immediately if she would wait for me; but she replied, if that was my captain, it was her idea that I should have a confounded wigging and be sent on board. So, wishing me good-bye, she left me and continued her way home. I could as little comprehend all this as why the captain looked so black when I passed him; but it was soon explained when I went up to him in the parlour at the George Inn. "I am sorry, Mr Simple," said the captain, when I entered, "that a lad like you should show such early symptoms of depravity; still more so, that he should not have the grace which even the most hardened are not wholly destitute of--I mean to practise immorality in secret, and not degrade themselves and insult their captain by unblushingly avowing (I may say glorying in) their iniquity, by exposing it in broad day, and in the most frequented street of the town." "Sir," replied I with astonishment, "O dear! O dear! what have I done?" The captain fixed his keen eyes upon me, so that they appeared to pierce me through, and nail me to the wall. "Do you pretend to say, sir, that you were not aware of the character of the person with whom you were walking just now?" "No, sir," replied I; "except that she was very kind and good-natured;" and then I told him how she had addressed me, and what subsequently took place. "And is it possible, Mr Simple, that you are so great a fool?" I replied that I certainly was considered the greatest fool of our family. "I should think you were," replied he, drily. He then explained to me who the person was with whom I was in company, and how any association with her would inevitably lead to my ruin and disgrace. I cried very much, for I was shocked at the narrow escape which I had had, and mortified at having fallen in his good opinion. He asked me how I had employed my time since I had been at Portsmouth, and I made an acknowledgment of having been made tipsy, related all that the midshipmen had told me, and how I had that morning fought a duel. He listened to my whole story very attentively, and I thought that occasionally there was a smile upon his face, although he bit his lips to prevent it. When I had finished, he said, "Mr Simple, I can no longer trust you on shore until you are more experienced in the world. I shall desire my coxswain not to lose sight of you until you are safe on board of the frigate. When you have sailed a few months with me, you will then be able to decide whether I deserve the character which the young gentlemen have painted, with, I must say, I believe, the sole intention of practising upon your inexperience." Altogether I did not feel sorry when it was over. I saw that the captain believed what I had stated, and that he was disposed to be kind to me, although he thought me very silly. The coxswain, in obedience to his orders, accompanied me to the Blue Posts. I packed up my clothes, paid my bill, and the porter wheeled my chest down to the Sally Port, where the boat was waiting. "Come, heave a-head, my lads, be smart. The captain says we are to take the young gentleman on board directly. His liberty's stopped for getting drunk and running after the Dolly Mops!" "I should thank you to be more respectful in your remarks, Mr Coxswain," said I with displeasure. "Mister Coxswain! thanky, sir, for giving me a handle to my name," replied he. "Come, be smart with your oars, my lads!" "La, Bill Freeman," said a young woman on the beach, "what a nice young gentleman you have there! He looks like a sucking Nelson. I say, my pretty young officer, could you lend me a shilling?" I was so pleased at the woman calling me a young Nelson, that I immediately complied with her request. "I have not a shilling in my pocket," said I, "but here is half-a-crown, and you can change it and bring me back the eighteen pence." "Well, you are a nice young man," replied she, taking the half-crown; "I'll be back directly, my dear." The men in the boat laughed, and the coxswain desired them to shove off. "No," observed I, "you must wait for my eighteen pence." "We shall wait a devilish long while then, I suspect. I know that girl, and she has a very bad memory." "She cannot be so dishonest or ungrateful," replied I. "Coxswain, I order you to stay--I am an officer." "I know you are, sir, about six hours old: well, then, I must go up and tell the captain that you have another girl in tow, and that you won't go on board." "Oh no, Mr Coxswain, pray don't; shove off as soon as you please, and never mind the eighteen pence." The boat then shoved off, and pulled towards the ship, which lay at Spithead. Chapter V I am introduced to the quarter-deck and first lieutenant, who pronounces me very clever--Trotted below to Mrs Trotter--Connubial bliss in a cock-pit--Mr Trotter takes me in as a mess-mate--Feel very much surprised that so many people know that I am the son of--my father. On our arrival on board, the coxswain gave a note from the captain to the first lieutenant, who happened to be on deck. He read the note, looked at me earnestly, and then I overheard him say to another lieutenant, "The service is going to the devil. As long as it was not popular, if we had not much education, we at least had the chance that natural abilities gave us; but now that great people send their sons for a provision into the navy, we have all the refuse of their families, as if anything was good enough to make a captain of a man-of-war, who has occasionally more responsibility on his shoulders, and is placed in situations requiring more judgment, than any other people in existence. Here's another of the fools of a family made a present of to the country--another cub for me to lick into shape. Well, I never saw the one yet I did not make something of. Where's Mr Simple?" "I am Mr Simple, sir," replied I, very much frightened at what I had overheard. "Now, Mr Simple," said the first lieutenant, "observe, and pay particular attention to what I say. The captain tells me in this note that you have been shamming stupid. Now, sir, I am not to be taken in that way. You're something like the monkeys, who won't speak because they are afraid they will be made to work. I have looked attentively at your face, and I see at once that you are _very clever_, and if you do not prove so in a very short time, why--you had better jump overboard, that's all. Perfectly understand me. I know that you are a very clever fellow, and having told you so, don't you pretend to impose upon me, for it won't do." I was very much terrified at this speech, but at the same time I was pleased to hear that he thought me clever, and I determined to do all in my power to keep up such an unexpected reputation. "Quarter-master," said the first lieutenant, "tell Mr Trotter to come on deck." The quarter-master brought up Mr Trotter, who apologized for being so dirty, as he was breaking casks out of the hold. He was a short, thick-set man, about thirty years of age, with a nose which had a red club to it, very dirty teeth, and large black whiskers. "Mr Trotter," said the first lieutenant, "here is a young gentleman who has joined the ship. Introduce him into the berth, and see his hammock slung. You must look after him a little." "I really have very little time to look after any of them, sir," replied Mr Trotter; "but I will do what I can. Follow me, youngster." Accordingly, I descended the ladder after him; then I went down another, and then to my surprise I was desired by him to go down a third, which when I had done, he informed me that I was in the cock-pit. "Now, youngster," said Mr Trotter, seating himself upon a large chest, "you may do as you please. The midshipmen's mess is on the deck above this, and if you like to join, why you can; but this I will tell you as a friend, that you will be thrashed all day long, and fare very badly; the weakest always goes to the wall there, but perhaps you do not mind that. Now that we are in harbour, I mess here, because Mrs Trotter is on board. She is a very charming woman, I can assure you, and will be here directly; she has just gone up into the galley to look after a net of potatoes in the copper. If you like it better, I will ask her permission for you to mess with us. You will then be away from the midshipmen, who are a sad set, and will teach you nothing but what is immoral and improper, and you will have the advantage of being in good society, for Mrs Trotter has kept the very best in England. I make you this offer because I want to oblige the first lieutenant, who appears to take an interest about you, otherwise I am not very fond of having any intrusion upon my domestic happiness." I replied that I was much obliged to him for his kindness, and that if it would not put Mrs Trotter to an inconvenience, I should be happy to accept of his offer; indeed, I thought myself very fortunate in having met with such a friend. I had scarcely time to reply, when I perceived a pair of legs, cased in black cotton stockings, on the ladder above us, and it proved that they belonged to Mrs Trotter, who came down the ladder with a net full of smoking potatoes. "Upon my word, Mrs Trotter, you must be conscious of having a very pretty ankle, or you would not venture to display it, as you have to Mr Simple, a young gentleman whom I beg to introduce to you, and who, with your permission, will join our mess." "My dear Trotter, how cruel of you not to give me warning; I thought that nobody was below. I declare I'm so ashamed," continued the lady, simpering, and covering her face with the hand which was unemployed. "It can't be helped now, my love, neither was there anything to be ashamed of. I trust Mr Simple and you will be very good friends. I believe I mentioned his desire to join our mess." "I am sure I shall be very happy in his company. This is a strange place for me to live in, Mr Simple, after the society to which I have been accustomed; but affection can make any sacrifice; and rather than lose the company of my dear Trotter, who has been unfortunate in pecuniary matters--" "Say no more about it, my love. Domestic happiness is everything, and will enliven even the gloom of a cock-pit." "And yet," continued Mrs Trotter, "when I think of the time when we used to live in London, and keep our carriage. Have you ever been in London, Mr Simple?" I answered that I had. "Then, probably, you may have been acquainted with, or have heard of, the Smiths?" I replied that the only people that I knew there were a Mr and Mrs Handycock. "Well, if I had known that you were in London, I should have been very glad to have given you a letter of introduction to the Smiths. They are quite the topping people of the place." "But, my dear," interrupted Mr Trotter, "is it not time to look after our dinner?" "Yes; I am going forward for it now. We have skewer pieces to-day. Mr Simple, will you excuse me?" and then, with a great deal of flirtation and laughing about her ankles, and requesting me, as a favour, to turn my face away, Mrs Trotter ascended the ladder. As the reader may wish to know what sort of looking personage she was, I will take this opportunity to describe her. Her figure was very good, and at one period of her life I thought her face must have been very handsome; at the time I was introduced to her, it showed the ravages of time or hardship very distinctly; in short, she might be termed a faded beauty, flaunting in her dress, and not very clean in her person. "Charming woman, Mrs Trotter, is she not, Mr Simple?" said the master's mate; to which, of course, I immediately acquiesced. "Now, Mr Simple," continued he, "there are a few arrangements which I had better mention while Mrs Trotter is away, for she would be shocked at our talking about such things. Of course, the style of living which we indulge in is rather expensive. Mrs Trotter cannot dispense with her tea and her other little comforts; at the same time I must put you to no extra expense--I had rather be out of pocket myself. I propose that during the time you mess with us you shall only pay one guinea per week; and as for entrance money, why I think I must not charge you more than a couple of guineas. Have you any money?" "Yes," I replied, "I have three guineas and a half left." "Well, then, give me the three guineas, and the half-guinea you can reserve for pocket-money. You must write to your friends immediately for a further supply." I handed him the money, which he put in his pocket. "Your chest," continued he, "you shall bring down here, for Mrs Trotter will, I am sure, if I request it, not only keep it in order for you, but see that your clothes are properly mended. She is a charming woman, Mrs Trotter, and very fond of young gentlemen. How old are you?" I replied that I was fifteen. "No more! well, I am glad of that, for Mrs Trotter is very particular after a certain age. I should recommend you on no account to associate with the other midshipmen. They are very angry with me, because I would not permit Mrs Trotter to join their mess, and they are sad story-tellers." "That they certainly are," replied I; but here we were interrupted by Mrs Trotter coming down with a piece of stick in her hand upon which were skewered about a dozen small pieces of beef and pork, which she first laid on a plate, and then began to lay the cloth and prepare for dinner. "Mr Simple is only fifteen, my dear," observed Mr Trotter. "Dear me!" replied Mrs Trotter, "why, how tall he is! He is quite as tall for his age as young Lord Foutretown, whom you used to take out with you in the _chay_. Do you know Lord Foutretown, Mr Simple?" "No, I do not, ma'am," replied I; but wishing to let them know that I was well connected, I continued, "but I dare say that my grandfather, Lord Privilege, does." "God bless me! is Lord Privilege your grandfather? Well, I thought I saw a likeness somewhere. Don't you recollect Lord Privilege, my dear Trotter, that we met at Lady Scamp's--an elderly person? It's very ungrateful of you not to recollect him, for he sent you a very fine haunch of venison." "Privilege--bless me, yes. Oh, yes! an old gentleman, is he not?" said Mr Trotter, appealing to me. "Yes, sir," replied I, quite delighted to find myself among those who were acquainted with my family. "Well, then, Mr Simple," said Mrs Trotter, "since we have the pleasure of being acquainted with your family, I shall now take you under my own charge, and I shall be so fond of you that Trotter shall become quite jealous," added she, laughing. "We have but a poor dinner to-day, for the bumboat woman disappointed me. I particularly requested her to bring me off a leg of lamb, but she says that there was none in the market. It is rather early for it, that's true; but Trotter is very nice in his eating. Now, let us sit down to dinner." I felt very sick, indeed, and could eat nothing. Our dinner consisted of the pieces of beef and pork, the potatoes, and a baked pudding in a tin dish. Mr Trotter went up to serve the spirits out to the ship's company, and returned with a bottle of rum. "Have you got Mr Simple's allowance, my love?" inquired Mrs Trotter. "Yes; he is victualled to-day, as he came on board before twelve o'clock. Do you drink spirits, Mr Simple?" "No, I thank you," replied I; for I remembered the captain's injunction. "Taking, as I do, such an interest in your welfare, I must earnestly recommend you to abstain from them," said Mr Trotter. "It is a very bad habit, and once acquired, not easy to be left off. I am obliged to drink them, that I may not check the perspiration after working in the hold; I have, nevertheless, a natural abhorrence of them; but my champagne and claret days are gone by, and I must submit to circumstances." "My poor Trotter!" said the lady. "Well," continued he, "it's a poor heart that never rejoiceth." He then poured out half a tumbler of rum, and filled the glass up with water. "My love, will you taste it?" "Now, Trotter, you know that I never touch it, except when the water is so bad that I must have the taste taken away. How is the water to-day?" "As usual, my dear, not drinkable." After much persuasion Mrs Trotter agreed to sip a little out of his glass. I thought that she took it pretty often, considering that she did not like it, but I felt so unwell that I was obliged to go on the main-deck. There I was met by a midshipman whom I had not seen before. He looked very earnestly in my face, and then asked my name. "Simple," said he. "What, are you the son of old Simple?" "Yes, sir," replied I, astonished that so many should know my family. "Well, I thought so by the likeness. And how is your father?" "Very well, I thank you, sir." "When you write to him, make my compliments, and tell him that I desired to be particularly remembered to him;" and he walked forward, but as he forgot to mention his own name, I could not do it. I went to bed very tired; Mr Trotter had my hammock hung up in the cock-pit, separated by a canvas-screen from the cot in which he slept with his wife. I thought this very odd, but they told me it was the general custom on board ship, although Mrs Trotter's delicacy was very much shocked by it. I was very sick, but Mrs Trotter was very kind. When I was in bed she kissed me, and wished me good night, and very soon afterwards I fell fast asleep. Chapter VI Puzzled with very common words--Mrs Trotter takes care of my wardrobe--A matrimonial duet, ending _con strepito_. I awoke the next morning at daylight with a noise over my head which sounded like thunder; I found it proceeded from holystoning and washing down the main-deck. I was very much refreshed nevertheless, and did not feel the least sick or giddy. Mr Trotter, who had been up at four o'clock, came down, and directed one of the marines to fetch me some water. I washed myself on my chest, and then went on the main-deck, which they were swabbing dry. Standing by the sentry at the cabin-door, I met one of the midshipmen with whom I had been in company at the Blue Posts. "So, Master Simple, old Trotter and his faggot of a wife have got hold of you--have they?" said he. I replied, that I did not know the meaning of faggot, but that I considered Mrs Trotter a very charming woman. At which he burst into a loud laugh. "Well," said he, "I'll just give you a caution. Take care, or they'll make a clean sweep. Has Mrs Trotter shown you her ankle yet?" "Yes," I replied, "and a very pretty one it is." "Ah! she's at her old tricks. You had much better have joined our mess at once. You're not the first greenhorn that they have plucked. Well," said he, as he walked away, "keep the key of your own chest--that's all." But as Mr Trotter had warned me that the midshipmen would abuse them, I paid very little attention to what he said. When he left me I went on the quarter-deck. All the sailors were busy at work, and the first lieutenant cried out to the gunner, "Now, Mr Dispart, if you are ready, we'll breech these guns." "Now, my lads," said the first lieutenant, "we must slue (the part that breeches cover) more forward." As I never heard of a gun having breeches, I was very anxious to see what was going on, and went up close to the first lieutenant, who said to me, "Youngster, hand me that _monkey's tail_." I saw nothing like a _monkeys tail_, but I was so frightened that I snatched up the first thing that I saw, which was a short bar of iron, and it so happened that it was the very article which he wanted. When I gave it to him, the first lieutenant looked at me, and said, "So you know what a monkey's tail is already, do you? Now don't you ever sham stupid after that." Thought I to myself, I'm very lucky, but if that's a monkey's tail it's a very stiff one! I resolved to learn the names of everything as fast as I could, that I might be prepared; so I listened attentively to what was said; but I soon became quite confused, and despaired of remembering anything. "How is this to be finished off, sir?" inquired a sailor of the boatswain. "Why, I beg leave to hint to you, sir, in the most delicate manner in the world," replied the boatswain, "that it must be with a _double-wall_--and be d----d to you--don't you know that yet? Captain of the foretop," said he, "up on your _horses_, and take your _stirrups_ up three inches."--"Ay, ay, sir." (I looked and looked, but I could see no horses.) "Mr Chucks," said the first lieutenant to the boatswain, "what blocks have we below--not on charge?" "Let me see, sir, I've one _sister_, t'other we split in half the other day, and I think I have a couple of _monkeys_ down in the store-room.--I say, you Smith, pass that brace through the _bull's eye,_ and take the _sheepshank_ out before you come down." And then he asked the first lieutenant whether something should not be fitted with a _mouse_ or only a _Turk's head_--told him the _goose-neck_ must be spread out by the armourer as soon as the forge was up. In short, what with _dead eyes_ and _shrouds, cats_ and _cat-blocks, dolphins_ and _dolphin-strikers, whips_ and _puddings_, I was so puzzled with what I heard, that I was about to leave the deck in absolute despair. "And, Mr Chucks, recollect this afternoon that you _bleed_ all the _buoys_." Bleed the boys, thought I, what can that be for? at all events, the surgeon appears to be the proper person to perform that operation. This last incomprehensible remark drove me off the deck, and I retreated to the cock-pit, where I found Mrs Trotter. "Oh, my dear!" said she, "I am glad you are come, as I wish to put your clothes in order. Have you a list of them--where is your key?" I replied that I had not a list, and I handed her the key, although I did not forget the caution of the midshipman; yet I considered that there could be no harm in her looking over my clothes when I was present. She unlocked my chest, and pulled everything out, and then commenced telling me what were likely to be useful and what were not. "Now these worsted stockings," she said, "will be very comfortable in cold weather, and in the summer time these brown cotton socks will be delightfully cool, and you have enough of each to last you till you outgrow them; but as for these fine cotton stockings, they are of no use--only catch the dirt when the decks are swept, and always look untidy. I wonder how they could be so foolish as to send them; nobody wears them on board ship nowadays. They are only fit for women--I wonder if they would fit me." She turned her chair away, and put on one of my stockings, laughing the whole of the time. Then she turned round to me and showed me how nicely they fitted her. "Bless you, Mr Simple, it's well that Trotter is in the hold, he'd be so jealous--do you know what these stockings cost? They are of no use to you, and they fit me. I will speak to Trotter, and take them off your hands." I replied, that I could not think of selling them, and as they were of no use to me and fitted her, I begged that she would accept of the dozen pairs. At first she positively refused, but as I pressed her, she at last consented, and I was very happy to give them to her as she was very kind to me, and I thought, with her husband, that she was a very charming woman. We had beef-steaks and onions for dinner that day, but I could not bear the smell of the onions. Mr Trotter came down very cross, because the first lieutenant had found fault with him. He swore that he would cut the service--that he had only remained to oblige the captain, who said that he would sooner part with his right arm, and that he would demand satisfaction of the first lieutenant as soon as he could obtain his discharge. Mrs Trotter did all she could to pacify him, reminded him that he had the protection of Lord this and Sir Thomas that, who would see him righted; but in vain. The first lieutenant had told him, he said, that he was not worth his salt, and blood only could wipe away the insult. He drank glass of grog after glass of grog, and at each glass became more violent, and Mrs Trotter drank also, I observed, a great deal more than I thought she ought to have done; but she whispered to me, that she drank it that Trotter might not, as he would certainly be tipsy. I thought this very devoted on her part; but they sat so late that I went to bed and left them--he still drinking and vowing vengeance against the first lieutenant. I had not been asleep above two or three hours when I was awakened by a great noise and quarrelling, and I discovered that Mr Trotter was drunk and beating his wife. Very much shocked that such a charming woman should be beaten and ill-used, I scrambled out of my hammock to see if I could be of any assistance, but it was dark, although they scuffled as much as before. I asked the marine, who was sentry at the gun-room door above, to bring his lantern, and was very much shocked at his replying that I had better go to bed and let them fight it out. Shortly afterwards Mrs Trotter, who had not taken off her clothes, came from behind the screen. I perceived at once that the poor woman could hardly stand; she reeled to my chest, where she sat down and cried. I pulled on my clothes as fast as I could, and then went up to her to console her, but she could not speak intelligibly. After attempting in vain to comfort her, she made me no answer, but staggered to my hammock, and, after several attempts, succeeded in getting into it. I cannot say that I much liked that, but what could I do? So I finished dressing myself, and went up on the quarter-deck. The midshipman who had the watch was the one who had cautioned me against the Trotters; he was very friendly to me. "Well, Simple," said he, "what brings you on deck?" I told him how ill Mr Trotter had behaved to his wife, and how she had turned into my hammock. "The cursed drunken old catamaran," cried he; "I'll go and cut her down by the head;" but I requested he would not, as she was a lady. "A lady!" replied he; "yes, there's plenty of ladies of her description;" and then he informed me that she had many years ago been the mistress of a man of fortune who kept a carriage for her; but that he grew tired of her, and had given Trotter £200 to marry her, and that now they did nothing but get drunk together and fight with each other. I was very much annoyed to hear all this; but as I perceived that Mrs Trotter was not sober, I began to think that what the midshipman said was true. "I hope," added he, "that she has not had time to wheedle you out of any of your clothes." I told him that I had given her a dozen pairs of stockings, and had paid Mr Trotter three guineas for my mess. "This must be looked to," replied he; "I shall speak to the first lieutenant to-morrow. In the mean time, I shall get your hammock for you. Quarter-master, keep a good look-out." He then went below, and I followed him, to see what he would do. He went to my hammock and lowered it down at one end, so that Mrs Trotter lay with her head on the deck in a very uncomfortable position. To my astonishment, she swore at him in a dreadful manner, but refused to turn out. He was abusing her, and shaking her in the hammock, when Mr Trotter, who had been roused at the noise, rushed from behind the screen. "You villain! what are you doing with my wife?" cried he, pommelling at him as well as he could, for he was so tipsy that he could hardly stand. I thought the midshipman able to take care of himself, and did not wish to interfere; so I remained above, looking on--the sentry standing by me with his lantern over the coombings of the hatchway to give light to the midshipman, and to witness the fray. Mr Trotter was soon knocked down, when all of a sudden Mrs Trotter jumped up from the hammock, and caught the midshipman by the hair, and pulled at him. Then the sentry thought right to interfere; he called out for the master-at-arms, and went down himself to help the midshipman, who was faring badly between the two. But Mrs Trotter snatched the lantern out of his hand and smashed it all to pieces, and then we were all left in darkness, and I could not see what took place, although the scuffling continued. Such was the posture of affairs when the master-at-arms came up with his light. The midshipman and sentry went up the ladder, and Mr and Mrs Trotter continued beating each other. To this, none of them paid any attention, saying, as the sentry had said before, "Let them fight it out." After they had fought some time, they retired behind the screen, and I followed the advice of the midshipman, and got into my hammock, which the master-at-arms hung up again for me. I heard Mr and Mrs Trotter both crying and kissing each other. "Cruel, cruel, Mr Trotter," said she, blubbering. "My life, my love, I was so jealous!" replied he. "D--n and blast your jealousy," replied the lady; "I've two nice black eyes for the galley to-morrow." After about an hour of kissing and scolding, they both fell asleep again. The next morning before breakfast, the midshipman reported to the first lieutenant the conduct of Mr Trotter and his wife. I was sent for and obliged to acknowledge that it was all true. He sent for Mr Trotter, who replied that he was not well, and could not come on deck. Upon which the first lieutenant ordered the sergeant of marines to bring him up directly. Mr Trotter made his appearance, with one eye closed, and his face very much scratched. "Did not I desire you, sir," said the first lieutenant, "to introduce this young gentleman into the midshipmen's berth? instead of which you have introduced him to that disgraceful wife of yours, and have swindled him out of his property. I order you immediately to return the three guineas which you received as mess-money, and also that your wife give back the stockings which she cajoled him out of." But then I interposed, and told the first lieutenant that the stockings had been a free gift on my part and that, although I had been very foolish, yet that I considered that I could not in honour demand them back again. "Well, youngster," replied the first lieutenant, "perhaps your ideas are correct, and if you wish it, I will not enforce that part of my order; but," continued he to Mr Trotter, "I desire, sir, that your wife leave the ship immediately; and I trust that when I have reported your conduct to the captain, he will serve you in the same manner. In the meantime, you will consider yourself under an arrest for drunkenness." Chapter VII Scandalum magnatum clearly proved--I prove to the captain that I consider him a gentleman, although I had told him the contrary, and I prove to the midshipmen that I am a gentleman myself--They prove their gratitude by practising upon me, because practice makes perfect. The captain came on board about twelve o'clock, and ordered the discharge of Mr Trotter to be made out, as soon as the first lieutenant had reported what had occurred. He then sent for all the midshipmen on the quarter-deck. "Gentlemen," said the captain to them, with a stern countenance, "I feel very much indebted to some of you for the character which you have been pleased to give of me to Mr Simple. I must now request that you will answer a few questions which I am about to put in his presence. Did I ever flog the whole starboard watch because the ship would only sail nine knots on a bowline?" "No, sir, no!" replied they all, very much frightened. "Did I ever give a midshipman four dozen for not having his weekly accounts pipe-clayed; or another five dozen for wearing a scarlet watch ribbon?" "No, sir," replied they all together. "Did any midshipman ever die on his chest from fatigue?" They again replied in the negative. "Then, gentlemen, you will oblige me by stating which of you thought proper to assert these falsehoods in a public coffee-room; and further, which of you obliged this youngster to risk his life in a duel?" They were all silent. "Will you answer me, gentlemen?" "With respect to the duel, sir," replied the midshipman who had fought me, "I _heard_ say, that the pistols were only charged with powder. It was a joke." "Well, sir, we'll allow that the duel was only a joke, (and I hope and trust that your report is correct); is the reputation of your captain only a joke, allow me to ask? I request to know who of you dared to propagate such injurious slander?" (Here there was a dead pause.) "Well, then, gentlemen, since you will not confess yourselves, I must refer to my authority. Mr Simple, have the goodness to point out the person or persons who gave you the information." But I thought this would not be fair; and as they had all treated me very kindly after the duel, I resolved not to tell; so I answered, "If you please, sir, I consider that I told you all that in confidence." "Confidence, sir!" replied the captain; "who ever heard of confidence between a post-captain and a midshipman?" "No, sir," replied I, "not between a post-captain and a midshipman, but between two gentlemen." The first lieutenant, who stood by the captain, put his hand before his face to hide a laugh. "He may be a fool, sir," observed he to the captain, aside; "but I can assure you he is a very straight, forward one." The captain bit his lip, and then turning to the midshipmen, said, "You may thank Mr Simple, gentlemen, that I do not press this matter further. I do believe that you were not serious when you calumniated me; but recollect, that what is said in joke is too often repeated in earnest. I trust that Mr Simple's conduct will have its effect, and that you leave off practising upon him, who has saved you from a very severe punishment." When the midshipmen went down below, they all shook hands with me, and said that I was a good fellow for not peaching; but, as for the advice of the captain that they should not practise upon me, as he termed it, they forgot that, for they commenced again immediately, and never left off until they found that I was not to be deceived any longer. I had not been ten minutes in the berth, before they began their remarks upon me. One said that I looked like a hardy fellow, and asked me whether I could not bear a great deal of sleep. I replied that I could, I dare say, if it was necessary for the good of the service; at which they laughed, and I supposed that I had said a good thing. "Why here's Tomkins," said the midshipman; "he'll show you how to perform that part of your duty. He inherits it from his father, who was a marine officer. He can snore for fourteen hours on a stretch without once turning round in his hammock, and finish his nap on the chest during the whole of the day, except meal-times." But Tomkins defended himself, by saying, that "some people were very quick in doing things, and others were very slow; that he was one of the slow ones, and that he did not in reality obtain more refreshment from his long naps than other people did in short ones, because he slept much slower than they did." This ingenious argument was, however, overruled _nem. con._, as it was proved that he ate pudding faster than any one in the mess. The postman came on board with the letters, and put his head into the midshipman's berth. I was very anxious to have one from home, but I was disappointed. Some had letters and some had not. Those who had not, declared that their parents were very undutiful, and that they would cut them off with a shilling; and those who had letters, after they had read them, offered them for sale to the others, usually at half-price. I could not imagine why they sold, or why the others bought them; but they did do so; and one that was full of good advice was sold three times, from which circumstance I was inclined to form a better opinion of the morals of my companions. The lowest-priced letters sold, were those written by sisters. I was offered one for a penny, but I declined buying, as I had plenty of sisters of my own. Directly I made that observation, they immediately inquired all their names and ages, and whether they were pretty or not. When I had informed them, they quarrelled to whom they should belong. One would have Lucy, and another took Mary; but there was a great dispute about Ellen, as I had said that she was the prettiest of the whole. At last they agreed to put her up to auction, and she was knocked down to a master's mate of the name of O'Brien, who bid seventeen shillings and a bottle of rum. They requested that I would write home to give their love to my sisters, and tell them how they had been disposed of, which I thought very strange; but I ought to have been flattered at the price bid for Ellen, as I repeatedly have since been witness to a very pretty sister being sold for a glass of grog. I mentioned the reason why I was so anxious for a letter, viz., because I wanted to buy my dirk and cocked hat; upon which they told me that there was no occasion for my spending my money, as, by the regulations of the service, the purser's steward served them out to all the officers who applied for them. As I knew where the purser's steward's room was, having seen it when down in the cock-pit with the Trotters, I went down immediately. "Mr Purser's Steward," said I, "let me have a cocked hat and a dirk immediately." "Very good, sir," replied he, and he wrote an order upon a slip of paper, which he handed to me. "There is the order for it, sir; but the cocked hats are kept in the chest up in the main-top; and as for the dirk, you must apply to the butcher, who has them under his charge." I went up with the order, and thought I would first apply for the dirk; so I inquired for the butcher, whom I found sitting in the sheep-pen with the sheep, mending his trousers. In reply to my demand, he told me that he had not the key of the store-room, which was under the charge of one of the corporals of marines. I inquired who, and he said, "Cheeks [1] the marine." I went everywhere about the ship, inquiring for Cheeks the marine, but could not find him. Some said that they believed he was in the fore-top, standing sentry over the wind, that it might not change; others, that he was in the galley, to prevent the midshipmen from soaking their biscuit in the captain's dripping-pan. At last, I inquired of some of the women who were standing between the guns on the main-deck, and one of them answered that it was no use looking for him among them, as they all had husbands, and Cheeks was a _widows man._[2] As I could not find the marine, I thought I might as well go for my cocked hat, and get my dirk afterwards. I did not much like going up the rigging, because I was afraid of turning giddy, and if I fell overboard I could not swim; but one of the midshipmen offered to accompany me, stating that I need not be afraid, if I fell overboard, of sinking to the bottom, as if I was giddy, my head, at all events, _would swim_; so I determined to venture. I climbed up very near to the main-top, but not without missing the little ropes very often, and grazing the skin of my shins. Then I came to large ropes stretched out from the mast, so that you must climb them with your head backwards. The midshipman told me these were called the cat-harpings, because they were so difficult to climb, that a cat would expostulate if ordered to go out by them. I was afraid to venture, and then he proposed that I should go through lubber's hole, which he said had been made for people like me. I agreed to attempt it, as it appeared more easy, and at last arrived, quite out of breath, and very happy to find myself in the main-top. The captain of the main-top was there with two other sailors. The midshipman introduced me very politely:--"Mr Jenkins--Mr Simple, midshipman,--Mr Simple, Mr Jenkins, captain of the main-top. Mr Jenkins, Mr Simple has come up with an order for a cocked hat." The captain of the top replied that he was very sorry that he had not one in store, but the last had been served out to the captain's monkey. This was very provoking. The captain of the top then asked me if I was ready with my _footing_. I replied, "Not very, for I had lost it two or three times when coming up." He laughed and replied, that I should lose it altogether before I went down; and that I must _hand_ it out. "_Hand_ out my _footing_!" said I, puzzled, and appealing to the midshipman; "what does he mean?" "He means that you must fork out a seven-shilling bit." I was just as wise as ever, and stared very much; when Mr Jenkins desired the other men to get half a dozen _foxes_ and make a _spread eagle_ of me, unless he had his parkisite. I never should have found out what it all meant, had not the midshipman, who laughed till he cried, at last informed me that it was the custom to give the men something to drink the first time that I came aloft, and that if I did not, they would tie me up to the rigging. Having no money in my pocket, I promised to pay them as soon as I went below; but Mr Jenkins would not trust me. I then became very angry, and inquired of him "if he doubted my honour." He replied, "Not in the least, but that he must have the seven shillings before I went below." "Why, sir," said I, "do you know whom you are speaking to? I am an officer and a gentleman. Do you know who my grandfather is?" "O yes," replied he, "very well." "Then, who is he, sir?" replied I very angrily. "Who is he! why he's the _Lord knows who_." "No," replied I, "that's not his name; he is Lord Privilege." (I was very much surprised that he knew that my grandfather was a lord.) "And do you suppose," continued I, "that I would forfeit the honour of my family for a paltry seven shillings?" This observation of mine, and a promise on the part of the midshipman, who said he would be bail for me, satisfied Mr Jenkins, and he allowed me to go down the rigging. I went to my chest, and paid the seven shillings to one of the top-men who followed me, and then went up on the main-deck, to learn as much as I could of my profession. I asked a great many questions of the midshipmen relative to the guns, and they crowded round me to answer them. One told me they were called the frigate's _teeth_, because they stopped the Frenchman's _jaw._ Another midshipman said that he had been so often in action, that he was called the _Fire-eater_. I asked him how it was that he escaped being killed. He replied that he always made it a rule, upon the first cannon-ball coming through the ship's side, to put his head into the hole which it had made; as, by a calculation made by Professor Innman, the odds were 32,647, and some decimals to boot, that another ball would not come in at the same hole. That's what I never should have thought of. FOOTNOTES: [1] This celebrated personage is the prototype of Mr Nobody on board of a man-of-war. [B] Widows' men are imaginary sailors, borne on the books, and receiving pay and prize-money, which is appropriated to Greenwich Hospital. Chapter VIII My messmates show me the folly of running in debt--Duty carried on politely--I become acquainted with some gentlemen of the home department--The episode of Sholto M'Foy. Now that I have been on board about a month, I find that my life is not disagreeable. I don't smell the pitch and tar, and I can get into my hammock without tumbling out on the other side. My messmates are good-tempered, although they laugh at me very much; but I must say that they are not very nice in their ideas of honour They appear to consider that to take you in is a capital joke; and that because they laugh at the time that they are cheating you, it then becomes no cheating at all. Now I cannot think otherwise than that cheating is cheating, and that a person is not a bit more honest, because he laughs at you in the bargain. A few days after I came on board, I purchased some tarts of the bumboat woman, as she is called; I wished to pay for them, but she had no change, and very civilly told me she would trust me. She produced a narrow book, and said that she would open an account with me, and I could pay her when I thought proper. To this arrangement I had no objection, and I sent up for different things until I thought that my account must have amounted to eleven or twelve shillings. As I promised my father that I never would run in debt, I considered that it was then time that it should be settled. When I asked for it, what was my surprise to find that it amounted to £2 14s. 6d. I declared that it was impossible, and requested that she would allow me to look at the items, when I found that I was booked for at least three or four dozen tarts every day, ordered by the young gentlemen, "to be put down to Mr Simple's account." I was very much shocked, not only at the sum of money which I had to pay, but also at the want of honesty on the part of my messmates; but when I complained of it in the berth, they all laughed at me. At last one of them said, "Peter, tell the truth; did not your father caution you not to run in debt?" "Yes, he did," replied I. "I know that very well," replied he; "all fathers do the same when their sons leave them; it's a matter of course. Now observe, Peter; it is out of regard to you, that your messmates have been eating tarts at your expense You disobeyed your father's injunctions before you had been a month from home; and it is to give you a lesson that may be useful in after-life, that they have considered it their duty to order the tarts. I trust that it will not be thrown away upon you. Go to the woman, pay your bill, and never run up another." "That I certainly shall not," replied I; but as I could not prove who ordered the tarts, and did not think it fair that the woman should lose her money, I went up and paid the bill with a determination never to open an account with anybody again. But this left my pockets quite empty, so I wrote to my father, stating the whole transaction, and the consequent state of my finances. My father, in his answer, observed that whatever might have been their motives, my messmates had done me a friendly act; and that as I had lost my money by my own carelessness, I must not expect that he would allow me any more pocket-money. But my mother, who added a postscript to his letter, slipped in a five-pound note, and I do believe that it was with my father's sanction, although he pretended to be very angry at my forgetting his injunctions. This timely relief made me quite comfortable again. What a pleasure it is to receive a letter from one's friends when far away, especially when there is same money in it! A few days before this, Mr Falcon, the first lieutenant, ordered me to put on my side-arms to go away on duty. I replied that I had neither dirk nor cocked hat, although I had applied for them. He laughed at my story, and sent me on shore with the master, who bought them, and the first lieutenant sent up the bill to my father, who paid it, and wrote to thank him for his trouble. That morning, the first lieutenant said to me, "Now, Mr Simple, we'll take the shine off that cocked hat and dirk of yours. You will go in the boat with Mr O'Brien, and take care that none of the men slip away from it, and get drunk at the tap." This was the first time that I had ever been sent away on duty, and I was very proud of being an officer in charge. I put on my full uniform, and was ready at the gangway a quarter of an hour before the men were piped away. We were ordered to the dockyard to draw sea stores. When we arrived there, I was quite astonished at the piles of timber, the ranges of storehouses, and the immense anchors which lay on the wharf. There was such a bustle, every body appeared to be so busy, that I wanted to look every way at once. Close to where the boat landed, they were hauling a large frigate out of what they called the basin; and I was so interested with the sight, that I am sorry to say I quite forgot all about the boat's crew, and my orders to look after them. What surprised me most was, that although the men employed appeared to be sailors, their language was very different from what I had been lately accustomed to on board of the frigate. Instead of damning and swearing, everybody was so polite. "Oblige me with a pull of the starboard bow hawser, Mr Jones."--"Ease off the larboard hawser, Mr Jenkins, if you please."-- "Side her over, gentlemen, side her over."--"My compliments to Mr Tompkins, and request that he will cast off the quarter-check."--"Side her over, gentlemen, side her over, if you please."--"In the boat there, pull to Mr Simmons, and beg he'll do me the favour to check her as she swings. What's the matter, Mr Johnson?"--"Vy, there's one of them ere midshipmites has thrown a red hot tater out of the stern-port, and hit our officer in the eye."--"Report him to the commissioner, Mr Wiggins; and oblige me by under-running the guess-warp. Tell Mr Simkins, with my compliments, to coil away upon the jetty. Side her over, side her over, gentlemen, if you please." I asked of a bystander who these people were, and he told me that they were dockyard mateys. I certainly thought that it appeared to be quite as easy to say "If you please," as "D----n your eyes," and that it sounded much more agreeable. During the time that I was looking at the frigate being hauled out, two of the men belonging to the boat slipped away, and on my return they were not to be seen. I was very much frightened, for I knew that I had neglected my duty, and that on the first occasion on which I had been intrusted with a responsible service. What to do I did not know I ran up and down every part of the dockyard until I was quite out of breath, asking everybody I met whether they had seen my two men. Many of them said that they had seen plenty of men, but did not exactly know mine; some laughed, and called me a greenhorn. At last I met a midshipman, who told me that he had seen two men answering to my description on the roof of the coach starting for London, and that I must be quick if I wished to catch them; but he would not stop to answer any more questions. I continued walking about the yard until I met twenty or thirty men with grey jackets and breeches, to whom I applied for information: they told me that they had seen two sailors skulking behind the piles of timber. They crowded round me, and appeared very anxious to assist me, when they were summoned away to carry down a cable. I observed that they all had numbers on their jackets, and either one or two bright iron rings on their legs. I could not help inquiring, although I was in such a hurry, why the rings were worn. One of them replied that they were orders of merit, given to them for their good behaviour. I was proceeding on very disconsolately, when, as I turned a corner, to my great delight, I met my two men, who touched their hats and said that they had been looking for me. I did not believe that they told the truth, but I was so glad to recover them that I did not scold, but went with them down to the boat, which had been waiting some time for us. O'Brien, the master's mate, called me a young sculping,[1] a word I never heard before. When we arrived on board, the first lieutenant asked O'Brien why he had remained so long. He answered that two of the men had left the boat, but that I had found them. The first lieutenant appeared to be pleased with me, observing, as he had said before, that I was no fool, and I went down below, overjoyed at my good fortune, and very much obliged to O'Brien for not telling the whole truth. After I had taken off my dirk and cocked hat, I felt for my pocket-handkerchief, and found that it was not in my pocket, having in all probability been taken out by the men in grey jackets, whom, in conversation with my messmates, I discovered to be convicts condemned to hard labour for stealing and picking pockets. A day or two afterwards, we had a new messmate of the name of M'Foy. I was on the quarter-deck when he came on board and presented a letter to the captain, inquiring first if his name was "Captain Sauvage." He was a florid young man, nearly six feet high, with sandy hair, yet very good-looking. As his career in the service was very short, I will tell at once, what I did not find out till some time afterwards. The captain had agreed to receive him to oblige a brother officer, who had retired from the service, and lived in the Highlands of Scotland. The first notice which the captain had of the arrival of Mr M'Foy, was from a letter written to him by the young man's uncle. This amused him so much, that he gave it to the first lieutenant to read: it ran as follows:-- "Glasgow, April 25, 1--- "Sir,--Our much esteemed and mutual friend, Captain M'Alpine, having communicated by letter, dated the 14th inst., your kind intentions relative to my nephew Sholto M'Foy, (for which you will be pleased to accept my best thanks), I write to acquaint you that he is now on his way to join your ship, the _Diomede_, and will arrive, God willing, twenty-six hours after the receipt of this letter. "As I have been given to understand by those who have some acquaintance with the service of the king, that his equipment as an officer will be somewhat expensive, I have considered it but fair to ease your mind as to any responsibility on that score, and have therefore enclosed the half of a Bank of England note for ten pounds sterling, No. 3742, the other half of which will be duly forwarded in a frank promised to me the day after to-morrow. I beg you will make the necessary purchases, and apply the balance, should there be any, to his mess account, or any other expenses which you may consider warrantable or justifiable. "It is at the same time proper to inform you, that Sholto had ten shillings in his pocket at the time of his leaving Glasgow; the satisfactory expenditure of which I have no doubt you will inquire into, as it is a large sum to be placed at the discretion of a youth only fourteen years and five months old. I mention his age, as Sholto is so tall that you might be deceived by his appearance, and be induced to trust to his prudence in affairs of this serious nature. Should he at any time require further assistance beyond his pay, which I am told is extremely handsome to all king's officers, I beg you to consider that any draught of yours, at ten days' sight, to the amount of five pounds sterling English, will be duly honoured by the firm of Monteith, M'Killop, and Company, of Glasgow. Sir, with many thanks for your kindness and consideration, "I remain, your most obedient, "WALTER MONTEITH." The letter brought on board by M'Foy was to prove his identity. While the captain read it, M'Foy stared about him like a wild stag. The captain welcomed him to the ship, asked him one or two questions, introduced him to the first lieutenant, and then went on shore. The first lieutenant had asked me to dine in the gun-room; I supposed that he was pleased with me because I had found the men; and when the captain pulled on shore, he also invited Mr M'Foy, when the following conversation took place. "Well, Mr M'Foy, you have had a long journey; I presume it is the first that you have ever made." "Indeed it is, sir," replied M'Foy; "and sorely I've been pestered. Had I minded all they whispered in my lug as I came along, I had need been made of money--sax-pence here, sax-pence there, sax-pence every where. Sich extortion I ne'er dreamt of." "How did you come from Glasgow?" "By the wheelboat, or steamboat, as they ca'd it, to Lunnon: where they charged me sax-pence for taking my baggage on shore--a wee boxy nae bigger than yon cocked-up hat. I would fain carry it mysel', but they wadna let me." "Well, where did you go to when you arrived in London?" "I went to a place ca'd Chichester Rents, to the house of Storm and Mainwaring, Warehousemen, and they must have another sax-pence for showing me the way. There I waited half-an-hour in the counting-house, till they took me to a place ca'd Bull and Mouth, and put me into a coach, paying my whole fare: nevertheless they must din me for money the whole of the way down. There was first the guard, and then the coachman, and another guard, and another coachman; but I wudna listen to them, and so they growled and abused me." "And when did you arrive?" "I came here last night; and I only had a bed and a breakfast at the twa Blue Pillars' house, for which they extortioned me three shillings and sax-pence, as I sit here. And then there was the chambermaid hussy and waiter loon axed me to remember them, and wanted more siller; but I told them as I told the guard and coachman, that I had none for them." "How much of your ten shillings have you left?" inquired the first lieutenant, smiling. "Hoot, sir lieutenant, how came you for to ken that? Eh! it's my uncle Monteith at Glasgow. Why, as I sit here, I've but three shillings and a penny of it lift. But there's a smell here that's no canny; so I'll just go up again into the fresh air." When Mr M'Foy quitted the gun-room they all laughed very much. After he had been a short time on deck he went down into the midshipmen's berth; but he made himself very unpleasant, quarrelling and wrangling with everybody. It did not, however, last very long; for he would not obey any orders that were given to him. On the third day, he quitted the ship without asking the permission of the first lieutenant; when he returned on board the following day, the first lieutenant put him under an arrest, and in charge of the sentry at the cabin door. During the afternoon I was under the half-deck, and perceived that he was sharpening a long clasp-knife upon the after-truck of the gun. I went up to him, and asked him why he was doing so, and he replied, as his eyes flashed fire, that it was to revenge the insult offered to the bluid of M'Foy. His look told me that he was in earnest. "But what do you mean?" inquired I. "I mean," said he, drawing the edge and feeling the point of his weapon, "to put it into the weam of that man with the gold podge on his shoulder, who has dared to place me here." I was very much alarmed, and thought it my duty to state his murderous intentions, or worse might happen; so I walked up on deck and told the first lieutenant what M'Foy was intending to do, and how his life was in danger. Mr Falcon laughed, and shortly afterwards went down on the main-deck. M'Foy's eyes glistened, and he walked forward to where the first lieutenant was standing; but the sentry, who had been cautioned by me, kept him back with his bayonet. The first lieutenant turned round, and perceiving what was going on, desired the sentry to see if Mr M'Foy had a knife in his hand; and he had it sure enough, open, and held behind his back. He was disarmed, and the first lieutenant, perceiving that the lad meant mischief, reported his conduct to the captain, on his arrival on board. The captain sent for M'Foy, who was very obstinate, and when taxed with his intention would not deny it, or even say that he would not again attempt it; so he was sent on shore immediately, and returned to his friends in the Highlands. We never saw any more of him; but I heard that he obtained a commission in the army, and three months after he had joined his regiment, was killed in a duel, resenting some fancied affront offered to the bluid of M'Foy. [Footnote 1: Peter's memory is short, p. 9.--ED.] Chapter IX We post up to Portsdown Fair--Consequence of disturbing a lady at supper --Natural affection of the pelican, proved at my expense--Spontaneous combustion at Ranelagh Gardens--Pastry _versus_ Piety--Many are bid to the feast; but not the halt, the lame, or the blind. A few days after M'Foy quitted the ship, we all had leave from the first lieutenant to go to Portsdown fair, but he would only allow the oldsters to sleep on shore. We anticipated so much pleasure from our excursion, that some of us were up early enough to go away in the boat sent for fresh beef. This was very foolish. There were no carriages to take us to the fair, nor indeed any fair so early in the morning; the shops were all shut, and the Blue Posts, where we always rendezvoused, was hardly opened. We waited there in the coffee-room, until we were driven out by the maid sweeping away the dirt, and were forced to walk about until she had finished, and lighted the fire, when we ordered our breakfast; but how much better would it have been to have taken our breakfast comfortably on board, and then to have come on shore, especially as we had no money to spare. Next to being too late, being too soon is the worst plan in the world. However, we had our breakfast, and paid the bill; then we sallied forth, and went up George-street, where we found all sorts of vehicles ready to take us to the fair. We got into one which they called a dilly. I asked the man who drove it why it was so called, and he replied, because he only charged a shilling. O'Brien, who had joined us after breakfasting on board, said that this answer reminded him of one given to him by a man who attended the hackney-coach stands in London. "Pray," said he, "why are you called Waterman?" "Waterman," replied the man, "vy, sir, 'cause we opens the hackney-coach doors." At last, with plenty of whipping, and plenty of swearing, and a great deal of laughing, the old horse, whose back curved upwards like a bow, from the difficulty of dragging so many, arrived at the bottom of Portsdown hill, where we got out, and walked up to the fair. It really was a most beautiful sight. The bright blue sky, and the coloured flags flapping about in all directions, the grass so green, and the white tents and booths, the sun shining so bright, and the shining gilt gingerbread, the variety of toys and the variety of noise, the quantity of people and the quantity of sweetmeats; little boys so happy, and shop-people so polite, the music at the booths, and the bustle and eagerness of the people outside, made my heart quite jump. There was Richardson, with a clown and harlequin, and such beautiful women, dressed in clothes all over gold spangles, dancing reels and waltzes, and looking so happy! There was Flint and Gyngell, with fellows tumbling over head and heels, playing such tricks--eating fire, and drawing yards of tape out of their mouths. Then there was the Royal Circus, all the horses standing in a line, with men and women standing on their backs, waving flags, while the trumpeters blew their trumpets. And the largest giant in the world, and Mr Paap, the smallest dwarf in the world, and a female dwarf, who was smaller still, and Miss Biffin, who did everything without legs or arms. There was also the learned pig, and the Herefordshire ox, and a hundred other sights which I cannot now remember. We walked about for an hour or two seeing the outside of every thing: we determined to go and see the inside. First we went into Richardson's, where we saw a bloody tragedy, with a ghost and thunder, and afterwards a pantomime, full of tricks, and tumbling over one another. Then we saw one or two other things, I forget what; but this I know, that, generally speaking, the outside was better, than the inside. After this, feeling very hungry, we agreed to go into a booth and have something to eat. The tables were ranged all round, and in the centre there was a boarded platform for dancing. The ladies were there all ready dressed for partners; and the music was so lively, that I felt very much inclined to dance, but we had agreed to go and see the wild beasts fed at Mr Polito's menagerie, and as it was now almost eight o'clock, we paid our bill and set off. It was a very curious sight, and better worth seeing than any thing in the fair; I never had an idea that there were so many strange animals in existence. They were all secured in iron cages, and a large chandelier with twenty lights, hung in the centre of the booth, and lighted them up, while the keeper went round and stirred them up with his long pole; at the same time he gave us their histories, which were very interesting. I recollect a few of them. There was the tapir, a great pig with a long nose, a variety of the hiptostamass, which the keeper said was an amphibilious animal, as couldn't live on land, and _dies_ in the water--however, it seemed to live very well in a cage. Then there was the kangaroo with its young ones peeping out of it--a most astonishing animal. The keeper said that it brought forth two young ones at a birth, and then took them into its stomach again, until they arrived at years of discretion. Then there was the pelican of the wilderness, (I shall not forget him), with a large bag under his throat, which the man put on his head as a night-cap: this bird feeds its young with its own blood--when fish are scarce. And there was the laughing hyæna, who cries in the wood like a human being in distress, and devours those who come to his assistance--a sad instance of the depravity of human nature, as the keeper observed. There was a beautiful creature, the royal Bengal tiger, only three years old, what growed ten inches every year, and never arrived at its full growth. The one we saw, measured, as the keeper told us, sixteen feet from the snout to the tail, and seventeen from the tail to the snout: but there must have been some mistake there. There was a young elephant and three lions, and several other animals which I forget now, so I shall go on to describe the tragical scene which occurred. The keeper had poked up all the animals, and had commenced feeding them. The great lion was growling and snarling over the shin-bone of an ox, cracking it like a nut, when, by some mismanagement, one end of the pole upon which the chandelier was suspended fell down, striking the door of the cage in which the lioness was at supper, and bursting it open. It was all done in a second; the chandelier fell, the cage opened, and the lioness sprang out. I remember to this moment seeing the body of the lioness in the air, and then all was dark as pitch. What a change! not a moment before all of us staring with delight and curiosity, and then to be left in darkness, horror, and dismay! There was such screaming and shrieking, such crying, and fighting, and pushing, and fainting, nobody knew where to go, or how to find their way out. The people crowded first on one side, and then on the other, as their fears instigated them. I was very soon jammed up with my back against the bars of one of the cages, and feeling some beast lay hold of me behind, made a desperate effort, and succeeded in climbing up to the cage above, not however without losing the seat of my trowsers, which the laughing hyæna would not let go. I hardly knew where I was when I climbed up; but I knew the birds were mostly stationed above. However, that I might not have the front of my trowsers torn as well as the behind, as soon as I gained my footing I turned round, with my back to the bars of the cage, but I had not been there a minute before I was attacked by something which digged into me like a pickaxe, and as the hyæna had torn my clothes, I had no defence against it. To turn round would have been worse still; so, after having received above a dozen stabs, I contrived by degrees to shift my position until I was opposite to another cage, but not until the pelican, for it was that brute, had drawn as much blood from me as would have fed his young for a week. I was surmising what danger I should next encounter, when to my joy I discovered that I had gained the open door from which the lioness had escaped. I crawled in, and pulled the door to after me, thinking myself very fortunate: and there I sat very quietly in a corner during the remainder of the noise and confusion. I had been there but a few minutes, when the beef-eaters, as they were called, who played the music outside, came in with torches and loaded muskets. The sight which presented itself was truly shocking, twenty or thirty men, women, and children, lay on the ground, and I thought at first the lioness had killed them all, but they were only in fits, or had been trampled down by the crowd. No one was seriously hurt. As for the lioness, she was not to be found: and as soon as it was ascertained that she had escaped, there was as much terror and scampering away outside as there had been in the menagerie. It appeared afterwards, that the animal had been as much frightened as we had been, and had secreted herself under one of the waggons. It was some time before she could be found. At last O'Brien, who was a very brave fellow, went a-head of the beef-eaters, and saw her eyes glaring. They borrowed a net or two from the carts which had brought calves to the fair, and threw them over her. When she was fairly entangled, they dragged her by the tail into the menagerie. All this while I had remained very quietly in the den, but when I perceived that its lawful owner had come back to retake possession, I thought it was time to come out; so I called to my messmates, who, with O'Brien were assisting the beef-eaters. They had not discovered me, and laughed very much when they saw where I was. One of the midshipmen shot the bolt of the door, so that I could not jump out, and then stirred me up with a long pole. At last I contrived to unbolt it again, and got out, when they laughed still more, at the seat of my trowsers being torn off. It was not exactly a laughing matter to me, although I had to congratulate myself upon a very lucky escape; and so did my messmates think, when I narrated my adventures. The pelican was the worst part of the business. O'Brien lent me a dark silk handkerchief, which I tied round my waist, and let drop behind, so that my misfortunes might not attract any notice, and then we quitted the menagerie; but I was so stiff that I could scarcely walk. We then went to what they called the Ranelagh Gardens, to see the fireworks, which were to be let off at ten o'clock. It was exactly ten when we paid for our admission, and we waited very patiently for a quarter of an hour, but there were no signs of the fireworks being displayed. The fact was, that the man to whom the gardens belonged waited until more company should arrive, although the place was already very full of people. Now the first lieutenant had ordered the boat to wait for us until twelve o'clock, and then return on board; and, as we were seven miles from Portsmouth, we had not much time to spare. We waited another quarter of an hour, and then it was agreed that as the fireworks were stated in the handbill to commence precisely at ten o'clock, we were fully justified in letting them off ourselves. O'Brien went out, and returned with a dozen penny rattans, which he notched in the end. The fireworks were on the posts and stages, all ready, and it was agreed that we should light them all at once, and then mix with the crowd. The oldsters lighted cigars, and fixing them in the notched end of the canes, continued to puff them until they were all well lighted. They handed one to each of us, and at a signal we all applied them to the match papers, and as soon as the fire communicated we threw down our canes and ran in among the crowd. In about half a minute, off they all went, in a most beautiful confusion; there were silver stars and golden stars, blue lights and Catherine-wheels, mines and bombs, Grecian-fires and Roman-candles, Chinese-trees, rockets and illuminated mottoes, all firing away, cracking, popping, and fizzing, at the same time. It was unanimously agreed that it was a great improvement upon the intended show. The man to whom the gardens belonged ran out of a booth, where he had been drinking beer at his ease, while his company were waiting, swearing vengeance against the perpetrators; indeed, the next day he offered fifty pounds reward for the discovery of the offenders. But I think that he was treated very properly. He was, in his situation, a servant of the public, and he had behaved as if he was their master. We all escaped very cleverly, and taking another dilly, arrived at Portsmouth, and were down to the boat in good time. The next day I was so stiff and in such pain, that I was obliged to go to the doctor, who put me on the list, where I remained a week before I could return to my duty. So much for Portsdown fair. It was on a Saturday that I returned to my duty, and Sunday being a fine day, we all went on shore to church with Mr Falcon, the first lieutenant. We liked going to church very much, not, I am sorry to say, from religious feelings, but for the following reason:--The first lieutenant sat in a pew below, and we were placed in the gallery above, where he could not see us, nor indeed could we see him. We all remained very quiet, and I may say very devout, during the time of the service; but the clergyman who delivered the sermon was so tedious, and had such a bad voice, that we generally slipped out as soon as he went up into the pulpit, and adjourned to a pastry-cook's opposite, to eat cakes and tarts and drink cherry-brandy, which we infinitely preferred to hearing a sermon. Somehow or other, the first lieutenant had scent of our proceedings: we believed that the marine officer informed against us, and this Sunday he served us a pretty trick. We had been at the pastry-cook's as usual, and as soon as we perceived the people coming out of church, we put all our tarts and sweetmeats into our hats, which we then slipped on our heads, and took our station at the church-door, as if we had just come down from the gallery, and had been waiting for him. Instead, however, of appearing at the church-door, he walked up the street, and desired us to follow him to the boat. The fact was, he had been in the back-room at the pastry-cook's watching our motions through the green blinds. We had no suspicion, but thought that he had come out of church a little sooner than usual. When we arrived on board and followed him up the side, he said to us as we came on deck,--"Walk aft, young gentlemen." We did; and he desired us to "toe a line," which means to stand in a row. "Now, Mr Dixon," said he, "what was the text to-day?" As he very often asked us that question, we always left one in the church until the text was given out, who brought it to us in the pastry-cook's shop, when we all marked it in our Bibles, to be ready if he asked us. Dixon immediately pulled out his Bible where he had marked down the leaf, and read it. "O! that was it," said Mr Falcon; "you must have remarkably good ears, Mr Dixon, to have heard the clergyman from the pastry-cook's shop. Now, gentlemen, hats off, if you please." We all slided off our hats, which, as he expected, were full of pastry. "Really, gentlemen," said he, feeling the different papers of pastry and sweetmeats, "I am quite delighted to perceive that you have not been to church for nothing. Few come away with so many good things pressed upon their seat of memory. Master-at-arms, send all the ship's boys aft." The boys all came tumbling up the ladders, and the first lieutenant desired each of them to take a seat upon the carronade slides. When they were all stationed, he ordered us to go round with our hats, and request of each his acceptance of a tart, which we were obliged to do, handing first to one and then to another, until the hats were all empty. What annoyed me more than all, was the grinning of the boys at their being served by us like foot-men, as well as the ridicule and laughter of the whole ship's company, who had assembled at the gangways. When all the pastry was devoured, the first lieutenant said, "There, gentlemen, now that you have had your lesson for the day, you may go below." We could not help laughing ourselves, when we went down into the berth; Mr Falcon always punished us good-humouredly, and, in some way or other, his punishments were severally connected with the description of the offence. He always had a remedy for every thing that he disapproved of, and the ship's company used to call him "Remedy Jack." I ought to observe that some of my messmates were very severe upon the ship's boys after that circumstance, always giving them a kick or a cuff on the head whenever they could, telling them at the same time, "There's another tart for you, you whelp." I believe, if the boys had known what was in reserve for them, they would much rather have left the pastry alone. Chapter X A pressgang; beaten off by one woman--Dangers at Spithead and Point--A treat for both parties, of _pulled chicken_, at my expense--Also gin for twenty--I am made a prisoner: escape and rejoin my ship. I must now relate what occurred to me a few days before the ship sailed, which will prove that it is not necessary to encounter the winds and waves, or the cannon of the enemy, to be in danger, when you have entered his Majesty's service: on the contrary, I have been in action since, and I declare, without hesitation, that I did not feel so much alarm on that occasion, as I did on the one of which I am about to give the history. We were reported ready for sea, and the Admiralty was anxious that we should proceed. The only obstacle to our sailing was, that we had not yet completed our complement of men. The captain applied to the port-admiral, and obtained permission to send parties on shore to impress seamen. The second and third lieutenants, and the oldest midshipman, were despatched on shore every night, with some of the most trustworthy men, and generally brought on board in the morning about half a dozen men, whom they had picked up in the different alehouses, or grog-shops, as the sailors call them. Some of them were retained, but most of them sent on shore as unserviceable; for it is the custom, when a man either enters or is impressed, to send him down to the surgeon in the cockpit, where he is stripped and examined all over, to see if he be sound and fit for his majesty's service; and if not, he is sent on shore again. Impressing appeared to be rather serious work, as far as I could judge from the accounts which I heard, and from the way in which our sailors, who were employed on the service, were occasionally beaten and wounded; the seamen who were impressed appearing to fight as hard not to be forced into the service, as they did for the honour of the country, after they were fairly embarked in it. I had a great wish to be one of the party before the ship sailed, and asked O'Brien, who was very kind to me in general, and allowed nobody to thrash me but himself, if he would take me with him, which he did on the night after I had made the request. I put on my dirk, that they might know I was an officer, as well as for my protection. About dusk we rowed on shore, and landed on the Gosport side: the men were all armed with cutlasses, and wore pea jackets, which are very short great-coats made of what they call Flushing. We did not stop to look at any of the grog-shops in the town, as it was too early, but walked out about three miles in the suburbs, and went to a house, the door of which was locked, but we forced it open in a minute, and hastened to enter the passage, where we found the landlady standing to defend the entrance. The passage was long and narrow, and she was a very tall corpulent woman, so that her body nearly filled it up, and in her hands she held a long spit pointed at us, with which she kept us at bay. The officers, who were the foremost, did not like to attack a woman, and she made such drives at them with her spit, that had they not retreated, some of them would soon have been ready for roasting. The sailors laughed and stood outside, leaving the officers to settle the business how they could. At last, the landlady called out to her husband, "Be they all out, Jem?" "Yes," replied the husband, "they be all safe gone." "Well, then," replied she, "I'll soon have all these gone too;" and with these words she made such a rush forward upon us with her spit, that had we not fallen back and tumbled one over another, she certainly would have run it through the second lieutenant, who commanded the party. The passage was cleared in an instant, and as soon as we were all in the street she bolted us out: so there we were, three officers and fifteen armed men, fairly beat off by a fat old woman; the sailors who had been drinking in the house having made their escape to some other place. But I do not well see how it could be otherwise; either we must have killed or wounded the woman, or she would have run us through, she was so resolute. Had her husband been in the passage, he would have been settled in a very short time; but what can you do with a woman who fights like a devil, and yet claims all the rights and immunities of the softer sex? We all walked away, looking very foolish; and O'Brien observed that the next time he called at that house he would weather the old cat, for he would take her ladyship in the rear. We then called at other houses, where we picked up one or two men, but most of them escaped, by getting out at the windows or the back doors, as we entered the front. Now there was a grog-shop which was a very favourite rendezvous of the seamen belonging to the merchant vessels, and to which they were accustomed to retreat when they heard that the pressgangs were out. Our officers were aware of this, and were therefore indifferent as to the escape of the men, as they knew that they would all go to that place, and confide in their numbers for beating us off. As it was then one o'clock, they thought it time to go there; we proceeded without any noise, but they had people on the look-out, and as soon as we turned the corner of the lane the alarm was given. I was afraid that they would all run away, and we should lose them; but, on the contrary, they mustered very strong on that night, and had resolved to "give fight." The men remained in the house, but an advanced guard of about thirty of their wives saluted us with a shower of stones and mud. Some of our sailors were hurt, but they did not appear to mind what the women did. They rushed on, and then they were attacked by the women with their fists and nails. Notwithstanding this, the sailors only laughed, pushing the women on one side, and saying, "Be quiet, Poll;"--"Don't be foolish, Molly;"--"Out of the way, Sukey; we a'n't come to take away your fancy man;" with expressions of that sort, although the blood trickled down many of their faces, from the way in which they had been clawed. Thus we attempted to force our way through them, but I had a very narrow escape even in this instance. A woman seized me by the arm, and pulled me towards her; had it not been for one of the quarter-masters I should have been separated from my party; but, just as they dragged me away, she caught hold of me by the leg, and stopped them. "Clap on here, Peg," cried the woman to another, "and let's have this little midshipmite; I wants a baby to dry nurse." Two more women came to her assistance, catching hold of my other arm, and they would have dragged me out of the grasp of the quarter-master, had he not called out for more help on his side, upon which two of the seamen laid hold of my other leg, and there was such a tussle (all at my expense), such pulling and hauling; sometimes the women gained an inch or two of me, then the sailors got it back again. At one moment I thought it was all over with me, and in the next I was with my own men. "Pull devil; pull baker!" cried the women, and then they laughed, although I did not, I can assure you, for I really think that I was pulled out an inch taller, and my knees and shoulders pained me very much indeed. At last the women laughed so much that they could not hold on, so I was dragged into the middle of our own sailors, where I took care to remain; and, after a little more squeezing and fighting, was carried by the crowd into the house. The seamen of the merchant ships had armed themselves with bludgeons and other weapons, and had taken a position on the tables. They were more than two to one against us, and there was a dreadful fight, as their resistance was very desperate. Our sailors were obliged to use their cutlasses, and for a few minutes I was quite bewildered with the shouting and swearing, pushing and scuffling, collaring and fighting, together with the dust raised up, which not only blinded, but nearly choked me. By the time that my breath was nearly squeezed out of my body, our sailors got the best of it, which the landlady and women of the house perceiving, they put out all the lights, so that I could not tell where I was; but our sailors had every one seized his man, and contrived to haul him out of the street door, where they were collected together, and secured. Now again I was in great difficulty; I had been knocked down and trod upon, and when I did contrive to get up again, I did not know the direction in which the door lay. I felt about by the wall, and at last came to a door, for the room was at that time nearly empty, the women having followed the men out of the house. I opened it, and found that it was not the right one, but led into a little side parlour, where there was a fire, but no lights. I had just discovered my mistake, and was about to retreat, when I was shoved in from behind, and the key turned upon me: there I was all alone, and, I must acknowledge, very much frightened, as I thought that the vengeance of the women would be wreaked upon me. I considered that my death was certain, and that, like the man Orpheus I had read of in my books, I should be torn to pieces by these Bacchanals. However, I reflected that I was an officer in his Majesty's service, and that it was my duty, if necessary, to sacrifice my life for my king and country. I thought of my poor mother; but as it made me unhappy, I tried to forget her, and call to my memory all I had read of the fortitude and courage of various brave men, when death stared them in the face. I peeped through the key-hole, and perceived that the candles were re-lighted, and that there were only women in the room, who were talking all at once, and not thinking about me. But in a minute or two, a woman came in from the street, with her long black hair hanging about her shoulders, and her cap in her hand. "Well," cried she, "they've nabbed my husband; but I'll be dished if I hav'n't boxed up the midshipmite in that parlour, and he shall take his place." I thought I should have died when I looked at the woman, and perceived her coming up to the door, followed by some others, to unlock it. As the door opened, I drew my dirk, resolving to die like an officer, and as they advanced I retreated to a corner, brandishing my dirk, without saying a word. "Vell," cried the woman who had made me a prisoner, "I do declare I likes to see a puddle in a storm--only look at the little biscuit-nibbler showing fight! Come, my lovey, you belongs to me." "Never!" exclaimed I with indignation. "Keep off, I shall do you mischief" (and I raised my dirk in advance); "I am an officer and a gentleman." "Sall," cried the odious woman, "fetch a mop and a pail of dirty water, and I'll trundle that dirk out of his fist." "No, no," replied another rather good-looking young woman, "leave him to me--don't hurt him--he really is a very nice little man. What's your name, my dear?" "Peter Simple is my name," replied I; "and I am a king's officer, so be careful what you are about." "Don't be afraid, Peter, nobody shall hurt you; but you must not draw your dirk before ladies, that's not like an officer and a gentleman--so put up your dirk, that's a good boy." "I will not," replied I, "unless you promise me that I shall go away unmolested." "I do promise you that you shall, upon my word, Peter--upon my honour-- will that content you?" "Yes," replied I, "if every one else will promise the same." "Upon our honours," they all cried together; upon which I was satisfied, and putting my dirk into its sheath, was about to quit the room. "Stop, Peter," said the young woman who had taken my part; "I must have a kiss before you go." "And so must I; and so must we all," cried the other women. I was very much shocked, and attempted to draw my dirk again, but they had closed in with me, and prevented me. "Recollect your honour," cried I to the young woman, as I struggled. "My honour!--Lord bless you, Peter, the less we say about that the better." "But you promised that I should go away quietly," said I, appealing to them. "Well, and so you shall; but recollect, Peter, that you are an officer and a gentleman--you surely would not be so shabby as to go away without treating us. What money have you got in your pocket?" and, without giving me time to answer, she felt in my pocket, and pulled out my purse, which she opened. "Why, Peter, you are as rich as a Jew," said she, as they counted thirty shillings on the table. "Now, what shall we have?" "Anything you please," said I, "provided that you will let me go." "Well, then, it shall be a gallon of gin. Sall, call Mrs Flanagan. Mrs Flanagan, we want a gallon of gin, and clean glasses." Mrs Flanagan received the major part of my money, and in a minute returned with the gin and wine-glasses. "Now, Peter, my cove, let's all draw round the table, and make ourselves cosy." "O no," replied I, "take my money, drink the gin, but pray let me go;" but they wouldn't listen to me. Then I was obliged to sit down with them, the gin was poured out, and they made me drink a glass, which nearly choked me. It had, however, one good effect, it gave me courage, and in a minute or two, I felt as if I could fight them all. The door of the room was on the same side as the fire-place, and I perceived that the poker was between the bars, and red hot. I complained that I was cold, although I was in a burning fever; and they allowed me to get up to warm my hands. As soon as I reached the fire-place, I snatched out the red-hot poker, and, brandishing it over my head, made for the door. They all jumped up to detain me, but I made a poke at the foremost, which made her run back with a shriek, (I do believe that I burnt her nose.) I seized my opportunity, and escaped into the street, whirling the poker round my head, while all the women followed, hooting and shouting after me. I never stopped running and whirling my poker until I was reeking with perspiration, and the poker was quite cold. Then I looked back, and found that I was alone. It was very dark; every house was shut up, and not a light to be seen anywhere. I stopped at the corner, not knowing where I was, or what I was to do. I felt very miserable indeed, and was reflecting on my wisest plan, when who should turn the corner, but one of the quarter-masters who had been left on shore by accident. I knew him by his pea-jacket and straw hat to be one of our men, and I was delighted to see him. I told him what had happened, and he replied that he was going to a house where the people knew him and would let him in. When we arrived there, the people of the house were very civil; the landlady made us some purl, which the quarter-master ordered, and which I thought very good indeed. After we had finished the jug, we both fell asleep in our chairs. I did not awaken until I was roused by the quarter-master, at past seven o'clock, when we took a wherry, and went off to the ship. Chapter XI O'Brien takes me under his protection--The ship's company are paid, so are the bumboat-women, the Jews, and the emancipationist after a fashion--We go to sea--_Doctor_ O'Brien's cure for sea-sickness--One pill of the doctor's more than a dose. When we arrived, I reported myself to the first lieutenant, and told him the whole story of the manner in which I had been treated, showing him the poker, which I brought on board with me. He heard me very patiently, and then said, "Well, Mr Simple, you may be the greatest fool of your family for all I know to the contrary, but never pretend to be a fool with me. That poker proves the contrary: and if your wit can serve you upon your own emergency, I expect that it will be employed for the benefit of the service." He then sent for O'Brien, and gave him a lecture for allowing me to go with the pressgang, pointing out, what was very true, that I could have been of no service, and might have met with a serious accident. I went down on the main deck, and O'Brien came to me. "Peter," said he, "I have been jawed for letting you go, so it is but fair that you should be thrashed for having asked me." I wished to argue the point, but he cut all argument short, by kicking me down the hatchway; and thus ended my zealous attempt to procure seamen for his majesty's service. At last the frigate was full manned; and, as we had received drafts of men from other ships, we were ordered to be paid previously to our going to sea. The people on shore always find out when a ship is to be paid, and very early in the morning we were surrounded with wherries, laden with Jews and other people, some requesting admittance to sell their goods, others to get paid for what they had allowed the sailors to take up upon credit. But the first lieutenant would not allow any of them to come on board until after the ship was paid; although they were so urgent that he was forced to place sentries in the chains with cold shot, to stave the boats if they came alongside. I was standing at the gangway, looking at the crowd of boats, when a black-looking fellow in one of the wherries said to me, "I say, sir, let me slip in at the port, and I have a very nice present to make you;" and he displayed a gold seal, which he held up to me. I immediately ordered the sentry to keep him further off, for I was very much affronted at his supposing me capable of being bribed to disobey my orders. About eleven o'clock the dockyard boat, with all the pay-clerks, and the cashier, with his chest of money, came on board, and was shown into the fore-cabin, where the captain attended the pay-table. The men were called in, one by one, and, as the amount of the wages due had been previously calculated, they were paid; very fast. The money was always received in their hats, after it had been counted out in the presence of the officers and captain. Outside the cabin door there stood a tall man in black, with hair straight combed, who had obtained an order from the Port Admiral to be permitted to come on board. He attacked every sailor as he came out; with his money in his hat, for a subscription to emancipate the slaves in the West Indies; but the sailors would not give him anything, swearing that the niggers were better off than they were; for they did not work harder by day, and had no watch and watch to keep during the night. "Sarvitude is sarvitude all over the world, my old psalmsinger," replied one. "They sarve their masters, as in duty bound; we sarve the king, 'cause he can't do without us--and he never axes our leave, but helps himself." "Yes," replied the straight-haired gentleman; "but slavery is a very different thing." "Can't say that I see any difference; do you, Bill?" "Not I: and I suppose as if they didn't like it they'd run away." "Run away! poor creatures," said the black gentleman. "Why, if they did, they would be flogged." "Flogged--heh; well, and if we run away we are to be hanged. The nigger's better off nor we: ar'n't he, Tom?" Then the purser's steward came out: he was what they call a bit of a lawyer,--that is, had received more education than the seamen in general. "I trust, sir," said the man in black, "that you will contribute something." "Not I, my hearty: I owe every farthing of my money, and more too, I'm afraid." "Still, sir, a small trifle." "Why, what an infernal rascal you must be, to ask a man to give away what is not his own property! Did I not tell you that I owed it all? There's an old proverb--be just before you're generous. Now, it's my opinion that, you are a methodistical, good-for-nothing blackguard; and if any one is such a fool as to give you money, you will keep it for yourself." When the man found that he could obtain nothing at the door, he went down on the lower deck, in which he did not act very wisely; for now that the men were paid, the boats were permitted to come alongside, and so much spirits were smuggled in, that most of the seamen were more or less intoxicated. As soon as he went below, he commenced distributing prints of a black man kneeling in chains, and saying, "Am not I your brother?" Some of the men laughed, and swore that they would paste their brother up in the mess, to say prayers for the ship's company; but others were very angry, and abused him. At last, one man, who was tipsy, came up to him. "Do you pretend for to insinivate that this crying black thief is my brother?" "To be sure I do," replied the methodist. "Then take that for your infernal lie," said the sailor, hitting him in the face right and left, and knocking the man down into the cable tier, from whence he climbed up, and made his escape out of the frigate as soon as he was able. The ship was now in a state of confusion and uproar; there were Jews trying to sell clothes, or to obtain money for clothes which they had sold; bumboat-men and bumboat-women showing their long bills, and demanding or coaxing for payment; other people from the shore, with hundreds of small debts; and the sailors' wives, sticking close to them, and disputing every bill presented, as an extortion or a robbery. There was such bawling and threatening, laughing and crying--for the women were all to quit the ship before sunset--at one moment a Jew was upset, and all his hamper of clothes tossed into the hold; at another, a sailor was seen hunting everywhere for a Jew who had cheated him,--all squabbling or skylarking, and many of them very drunk. It appeared to me that the sailors had rather a difficult point to settle. They had three claimants upon them, the Jew for clothes, the bumboat-men for their mess in harbour, and their wives for their support during their absence; and the money which they received was, generally speaking, not more than sufficient to meet one of the demands. As it may be supposed, the women had the best of it; the others were paid a trifle, and promised the remainder when they came back from their cruise; and although, as the case stood then, it might appear that two of the parties were ill-used, yet in the long run they were more than indemnified, for their charges were so extravagant, that if one-third of their bills were paid, there would still remain a profit. About five o'clock the orders were given for the ship to be cleared. All disputed points were settled by the sergeant of marines with a party, who divided their antagonists from the Jews; and every description of persons not belonging to the ship, whether male or female, was dismissed over the side. The hammocks were piped down, those who were intoxicated were put to bed, and the ship was once more quiet. Nobody was punished for having been tipsy, as pay-day is considered, on board a man-of-war, as the winding-up of all incorrect behaviour, and from that day the sailors turn over a new leaf; for, although some latitude is permitted, and the seamen are seldom flogged in harbour, yet the moment that the anchor is at the bows, strict discipline is exacted, and intoxication must no longer hope to be forgiven. The next day everything was prepared for sea, and no leave was permitted to the officers. Stock of every kind was brought on board, and the large boats hoisted and secured. On the morning after, at daylight, a signal from the flag-ship in harbour was made for us to unmoor; our orders had come down to cruise in the Bay of Biscay. The captain came on board, the anchor weighed, and we ran through the Needles with a fine N.E. breeze. I admired the scenery of the Isle of Wight, looked with admiration at Alum Bay, was astonished at the Needle rocks, and then felt so very ill that I went down below. What occurred for the next six days I cannot tell. I thought that I should die every moment, and lay in my hammock or on the chests for the whole of that time, incapable of eating, drinking, or walking about. O'Brien came to me on the seventh morning, and said, that if I did not exert myself I never should get well; that he was very fond of me and had taken me under his protection, and, to prove his regard, he would do for me what he would not take the trouble to do for any other youngster in the ship, which was, to give me a good basting, which was a sovereign remedy for sea-sickness. He suited the action to the word, and drubbed me on the ribs without mercy, until I thought the breath was out of my body, and then he took out a rope's end and thrashed me until I obeyed his orders to go on deck immediately. Before he came to me, I could never have believed it possible that I could have obeyed him; but somehow or other I did contrive to crawl up the ladder to the main-deck, where I sat down on the shot-racks and cried bitterly. What would I have given to have been at home again! It was not my fault that I was the greatest fool in the family, yet how was I punished for it! If this was kindness from O'Brien, what had I to expect from those who were not partial to me? But, by degrees, I recovered myself, and certainly felt a great deal better, and that night I slept very soundly. The next morning O'Brien came to me again. "It's a nasty slow fever, that sea-sickness, my Peter, and we must drive it out of you;" and then he commenced a repetition of yesterday's remedy until I was almost a jelly. Whether the fear of being thrashed drove away my sea-sickness, or whatever might be the real cause of it, I do not know, but this is certain, that I felt no more of it after the second beating, and the next morning when I awoke I was very hungry. I hastened to dress myself before O'Brien came to me, and did not see him until we met at breakfast. "Pater," said he, "let me feel your pulse." "Oh no!" replied I, "indeed I'm quite well." "Quite well! Can you eat biscuit and salt butter?" "Yes, I can." "And a piece of fat pork?" "Yes, that I can." "It's thanks to me then, Pater," replied he; "so you'll have no more of my medicine until you fall sick again." "I hope not," replied I, "for it was not very pleasant." "Pleasant! you simple Simple, when did you ever hear of physic being pleasant, unless a man prescribe for himself? I suppose you'd be after lollipops for the yellow fever. Live and larn, boy, and thank Heaven that you've found somebody who loves you well enough to baste you when it's good for your health." I replied, "that I certainly hoped that much as I felt obliged to him, I should not require any more proofs of his regard." "Any more such _striking_ proofs, you mean, Pater; but let me tell you that they were sincere proofs, for since you've been ill I've been eating your pork and drinking your grog, which latter can't be too plentiful in the Bay of Biscay. And now that I've cured you, you'll be tucking all that into your own little breadbasket, so that I'm no gainer, and I think that you may be convinced that you never had or will have two more disinterested thumpings in all your born days. However, you're very welcome, so say no more about it." I held my tongue and ate a very hearty breakfast. From that day I returned to my duty, and was put into the same watch with O'Brien, who spoke to the first lieutenant, and told him that he had taken me under his charge. Chapter XII New theory of Mr Muddle remarkable for having no end to it--Novel practice of Mr Chucks--O'Brien commences his history--There were giants in those days--I bring up the master's _night-glass_. As I have already mentioned sufficient of the captain and the first lieutenant to enable the reader to gain an insight into their characters, I shall now mention two very odd personages who were my shipmates, the carpenter and the boatswain. The carpenter, whose name was Muddle, used to go by the appellation of Philosopher Chips, not that he followed any particular school, but had formed a theory of his own, from which he was not to be dissuaded. This was, that the universe had its cycle of events turned round, so that in a certain period of time everything was to happen over again. I never could make him explain upon what data his calculations were founded; he said, that if he explained it, I was too young to comprehend it; but the fact was this, "that in 27,672 years everything that was going on now would be going on again, with the same people as were existing at this present time." He very seldom ventured to make the remark to Captain Savage, but to the first lieutenant he did very often. "I've been as close to it as possible, sir, I do assure you, although you find fault; but 27,672 years ago you were first lieutenant of this ship, and I was carpenter, although we recollect nothing about it; and 27,672 years hence we shall both be standing by this boat, talking about the repairs, as we are now." "I do not doubt it, Mr Muddle," replied the first lieutenant; "I dare say that it is all very true, but the repairs must be finished this night, and 27,672 years hence you will have the order just as positive as you have it now, so let it be done." This theory made him very indifferent as to danger, or indeed as to anything. It was of no consequence, the affair took its station in the course of time. It had happened at the above period, and would happen again. Fate was fate. But the boatswain was a more amusing personage. He was considered to be the _taughtest_ (that is, the most active and severe) boatswain in the service. He went by the name of "Gentleman Chucks"--the latter was his surname. He appeared to have received half an education; sometimes his language was for a few sentences remarkably well chosen, but, all of a sudden, he would break down at a hard word; but I shall be able to let the reader into more of his history as I go on with my adventures. He had a very handsome person, inclined to be stout, keen eyes, and hair curling in ringlets. He held his head up, and strutted as he walked. He declared "that an officer should look like an officer, and _comport_ himself accordingly." In his person he was very clean, wore rings on his great fingers, and a large frill to his bosom, which stuck out like the back fin of a perch, and the collar of his shirt was always pulled up to a level with his cheek-bones. He never appeared on deck without his "persuader," which was three rattans twisted into one, like a cable; sometimes he called it his Order of the Bath, or his Tri_o_ junct_o_ in Uno; and this persuader was seldom idle. He attempted to be very polite, even when addressing the common seamen, and, certainly, he always commenced his observations to them in a very gracious manner, but, as he continued, he became less choice in his phraseology. O'Brien said that his speeches were like the Sin of the poet, very fair at the upper part of them, but shocking at the lower extremities. As a specimen of them, he would say to the man on the forecastle, "Allow me to observe, my dear man, in the most delicate way in the world, that you are spilling that tar upon the deck--a deck, sir, if I may venture to make the observation, I had the duty of seeing holystoned this morning. You understand me, sir, you have defiled his majesty's forecastle. I must do my duty, sir, if you neglect yours; so take that--and that--and that--(thrashing the man with his rattan)--you d--d hay-making son of a sea-cook. Do it again, d--n your eyes, and I'll cut your liver out." I remember one of the ship's boys going forward with a kid of dirty water to empty in the head, without putting his hand up to his hat as he passed the boatswain. "Stop, my little friend," said the boatswain, pulling out his frill, and raising up both sides of his shirt-collar. "Are you aware, sir, of my rank and station in society?" "Yes, sir," replied the boy, trembling, and eyeing the rattan. "Oh, you are!" replied Mr Chucks. "Had you not been aware of it, I should have considered a gentle correction necessary, that you might have avoided such an error in future; but, as you _were_ aware of it, why then, d--n you, you have no excuse, so take that--and that--you yelping, half-starved abortion. I really beg your pardon, Mr Simple," said he to me, as the boy went howling forward, for I was walking with him at the time; "but really the service makes brutes of us all. It is hard to sacrifice our health, our night's rest, and our comforts; but still more so, that in my responsible situation, I am obliged too often to sacrifice my gentility." The master was the officer who had charge of the watch to which I was stationed; he was a very rough sailor, who had been brought up in the merchant service, not much of a gentleman in his appearance, very good-tempered, and very fond of grog. He always quarrelled with the boatswain, and declared that the service was going to the devil, now that warrant officers put on white shirts, and wore frills to them. But the boatswain did not care for him; he knew his duty, he did his duty, and if the captain was satisfied, he said, that the whole ship's company might grumble. As for the master, he said, the man was very well, but having been brought up in a collier, he could not be expected to be very refined; in fact, he observed, pulling up his shirt-collar--"it was impossible to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." The master was very kind to me, and used to send me down to my hammock before my watch was half over. Until that time, I walked the deck with O'Brien, who was a very pleasant companion, and taught me everything that he could, connected with my profession. One night, when he had the middle watch, I told him I should like very much if he would give me the history of his life. "That I will, my honey," replied he, "all that I can remember of it, though I have no doubt but that I've forgotten the best part of it. It's now within five minutes of two bells, so we'll heave the log and mark the board, and then I'll spin you a yarn, which will keep us both from going to sleep." O'Brien reported the rate of sailing to the master, marked it down on the log-board, and then returned. "So now, my boy, I'll come to an anchor on the topsail halyard rack, and you may squeeze your thread-paper little carcass under my lee, and then I'll tell you all about it. First and foremost, you must know that I am descended from the great O'Brien Borru, who was king in his time, as the great Fingal was before him. Of course you've heard of Fingal?" "I can't say that I ever did," replied I. "Never heard of Fingal!--murder! Where must you have been all your life? Well, then, to give you some notion of Fingal, I will first tell you how Fingal bothered the great Scotch giant, and then I'll go on with my own story. Fingal, you must know, was a giant himself, and no fool of one, and any one that affronted him was as sure of a bating, as I am to keep the middle watch to-night. But there was a giant in Scotland as tall as the mainmast, more or less, as we say when we a'n't quite sure, as it saves telling more lies than there's occasion for. Well, this Scotch giant heard of Fingal, and how he had beaten everybody, and he said, 'Who is this Fingal? By Jasus,' says he in Scotch, 'I'll just walk over and see what he's made of.' So he walked across the Irish Channel, and landed within half-a-mile of Belfast, but whether he was out of his depth or not I can't tell, although I suspect that he was not dry-footed. When Fingal heard that this great chap was coming over, he was in a devil of a fright, for they told him that the Scotchman was taller by a few feet or so. Giants, you know, measure by feet, and don't bother themselves about the inches, as we little devils are obliged to do. So Fingal kept a sharp look-out for the Scotchman, and one fine morning, there he was, sure enough, coming up the hill to Fingal's house. If Fingal was afraid before, he had more reason to be afraid when he saw the fellow, for he looked for all the world like the Monument upon a voyage of discovery. So Fingal ran into his house, and called to his wife Shaya, 'My vourneen,' says he, 'be quick now; there's that big bully of a Scotchman coming up the hill. Kiver me up with the blankets, and if he asks who is in bed, tell him it's the child.' So Fingal laid down on the bed, and his wife had just time to cover him up, when in comes the Scotchman, and though he stooped low, he broke his head against the portal. 'Where's that baste Fingal?' says he, rubbing his forehead; 'show him to me, that I may give him a bating.' 'Whisht, whisht!' cries Shaya, 'you'll wake the babby, and then him that you talk of bating will be the death of you, if he comes in.' 'Is that the babby?' cried the Scotchman with surprise, looking at the great carcass muffled up in the blankets. 'Sure it is,' replied Shaya, 'and Fingal's babby too; so don't you wake him, or Fingal will twist your neck in a minute.' 'By the cross of St Andrew,' replied the giant, 'then it's time for me to be off; for if that's his babby, I'll be but a mouthful to the fellow himself. Good morning to ye.' So the Scotch giant ran out of the house, and never stopped to eat or drink until he got back to his own hills, foreby he was nearly drowned in having mistaken his passage across the Channel in his great hurry. Then Fingal got up and laughed, as well he might, at his own 'cuteness; and so ends my story about Fingal. And now I'll begin about myself. As I said before, I am descended from the great O'Brien, who was a king in his time, but that time's past. I suppose, as the world turns round, my children's children's posterity may be kings again, although there seems but little chance of it just now; but there's ups and downs on a grand scale, as well as in a man's own history, and the wheel of fortune keeps turning for the comfort of those who are at the lowest spoke, as I may be just now. To cut the story a little shorter, I skip down to my great-grandfather, who lived like a real gentleman, as he was, upon his ten thousand a year. At last he died, and eight thousand of the ten was buried with him. My grandfather followed his father all in good course of time, and only left my father about one hundred acres of bog, to keep up the dignity of the family. I am the youngest of ten, and devil a copper have I but my pay, or am I likely to have. You may talk about _descent_, but a more _descending_ family than mine was never in existence, for here am I with twenty-five pounds a-year, and a half-pay of 'nothing a day, and find myself,' when my great ancestor did just what he pleased with all Ireland, and everybody in it. But this is all nothing, except to prove satisfactorily that I am not worth a skillagalee, and that is the reason which induces me to condescend to serve his Majesty. Father M'Grath, the priest, who lived with my father, taught me the elements, as they call them. I thought I had enough of the elements then, but I've seen a deal more of them since. 'Terence,' says my father to me one day, 'what do you mane to do?' 'To get my dinner, sure,' replied I, for I was not a little hungry. 'And so you shall to-day, my vourneen,' replied my father, 'but in future you must do something to get your own dinner: there's not praties enow for the whole of ye. Will you go to the _say_?' 'I'll just step down and look at it,' says I, for we lived but sixteen Irish miles from the coast; so when I had finished my meal, which did not take long, for want of ammunition, I trotted down to the Cove to see what a ship might be like, and I happened upon a large one sure enough, for there lay a three-decker with an admiral's flag at the fore. 'May be you'll be so civil as to tell me what ship that is,' said I to a sailor on the pier. 'It's the Queen Charlotte,' replied he, 'of one hundred and twenty guns.' Now when I looked at her size, and compared her with all the little smacks and hoys lying about her, I very naturally asked how old she was; he replied, that she was no more than three years old. 'But three years old!' thought I to myself, 'it's a fine vessel you'll be when you'll come of age, if you grow at that rate: you'll be as tall as the top of Bencrow,'(that's a mountain we have in our parts). You see, Peter, I was a fool at that time, just as you are now; but by-and-by, when you've had as many thrashings as I have had, you may chance to be as clever. I went back to my father, and told him all I had seen, and he replied, that if I liked it I might be a midshipman on board of her, with nine hundred men under my command. He forgot to say how many I should have over me, but I found that out afterwards. I agreed, and my father ordered his pony and went to the lord-lieutenant, for he had interest enough for that. The lord-lieutenant spoke to the admiral, who was staying at the palace, and I was ordered on board as midshipman. My father fitted me out pretty handsomely, telling all the tradesmen that their bills should be paid with my first prize-money, and thus, by promises and blarney, he got credit for all I wanted. At last all was ready: Father M'Grath gave me his blessing, and told me that if I died like an O'Brien, he would say a power of masses for the good of my soul. 'May you never have the trouble, sir,' said I. 'Och, trouble! a pleasure, my dear boy,' replied he, for he was a very polite man; so off I went with my big chest, not quite so full as it ought to have been, for my mother cribbed one half of my stock for my brothers and sisters. 'I hope to be back again soon, father,' said I as I took my leave. 'I hope not, my dear boy,' replied he: 'a'n't you provided for, and what more would you have?' So, after a deal of bother, I was fairly on board, and I parted company with my chest, for I stayed on deck, and that went down below. I stared about with all my eyes for some time, when who should be coming off but the captain, and the officers were ordered on deck to receive him. I wanted to have a quiet survey of him, so I took up my station on one of the guns, that I might examine him at my leisure. The boatswain whistled, the marines presented arms, and the officers all took off their hats as the captain came on the deck, and then the guard was dismissed, and they all walked about the deck as before; but I found it very pleasant to be astride on the gun, so I remained where I was. 'What do you mane by that, you big young scoundrel?' says he, when he saw me. 'It's nothing at all I mane,' replied I; 'but what do you mane by calling an O'Brien a scoundrel?' 'Who is he?' said the captain to the first lieutenant. 'Mr O'Brien, who joined the ship about an hour since.' 'Don't you know better than to sit upon a gun?' said the captain. 'To be sure I do,' replied I, 'when there's anything better to sit upon.' 'He knows no better, sir,' observed the first lieutenant. 'Then he must be taught,' replied the captain. 'Mr O'Brien, since you have perched yourself on that gun to please yourself, you will now continue there for two hours to please me. Do you understand, sir?--you'll ride on that gun for two hours.' 'I understand, sir,' replied I; 'but I am afraid that he won't move without spurs, although there's plenty of _metal_ in him.' The captain turned away and laughed as he went into his cabin, and all the officers laughed, and I laughed too, for I perceived no great hardship in sitting down an hour or two, any more than I do now. Well, I soon found that, like a young bear, all my troubles were to come. The first month was nothing but fighting and squabbling with my messmates; they called me a _raw_ Irishman, and _raw_ I was, sure enough, from the constant thrashings and coltings I received from those who were bigger and stronger than myself; but nothing lasts for ever--as they discovered that whenever they found blows I could find back, they got tired of it, and left me and my brogue alone. We sailed for the Toolong fleet." "What fleet?" inquired I. "Why, the Toolong fleet, so called, I thought, because they remained too long in harbour, bad luck to them; and then we were off Cape See-see (devil a bit could we see of them except their mast-heads) for I don't know how many months. But I forgot to say that I got into another scrape just before we left harbour. It was my watch when they piped to dinner, and I took the liberty to run below, as my messmates had a knack of forgetting absent friends. Well, the captain came on board, and there were no side boys, no side ropes, and no officers to receive him. He came on deck foaming with rage, for his dignity was hurt, and he inquired who was the midshipman of the watch. 'Mr O'Brien,' said they all. 'Devil a bit,' replied I, 'it was my forenoon watch.' 'Who relieved you, sir?' said the first lieutenant. 'Devil a soul, sir,' replied I; 'for they were all too busy with their pork and beef.' 'Then why did you leave the deck without relief?' 'Because, sir, my stomach would have had but little relief if I had remained.' The captain, who stood by, said, 'Do you see those cross-trees, sir?' 'Is it those little bits of wood that you mane, on the top there, captain?' 'Yes, sir; now just go up there, and stay until I call you down. You must be brought to your senses, young man, or you'll have but little prospect in the service.' 'I've an idea that I'll have plenty of prospect when I get up there,' replied I, 'but it's all to please you.' So up I went, as I have many a time since, and as you often will, Peter, just to enjoy the fresh air and your own pleasant thoughts, all at one and the same time. "At last I became much more used to the manners and customs of _say_-going people, and by the time that I had been fourteen months off Cape See-see, I was considered a very genteel young midshipman, and my messmates (that is, all that I could thrash, which didn't leave out many) had a very great respect for me. "The first time that I put my foot on shore was at Minorca, and then I put my foot into it (as we say), for I was nearly killed for a heretic, and only saved by proving myself a true Catholic, which proves that religion is a great comfort in distress, as Father M'Grath used to say. Several of us went on shore, and having dined upon a roast turkey, stuffed with plum-pudding (for everything else was cooked in oil, and we could not eat it), and having drunk as much wine as would float a jolly-boat, we ordered donkeys, to take a little equestrian exercise. Some went off tail on end, some with their hind-quarters uppermost, and then the riders went off instead of the donkeys; some wouldn't go off at all; as for mine he would go--and where the devil do you think he went? Why, into the church where all the people were at mass; the poor brute was dying with thirst, and smelt water. As soon as he was in, notwithstanding all my tugging and hauling, he ran his nose into the holy-water font, and drank it all up. Although I thought, that seeing how few Christians have any religion, you could not expect much from a donkey, yet I was very much shocked at the sacrilege, and fearful of the consequences. Nor was it without reason, for the people in the church were quite horrified, as well they might be, for the brute drank as much holy-water as would have purified the whole town of Port Mahon, suburbs and all to boot. They rose up from their knees and seized me, calling upon all the saints in the calendar. Although I knew what they meant, not a word of their lingo could I speak, to plead for my life, and I was almost torn to pieces before the priest came up. Perceiving the danger I was in, I wiped my finger across the wet nose of the donkey, crossed myself, and then went down on my knees to the priests, crying out _Culpa mea_, as all good Catholics do--though 'twas no fault of mine, as I said before, for I tried all I could, and tugged at the brute till my strength was gone. The priests perceived by the manner in which I crossed myself that I was a good Catholic, and guessed that it was all a mistake of the donkey's. They ordered the crowd to be quiet, and sent for an interpreter, when I explained the whole story. They gave me absolution for what the donkey had done, and after that, as it was very rare to meet an English officer who was a good Christian, I was in great favour during my stay at Minorca, and was living in plenty, paying for nothing, and as happy as a cricket. So the jackass proved a very good friend, and, to reward him, I hired him every day, and galloped him all over the island. But, at last, it occurred to me that I had broken my leave, for I was so happy on shore that I quite forgot that I had only permission for twenty-four hours, and I should not have remembered it so soon, had it not been for a party of marines, headed by a sergeant, who took me by the collar, and dragged me off my donkey. I was taken on board, and put under an arrest for my misconduct. Now, Peter, I don't know anything more agreeable than being put under an arrest. Nothing to do all day but eat and drink, and please yourself, only forbid to appear on the quarter-deck, the only place that a midshipman wishes to avoid. Whether it was to punish me more severely, or whether he forgot all about me, I can't tell, but it was nearly two months before I was sent for to the cabin; and the captain, with a most terrible frown, said, that he trusted that my punishment would be a warning to me, and that now I might return to my duty. 'Plase your honour,' said I, 'I don't think that I've been punished enough yet.' 'I am glad to find that you are so penitent, but you are forgiven, so take care that you do not oblige me to put you again in confinement.' So, as there was no persuading him, I was obliged to return to my duty again; but I made a resolution that I would get into another scrape again as soon as I dared--" "Sail on the starboard bow!" cried the look-out man. "Very well," replied the master; "Mr O'Brien--where's Mr O'Brien?" "Is it me you mane, sir?" said O'Brien, walking up to the master, for he had sat down so long in the topsail-halyard rack, that he was wedged in and could not get out immediately. "Yes, sir; go forward, and see what that vessel is." "Aye, aye, sir," said O'Brien. "And Mr Simple," continued the master, "go down and bring me up my night-glass." "Yes, sir," replied I. I had no idea of a night-glass; and as I observed that about this time his servant brought him up a glass of grog, I thought it very lucky that I knew what he meant. "Take care that you don't break it, Mr Simple." "Oh, then, I'm all right," thought I; "he means the tumbler." So down I went, called up the gunroom steward, and desired him to give me a glass of grog for Mr Doball. The steward tumbled out in his shirt, mixed the grog, and gave it to me, and I carried it up very carefully to the quarter-deck. During my absence, the master had called the captain, and in pursuance of his orders, O'Brien had called the first lieutenant, and when I came up the ladder, they were both on deck. As I was ascending, I heard the master say, "I have sent young Simple down for my night-glass, but he is so long, that I suppose he has made some mistake. He's but half a fool." "That I deny," replied Mr Falcon, the first lieutenant, just as I put my foot on the quarter-deck; "he's no fool." "Perhaps not," replied the master. "Oh, here he is. What made you so long, Mr Simple--where is my night-glass?" "Here it is, sir," replied I, handing him the tumbler of grog; "I told the steward to make it stiff." The captain and the first lieutenant burst out into a laugh for Mr Doball was known to be very fond of grog; the former walked aft to conceal his mirth; but the latter remained. Mr Doball was in a great rage. "Did not I say that the boy was half a fool?" cried he to the first lieutenant. "At all events, I'll not allow that he has proved himself so in this instance," replied Mr Falcon, "for he has hit the right nail on the head." Then the first lieutenant joined the captain, and they both went off laughing. "Put it on the capstan, sir," said Mr Doball to me, in an angry voice. "I'll punish you by-and-by." I was very much astonished; I hardly knew whether I had done right or wrong; at all events, thought I to myself, I did for the best; so I put it on the capstan and walked to my own side of the deck. The captain and first lieutenant then went below, and O'Brien came aft. "What vessel is it?" said I. "To the best of my belief, it's one of your bathing-machines going home with despatches," replied he. "A bathing machine," said I; "why I thought that they were hauled up on the beach." "That's the Brighton sort; but these are made not to go up at all." "What then?" "Why, to _go down_, to be sure; and remarkably well they answer their purpose. I won't puzzle you any more, my Peter--I'm spaking helligorically, which I believe means telling a hell of a lie. It's one of your ten-gun brigs, to the best of my knowledge." I then told O'Brien what had occurred, and how the master was angry with me. O'Brien laughed very heartily, and told me never to mind, but to keep in the lee-scuppers and watch him. "A glass of grog is a bait that he'll play round till he gorges. When you see it to his lips, go up to him boldly, and ask his pardon, if you have offended him, and then, if he's a good Christian, as I believe him to be, he'll not refuse it." I thought this was very good advice, and I waited under the bulwark on the lee-side. I observed that the master made shorter and shorter turns every time, till at last he stopped at the capstan and looked at the grog. He waited about half a minute, and then he took up the tumbler, and drank about half of it. It was very strong, and he stopped to take breath. I thought this was the right time, and I went up to him. The tumbler was again to his lips, and before he saw me, I said, "I hope, sir, you'll forgive me; I never heard of a night telescope, and knowing that you had walked so long, I thought you were tired, and wanted something to drink to refresh you." "Well, Mr Simple," said he, after he had finished the glass, with a deep sigh of pleasure, "as you meant kindly, I shall let you off this time; but recollect, that whenever you bring me a glass of grog again, it must not be in the presence of the captain or first lieutenant." I promised him very faithfully, and went away quite delighted with my having made my peace with him, and more so, that the first lieutenant had said that I was no fool for what I had done. At last our watch was over, and about two bells I was relieved by the midshipmen of the next watch. It is very unfair not to relieve in time, but if I said a word I was certain to be thrashed the next day upon some pretence or other. On the other hand, the midshipman whom I relieved was also much bigger than I was, and if I was not up before one bell, I was cut down and thrashed by him: so that between the two I kept much more than my share of the watch, except when the master sent me to bed before it was over. Chapter XIII The first lieutenant prescribes for one of his patients, his prescriptions consisting of _draughts_ only--O'Brien finishes the history of his life, in which the proverb of "the more the merrier" is sadly disproved--_Shipping_ a new pair of boots causes the _unshipping_ of their owner--Walking home after a ball, O'Brien meets with an accident. The next morning I was on deck at seven bells, to see the hammocks stowed, when I was witness to Mr Falcon, the first lieutenant, having recourse to one of his remedies to cure a mizen-top-boy of smoking, a practice to which he had a great aversion. He never interfered with the men smoking in the galley, or chewing tobacco; but he prevented the boys, that is, lads under twenty or there-abouts, from indulging in the habit too early. The first lieutenant smelt the tobacco as the boy passed him on the quarter-deck. "Why, Neill, you have been smoking," said the first lieutenant. "I thought you were aware that I did not permit such lads as you to use tobacco." "If you please, sir," replied the mizen-top-man, touching his hat, "I'se got worms, and they say that smoking be good for them." "Good for them!" said the first lieutenant; "yes, very good for them, but very bad for you. Why, my good fellow, they'll thrive upon tobacco until they grow as large as conger eels. Heat is what the worms are fond of; but cold--cold will kill them. Now I'll cure you. Quarter-master, come here. Walk this boy up and down the weather-gangway, and every time you get forward abreast of the main-tack block, put his mouth to windward, squeeze him sharp by the nape of the neck until he opens his mouth wide, and there keep him and let the cold air blow down his throat, while you count ten; then walk him aft, and when you are forward again, proceed as before.--Cold kills worms, my poor boy, not tobacco--I wonder that you are not dead by this time." The quarter-master, who liked the joke, as did all the seamen, seized hold of the lad, and as soon as they arrived forward, gave him such a squeeze of the neck as to force him to open his mouth, if it were only to cry with pain. The wind was very fresh, and blew into his mouth so strong, that it actually whistled while he was forced to keep it open; and thus, he was obliged to walk up and down, cooling his inside, for nearly two hours, when the first lieutenant sent for him, and told him, that he thought all the worms must be dead by that time; but if they were not, the lad was not to apply his own remedies, but come to him for another dose. However, the boy was of the same opinion as the first lieutenant, and never complained of worms again. A few nights afterwards, when we had the middle watch, O'Brien proceeded with his story. "Where was it that I left off?" "You left off at the time that you were taken out of confinement." "So I did, sure enough; and it was with no good-will that I went to my duty. However, as there was no help for it, I walked up and down the deck as before, with my hands in my pockets, thinking of old Ireland, and my great ancestor, Brien Borru. And so I went on behaving myself like a real gentleman, and getting into no more scrapes, until the fleet put into the Cove of Cork, and I found myself within a few miles of my father's house. You may suppose that the anchor had hardly kissed the mud, before I went to the first lieutenant, and asked leave to go on shore. Now the first lieutenant was not in the sweetest of tempers, seeing as how the captain had been hauling him over the coals for not carrying on the duty according to his satisfaction. So he answered me very gruffly, that I should not leave the ship. 'Oh, bother!' said I to myself, 'this will never do.' So up I walked to the captain, and touching my hat, reminded him that 'I had a father and mother, and a pretty sprinkling of brothers and sisters, who were dying to see me, and that I hoped that he would give me leave.' 'Ax the first lieutenant,' said he, turning away. 'I have, sir,' replied I, 'and he says that the devil a bit shall I put my foot on shore.' 'Then you have misbehaved yourself,' said the captain. 'Not a bit of it, Captain Willis,' replied I; 'it's the first lieutenant who has misbehaved.' 'How, sir?' answered he, in an angry tone. 'Why, sir, didn't he misbehave just now in not carrying on the duty according to your will and pleasure? and didn't you serve him out just as he deserved--and isn't he sulky because you did-- and arn't that the reason why I am not to go on shore? You see, your honour, it's all true as I said; and the first lieutenant has misbehaved and not I. I hope you will allow me to go on shore, captain, God bless you! and make some allowance for my parental feelings towards the arthers of my existence.' 'Have you any fault to find with Mr O'Brien?' said the captain to the first lieutenant, as he came aft. 'No more than I have with midshipmen in general; but I believe it is not the custom for officers to ask leave to go on shore before the sails are furled and the yards squared.' 'Very true,' replied the captain; 'therefore, Mr O'Brien, you must wait until the watch is called, and then, if you ask the first lieutenant, I have no doubt but you will have leave granted to you to go and see your friends.' 'Thank'e kindly, sir,' replied I; and I hoped that the yards and sails would be finished off as soon as possible, for my heart was in my mouth, and I felt that if I had been kept much longer, it would have flown on shore before me. "I thought myself very clever in this business, but I was never a greater fool in my life; for there was no such hurry to have gone on shore, and the first lieutenant never forgave me for appealing to the captain--but of that by-and-by, and all in good time. At last I obtained a grumbling assent to my going on shore, and off I went like a sky-rocket. Being in a desperate hurry, I hired a jaunting-car to take me to my father's house. 'Is it the O'Brien of Ballyhinch that you mane?' inquired the spalpeen who drove the horse. 'Sure it is,' replied I; 'and how is he, and all the noble family of the O'Briens?" 'All well enough, bating the boy Tim, who caught a bit of confusion in his head the other night at the fair, and now lies at home in bed quite insensible to mate or drink; but the doctors give hopes of his recovery, as all the O'Briens are known to have such thick heads.' 'What do you mane by that, bad manners to you?' said I, 'but poor Tim--how did it happen--was there a fight?' 'Not much of a fight--only a bit of a skrummage--three crowners' inquests, no more.' 'But you are not going the straight road, you thief,' said I, seeing that he had turned off to the left. 'I've my reasons for that, your honour,' replied he; 'I always turn away from the Castle out of principle--I lost a friend there, and it makes me melancholy.' 'How came that for to happen?' 'All by accident, your honour; they hung my poor brother Patrick there, because he was a bad hand at arithmetic.' 'He should have gone to a better school then,' said I. 'I've an idea that it was a bad school that he was brought up in,' replied he, with a sigh. 'He was a cattle-dealer, your honour, and one day, somehow or another, he'd a cow too much--all for not knowing how to count, your honour,--bad luck to his school-master.' 'All that may be very true,' said I, 'and pace be to his soul; but I don't see why you are to drag me, that's in such a hurry, two miles out of my way, out of principle.' 'Is your honour in a hurry to get home? Then I'll be thinking they'll not be in such a hurry to see you.' 'And who told you that my name was O'Brien, you baste?--and do you dare to say that my friends won't be glad to see me?' 'Plase your honour, it's all an idea of mine--so say no more about it. Only this I know: Father M'Grath, who gives me absolution, tould me the other day that I ought to pay him, and not run in debt, and then run away like Terence O'Brien, who went to say without paying for his shirts, and his shoes, and his stockings, nor anything else, and who would live to be hanged as sure as St Patrick swam over the Liffey with his head under his arm.' 'Bad luck to that Father McGrath,' cried I; 'devil burn me, but I'll be revenged upon him!' "By that time we had arrived at the door of my father's house. I paid the rapparee, and in I popped. There was my father and mother, and all my brothers and sisters (bating Tim, who was in bed sure enough, and died next day), and that baste Father McGrath to boot. When my mother saw me she ran to me and hugged me as she wept on my neck, and then she wiped her eyes and sat down again; but nobody else said 'How d'ye do?' or opened their mouths to me. I said to myself, 'Sure there's some trifling mistake here,' but I held my tongue. At last they all opened their mouths with a vengeance. My father commenced--'Ar'n't you ashamed on yourself, Terence O'Brien?' 'Ar'n't you ashamed on yourself, Terence O'Brien?' cried Father M'Grath. 'Ar'n't you ashamed on yourself?' cried out all my brothers and sisters in full chorus, whilst my poor mother put her apron to her eyes and said nothing. 'The devil a bit for myself, but very much ashamed for you all,' replied I, 'to treat me in this manner. What's the meaning of all this?' 'Haven't they seized my two cows to pay for your toggery, you spalpeen?' cried my father. 'Haven't they taken the hay to pay for your shoes and stockings?' cried Father M'Grath. 'Haven't they taken the pig to pay for that ugly hat of yours?' cried my eldest sister. 'And haven't they taken my hens to pay for that dirk of yours?' cried another. 'And all our best furniture to pay for your white shirts and black cravats?' cried Murdock, my brother. 'And haven't we been starved to death ever since?' cried they all. 'Och hone!' said my mother. 'The devil they have!' said I, when they'd all done. 'Sure I'm sorry enough, but it's no fault of mine. Father, didn't you send me to say?' 'Yes, you rapparee; but didn't you promise--or didn't I promise for you, which is all one and the same thing--that you'd pay it all back with your prize-money--and where is it? answer that, Terence O'Brien.' 'Where is it, father? I'll tell you; it's where next Christmas is--coming, but not come yet.' 'Spake to him, Father M'Grath,' said my father. 'Is not that a lie of yours, Terence O'Brien, that you're after telling now?' said Father McGrath; 'give me the money.' 'It's no lie, Father McGrath; if it pleased you to die to-morrow, the devil of a shilling have I to jingle on your tombstone for good luck, bating those three or four, which you may divide between you, and I threw them on the floor. "'Terence O'Brien,' said Father McGrath, 'its absolution that you'll be wanting to-morrow, after all your sins and enormities; and the devil a bit shall you have--take that now.' "'Father M'Grath,' replied I very angrily, 'it's no absolution that I'll want from you, any how--take that now.' "'Then you have had your share of heaven; for I'll keep you out of it, you wicked monster,' said Father M'Grath--'take that now.' "'If it's no better than a midshipman's berth,' replied I, 'I'd just as soon stay out; but I'll creep in in spite of you--take that now, Father M'Grath.' "'And who's to save your soul, and send you to heaven, if I don't, you wicked wretch? but I'll see you d--d first--so take that now, Terence O'Brien.' "'Then I'll turn Protestant, and damn the Pope--take that now, Father M'Grath.' "At this last broadside of mine, my father and all my brothers and sisters raised a cry of horror, and my mother burst into tears. Father M'Grath seized hold of the pot of holy water, and dipping in the little whisk, began to sprinkle the room, saying a Latin prayer, while they all went on squalling at me. At last, my father seized the stool, which he had been seated upon, and threw it at my head. I dodged, and it knocked down Father M'Grath, who had just walked behind me in full song. I knew that it was all over after that, so I sprang over his carcass, and gained the door. 'Good morning to ye all, and better manners to you next time we meet,' cried I, and off I set as fast as I could for the ship. "I was melancholy enough as I walked back, and thought of what had passed. 'I need not have been in such a confounded hurry,' said I to myself, 'to ask leave, thereby affronting the first lieutenant;' and I was very sorry for what I had said to the priest, for my conscience thumped me very hard at having even pretended that I'd turn Protestant, which I never intended to do, nor never will, but live and die a good Catholic, as all my posterity have done before me, and, as I trust, all my ancestors will for generations to come. Well, I arrived on board, and the first lieutenant was very savage. I hoped he would get over it, but he never did; and he continued to treat me so ill that I determined to quit the ship, which I did as soon as we arrived in Cawsand Bay. The captain allowed me to go, for I told him the whole truth of the matter, and he saw that it was true; so he recommended me to the captain of a jackass frigate, who was in want of midshipmen." "What do you mean by a jackass frigate?" inquired I. "I mean one of your twenty-eight gun-ships, so called, because there is as much difference between them and a real frigate, like the one we are sailing in, as there is between a donkey and a racehorse. Well, the ship was no sooner brought down to the dock-yard to have her ballast taken in, than our captain came down to her--a little, thin, spare man, but a man of weight nevertheless, for he brought a great pair of scales with him, and weighed everything that was put on board. I forget his real name, but the sailors christened him Captain Avoirdupois. He had a large book, and in it he inserted the weight of the ballast, and of the shot, water, provisions, coals, standing and running rigging, cables, and everything else. Then he weighed all the men, and all the midshipmen, and all the midshipmen's chests, and all the officers, with everything belonging to them: lastly, he weighed himself, which did not add much to the sum total. I don't exactly know what this was for; but he was always talking about centres of gravity, displacement of fluid, and Lord knows what. I believe it was to find out the longitude, somehow or other, but I didn't remain long enough in her to know the end of it, for one day I brought on board a pair of new boots, which I forgot to report that they might be put into the scales, which swang on the gangway; and whether the captain thought that they would sink his ship, or for what I can not tell, but he ordered me to quit her immediately--so, there I was adrift again. I packed up my traps and went on shore, putting on my new boots out of spite, and trod into all the mud and mire I could meet, and walked up and down from Plymouth to Dock until I was tired, as a punishment to them, until I wore the scoundrels out in a fortnight. "One day I was in the dockyard, looking at a two-decker in the basin, just brought forward for service, and I inquired who was to be the captain. They told me that his name was O'Connor. Then's he's a countryman of mine, thought I, and I'll try my luck. So I called at Goud's Hotel, where he was lodging, and requested to speak with him. I was admitted, and I told him, with my best bow, that I had come as a volunteer for his ship, and that my name was O'Brien. As it happened, he had some vacancies, and liking my brogue, he asked me in what ships I had served. I told him, and also my reason for quitting my last--which was, because I was turned out of it. I explained the story of the boots, and he made inquiries, and found that it was all true; and then he gave me a vacancy as master's mate. We were ordered to South America, and the trade winds took us there in a jiffey. I liked my captain and officers very much; and what was better, we took some good prizes. But somehow or other, I never had the luck to remain long in one ship, and that by no fault of mine; at least, not in this instance. All went on as smooth as possible, until one day the captain took us on shore to a ball, at one of the peaceable districts. We had a very merry night of it; but as luck would have it, I had the morning watch to keep, and see the decks cleaned, and as I never neglected my duty, I set off about three o'clock in the morning, just at break of day, to go on board of the ship. I was walking along the sands, thinking of the pretty girl that I'd been dancing with, and had got about half way to the ship, when three rapparees of Spanish soldiers came from behind a rock and attacked me with their swords and bayonets. I had only my dirk, but I was not to be run through for nothing, so I fought them as long as I could. I finished one fellow, but at last they finished me; for a bayonet passed through my body, and I forgot all about it. Well, it appears--for I can only say to the best of my knowledge and belief--that after they had killed me, they stripped me naked and buried me in the sand, carrying away with them the body of their comrade. So there I was--dead and buried." "But, O'Brien," said I "Whist--hold your tongue--you've not heard the end of it. Well, I had been buried about an hour--but not very deep it appears, for they were in too great a hurry--when a fisherman and his daughter came along the beach, on their way to the boat; and the daughter, God bless her! did me the favour to tread upon my nose. It was clear that she had never trod upon an Irishman's nose before, for it surprised her, and she looked down to see what was there, and not seeing anything, she tried it again with her foot, and then she scraped off the sand, and discovered my pretty face. I was quite warm and still breathing, for the sand had stopped the blood, and prevented my bleeding to death. The fisherman pulled me out, and took me on his back to the house where the captain and officers were still dancing. When he brought me in, there was a great cry from the ladies, not because I was murdered, for they are used to it in those countries, but because I was naked, which they considered a much more serious affair. I was put to bed and a boat despatched on board for our doctor; and in a few hours I was able to speak, and tell them how it happened. But I was too ill to move when the ship sailed, which she was obliged to do in a day or two afterwards, so the captain made out my discharge, and left me there. The family were French, and I remained with them for six months before I could obtain a passage home, during which I learnt their language, and a very fair allowance of Spanish to boot. When I arrived in England, I found that the prizes had been sold, and that the money was ready for distribution. I produced my certificate, and received £167 for my share. So it's come at last, thought I. "I never had such a handful of money in my life; but I hope I shall again very soon. I spread it out on the table as soon as I got home, and looked at it, and then I said to myself, 'Now, Terence O'Brien, will you keep this money to yourself, or send it home?' Then I thought of Father M'Grath, and the stool that was thrown at my head, and I was very near sweeping it all back into my pocket. But then I thought of my mother, and of the cows, and the pig, and the furniture, all gone; and of my brothers and sisters wanting praties, and I made a vow that I'd send every farthing of it to them, after which Father M'Grath would no longer think of not giving me absolution. So I sent them every doit, only reserving for myself the pay which I had received, amounting to about £30: and I never felt more happy in my life than when it was safe in the post-office, and fairly out of my hands. I wrote a bit of a letter to my father at the time, which was to this purpose:-- "'HONOURED FATHER,-- Since our last pleasant meeting, at which you threw the stool at my head, missing the pigeon and hitting the crow, I have been dead and buried, but am now quite well, thank God, and want no absolution from Father M'Grath, bad luck to him. And what's more to the point, I have just received a batch of prize-money, the first I have handled since I have served his Majesty, and every farthing of which I now send to you, that you may get back your old cows, and the pig, and all the rest of the articles seized to pay for my fitting out; so never again ask me whether I am not ashamed of myself; more shame to you for abusing a dutiful son like myself, who went to sea at your bidding, and has never had a real good potato down his throat ever since. I'm a true O'Brien, tell my mother, and don't mane to turn Protestant, but uphold the religion of my country; although the devil may take Father M'Grath and his holy water to boot. I sha'n't come and see you, as perhaps you may have another stool ready for my head, and may take better aim next time. So no more at present from your affectionate son, 'TERENCE O'BRIEN.'" "About three weeks afterwards I received a letter from my father, telling me that I was a real O'Brien, and that if any one dared hint to the contrary, he would break every bone in his body; that they had received the money, and thanked me for a real gentleman as I was; that I should have the best stool in the house next time I came, not for my head, but for my tail; that Father M'Grath sent me his blessing, and had given me absolution for all I had done, or should do for the next ten years to come; that my mother had cried with joy at my dutiful behaviour; and that all my brothers and sisters (bating Tim, who had died the day after I left them) wished me good luck, and plenty more prize-money to send home to them. "This was all very pleasant; and I had nothing left on my mind but to get another ship; so I went to the port-admiral, and told him how it was that I left my last: and he said, 'that being dead and buried was quite sufficient reason for any one leaving his ship, and that he would procure me another, now that I had come to life again.' I was sent on board of the guard-ship, where I remained about ten days, and then was sent round to join this frigate--and so my story's ended; and there's eight bells striking--so the watch is ended too; jump down, Peter, and call Robinson, and tell him that I'll trouble him to forget to go to sleep again as he did last time, and leave me here kicking my heels, contrary to the rules and regulations of the service." Chapter XIV The first lieutenant has more patients--Mr Chucks the Boatswain, lets me into the secret of his gentility. Before I proceed with my narrative, I wish to explain to the reader that my history was not written in after-life, when I had obtained a greater knowledge of the world. When I first went to sea, I promised my mother that I would keep a journal of what passed, with my reflections upon it. To this promise I rigidly adhered, and since I have been my own master, these journals have remained in my possession. In writing, therefore, the early part of my adventures, everything is stated as it was impressed on my mind at the time. Upon many points I have since had reason to form a different opinion from that which is recorded, and upon many others I have since laughed heartily at my folly and simplicity; but still, I have thought it advisable to let the ideas of the period remain, rather than correct them by those of dear-bought experience. A boy of fifteen, brought up in a secluded country town, cannot be expected to reason and judge as a young man who has seen much of life, and passed through a variety of adventures. The reader must therefore remember, that I have referred to my journal for the opinions and feelings which guided me between each distinct anniversary of my existence. We had now been cruising for six weeks, and I found that my profession was much more agreeable than I had anticipated. My desire to please was taken for the deed; and, although I occasionally made a blunder, yet the captain and first lieutenant seemed to think that I was attentive to my duty to the best of my ability, and only smiled at my mistakes. I also discovered, that, however my natural capacity may have been estimated by my family, that it was not so depreciated here; and every day I felt more confidence in myself, and hoped, by attention and diligence, to make up for a want of natural endowment. There certainly is something in the life of a sailor which enlarges the mind. When I was at home six months before, I allowed other people to think for me, and acted wholly on the leading-strings of their suggestions; on board, to the best of my ability, I thought for myself. I became happy with my messmates--those who were harsh upon me left off, because I never resented their conduct, and those who were kind to me were even kinder than before. The time flew away quickly, I suppose, because I knew exactly what I had to do, and each day was the forerunner of the ensuing. The first lieutenant was one of the most amusing men I ever knew, yet he never relaxed from the discipline of the service, or took the least liberty with either his superiors or inferiors. His humour was principally shown in his various modes of punishment; and, however severe the punishment was to the party, the manner of inflicting it was invariably a source of amusement to the remainder of the ship's company. I often thought, that although no individual liked being punished, yet, that all the ship's company were quite pleased when a punishment took place. He was very particular about his decks; they were always as white as snow, and nothing displeased him so much as their being soiled. It was for that reason that he had such an objection to the use of tobacco. There were spitting-pans placed in different parts of the decks for the use of the men, that they might not dirty the planks with the tobacco-juice. Sometimes a man in his hurry forgot to use these pans, but, as the mess to which the stain might be opposite had their grog stopped if the party were not found out, they took good care not only to keep a look-out, but to inform against the offender. Now the punishment for the offence was as follows--the man's hands were tied behind his back, and a large tin spitting-box fixed to his chest by a strap over the shoulders. All the other boxes on the lower deck were taken away, and he was obliged to walk there, ready to attend the summons of any man who might wish to empty his mouth of the tobacco-juice. The other men were so pleased at the fancy, that they spat twice as much as before, for the pleasure of making him run about. Mr Chucks, the boatswain, called it "the first lieutenant's _perambulating_ spitting-pan." He observed to me one day, "that really Mr Falcon was such an _epicure_ about his decks, that he was afraid to pudding an anchor on the forecastle." I was much amused one morning watch that I kept. We were stowing the hammocks in the quarter-deck nettings, when one of the boys came up with his hammock on his shoulder, and as he passed the first lieutenant, the latter perceived that he had a quid of tobacco in his cheek. "What have you got there, my good lad--a gum-boil?--your cheek is very much swelled." "No, sir," replied the boy, "there's nothing at all the matter." "O there must be; it is a bad tooth, then. Open your mouth, and let me see." Very reluctantly the boy opened his mouth, and discovered a large roll of tobacco-leaf. "I see, I see," said the first lieutenant, "your mouth wants overhauling, and your teeth cleaning. I wish we had a dentist on board; but as we have not, I will operate as well as I can. Send the armourer up here with his tongs." When the armourer made his appearance, the boy was made to open his mouth, while the chaw of tobacco was extracted with his rough instrument. "There now," said the first lieutenant, "I'm sure that you must feel better already; you never could have had any appetite. Now, captain of the afterguard, bring a piece of old canvas and some sand here, and clean his teeth nicely." The captain of the afterguard came forward, and putting the boy's head between his knees, scrubbed his teeth well with the sand and canvas for two or three minutes. "There, that will do," said the first lieutenant. "Now, my little fellow, your mouth is nice and clean, and you'll enjoy your breakfast. It was impossible for you to have eaten anything with your mouth in such a nasty state. When it's dirty again, come to me, and I'll be your dentist." One day I was on the forecastle with Mr Chucks, the boatswain, who was very kind to me. He had been showing me how to make the various knots and bends of rope which are used in our service. I am afraid that I was very stupid, but he showed me over and over again, until I learnt how to make them. Amongst others, he taught me a fisherman's bend, which he pronounced to be the _king_ of all knots; "and, Mr Simple," continued he, "there is a moral in that knot. You observe, that when the parts are drawn the right way, and together, the more you pull the faster they hold, and the more impossible to untie them; but see, by hauling them apart, how a little difference, a pull the other way, immediately disunites them, and then how easy they cast off in a moment. That points out the necessity of pulling together in this world, Mr Simple, when we wish to hold on, and that's a piece of philosophy worth all the twenty-six thousand and odd years of my friend the carpenter, which leads to nothing but a brown study, when he ought to be attending to his duty." "Very true, Mr Chucks, you are the better philosopher of the two." "I am the better educated, Mr Simple, and I trust, more of a gentleman. I consider a gentleman to be, to a certain degree, a philosopher, for very often he is obliged, to support his character as such, to put up with what another person may very properly fly in a passion about. I think coolness is the great character-stick of a gentleman. In the service, Mr Simple, one is obliged to appear angry without indulging the sentiment. I can assure you, that I never lose my temper, even when I use my rattan." "Why, then, Mr Chucks, do you swear so much at the men? Surely that is not gentlemanly?" "Most certainly not, sir. But I must defend myself by observing the very artificial state in which we live on board of a man-of-war. Necessity, my dear Mr Simple, has no law. You must observe how gently I always commence when I have to find fault. I do that to prove my gentility; but, sir, my zeal for the service obliges me to alter my language, to prove in the end that I am in earnest. Nothing would afford me more pleasure than to be able to carry on the duty as a gentleman, but that's impossible." "I really cannot see why." "Perhaps, then, Mr Simple, you will explain to me why the captain and first lieutenant swear." "That I do not pretend to answer, but they only do so upon an emergency." "Exactly so; but, sir, their 'mergency is my daily and hourly duty. In the continual working of the ship I am answerable for all that goes amiss. The life of a boatswain is a life of 'mergency, and therefore I swear." "I still cannot allow it to be requisite, and certainly it is sinful." "Excuse me, my dear sir; it is absolutely requisite, and not at all sinful. There is one language for the pulpit, and another for on board ship, and, in either situation, a man must make use of those terms most likely to produce the necessary effect upon his listeners. Whether it is from long custom of the service, or from the indifference of a sailor to all common things and language (I can't exactly explain myself, Mr Simple, but I know what I mean), perhaps constant excitement may do, and therefore he requires more 'stimilis,' as they call it, to make him move. Certain it is, that common parlancy won't do with a common seaman. It is not here as in the scriptures, 'Do this, and he doeth it' (by the bye, that chap must have had his soldiers in tight order); but it is, 'Do this, d--n your eyes,' and then it is done directly. The order to _do_ just carries the weight of a cannon-shot, but it wants the perpelling power--the d--n is the gunpowder which sets it flying in the execution of its duty. Do you comprehend me, Mr Simple?" "I perfectly understand you, Mr Chucks, and I cannot help remarking, and that without flattery, that you are very different from the rest of the warrant officers. Where did you receive your education?" "Mr Simple, I am here a boatswain with a clean shirt, and, I say it myself, and no one dare gainsay it, also with a thorough knowledge of my duty. But although I do not say that I ever was better off, I can say this, that I've been in the best society, in the company of lords and ladies. I once dined with your grandfather." "That's more than ever I did, for he never asked me, nor took the least notice of me," replied I. "What I state is true. I did not know that he was your grandfather until yesterday, when I was talking with Mr O'Brien; but I perfectly recollect him, although I was very young at that time. Now, Mr Simple, if you will promise me as a gentleman (and I know you are one), that you will not repeat what I tell you, then I'll let you into the history of my life." "Mr Chucks, as I am a gentleman I never will divulge it until you are dead and buried, and not then if you do not wish it." "When I am dead and buried, you may do as you please; it may then be of service to other people, although my story is not a very long one." Mr Chucks then sat down upon the fore-end of the booms by the funnel, and I took my place by his side, when he commenced as follows:-- "My father was a boatswain before me--one of the old school, rough as a bear, and drunken as a Gosport fiddler. My mother was--my mother, and I shall say no more. My father was invalided for harbour duty after a life of intoxication, and died shortly afterwards. In the meantime I had been, by the kindness of the port-admiral's wife, educated at a foundation school. I was thirteen when my father died, and my mother, not knowing what to do with me, wished to bind me apprentice to a merchant vessel; but this I refused, and, after six months' quarrelling on the subject, I decided the point by volunteering in the _Narcissus_ frigate. I believe that my gentlemanly ideas were innate, Mr Simple; I never, as a child, could bear the idea of the merchant service. After I had been a week on board, I was appointed servant to the purser, where I gave such satisfaction by my alertness and dexterity, that the first lieutenant took me away from the purser to attend upon himself, so that in two months I was a person of such consequence as to create a disturbance in the gunroom, for the purser was very angry, and many of the officers took his part. It was whispered that I was the son of the first lieutenant, and that he was aware of it. How far that may be true I know not, but there was a likeness between us; and my mother, who was a very pretty woman, attended his ship many years before as a bumboat girl. I can't pretend to say anything about it, but this I do say, Mr Simple--and many will blame me for it, but I can't help my natural feelings--that I had rather be the bye-blow of a gentleman, than the 'gitimate offspring of a boatswain and his wife. There's no chance of good blood in your veins in the latter instance, whereas, in the former you may have stolen a drop or two. It so happened, that after I had served the first lieutenant for about a year, a young lord (I must not mention his name, Mr Simple) was sent to sea by his friends, or by his own choice, I don't know which, but I was told that his uncle, who was 'zeckative, and had an interest in his death, persuaded him to go. A lord at that period, some twenty-five years ago, was a rarity in the service, and they used to salute him when he came on board. The consequence was, that the young lord must have a servant to himself, although all the rest of the midshipmen had but one servant between them. The captain inquired who was the best boy in the ship, and the purser, to whom he appealed, recommended me. Accordingly, much to the annoyance of the first lieutenant (for first lieutenants in those days did not assume as they do now, not that I refer to Mr Falcon, who is a gentleman), I was immediately surrendered to his lordship. I had a very easy, comfortable life of it--I did little or nothing; if inquired for when all hands were turned up, I was cleaning his lordship's boots, or brushing his lordship's clothes, and there was nothing to be said when his lordship's name was mentioned. We went to the Mediterranean (because his lordship's mamma wished it), and we had been there about a year, when his lordship ate so many grapes that he was seized with a dysentery. He was ill for three weeks, and then he requested to be sent to Malta in a transport going to Gibraltar, or rather to the Barbary coast, for bullocks. He became worse every day, and made his will, leaving me all his effects on board, which I certainly deserved for the kindness with which I had nursed him. Off Malta we fell in with a xebeque, bound to Civita Vecchia, and the captain of the transport, anxious to proceed, advised our going on board of her, as the wind was light and contrary, and these Mediterranean vessels sailed better on a wind than the transport. My master, who was now sinking fast, consented, and we changed our ships. The next day he died, and a gale of wind came on, which prevented us from gaining the port for several days, and the body of his lordship not only became so offensive, but affected the superstition of the Catholic sailors so much, that it was hove overboard. None of the people could speak English, nor could I speak Maltese; they had no idea who we were, and I had plenty of time for cogitation. I had often thought what a fine thing it was to be a lord, and as often wished that I had been born one. The wind was still against us, when a merchant vessel ran down to us, that had left Civita Vecchia for Gibraltar. I desired the captain of the xebeque to make a signal of distress, or rather I did myself, and the vessel, which proved to be English, bore down to us. "I manned the boat to go on board, and the idea came into my head, that, although they might refuse to take me, they would not refuse a lord. I put on the midshipman's uniform belonging to his lordship (but then certainly belonging to me), and went alongside of the merchant vessel; I told them that I had left my ship for the benefit of my health, and wanted a passage to Gibraltar, on my way home. My title, and immediate acceptance of the terms demanded for my passage, was sufficient. My property was brought from the xebeque; and, of course, as they could not speak English, they could not contradict, even if they suspected. Here, Mr Simple, I must acknowledge a slight flaw in my early history, which I impart to you in confidence; or otherwise I should not have been able to prove that I was correct in asserting that I had dined with your grandfather. But the temptation was too strong, and I could not resist. Think yourself, Mr Simple, after having served as a ship's boy clouted here, kicked there, damned by one, and sent to hell by another--to find myself treated with such respect and deference, and my lorded this and my lorded that, every minute of the day. During my passage to Gibraltar, I had plenty of time for arranging my plans. I hardly need say that my lord's _kit_ was valuable; and what was better, they exactly fitted me. I also had his watches and trinkets, and many other things, besides a bag of dollars. However, they were honestly mine; the only thing that I took was his name, which he had no further occasion for, poor fellow! But it's no use defending what was wrong--it was dishonest, and there's an end of it. "Now observe, Mr Simple, how one thing leads to another. I declare to you, that my first idea of making use of his lordship's name, was to procure a passage to Gibraltar. I then was undecided how to act; but, as I had charge of his papers and letters to his mother and guardian, I think--indeed I am almost sure--that I should have laid aside my dignity and midshipman's dress, and applied for a passage home to the commissioner of the yard. But it was fated to be otherwise; for the master of the transport went on shore to report and obtain pratique, and he told them everywhere that young Lord A---- was a passenger with him, going to England for the benefit of his health. In less than half-an-hour, off came the commissioner's boat, and another boat from the governor, requesting the honour of my company, and that I would take a bed at their houses during my stay. What could I do? I began to be frightened; but I was more afraid to confess that I was an impostor, for I am sure the master of the transport alone would have kicked me overboard, if I had let him know that he had been so confounded polite to a ship's boy. So I blushed half from modesty and half from guilt, and accepted the invitation of the governor; sending a polite verbal refusal to the commissioner, upon the plea of there being no paper or pens on board. I had so often accompanied my late master, that I knew very well how to conduct myself, and had borrowed a good deal of his air and appearance--indeed, I had a natural taste for gentility. I could write and read; not perhaps so well as I ought to have done, considering the education I had received, but still quite well enough for a lord, and indeed much better than my late master. I knew his signature well enough, although the very idea of being forced to use it made me tremble. However, the die was cast. I ought to observe, that in one point we were not unlike--both had curly light hair and blue eyes; in other points there was no resemblance. I was by far the better-looking chap of the two; and as we had been up the Mediterranean for two years, I had no fear of any doubt as to my identity until I arrived in England. Well, Mr Simple, I dressed myself very carefully, put on my chains and rings, and a little perfume on my handkerchief, and accompanied the aide-de-camp to the governor's, where I was asked after my mother, Lady ----, and my uncle, my guardian, and a hundred other questions. At first I was much confused, which was attributed to bashfulness; and so it was, but not of the right sort. But before the day was over, I had become so accustomed to be called 'my lord,' and to my situation, that I was quite at my ease, and began to watch the motions and behaviour of the company, that I might regulate my comportment by that of good society. I remained at Gibraltar for a fortnight, and then was offered a passage in a transport ordered to Portsmouth. Being an officer, of course it was free to a certain extent. On my passage to England, I again made up my mind that I would put off my dress and title as soon as I could escape from observation; but I was prevented as before. The port-admiral sent off to request the pleasure of my company to dinner. I dared not refuse; and there I was, my lord, as before, courted and feasted by everybody. Tradesmen called to request the honour of my lordship's custom; my table at the hotel was covered with cards of all descriptions; and, to confess the truth, I liked my situation so much, and had been so accustomed to it, that I now began to dislike the idea that one day or other I must resign it, which I determined to do as soon as I quitted the place. My bill at the hotel was very extravagant, and more than I could pay: but the master said it was not of the least consequence; that of course his lordship had not provided himself with cash, just coming from foreign parts, and offered to supply me with money if I required it. This, I will say, I was honest enough to refuse. I left my cards, P.P.C., as they do, Mr Simple, in all well-regulated society, and set off in the mail for London, where I fully resolved to drop my title, and to proceed to Scotland to his lordship's mother, with the mournful intelligence of his death--for you see, Mr Simple, no one knew that his lordship was dead. The captain of the transport had put him into the xebeque alive, and the vessel bound to Gibraltar had received him, as they imagined. The captain of the frigate had very soon afterwards advices from Gibraltar, stating his lordship's recovery and return to England. Well, I had not been in the coach more than five minutes, when who should get in but a gentleman whom I had met at the port-admiral's; besides which the coachman and others knew me very well. When I arrived in London (I still wore my midshipman's uniform), I went to an hotel recommended to me, as I afterwards found out, the most fashionable in town, my title still following me. I now determined to put off my uniform, and dress in plain clothes--my farce was over. I went to bed that night, and the next morning made my appearance in a suit of mufti, making inquiry of the waiter which was the best conveyance to Scotland. "'Post chay and four, my lord. At what time shall I order it?' "'O,' replied I, 'I am not sure that I shall go tomorrow.' "Just at this moment in came the master of the hotel, with the _Morning Post_ in his hand, making me a low bow, and pointing to the insertion of my arrival at his hotel among the fashionables. This annoyed me; and now that I found how difficult it was to get rid of my title, I became particularly anxious to be William Chucks, as before. Before twelve o'clock, three or four gentlemen were ushered into my sitting-room, who observing my arrival in that damn'd _Morning Post_, came to pay their respects; and before the day was over I was invited and re-invited by a dozen people. I found that I could not retreat, and I went away with the stream, as I did before at Gibraltar and Portsmouth. For three weeks I was everywhere; and if I found it agreeable at Portsmouth, how much more so in London! But I was not happy, Mr Simple, because I was a cheat, every moment expecting to be found out. But it really was a nice thing to be a lord. "At last the play was over. I had been enticed by some young men into a gambling-house, where they intended to fleece me; but, for the first night, they allowed me to win, I think, about £300. I was quite delighted with my success, and had agreed to meet them the next evening; but when I was at breakfast, with my legs crossed, reading the _Morning Post_, who should come to see me but my guardian uncle. He knew his nephew's features too well to be deceived; and my not recognising him proved at once that I was an impostor. You must allow me to hasten over the scene which took place--the wrath of the uncle, the confusion in the hotel, the abuse of the waiters, the police officer, and being dragged into a hackney coach to Bow-street. There I was examined and confessed all. The uncle was so glad to find that his nephew was really dead, that he felt no resentment towards me; and as, after all, I had only assumed a name, but had cheated nobody, except the landlord at Portsmouth, I was sent on board the tender off the Tower, to be drafted into a man-of-war. As for my £300, my clothes, &c., I never heard any more of them; they were seized, I presume, by the landlord of the hotel for my bill, and very handsomely he must have paid himself. I had two rings on my fingers, and a watch in my pocket, when I was sent on board the tender, and I stowed them away very carefully. I had also a few pounds in my purse. I was sent round to Plymouth, where I was drafted into a frigate. After I had been there some time, I turned the watch and rings into money, and bought myself a good kit of clothes; for I could not bear to be dirty. I was put into the mizen-top, and no one knew that I had been a lord." "You found some difference, I should think, in your situation?" "Yes, I did, Mr Simple; but I was much happier. I could not forget the ladies, and the dinners, and the opera, and all the delights of London, beside the respect paid to my title, and I often sighed for them; but the police officer and Bow-street also came to my recollection, and I shuddered at the remembrance. It had, however, one good effect; I determined to be an officer if I could, and learnt my duty, and worked my way up to quarter-master, and thence to boatswain--and I know my duty, Mr Simple. But I've been punished for my folly ever since. I formed ideas above my station in life, and cannot help longing to be a gentleman. It's a bad thing for a man to have ideas above his station." "You certainly must find some difference between the company in London and that of the warrant officers." "It's many years back now, sir; but I can't get over the feeling. I can't 'sociate with them at all. A man may have the feelings of a gentleman, although in a humble capacity; but how can I be intimate with such people as Mr Dispart or Mr Muddle, the carpenter? All very well in their way, Mr Simple, but what can you expect from officers who boil their 'tators in a cabbage-net hanging in the ship's coppers, when they know that there is one-third of a stove allowed them to cook their victuals on?" Chapter XV I go on service and am made prisoner by an old lady, who, not able to obtain my hand, takes part of my finger as a token--O'Brien rescues me-- A lee shore and narrow escape. Two or three days after this conversation with Mr Chucks, the captain ran the frigate in shore, and when within five miles we discovered two vessels under the land. We made all sail in chase, and cut them off from escaping round a sandy point which they attempted to weather. Finding that they could not effect their purpose, they ran on shore under a small battery of two guns, which commenced firing upon us. The first shot which whizzed between the masts had to me a most terrific sound, but the officers and men laughed at it, so of course I pretended to do the same, but in reality I could see nothing to laugh at. The captain ordered the starboard watch to be piped to quarters, and the boats to be cleared, ready for hoisting out; we then anchored within a mile of the battery, and returned the fire. In the meantime, the remainder of the ship's company hoisted out and lowered down four boats, which were manned and armed to storm the battery. I was very anxious to go on service, and O'Brien, who had command of the first cutter, allowed me to go with him, on condition that I stowed myself away under the foresheets, that the captain might not see me before the boats had shoved off. This I did, and was not discovered. We pulled in abreast towards the battery, and in less than ten minutes the boats were run on the beach, and we jumped out. The Frenchmen fired a gun at us as we pulled close to the shore, and then ran away, so that we took possession without any fighting, which, to confess the truth, I was not sorry for, as I did not think that I was old or strong enough to cope hand to hand with a grown-up man. There were a few fishermen's huts close to the battery, and while two of the boats went on board of the vessels, to see if they could be got off, and others were spiking the guns and destroying the carriages, I went with O'Brien to examine them: they were deserted by the people, as might have been supposed, but there was a great quantity of fish in them, apparently caught that morning. O'Brien pointed to a very large skate--"Murder in Irish!" cried he, "it's the very ghost of my grandmother! we'll have her if it's only for the family likeness. Peter, put your finger into the gills, and drag her down to the boat." I could not force my finger into the gills, and as the animal appeared quite dead, I hooked my finger into its mouth; but I made a sad mistake, for the animal was alive, and immediately closed its jaws, nipping my finger to the bone, and holding it so tight that I could not withdraw it, and the pain was too great to allow me to pull it away by main force, and tear my finger, which it held so fast. There I was, caught in a trap, and made a prisoner by a flat-fish. Fortunately, I hallooed loud enough to make O'Brien, who was close down to the boats, with a large codfish under each arm, turn round and come to my assistance. At first he could not help me, from laughing so much; but at last he forced open the jaw of the fish with his cutlass, and I got my finger out, but very badly torn indeed. I then took off my garter, tied it round the tail of the skate, and dragged it to the boat, which was all ready to shove off. The other boats had found it impossible to get the vessels off without unloading--so, in pursuance of the captain's orders, they were set on fire, and before we lost sight of them, had burnt down to the water's edge. My finger was very bad for three weeks, and the officers laughed at me very much, saying that I narrowly escaped being made a prisoner of by an "old maid." We continued our cruise along the coast, until we had run down into the Bay of Arcason, where we captured two or three vessels, and obliged many more to run on shore. And here we had an instance showing, how very important it is that a captain of a man-of-war should be a good sailor, and have his ship in such discipline as to be strictly obeyed by his ship's company. I heard the officers unanimously assert, after the danger was over, that nothing but the presence of mind which was shown by Captain Savage could have saved the ship and her crew. We had chased a convoy of vessels to the bottom of the bay: the wind was very fresh when we hauled off, after running them on shore, and the surf on the beach even at that time was so great, that they were certain to go to pieces before they could be got afloat again. We were obliged to double-reef the topsails as soon as we hauled to the wind, and the weather looked very threatening. In an hour afterwards, the whole sky was covered with one black cloud, which sank so low as nearly to touch our mast-heads, and a tremendous sea, which appeared to have risen up almost by magic, rolled in upon us, setting the vessel on a dead lee shore. As the night closed in, it blew a dreadful gale, and the ship was nearly buried with the press of canvas which she was obliged to carry; for had we sea-room, we should have been lying-to under storm staysails; but we were forced to carry on at all risks, that we might claw off shore. The sea broke over as we lay in the trough, deluging us with water from the forecastle, aft to the binnacles; and very often as the ship descended with a plunge, it was with such force that I really thought she would divide in half with the violence of the shock. Double breechings were rove on the guns, and they were further secured with tackles, and strong cleats nailed behind the trunnions, for we heeled over so much when we lurched, that the guns were wholly supported by the breechings and tackles, and had one of them broken loose, it must have burst right through the lee side of the ship, and she must have foundered. The captain, first lieutenant, and most of the officers, remained on deck during the whole of the night; and really, what with the howling of the wind, the violence of the rain, the washing of the water about the decks, the working of the chain-pumps, and the creaking and groaning of the timbers, I thought that we must inevitably have been lost; and I said my prayers at least a dozen times during the night, for I felt it impossible to go to bed. I had often wished, out of curiosity, that I might be in a gale of wind, but I little thought it was to have been a scene of this description, or anything half so dreadful. What made it more appalling was, that we were on a lee shore, and the consultations of the captain and officers, and the eagerness with which they looked out for daylight, told us that we had other dangers to encounter besides the storm. At last the morning broke, and the look-out man upon the gangway called out, "Land on the lee beam." I perceived the master dash his fist against the hammock-rails, as if with vexation, and walk away without saying a word, and looking very grave. "Up, there, Mr Wilson," said the captain, to the second lieutenant, "and see how far the land trends forward, and whether you can distinguish the point." The second lieutenant went up the main-rigging, and pointed with his hand to about two points before the beam. "Do you see two hillocks inland?" "Yes, sir," replied the second lieutenant. "Then it is so," observed the captain to the master, "and if we weather it, we shall have more sea-room. Keep her full, and let her go through the water; do you hear, quarter-master?" "Ay, ay, sir." "Thus, and no nearer, my man. Ease her with a spoke or two when she sends; but be careful, or she'll take the wheel out of your hands." It really was a very awful sight. When the ship was in the trough of the sea, you could distinguish nothing but a waste of tumultuous water; but when she was borne up on the summit of the enormous waves, you then looked down, as it were, upon a low, sandy coast, close to you, and covered with foam and breakers. "She behaves nobly," observed the captain, stepping aft to the binnacle, and looking at the compass; "if the wind does not baffle us, we shall weather." The captain had scarcely time to make the observation, when the sails shivered and flapped like thunder. "Up with the helm; what are you about, quarter-master?" "The wind has headed us, sir," replied the quarter-master, coolly. The captain and master remained at the binnacle watching the compass, and when the sails were again full, she had broken off two points, and the point of land was only a little on the lee bow. "We must wear her round, Mr Falcon. Hands, wear ship--ready, oh, ready." "She has come up again," cried the master, who was at the binnacle. "Hold fast there a minute. How's her head now?" "N.N.E., as she was before she broke off, sir." "Pipe belay," said the captain. "Falcon," continued he, "if she breaks off again we may have no room to wear; indeed there is so little room now, that I must run the risk. Which cable was ranged last night--the best bower?" "Yes, sir." "Jump down, then, and see it double-bitted and stoppered at thirty fathoms. See it well done--our lives may depend upon it." The ship continued to hold her course good; and we were within half a mile of the point, and fully expected to weather it, when again the wet and heavy sails flapped in the wind, and the ship broke off two points as before. The officers and seamen were aghast, for the ship's head was right on to the breakers. "Luff now, all you can, quarter-master," cried the captain. "Send the men aft directly. My lads, there is no time for words--I am going to _club-haul_ the ship, for there is no room to wear. The only chance you have of safety is to be cool, watch my eye, and execute my orders with precision. Away to your stations for tacking ship. Hands by the best bower anchor. Mr Wilson, attend below with the carpenter and his mates, ready to cut away the cable at the moment that I give the order. Silence, there, fore and aft. Quarter-master, keep her full again for stays. Mind you ease the helm down when I tell you." About a minute passed before the captain gave any further orders. The ship had closed--to within a quarter of a mile of the beach, and the waves curled and topped around us, bearing us down upon the shore, which presented one continued surface of foam, extending to within half a cable's length of our position. The captain waved his hand in silence to the quarter-master at the wheel, and the helm was put down. The ship turned slowly to the wind, pitching and chopping as the sails were spilling. When she had lost her way, the captain gave the order, "Let go the anchor. We will haul all at once, Mr Falcon," said the captain. Not a word was spoken, the men went to the fore brace, which had not been manned; most of them knew, although I did not, that if the ship's head did not go round the other way, we should be on shore, and among the breakers in half a minute. I thought at the time that the captain had said that he would haul all the yards at once, there appeared to be doubt or dissent on the countenance of Mr Falcon; and I was afterwards told that he had not agreed with the captain, but he was too good an officer, and knew that there was no time for discussion, to make any remark; and the event proved that the captain was right. At last the ship was head to wind, and the captain gave the signal. The yards flew round with such a creaking noise, that I thought the masts had gone over the side, and the next moment the wind had caught the sails, and the ship, which for a moment or two had been on an even keel, careened over to her gunnel with its force. The captain, who stood upon the weather-hammock rails, holding by the main-rigging, ordered the helm amidships, looked full at the sails, and then at the cable, which grew broad upon the weather bow, and held the ship from nearing the shore. At last he cried, "Cut away the cable!" A few strokes of the axes were heard, and then the cable flew out of the hawsehole in a blaze of fire, from the violence of the friction, and disappeared under a huge wave, which struck us on the chess-tree, and deluged us with water fore and aft. But we were now on the other tack, and the ship regained her way and we had evidently increased our distance from the land. "My lads," said the captain to the ship's company, "you have behaved well, and I thank you; but I must tell you honestly that we have more difficulties to get through. We have to weather a point of the bay on this tack. Mr Falcon, splice the main-brace, and call the watch. How's her head, quarter-master?" "S.W. by S. Southerly, sir." "Very well; let her go through the water;" and the captain, beckoning to the master to follow him, went down into the cabin. As our immediate danger was over, I went down into the berth to see if I could get anything for breakfast, where I found O'Brien and two or three more. "By the powers, it was as nate a thing as ever I saw done," observed O'Brien: "the slightest mistake as to time or management, and at this moment the flatfish would have been dubbing at our ugly carcases. Peter, you're not fond of flatfish, are you, my boy? We may thank Heaven and the captain, I can tell you that, my lads; but now, where's the chart, Robinson? Hand me down the parallel rules and compasses, Peter; they are in the corner of the shelf. Here we are now, a devilish sight too near this infernal point. Who knows how her head is?" "I do, O'Brien: I heard the quarter-master tell the captain S.W. by S. Southerly." "Let me see," continued O'Brien, "variation 2 1/4 lee way--rather too large an allowance of that, I'm afraid; but, however, we'll give her 2 1/2 points; the _Diomede_ would blush to make any more, under any circumstances. Here--the compass--now we'll see;" and O'Brien advanced the parallel rule from the compass to the spot where the ship was placed on the chart. "Bother! you see it's as much as she'll do to weather the other point now, on this tack, and that's what the captain meant, when he told us we had more difficulty. I could have taken my Bible oath that we were clear of everything, if the wind held." "See what the distance is, O'Brien," said Robinson. It was measured, and proved to be thirteen miles. "Only thirteen miles; and if we do weather, we shall do very well, for the bay is deep beyond. It's a rocky point, you see, just by way of variety. Well, my lads, I've a piece of comfort for you, anyhow. It's not long that you'll be kept in suspense, for by one o'clock this day, you'll either be congratulating each other upon your good luck, or you'll be past praying for. Come, put up the chart, for I hate to look at melancholy prospects; and, steward, see what you can find in the way of comfort." Some bread and cheese, with the remains of yesterday's boiled pork, were put on the table, with a bottle of rum, procured at the time they "spliced the mainbrace;" but we were all too anxious to eat much, and one by one returned on deck to see how the weather was, and if the wind at all favoured us. On deck the superior officers were in conversation with the captain, who had expressed the same fear that O'Brien had in our berth. The men, who knew what they had to expect--for this sort of intelligence is soon communicated through a ship--were assembled in knots, looking very grave, but at the same time not wanting in confidence. They knew that they could trust to the captain, as far as skill or courage could avail them, and sailors are too sanguine to despair, even at the last moment. As for myself, I felt such admiration for the captain, after what I had witnessed that morning, that, whenever the idea came over me, that in all probability I should be lost in a few hours, I could not help acknowledging how much more serious it was that such a man should be lost to his country. I do not intend to say that it consoled me; but it certainly made me still more regret the chances with which we were threatened. Before twelve o'clock, the rocky point which we so much dreaded was in sight, broad on the lee-bow; and if the low sandy coast appeared terrible, how much more did this, even at a distance: the black masses of rock, covered with foam, which each minute dashed up in the air, higher than our lower mast-heads. The captain eyed it for some minutes in silence, as if in calculation. "Mr Falcon," said he at last, "we must put the mainsail on her." "She never can bear it, sir." "She _must_ bear it," was the reply. "Send the men aft to the mainsheet. See that careful men attend the buntlines." The mainsail was set, and the effect of it upon the ship was tremendous. She careened over so that her lee channels were under the water, and when pressed by a sea, the lee-side of the quarter-deck and gangway were afloat. She now reminded me of a goaded and fiery horse, mad with the stimulus applied; not rising as before, but forcing herself through whole seas, and dividing the waves, which poured in one continual torrent from the forecastle down upon the decks below. Four men were secured to the wheel--the sailors were obliged to cling, to prevent being washed away--the ropes were thrown in confusion to leeward, the shot rolled out of the lockers, and every eye was fixed aloft, watching the masts, which were expected every moment to go over the side. A heavy sea struck us on the broadside, and it was some moments before the ship appeared to recover herself; she reeled, trembled, and stopped her way, as if it had stupefied her. The first lieutenant looked at the captain, as if to say, "This will not do." "It is our only chance," answered the captain to the appeal. That the ship went faster through the water, and held a better wind, was certain; but just before we arrived at the point the gale increased in force. "If anything starts, we are lost, sir," observed the first lieutenant again. "I am perfectly aware of it," replied the captain, in a calm tone; "but, as I said before, and you must now be aware, it is our only chance. The consequence of any carelessness or neglect in the fitting and securing of the rigging, will be felt now; and this danger, if we escape it, ought to remind us how much we have to answer for if we neglect our duty. The lives of a whole ship's company may be sacrificed by the neglect or incompetence of an officer when in harbour. I will pay you the compliment, Falcon, to say, that I feel convinced that the masts of the ship are as secure as knowledge and attention can make them." The first lieutenant thanked the captain for his good opinion, and hoped it would not be the last compliment which he paid him. "I hope not too; but a few minutes will decide the point." The ship was now within two cables' lengths of the rocky point; some few of the men I observed to clasp their hands, but most of them were silently taking off their jackets, and kicking off their shoes, that they might not lose a chance of escape provided the ship struck. "'Twill be touch and go indeed, Falcon," observed the captain (for I had clung to the belaying-pins, close to them, for the last half-hour that the mainsail had been set). "Come aft, you and I must take the helm. We shall want _nerve_ there, and only there, now." The captain and first lieutenant went aft, and took the forespokes of the wheel, and O'Brien, at a sign made by the captain, laid hold of the spokes behind him. An old quarter-master kept his station at the fourth. The roaring of the seas on the rocks, with the howling of the wind, were dreadful; but the sight was more dreadful than the noise. For a few moments I shut my eyes, but anxiety forced me to open them again. As near as I could judge, we were not twenty yards from the rocks, at the time that the ship passed abreast of them. We were in the midst of the foam, which boiled around us; and as the ship was driven nearer to them, and careened with the wave, I thought that our main-yard-arm would have touched the rock; and at this moment a gust of wind came on, which laid the ship on her beam-ends, and checked her progress through the water, while the accumulated noise was deafening. A few moments more the ship dragged on, another wave dashed over her and spent itself upon the rocks, while the spray was dashed back from them, and returned upon the decks. The main rock was within ten yards of her counter, when another gust of wind laid us on our beam-ends, the foresail and mainsail split, and were blown clean out of the bolt-ropes--the ship righted, trembling fore and aft. I looked astern: the rocks were to windward on our quarter, and we were safe. I thought at the time, that the ship, relieved of her courses, and again lifting over the waves, was not a bad similitude of the relief felt by us all at that moment; and, like her, we trembled as we panted with the sudden reaction, and felt the removal of the intense anxiety which oppressed our breasts. The captain resigned the helm, and walked aft to look at the point, which was now broad on the weather quarter. In a minute or two, he desired Mr Falcon to get new sails up and bend them, and then went below to his cabin. I am sure it was to thank God for our deliverance: I did most fervently, not only then, but when I went to my hammock at night. We were now comparatively safe--in a few hours completely so; for strange to say, immediately after we had weathered the rocks, the gale abated, and before morning we had a reef out of the topsails. It was my afternoon watch, and perceiving Mr Chucks on the forecastle, I went forward to him, and asked him what he thought of it. "Thought of it, sir!" replied he; "why, I always think bad of it when the elements won't allow my whistle to be heard; and I consider it hardly fair play. I never care if we are left to our own exertions; but how is it possible for a ship's company to do their best, when they cannot hear the boatswain's pipe? However, God be thanked, nevertheless, and make better Christians of us all! As for that carpenter, he is mad. Just before we weathered the point, he told me that it was just the same 27,600 and odd years ago. I do believe that on his death-bed (and he was not far from a very hard one yesterday), he will tell us how he died so many thousand years ago, of the same complaint. And that gunner of ours is a fool. Would you believe it, Mr Simple, he went crying about the decks, 'O my poor guns, what will become of them if they break loose?' He appeared to consider it of no consequence if the ship and ship's company were all lost, provided that his guns were safely landed on the beach. "'Mr Dispart,' said I, at last, 'allow me to observe, in the most delicate way in the world, that you're a d----d old fool.' You see, Mr Simple, it's the duty of an officer to generalise, and be attentive to parts, only in consideration of the safety of the whole. I look after my anchors and cables, as I do after the rigging; not that I care for any of them in particular, but because the safety of a ship depends upon her being well found. I might just as well cry because we sacrificed an anchor and cable yesterday morning, to save the ship from going on shore." "Very true, Mr Chucks," replied I. "Private feelings," continued he, "must always be sacrificed for the public service. As you know, the lower deck was full of water, and all our cabins and chests were afloat; but I did not think then about my shirts, and look at them now, all blowing out in the forerigging, without a particle of starch left in the collars or the frills. I shall not be able to appear as an officer ought to do for the whole of the cruise." As he said this, the cooper, going forward, passed by him, and jostled him in passing. "Beg pardon, sir," said the man, "but the ship lurched." "The ship lurched, did it?" replied the boatswain, who, I am afraid, was not in the best of humours about his wardrobe. "And pray, Mr Cooper, why has heaven granted you two legs, with joints at the knees, except to enable you to counteract the horizontal deviation? Do you suppose they were meant for nothing but to work round a cask with? Hark, sir, did you take me for a post to scrub your pig's hide against? Allow me just to observe, Mr Cooper--just to insinuate, that when you pass an officer, it is your duty to keep at a respectable distance, and not to soil his clothes with your rusty iron jacket. Do you comprehend me, sir; or will this make you recollect in future?" The rattan was raised, and descended in a shower of blows, until the cooper made his escape into the head. "There, take that, you contaminating, stave-dubbing, gimlet-carrying, quintessence of a bung-hole! I beg your pardon, Mr Simple, for interrupting the conversation, but when duty calls, we must obey." "Very true, Mr Chucks. It's now striking seven bells, and I must call the master--so good-by." Chapter XVI News from home--A _fatigue_ party employed at Gibraltar--More particulars in the life of Mr Chucks--A brush with the enemy--A court-martial and a lasting impression. A few days afterwards, a cutter joined us from Plymouth, with orders for the frigate to proceed forthwith to Gibraltar, where we should learn our destination. We were all very glad of this: for we had had quite enough of cruising in the Bay of Biscay; and, as we understood that we were to be stationed in the Mediterranean, we hoped to exchange gales of wind and severe weather, for fine breezes and a bright sky. The cutter brought out our letters and newspapers. I never felt more happy than I did when I found one put into my hands. It is necessary to be far from home and friends, to feel the real delight of receiving a letter. I went down into the most solitary place in the steerage, that I might enjoy it without interruption. I cried with pleasure before I opened it, but I cried a great deal more with grief, after I had read the contents--for my eldest brother Tom was dead of a typhus fever. Poor Tom! when I called to mind what tricks he used to play me--how he used to borrow my money and never pay me--and how he used to thrash me and make me obey him, because he was my eldest brother--I shed a torrent of tears at his loss; and then I reflected how miserable my poor mother must be, and I cried still more. "What's the matter, spooney?" said O'Brien, coming up to me. "Who has been licking you now?" "O, nobody," replied I; "but my eldest brother Tom is dead, and I have no other." "Well, Peter, I dare say that your brother was a very good brother; but I'll tell you a secret. When you've lived long enough to have a beard to scrape at, you'll know better than to make a fuss about an elder brother. But you're a good, innocent boy just now, so I won't thrash you for it. Come, dry your eyes, Peter, and never mind it. We'll drink his health and long life to him, after supper, and then never think any more about it." I was very melancholy for a few days; but it was so delightful running down the Portuguese and Spanish coasts, the weather was so warm, and the sea so smooth, that I am afraid I forgot my brother's death sooner than I ought to have done; but my spirits were cheered up, and the novelty of the scene prevented me from thinking. Every one, too, was so gay and happy, that I could not well be otherwise. In a fortnight, we anchored in Gibraltar Bay, and the ship was stripped to refit. There was so much duty to be done, that I did not like to go on shore. Indeed, Mr Falcon had refused some of my messmates, and I thought it better not to ask, although I was very anxious to see a place which was considered so extraordinary. One afternoon, I was looking over the gangway as the people were at supper, and Mr Falcon came up to me and said, "Well, Mr Simple, what are you thinking of?" I replied, touching my hat, that I was wondering how they had cut out the solid rock into galleries, and that they must be very curious. "That is to say, that you are very curious to see them. Well, then, since you have been very attentive to your duty, and have not asked to go on shore, I will give you leave to go to-morrow morning and stay till gun-fire." I was very much pleased at this, as the officers had a general invitation to dine with the mess, and all who could obtain leave being requested to come, I was enabled to join the party. The first lieutenant had excused himself on the plea of there being so much to attend to on board; but most of the gun-room officers and some of the midshipmen obtained leave. We walked about the town and fortifications until dinner-time, and then we proceeded to the barracks. The dinner was very good, and we were all very merry; but after the dessert had been brought in, I slipped away with a young ensign, who took me all over the galleries, and explained everything to me, which was a much better way of employing my time than doing as the others did, which the reader will acknowledge. I was at the sally-port before gun-fire--the boat was there, but no officers made their appearance. The gun fired, the drawbridge was hauled up, and I was afraid that I should be blamed; but the boat was not ordered to shove off, as it was waiting for commissioned officers. About an hour afterwards, when it was quite dark, the sentry pointed his arms and challenged a person advancing with, "Who comes there?"--"Naval officer, drunk on a wheelbarrow," was the reply, in a loud singing voice. Upon which, the sentry recovered his arms, singing in return, "Pass naval officer, drunk on a wheelbarrow--and all's well!" and then appeared a soldier in his fatigue dress, wheeling down the third lieutenant in a wheelbarrow, so tipsy that he could not stand or speak. Then the sentry challenged again, and the answer was, "Another naval officer, drunk on a wheelbarrow;" upon which the sentry replied as before, "Pass, another naval officer, drunk on a wheelbarrow --and all's well." This was my friend O'Brien, almost as bad as the third lieutenant; and so they continued for ten minutes, challenging and passing, until they wheeled down the remainder of the party, with the exception of the second lieutenant, who walked arm and arm with the officer who brought down the order for lowering the drawbridge. I was much shocked, for I considered it very disgraceful; but I afterwards was told, which certainly admitted of some excuse, that the mess were notorious for never permitting any of their guests to leave the table sober. They were all safely put into the boat, and I am glad to say, the first lieutenant was in bed and did not see them; but I could not help acknowledging the truth of an observation made by one of the men as the officers were handed into the boat, "I say, Bill, if _them_ were _we_, what a precious twisting we should get to-morrow at six bells!" The ship remained in Gibraltar Bay about three weeks, during which time we had refitted the rigging fore and aft, restowed and cleaned the hold, and painted outside. She never looked more beautiful than she did when, in obedience to our orders, we made sail to join the admiral. We passed Europa Point with a fair wind, and at sunset we were sixty miles from the Rock, yet it was distinctly to be seen, like a blue cloud, but the outline perfectly correct. I mention this, as perhaps my reader would not have believed that it was possible to see land at such a distance. We steered for Cape de Gatte, and we were next day close in shore. I was very much delighted with the Spanish coast, mountain upon mountain, hill upon hill, covered with vines nearly to their summits. We might have gone on shore at some places, for at that time we were friendly with the Spaniards, but the captain was in too great a hurry to join the admiral. We had very light winds, and a day or two afterwards we were off Valencia, nearly becalmed. I was on the gangway, looking through a telescope at the houses and gardens round the city, when Mr Chucks, the boatswain, came up to me. "Mr Simple, oblige me with that glass a moment; I wish to see if a building remains there, which I have some reason to remember." "What, were you ever on shore there?" "Yes I was, Mr Simple, and nearly _stranded_, but I got off again without much damage." "How do you mean--were you wrecked, then?" "Not my ship, Mr Simple, but my peace of mind was for some time; but it's many years ago, when I was first made boatswain of a corvette (during this conversation he was looking through the telescope); yes, there it is," said he; "I have it in the field. Look, Mr Simple, do you see a small church, with a spire of glazed tiles, shining like a needle?" "Yes, I do." "Well, then, just above it, a little to the right, there is a long white house, with four small windows--below the grove of orange-trees." "I see it," replied I; "but what about that house, Mr Chucks?" "Why, thereby hangs a tale," replied he, giving a sigh, which raised and then lowered the frill of his shirt at least six inches. "Why, what is the mystery, Mr Chucks?" "I'll tell you, Mr Simple. With one who lived in that house, I was for the first, and for the last time, in love." "Indeed! I should like very much to hear the story." "So you shall, Mr Simple, but I must beg that you will not mention it, as young gentlemen are apt to quiz; and I think that being quizzed hurts my authority with the men. It is now about sixteen years back--we were then on good terms with the Spaniards, as we are now. I was then little more than thirty years old, and had just received my warrant as boatswain. I was considered a well-looking young man at that time, although lately I have, to a certain degree, got the better of that." "Well, I consider you a remarkably good-looking man now, Mr Chucks." "Thank you, Mr Simple, but nothing improves by age, that I know of, except rum. I used to dress very smart, and 'cut the boatswain' when I was on shore: and perhaps I had not lost so much of the polish I had picked up in good society. One evening, I was walking in the Plaza, when I saw a female ahead, who appeared to be the prettiest moulded little vessel that I ever cast my eyes on. I followed in her wake, and examined her: such a clean run I never beheld--so neat, too, in all her rigging-- everything so nicely stowed under hatches. And then, she sailed along in such a style, at one moment lifting so lightly, just like a frigate, with her topsails on the caps, that can't help going along. At another time, as she turned a corner sharp up in the wind--wake as straight as an arrow--no leeway--I made all sail to sheer alongside of her, and, when under quarter, examined her close. Never saw such a fine swell in the counter, and all so trim--no ropes towing overboard. Well, Mr Simple, I said to myself, 'D--n it, if her figurehead and bows be finished off by the same builder, she's perfect.' So I shot ahead, and yawed a little--caught a peep at her through her veil, and saw two black eyes--as bright as beads, and as large as damsons. I saw quite enough, and not wishing to frighten her, I dropped astern. Shortly afterwards she altered her course, steering for that white house. Just as she was abreast of it, and I playing about her weather quarter, the priests came by in procession, taking the _host_ to somebody who was dying. My little frigate lowered her top-gallant sails out of respect, as other nations used to do, and ought now, and be d----d to them, whenever they pass the flag of old England--" "How do you mean?" inquired I. "I mean that she spread her white handkerchief, which fluttered in her hand as she went along, and knelt down upon it on one knee. I did the same, because I was obliged to heave-to to keep my station, and I thought, that if she saw me, it would please her. When she got up, I was on my legs also; but in my hurry I had not chosen a very clean place, and I found out, when I got up again, that my white jean trousers were in a shocking mess. The young lady turned round, and seeing my misfortune, laughed, and then went into the white house, while I stood there like a fool, first looking at the door of the house, and then at my trousers. However, I thought that I might make it the means of being acquainted with her, so I went to the door and knocked. An old gentleman in a large cloak, who was her father, came out; I pointed to my trousers, and requested him in Spanish to allow me a little water to clean them. The daughter then came from within, and told her father how the accident had happened. The old gentleman was surprised that an English officer was so good a Christian, and appeared to be pleased. He asked me very politely to come in, and sent an old woman for some water. I observed that he was smoking a bit of paper, and having very fortunately about a couple of dozen of real Havannahs in my pocket (for I never smoke anything else, Mr Simple, it being my opinion that no gentleman can), I took them out, and begged his acceptance of them. His eyes glistened at the sight of them, but he refused to take more than one; however, I insisted upon his taking the whole bundle, telling him that I had plenty more on board, reserving one for myself, that I might smoke it with him. He then requested me to sit down, and the old woman brought some sour wine, which I declared was very good, although it made me quite ill afterwards. He inquired of me whether I was a good Christian. I replied that I was. I knew that he meant a Catholic, for they call us heretics, Mr Simple. The daughter then came in without her veil, and she was perfection; but I did not look at her, or pay her any attention after the first salutation, I was so afraid of making the old gentleman suspicious. He then asked what I was--what sort of officer-- was I captain? I replied that I was not. Was I 'tenente? which means lieutenant; I answered that I was not, again, but with an air of contempt, as if I was something better. What was I, then? I did not know the Spanish for boatswain, and, to tell the truth, I was ashamed of my condition. I knew that there was an officer in Spain called corregidor, which means a corrector in English, or one who punishes. Now I thought that quite near enough for my purpose, and I replied that I was the corregidor. Now, Mr Simple, a corregidor in Spain is a person of rank and consequence, so they imagined that I must be the same, and they appeared to be pleased. The young lady then inquired if I was of good family--whether I was a gentleman or not. I replied that I hoped so. I remained with them for half-an-hour more, when my segar was finished; I then rose, and thanking the old gentleman for his civility, begged that I might be allowed to bring him a few more segars, and took my leave. The daughter opened the street door, and I could not refrain from taking her hand and kissing it--" "Where's Mr Chucks? call the boatswain there forward," hallooed out the lieutenant. "Here I am, sir," replied Mr Chucks, hastening aft, and leaving me and his story. "The captain of the maintop reports the breast backstay much chafed in the serving. Go up and examine it," said the first lieutenant. "Yes, sir," replied the boatswain, who immediately went up the rigging. "And, Mr Simple, attend to the men scraping the spots off the quarter-deck." "Yes, sir," replied I; and thus our conversation was broken up. The weather changed that night, and we had a succession of rain and baffling winds for six or seven days, during which I had no opportunity of hearing the remainder of the boatswain's history. We joined the fleet off Toulon, closed the admiral's ship, and the captain went on board to pay his respects. When he returned, we found out, through the first lieutenant, that we were to remain with the fleet until the arrival of another frigate, expected in about a fortnight, and then the admiral had promised that we should have a cruise. The second day after we had joined, we were ordered to form part of the in-shore squadron, consisting of two line-of-battle ships and four frigates. The French fleet used to come out and manoeuvre within range of their batteries, or, if they proceeded further from the shore, they took good care that they had a leading wind to return again into port. We had been in-shore about a week, every day running close in, and counting the French fleet in the harbour, to see that they were all safe, and reporting it to the admiral by signal, when one fine morning, the whole of the French vessels were perceived to hoist their topsails, and in less than an hour they were under weigh, and came out of the harbour. We were always prepared for action, night and day, and, indeed, often exchanged a shot or two with the batteries when we reconnoitred; the in-shore squadron could not, of course, cope with the whole French fleet, and our own was about twelve miles in the offing, but the captain of the line-of-battle ship who commanded us, hove-to, as if in defiance, hoping to entice them further out. This was not very easy to do, as the French knew that a shift of wind might put it out of their power to refuse an action, which was what they would avoid, and what we were so anxious to bring about. I say we, speaking of the English, not of myself, for to tell the truth, I was not so very anxious. I was not exactly afraid, but I had an unpleasant sensation at the noise of a cannon-ball, which I had not as yet got over. However, four of the French frigates made sail towards us, and hove-to, when within four miles, three or four line-of-battle ships following them as if to support them. Our captain made signal for permission to close the enemy, which was granted, with our pennants, and those of another frigate. We immediately made all sail, beat to quarters, put out the fires, and opened the magazines. The French line-of-battle ships perceiving that only two of our frigates were sent against their four, hove-to at about the same distance from their frigates, as our line-of-battle ships and other frigates were from us. In the meantime our main fleet continued to work in shore under a press of sail, and the French main fleet also gradually approached the detached ships. The whole scene reminded me of the tournaments I had read of; it was a challenge in the lists, only that the enemy were two to one; a fair acknowledgment on their parts of our superiority. In about an hour we closed so near, that the French frigates made sail and commenced firing. We reserved our fire until within a quarter of a mile, when we poured our broadside into the headmost frigate, exchanging with her on opposite tacks. The _Sea-horse_, who followed, also gave her a broadside. In this way we exchanged broadsides with the whole four, and we had the best of it, for they could not load so fast as we could. We were both ready again for the frigates as they passed us, but they were not ready with their broadside for the _Sea-horse_, who followed us very closely, so that they had two broadsides each, and we had only four in the _Diomede_, the _Sea-horse_ not having one. Our rigging was cut up a great deal, and we had six or seven men wounded, but none killed. The French frigates suffered more, and their admiral perceiving that they were cut up a good deal, made a signal of recall. In the meantime we had both tacked, and were ranging up on the weather quarter of the sternmost frigate: the line-of-battle ships perceiving this, ran down with the wind, two points free, to support their frigates, and our in-shore squadron made all sail to support us, nearly laying up for where we were. But the wind was what is called at sea a soldier's wind, that is, blowing so that the ships could lie either way, so as to run out or into the harbour, and the French frigates, in obedience to their orders, made sail for their fleet in-shore, the line-of-battle ships coming out to support them. But our captain would not give it up, although we all continued to near the French line-of-battle ships every minute--we ran in with the frigates, exchanging broadsides with them as fast as we could. One of them lost her foretopmast, and dropped astern, and we hoped to cut her off, but the others shortened sail to support her. This continued for about twenty minutes, when the French line-of-battle ships were not more than a mile from us, and our own commodore had made the signal of our recall, for he thought that we should be overpowered and taken. But the _Sea-horse_, who saw the recall up, did not repeat it, and our captain was determined not to see it, and ordered the signal-man not to look that way. The action continued, two of the French frigates were cut to pieces, and complete wrecks, when the French line-of-battle ships commenced firing. It was then high time to be off. We each of us poured in another broadside, and then wore round for our own squadron, which was about four miles off, and rather to leeward, standing in to our assistance. As we wore round, our main-topmast, which had been badly wounded, fell over the side, and the French perceiving this, made all sail, with the hope of capturing us; but the _Sea-horse_ remained with us, and we threw up in the wind, and raked them until they were within two cables' lengths of us. Then we stood on for our own ships; at last one of the line-of-battle ships, which sailed as well as the frigates, came abreast of us, and poured in a broadside, which brought everything about our ears, and I thought we must be taken; but on the contrary, although we lost several men, the captain said to the first lieutenant, "Now, if they only wait a little longer, they are nabbed, as sure as fate." Just at this moment, our own line-of-battle ships opened their fire, and then the tables were turned. The French tacked, and stood in as fast as they could, followed by the in-shore squadron, with the exception of our ship, which was too much crippled to chase them. One of their frigates had taken in tow the other, who had lost her top-mast, and our squadron came up with her very fast. The English fleet were also within three miles, standing in, and the French fleet standing out, to the assistance of the other ships which had been engaged. I thought, and so did everybody, that there would be a general action, but we were disappointed; the frigate which towed the other, finding that she could not escape, cast her off, and left her to her fate, which was to haul down her colours to the commodore of the in-shore squadron. The chase was continued until the whole of the French vessels were close under their batteries, and then our fleet returned to its station with the prize, which proved to be the _Narcisse_, of thirty-six guns, Captain Le Pelleteon. Our captain obtained a great deal of credit for his gallant behaviour. We had three men killed, and Robinson, the midshipman, and ten men wounded, some of them severely. I think this action cured me of my fear of a cannon-ball, for during the few days we remained with the fleet, we often were fired at when we reconnoitred, but I did not care anything for them. About the time she was expected, the frigate joined, and we had permission to part company. But before I proceed with the history of our cruise, I shall mention the circumstances attending a court-martial, which took place during the time that we were with the fleet, our captain having been recalled from the in-shore squadron to sit as one of the members. I was the midshipman appointed to the captain's gig, and remained on board of the admiral's ship during the whole of the time that the court was sitting. Two seamen, one an Englishman, and the other a Frenchman, were tried for desertion from one of our frigates. They had left their ship about three months, when the frigate captured a French privateer, and found them on board as part of her crew. For the Englishman, of course, there was no defence; he merited the punishment of death, to which he was immediately sentenced. There may be some excuse for desertion, when we consider that the seamen are taken into the service by force, but there could be none for fighting against his country. But the case of the Frenchman was different. He was born and bred in France, had been one of the crew of the French gunboats at Cadiz, where he had been made a prisoner by the Spaniards, and expecting his throat to be cut every day, had contrived to escape on board of the frigate lying in the harbour, and entered into our service, I really believe to save his life. He was nearly two years in the frigate before he could find an opportunity of deserting from her, and returning to France, when he joined the French privateer. During the time that he was in the frigate, he bore an excellent character. The greatest point against him was, that on his arrival at Gibraltar he had been offered, and had received the bounty. When the Englishman was asked what he had to say in his defence, he replied that he had been pressed out of an American ship, that he was an American born, and that he had never taken the bounty. But this was not true. The defence of the Frenchman was considered so very good for a person in his station of life, that I obtained a copy of it, which ran as follows:-- "Mr President, and Officers of the Honourable Court;--It is with the greatest humility that I venture to address you. I shall be very brief, nor shall I attempt to disprove the charges which have been made against me, but confine myself to a few facts, the consideration of which will, I trust, operate upon your feelings in mitigation of the punishment to which I may be sentenced for my fault--a fault which proceeded, not from any evil motive, but from an ardent love for my country. I am by birth a Frenchman; my life has been spent in the service of France until a few months after the revolution in Spain, when I, together with those who composed the French squadron at Cadiz, was made a prisoner. The hardships and cruel usage which I endured became insupportable. I effected my escape, and after wandering about the town for two or three days, in hourly expectation of being assassinated, the fate of too many of my unfortunate countrymen; desperate from famine, and perceiving no other chance of escaping from the town, I was reduced to the necessity of offering myself as a volunteer on board of an English frigate. I dared not, as I ought to have done, acknowledge myself to have been a prisoner, from the dread of being delivered up to the Spaniards. During the period that I served on board of your frigate, I confidently rely upon the captain and the officers for my character. "The love of our country, although dormant for a time, will ultimately be roused, and peculiar circumstances occurred which rendered the feeling irresistible. I returned to my duty, and for having so done, am I to be debarred from again returning to that country so dear to me-- from again beholding my aged parents, who bless me in my absence--from again embracing my brothers and sisters--to end my days upon a scaffold; not for the crime which I did commit in entering into your service, but for an act of duty and repentance--that of returning to my own? Allow me to observe, that the charge against me is not for entering your service, but for having deserted from it. For the former, not even my misery can be brought forward but in extenuation; for the latter I have a proud consciousness, which will, I trust, be my support in my extremity. "Gentlemen, I earnestly entreat you to consider my situation, and I am sure that your generous hearts will pity me. Let that love of your country, which now animates your breasts, and induces you to risk your lives and your all, now plead for me. Already has British humanity saved thousands of my countrymen from the rage of the Spaniards; let that same humanity be extended now, and induce my judges to add one more to the list of those who, although our nations are at war, if they are endowed with feeling, can have but one sentiment towards their generous enemy--a sentiment overpowering all other, that of a deep-felt gratitude."[1] Whatever may have been the effect of the address upon the court individually, it appeared at the time to have none upon them as a body. Both the men were condemned to death, and the day after the morrow was fixed for their execution. I watched the two prisoners as they went down the side, to be conducted on board of their own ship. The Englishman threw himself down in the stern sheets of the boat, every minor consideration apparently swallowed up in the thought of his approaching end; but the Frenchman, before he sat down, observing that the seat was a little dirty, took out his silk handkerchief, and spread it on the seat, that he might not soil his nankeen trowsers. I was ordered to attend the punishment on the day appointed. The sun shone so brightly, and the sky was so clear, the wind so gentle and mild, that it appeared hardly possible that it was to be a day of such awe and misery to the two poor men, or of such melancholy to the fleet in general. I pulled up my boat with the others belonging to the ships of the fleet, in obedience to the orders of the officer superintending, close to the fore-chains of the ship. In about half-an-hour afterwards, the prisoners made their appearance on the scaffold, the caps were pulled over their eyes, and the gun fired underneath them. When the smoke rolled away, the Englishman was swinging at the yard-arm, but the Frenchman was not; he had made a spring when the gun fired, hoping to break his neck at once, and put an end to his misery; but he fell on the edge of the scaffold, where he lay. We thought that his rope had given way, and it appeared that he did the same, for he made an enquiry, but they returned him no answer. He was kept on the scaffold during the whole hour that the Englishman remained suspended; his cap had been removed, and he looked occasionally at his fellow-sufferer. When the body was lowered down, he considered that his time was come, and attempted to leap overboard. He was restrained and led aft, where his reprieve was read to him and his arms were unbound. But the effect of the shock was too much for his mind; he fell down in a swoon, and when he recovered, his senses had left him, and I heard that he never recovered them, but was sent home to be confined as a maniac. I thought, and the result proved, that it was carried too far. It is not the custom, when a man is reprieved, to tell him so, until after he is on the scaffold, with the intention that his awful situation at the time may make a lasting impression upon him during the remainder of his life; but, as a foreigner, he was not aware of our customs, and the hour of intense feeling which he underwent was too much for his reason. I must say, that this circumstance was always a source of deep regret in the whole fleet, and that his being a Frenchman, instead of an Englishman, increased the feeling of commiseration. [Footnote 1: This is fact.--AUTHOR.] Chapter XVII Mr Chucks's opinion on proper names--He finishes his Spanish tale--March of intellect among the Warrant Officers. We were all delighted when our signal was hoisted to "part company," as we anticipated plenty of prize-money under such an enterprising captain. We steered for the French coast, near to its junction with Spain, the captain having orders to intercept any convoys sent to supply the French army with stores and provisions. The day after we parted company with the fleet, Mr Chucks finished his story. "Where was I, Mr Simple, when I left off?" said he, as we took a seat upon the long eighteen. "You had just left the house after having told them that you were a corregidor, and had kissed the lady's hand." "Very true. Well, Mr Simple, I did not call there for two or three days afterwards; I did not like to go too soon, especially as I saw the young lady every day in the Plaza. She would not speak to me, but, to make use of their expression, 'she gave me her eyes,' and sometimes a sweet smile. I recollect I was so busy looking at her one day, that I tripped over my sword, and nearly fell on my nose, at which she burst out a laughing." "Your sword, Mr Chucks? I thought boatswains never wore swords." "Mr Simple, a boatswain is an officer, and is entitled to a sword as well as the captain, although we have been laughed out of it by a set of midshipman monkeys. I always wore my sword at that time; but now-a-days, a boatswain is counted as nobody, unless there is hard work to do, and then it's Mr Chucks this, and Mr Chucks that. But I'll explain to you how it is, Mr Simple, that we boatswains have lost so much of consequence and dignity. The first lieutenants are made to do the boatswain's duty now-a-days, and if they could only wind the call, they might scratch the boatswain's name off half the ships' books in his Majesty's service. But to go on with my yarn. On the fourth day, I called with my handkerchief full of segars for the father, but he was at siesta, as they called it. The old serving-woman would not let me in at first; but I shoved a dollar between her skinny old fingers, and that altered her note. She put her old head out, and looked round to see if there was anybody in the street to watch us, and then she let me in and shut the door. I walked into the room, and found myself alone with Seraphina." "Seraphina!--what a fine name!" "No name can be too fine for a pretty girl, or a good frigate, Mr Simple; for my part, I'm very fond of these hard names. Your Bess, and Poll, and Sue, do very well for the Point, or Castle Rag; but in my opinion, they degrade a lady. Don't you observe, Mr Simple, that all our gun-brigs, a sort of vessel that will certainly d----n the inventor to all eternity, have nothing but low common names, such as Pincher, Thrasher, Boxer, Badger, and all that sort, which are quite good enough for them; whereas all our dashing saucy frigates have names as long as the main-top bowling, and hard enough to break your jaw--such as Melpomeny, Terpsichory, Arethusy, Bacchanty--fine flourishers, as long as their pennants which dip alongside in a calm." "Very true," replied I; "but do you think, then, it is the same with family names?" "Most certainly, Mr Simple. When I was in good society, I rarely fell in with such names as Potts or Bell, or Smith or Hodges; it was always Mr Fortescue, or Mr Fitzgerald, or Mr Fitzherbert--seldom bowed, sir, to anything under _three_ syllables." "Then I presume, Mr Chucks, you are not fond of your own name?" "There you touch me, Mr Simple; but it is quite good enough for a boatswain," replied Mr Chucks, with a sigh. "I certainly did very wrong to impose upon people as I did, but I've been severely punished for it-- it has made me discontented and unhappy ever since. Dearly have I paid for my spree; for there is nothing so miserable as to have ideas above your station in life, Mr Simple. But I must make sail again. I was three hours with Seraphina before her father came home, and during that time I never was quietly at an anchor for above a minute. I was on my knees, vowing and swearing, kissing her feet and kissing her hand, till at last I got to her lips, working my way up as regularly as one who gets in at the hawsehole and crawls aft to the cabin windows. She was very kind, and she smiled, and sighed, and pushed me off, and squeezed my hand, and was angry--frowning till I was in despair, and then making me happy again with her melting dark eyes beaming kindly, till at last she said that she would try to love me, and asked me whether I would marry her and live in Spain. I replied that I would; and, indeed, I felt as if I could, only at the time the thought occurred to me where the rhino was to come from, for I could not live, as her father did, upon a paper segar and a piece of melon per day. At all events, as far as words went, it was a settled thing. When her father came home, the old servant told him that I had just at that moment arrived, and that, his daughter was in her own room; so she was, for she ran away as soon as she heard her father knock. I made my bow to the old gentleman, and gave him the segars. He was serious at first, but the sight of them put him into good humour, and in a few minutes Donna Seraphina (they call a lady a Donna in Spain) came in, saluting me ceremoniously, as if we had not been kissing for the hour together. I did not remain long, as it was getting late, so I took a glass of the old gentleman's sour wine, and walked off, with a request from him to call again, the young lady paying me little or no attention during the time that I remained, or at my departure." "Well, Mr Chucks," observed I, "it appears to me that she was a very deceitful young person." "So she was, Mr Simple; but a man in love can't see, and I'll tell you why. If he wins the lady, he is as much in love with himself as with her, because he is so proud of his conquest. That was my case. If I had had my eyes, I might have seen that she who could cheat her old father for a mere stranger, would certainly deceive him in his turn. But if love makes a man blind, vanity, Mr Simple, makes him blinder. In short, I was an ass." "Never mind, Mr Chucks, there was a good excuse for it." "Well, Mr Simple, I met her again and again, until I was madly in love, and the father appeared to be aware of what was going on, and to have no objection. However, he sent for a priest to talk with me, and I again said that I was a good Catholic. I told him that I was in love with the young lady, and would marry her. The father made no objection on my promising to remain in Spain, for he would not part with his only daughter. And there again I was guilty of deceit, first, in making a promise I did not intend to keep, and then in pretending that I was a Catholic. Honesty is the best policy, Mr Simple, in the long run, you may depend upon it." "So my father has always told me, and I have believed him," replied I. "Well, sir, I am ashamed to say that I did worse; for the priest, after the thing was settled, asked me whether I had confessed lately. I knew what he meant, and answered that I had not. He motioned me down on my knees; but, as I could not speak Spanish enough for that, I mumbled-jumbled something or another, half Spanish and half English, and ended with putting four dollars in his hand for _carita_, which means charity. He was satisfied at the end of my confession, whatever he might have been at the beginning, and gave me absolution, although he could not have understood what my crimes were; but four dollars, Mr Simple, will pay for a deal of crime in that country. And now, sir, comes the winding up of this business. Seraphina told me that she was going to the opera with some of her relations, and asked me if I would be there; that the captain of the frigate, and all the other officers were going, and that she wished me to go with her. You see, Mr Simple, although Seraphina's father was so poor, that a mouse would have starved in his house, still he was of good family, and connected with those who were much better off. He was a Don himself, and had fourteen or fifteen long names, which I forget now. I refused to go with her, as I knew that the service would not permit a boatswain to sit in an opera-box, when the captain and first lieutenant were there. I told her that I had promised to go on board and look after the men while the captain went on shore; thus, as you'll see, Mr Simple, making myself a man of consequence, only to be more mortified in the end. After she had gone to the opera, I was very uncomfortable: I was afraid that the captain would see her, and take a fancy to her. I walked up and down, outside, until I was so full of love and jealousy that I determined to go into the pit and see what she was about. I soon discovered her in a box, with some other ladies, and with them were my captain and first lieutenant. The captain, who spoke the language well, was leaning over her, talking and laughing, and she was smiling at what he said. I resolved to leave immediately, lest she should see me and discover that I had told her a falsehood; but they appeared so intimate that I became so jealous I could not quit the theatre. At last she perceived me, and beckoned her hand; I looked very angry, and left the theatre cursing like a madman. It appeared that she pointed me out to the captain, and asked him who I was; he told her my real situation on board, and spoke of me with contempt. She asked whether I was not a man of family; at this the captain and first lieutenant both burst out laughing, and said that I was a common sailor who had been promoted to a higher rank for good behaviour--not exactly an officer, and anything but a gentleman. In short, Mr Simple, I was _blown upon_, and, although the captain said more than was correct, as I learnt afterwards through the officers, still I deserved it. Determined to know the worst, I remained outside till the opera was over, when I saw her come out, the captain and first lieutenant walking with the party--so that I could not speak with her. I walked to a posada (that's an inn), and drank seven bottles of rosolio to keep myself quiet; then I went on board, and the second lieutenant, who was commanding officer, put me under arrest for being intoxicated. It was a week before I was released; and you can't imagine what I suffered, Mr Simple. At last, I obtained leave to go on shore, and I went to the house to decide my fate. The old woman opened the door, and then calling me a thief, slammed it in my face; as I retreated, Donna Seraphina came to the window, and, waving her hand with a contemptuous look, said, 'Go, and God be with you, Mr Gentleman.' I returned on board in such a rage, that if I could have persuaded the gunner to have given me a ball cartridge, I should have shot myself through the head. What made the matter worse, I was laughed at by everybody in the ship, for the captain and first lieutenant had made the story public." "Well, Mr Chucks," replied I, "I cannot help being sorry for you, although you certainly deserved to be punished for your dishonesty. Was that the end of the affair?" "As far as I was concerned it was, Mr Simple; but not as respected others. The captain took my place, but without the knowledge of the father. After all, they neither had great reason to rejoice at the exchange." "How so, Mr Chucks--what do you mean?" "Why, Mr Simple, the captain did not make an honest woman of her, as I would have done; and the father discovered what was going on, and one night the captain was brought on board run through the body. We sailed immediately for Gibraltar, and it was a long while before he got round again: and then he had another misfortune." "What was that?" "Why he lost his boatswain, Mr Simple; for I could not bear the sight of him--and then he lost (as you must know, not from your own knowledge, but from that of others) a boatswain who knows his duty." "Every one says so, Mr Chucks. I'm sure that our captain would be very sorry to part with you." "I trust that every captain has been with whom I've sailed, Mr Simple. But that was not all he lost, Mr Simple; for the next cruise he lost his masts; and the loss of his masts occasioned the loss of his ship, since which he has never been trusted with another, but is laid on the shelf. Now he never carried away a spar of any consequence during the whole time that I was with him. A mast itself is nothing, Mr Simple--only a piece of wood--but fit your rigging properly, and then a mast is strong as a rock. Only ask Mr Faulkner, and he'll tell you the same; and I never met an officer who knew better how to support a mast." "Did you ever hear any more of the young lady?" "Yes; about a year afterwards I returned there in another ship. She had been shut up in a convent, and forced to take the veil. Oh, Mr Simple! if you knew how I loved that girl! I have never been more than polite to a woman since, and shall die a bachelor. You can't think how I was capsized the other day, when I looked at the house; I have hardly touched beef or pork since, and am in debt two quarts of rum more than my allowance. But, Mr Simple, I have told you this in confidence, and I trust you are too much of a gentleman to repeat it; for I cannot bear quizzing from young midshipmen." I promised that I would not mention it, and I kept my word; but circumstances which the reader will learn in the sequel have freed me from the condition. Nobody can quiz him now. We gained our station off the coast of Perpignan; and as soon as we made the land, we were most provokingly driven off by a severe gale. I am not about to make any remarks about the gale, for one storm is so like another; but I mention it, to account for a conversation which took place, and with which I was very much amused. I was near to the captain when he sent for Mr Muddle, the carpenter, who had been up to examine the main-topsail yard, which had been reported as sprung. "Well, Mr Muddle," said the captain. "Sprung, sir, most decidedly; but I think we'll be able to _mitigate_ it." "Will you be able to secure it for the present, Mr Muddle?" replied the captain, rather sharply. "We'll _mitigate_ it, sir, in half an hour." "I wish that you would use common phrases when you speak to me, Mr Muddle. I presume, by mitigate, you mean to say that you can secure it. Do you mean so, sir, or do you not?" "Yes, sir, that is what I mean, most decidedly. I hope no offence, Captain Savage; but I did not intend to displease you by my language." "Very good, Mr Muddle," replied the captain; "it's the first time that I have spoken to you on the subject, recollect that it will be the last." "The first time!" replied the carpenter, who could not forget his philosophy; "I beg your pardon, Captain Savage, you found just the same fault with me on this quarter-deck 27,672 years ago, and--" "If I did, Mr Muddle," interrupted the captain, very angrily, "depend upon it that at the same time I ordered you to go aloft, and attend to your duty, instead of talking nonsense on the quarter-deck; and, although, as you say, you and I cannot recollect it, if you did not obey that order instantaneously, I also put you in confinement, and obliged you to leave the ship as soon as she returned to port. Do you understand me, sir?" "I rather think, sir," replied the carpenter, humbly touching his hat, and walking to the main rigging, "that no such thing took place, for I went up immediately, as I do now; and," continued the carpenter, who was incurable, as he ascended the rigging, "as I shall again in another 27,672 years." "That man is incorrigible with his confounded nonsense," observed the captain to the first lieutenant. "Every mast in the ship would go over the side, provided he could get any one to listen to his ridiculous theory." "He is not a bad carpenter, sir," replied the first lieutenant. "He is not," rejoined the captain; "but there is a time for all things." Just at this moment, the boatswain came down the rigging. "Well, Mr Chucks, what do you think of the yard? Must we shift it?" inquired the captain. "At present, Captain Savage," replied the boatswain, "I consider it to be in a state which may be called precarious, and not at all permanent; but, with a little human exertion, four fathom of three-inch, and half-a-dozen tenpenny nails, it may last, for all I know, until it is time for it to be sprung again." "I do not understand you, Mr Chucks. I know no time when a yard ought to be sprung." "I did not refer to our time, sir," replied the boatswain, "but to the 27,672 years of Mr Muddle, when--" "Go forward immediately, sir, and attend to your duty," cried the captain, in a very angry voice; and then he said to the first lieutenant, "I believe the warrant officers are going mad. Who ever heard a boatswain use such language--'precarious and not at all permanent?' His stay in the ship will become so, if he does not mind what he is about." "He is a very odd character, sir," replied the first lieutenant; "but I have no hesitation in saying that he is the best boatswain in his majesty's service." "I believe so too," replied the captain; "but--well, every one has his faults. Mr Simple, what are you about sir?" "I was listening to what you said," replied I, touching my hat. "I admire your candour, sir," replied he, "but advise you to discontinue the practice. Walk over to leeward, sir, and attend to your duty." When I was on the other side of the deck, I looked round, and saw the captain and first lieutenant both laughing. Chapter XVIII I go away on service, am wounded and taken prisoner with O'Brien-- Diamond cut diamond between the O'Briens--Get into comfortable quarters --My first interview with Celeste. And now I have to relate an event, which, young as I was at the time, will be found to have seriously affected me in after life. How little do we know what to-morrow may bring forth! We had regained our station, and for some days had been standing off and on the coast, when one morning at daybreak, we found ourselves about four miles from the town of Cette, and a large convoy of vessels coming round a point. We made all sail in chase, and they anchored close in shore, under a battery, which we did not discover until it opened fire upon us. The shot struck the frigate two or three times, for the water was smooth, and the battery nearly level with it. The captain tacked the ship, and stood out again, until the boats were hoisted out, and all ready to pull on shore and storm the battery. O'Brien, who was the officer commanding the first cutter on service, was in his boat, and I again obtained permission from him to smuggle myself into it. "Now, Peter, let's see what kind of a fish you'll bring on board this time," said he, after we had shoved off: "or may be, the fish will not let you off quite so easy." The men in the boat all laughed at this, and I replied, "That I must be more seriously wounded than I was last time, to be made a prisoner." We ran on shore, amidst the fire of the gunboats, who protected the convoy, by which we lost three men, and made for the battery, which we took without opposition, the French artillery-men running out as we ran in. The directions of the captain were very positive, not to remain in the battery a minute after it was taken, but to board the gunboats, leaving only one of the small boats, with the armourer to spike the guns, for the captain was aware that there were troops stationed along the coast, who might come down upon us and beat us off. The first lieutenant, who commanded, desired O'Brien to remain with the first cutter, and after the armourer had spiked the guns, as officer of the boat he was to shove off immediately. O'Brien and I remained in the battery with the armourer, the boat's crew being ordered down to the boat, to keep her afloat, and ready to shove off at a moment's warning. We had spiked all the guns but one, when all of a sudden a volley of musketry was poured upon us, which killed the armourer, and wounded me in the leg above the knee. I fell down by O'Brien, who cried out, "By the powers! here they are, and one gun not spiked." He jumped down, wrenched the hammer from the armourer's hand, and seizing a nail from the bag, in a few moments he had spiked the gun. At this time I heard the tramping of the French soldiers advancing, when O'Brien threw away the hammer, and lifting me upon his shoulders, cried, "Come along, Peter, my boy," and made for the boat as fast as he could; but he was too late; he had not got half way to the boat, before he was collared by two French soldiers, and dragged back into the battery. The French troops then advanced, and kept up a smart fire: our cutter escaped, and joined the other boat, who had captured the gun-boats and convoy with little opposition. Our large boats had carronades mounted in their bows, and soon returned the fire with round and grape, which drove the French troops back into the battery, where they remained, popping at our men under cover, until most of the vessels were taken out; those which they could not man were burnt. In the meantime, O'Brien had been taken into the battery, with me on his back; but as soon as he was there, he laid me gently down, saying, "Peter, my boy, as long as you were under my charge, I'd carry you through thick and thin; but now that you are under the charge of these French beggars, why let them carry you. Every man his own bundle, Peter, that's fair play, so if they think you're worth the carrying, let them bear the weight of ye." "And suppose they do not, O'Brien, will you leave me here?" "Will I lave you, Peter! not if I can help it, my boy; but they won't leave you, never fear them; prisoners are so scarce with them, that they would not leave the captain's monkey, if he were taken." As soon as our boats were clear of their musketry, the commanding officer of the French troops examined the guns in the battery, with the hope of reaching them, and was very much annoyed to find that every one of them was spiked. "He'll look sharper than a magpie before he finds a clear touch-hole, I expect," said O'Brien, as he watched the officer. And here I must observe, that O'Brien showed great presence of mind in spiking the last gun; for had they had one gun to fire at our boats towing out the prizes, they must have done a great deal of mischief to them, and we should have lost a great many men; but in so doing, and in the attempt to save me, he sacrificed himself, and was taken prisoner. When the troops ceased firing, the commanding officer came up to O'Brien, and looking at him, said, "Officer?" to which O'Brien nodded his head. He then pointed to me--"Officer?" O'Brien nodded his head again, at which the French troops laughed, as O'Brien told me afterwards, because I was what they called an _enfant_, which means an infant. I was very stiff, and faint, and could not walk. The officer who commanded the troops left a detachment in the battery, and prepared to return to Cette, from whence they came. O'Brien walked, and I was carried on three muskets by six of the French soldiers--not a very pleasant conveyance at any time, but in my state excessively painful. However, I must say, that they were very kind to me, and put a great coat or something under my wounded leg, for I was in an agony, and fainted several times. At last they brought me some water to drink. O how delicious it was! I have often thought since, when I have been in company, where people fond of good living have smacked their lips at their claret, that if they could only be wounded, and taste a cup of water, they would then know what it was to feel a beverage grateful. In about an hour and a half, which appeared to me to be five days at the least, we arrived at the town of Cette, and I was taken up to the house of the officer who commanded the troops, and who had often looked at me as I was carried there from the battery, saying, "_Pauvre enfant_!" I was put on a bed, where I again fainted away. When I came to my senses, I found a surgeon had bandaged my leg, and that I had been undressed. O'Brien was standing by me, and I believe that he had been crying, for he thought that I was dead. When I looked him in the face, he said, "Pater, you baste, how you frightened me: bad luck to me if ever I take charge of another youngster. What did you sham dead for?" "I am better now, O'Brien," replied I, "how much I am indebted to you: you have been made prisoner in trying to save me." "I have been made prisoner in doing my duty, in one shape or another. If that fool of an armourer hadn't held his hammer so tight, after he was dead, and it was of no use to him, I should have been clear enough, and so would you have been! but, however, all this is nothing at all, Peter; as far as I can see, the life of a man consists in getting into scrapes, and getting out of them. By the blessing of God, we've managed the first, and by the blessing of God we'll manage the second also; so be smart, my honey, and get well, for although a man may escape by running away on two legs, I never heard of a boy who hopped out of a French prison upon one." I squeezed the offered hand of O'Brien, and looked round me; the surgeon stood at one side of the bed, and the officer who commanded the troops at the other. At the head of the bed was a little girl about twelve years old, who held a cup in her hand, out of which something had been poured down my throat. I looked at her, and she had such pity in her face, which was remarkably handsome, that she appeared to me as an angel, and I turned round as well as I could, that I might look at her alone. She offered me the cup, which I should have refused from any one but her, and I drank a little. Another person then came into the room, and a conversation took place in French. "I wonder what they mean to do with us," said I to O'Brien. "Whist, hold your tongue," replied he; and then he leaned over me, and said in a whisper, "I understand all they say; don't you recollect, I told you that I learnt the language after I was kilt and buried in the sand, in South America?" After a little more conversation, the officer and the others retired, leaving nobody but the little girl and O'Brien in the room. "It's a message from the governor," said O'Brien, as soon as they were gone, "wishing the prisoners to be sent to the gaol in the citadel, to be examined; and the officer says (and he's a real gentleman, as far as I can judge) that you're but a baby, and badly wounded in the bargain, and that it would be a shame not to leave you to die in peace; so I presume that I'll part company from you very soon." "I hope not, O'Brien," replied I; "if you go to prison, I will go also, for I will not leave you, who are my best friend, to remain with strangers; I should not be half so happy, although I might have more comforts in my present situation." "Pater, my boy, I am glad to see that your heart is in the right place, as I always thought it was, or I wouldn't have taken you under my protection. We'll go together to prison, my jewel, and I'll fish at the bars with a bag and a long string, just by way of recreation, and to pick up a little money to buy you all manner of nice things; and when you get well, you shall do it yourself, mayhap you'll have better luck, as Peter your namesake had, who was a fisherman before you. There's twice as much room in one of the cells as there is in a midshipman's berth, my boy; and the prison yards, where you are allowed to walk, will make a dozen quarter-decks, and no need of touching your hat out of respect when you go into it. When a man has been cramped up on board of a man-of-war, where midshipmen are stowed away like pilchards in a cask, he finds himself quite at liberty in a prison, Peter. But somehow or another, I think we mayn't be parted yet, for I heard the officer (who appears to be a real gentleman, and worthy to have been an Irishman born) say to the other, that he'd ask the governor for me to stay with you on parole, until you are well again." The little girl handed me the lemonade, of which I drank a little, and then I felt very faint again. I laid my head on the pillow, and O'Brien having left off talking, I was soon in a comfortable sleep. In an hour I was awakened by the return of the officer, who was accompanied by the surgeon. The officer addressed O'Brien in French who shook his head as before. "Why don't you answer, O'Brien," said I, "since you understand him?" "Peter, recollect that I cannot speak a word of their lingo; then I shall know what they say before us, and they won't mind what they say, supposing I do not understand them." "But is that honest, O'Brien?" "Is it honest you mean? If I had a five-pound note in my pocket, and don't choose to show it to every fellow that I meet--is that dishonest?" "To be sure it's not." "And a'n't that what the lawyers call a case in pint?" "Well," replied I, "if you wish it, I shall of course say nothing; but I think that I should tell them, especially as they are so kind to us." During this conversation, the officer occasionally spoke to the surgeon, at the same time eyeing us, I thought, very hard. Two other persons then came into the room; one of them addressed O'Brien in very bad English, saying, that he was interpreter, and would beg him to answer a few questions. He then inquired the name of our ship, number of guns, and how long we had been cruising. After that, the force of the English fleet, and a great many other questions relative to them; all of which were put in French by the person who came with him, and the answer translated, and taken down in a book. Some of the questions O'Brien answered correctly, to others he pleaded ignorance; and to some, he asserted what was not true. But I did not blame him for that, as it was his duty not to give information to the enemy. At last they asked my name, and rank, which O'Brien told them. "Was I noble?" "Yes," replied O'Brien. "Don't say so, O'Brien," interrupted I. "Peter, you know nothing about it, you are grandson to a lord." "I know that, but still I am not noble myself, although descended from him; therefore pray don't say so." "Bother! Pater, I have said it, and I won't unsay it; besides, Pater, recollect it's a French question, and in France you would be considered noble. At all events, it can do no harm." "I feel too ill to talk, O'Brien; but I wish you had not said so." They then inquired O'Brien's name, which he told them; his rank in the service, and also, whether he was noble. "I am an O'Brien," replied he; "and pray what's the meaning of the O before my name, if I'm not noble? However, Mr Interpreter, you may add, that we have dropped our title because it's not convanient." The French officer burst out into a loud laugh, which surprised us very much. The interpreter had great difficulty in explaining what O'Brien said; but as O'Brien told me afterwards, the answer was put down _doubtful_. They all left the room except the officer, who then, to our astonishment, addressed us in good English. "Gentlemen, I have obtained permission from the governor for you to remain in my house, until Mr Simple is recovered. Mr O'Brien, it is necessary that I should receive your parole of honour that you will not attempt to escape. Are you willing to give it?" O'Brien was quite amazed; "Murder an' Irish," cried he; "so you speak English, colonel. It was not very genteel of you not to say so, considering how we've been talking our little secrets together." "Certainly, Mr O'Brien, not more necessary," replied the officer, smiling, "than for you to tell me that you understood French." "O, bother!" cried O'Brien, "how nicely I'm caught in my own trap! You're an Irishman, sure?" "I'm of Irish descent," replied the officer, "and my name, as well as yours, is O'Brien. I was brought up in this country, not being permitted to serve my own, and retain the religion of my forefathers. I may now be considered as a Frenchman, retaining nothing of my original country, except the language, which my mother taught me, and a warm feeling towards the English wherever I meet them. But to the question, Mr O'Brien, will you give your parole?" "The word of an Irishman, and the hand to boot," replied O'Brien, shaking the colonel by the hand; "and you're more than doubly sure, for I'll never go away and leave little Peter here; and as for carrying him on my back, I've had enough of that already." "It is sufficient," replied the colonel. "Mr O'Brien, I will make you as comfortable as I can; and when you are tired of attending your friend, my little daughter shall take your place. You'll find her a kind little nurse, Mr Simple." I could not refrain from tears at the colonel's kindness: he shook me by the hand; and telling O'Brien that dinner was ready, he called up his daughter, the little girl who had attended me before; and desired her to remain in the room. "Celeste," said he, "you understand a little English; quite enough to find out what he is in want of. Go and fetch your work, to amuse yourself when he is asleep." Celeste went out, and returning with her embroidery, sat down by the head of the bed: the colonel and O'Brien then quitted the room. Celeste then commenced her embroidery, and as her eyes were cast down upon her work, I was able to look at her without her observing it. As I said before, she was a very beautiful little girl; her hair was light brown, eyes very large, and eyebrows drawn as with a pair of compasses; her nose and mouth were also very pretty; but it was not so much her features as the expression of her countenance, which was so beautiful, so modest, so sweet, and so intelligent. When she smiled, which she almost always did when she spoke, her teeth were like two rows of little pearls. I had not looked at her long, before she raised her eyes from her work, and perceiving that I was looking at her, said, "You want--something-- want drink--I speak very little English." "Nothing, I thank ye," replied I; "I only want to go to sleep." "Then--shut--your--eye," replied she smiling; and she went to the window, and drew down the blinds to darken the room. But I could not sleep; the remembrance of what had occurred--in a few hours wounded, and a prisoner--the thought of my father and mother's anxiety; with the prospect of going to a prison and close confinement, as soon as I was recovered, passed in succession in my mind, and, together with the actual pain of my wound, prevented me from obtaining any rest. The little girl several times opened the curtain to ascertain whether I slept or wanted anything, and then as softly retired. In the evening, the surgeon called again; he felt my pulse, and directing cold applications to my leg, which had swelled considerably, and was becoming very painful, told Colonel O'Brien, that, although I had considerable fever, I was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. But I shall not dwell upon my severe sufferings for a fortnight, after which the ball was extracted; nor upon how carefully I was watched by O'Brien, the colonel, and little Celeste, during my peevishness and irritation, arising from pain and fever. I feel grateful to them, but partiqularly [sic] to Celeste, who seldom quitted me for more than half-an-hour, and, as I gradually recovered, tried all she could to amuse me. Chapter XIX We remove to very unpleasant quarters--Birds of a feather won't always flock together--O'Brien cuts a cutter midshipman, and gets a taste of French steel--Altogether _flat_ work--A walk into the interior. As soon as I was well enough to attend to my little nurse, we became very intimate, as might be expected. Our chief employment was teaching each other French and English. Having the advantage of me in knowing a little before we met, and also being much quicker of apprehension, she very soon began to speak English fluently, long before I could make out a short sentence in French. However, as it was our chief employment, and both were anxious to communicate with each other, I learnt it very fast. In five weeks I was out of bed, and could limp about the room; and before two months were over, I was quite recovered. The colonel, however, would not report me to the governor; I remained on a sofa during the day, but at dusk I stole out of the house, and walked about with Celeste. I never passed such a happy time as the last fortnight; the only drawback was the remembrance that I should soon have to exchange it for a prison. I was more easy about my father and mother, as O'Brien had written to them, assuring them that I was doing well; and besides, a few days after our capture, the frigate had run in, and sent a flag of truce to inquire if we were alive or made prisoners; at the same time Captain Savage sent on shore all our clothes, and two hundred dollars in cash for our use. I knew that even if O'Brien's letter did not reach them, they were sure to hear from Captain Savage that I was doing well. But the idea of parting with Celeste, towards whom I felt such gratitude and affection, was most painful; and when I talked about it, poor Celeste would cry so much, that I could not help joining her, although I kissed away her tears. At the end of twelve weeks, the surgeon could no longer withhold his report, and we were ordered to be ready in two days to march to Toulon, where we were to join another party of prisoners, to proceed with them into the interior. I must pass over our parting, which the reader may imagine was very painful. I promised to write to Celeste, and she promised that she would answer my letters, if it were permitted. We shook hands with Colonel O'Brien, thanking him for his kindness, and, much to his regret, we were taken in charge by two French cuirassiers, who were waiting at the door. As we preferred being continued on parole until our arrival at Toulon, the soldiers were not at all particular about watching us; and we set off on horseback, O'Brien and I going first, and the French cuirassiers following us in the rear. We trotted or walked along the road very comfortably. The weather was delightful: we were in high spirits, and almost forgot that we were prisoners. The cuirassiers followed us at a distance of twenty yards, conversing with each other, and O'Brien observed that it was amazingly genteel of the French governor to provide us with two servants in such handsome liveries. The evening of the second day we arrived at Toulon, and as soon as we entered the gates, we were delivered into the custody of an officer with a very sinister cast of countenance, who, after some conversation with the cuirassiers, told us in a surly tone that our parole was at an end, and gave us in charge of a corporal's guard, with directions to conduct us to the prison near the Arsenal. We presented the cuirassiers with four dollars each, for their civility, and were then hurried away to our place of captivity. I observed to O'Brien, that I was afraid that we must now bid farewell to anything like pleasure. "You're right there, Peter," replied he: "but there's a certain jewel called Hope, that somebody found at the bottom of his chest, when it was clean empty, and so we must not lose sight of it, but try and escape as soon as we can; but the less we talk about it the better." In a few minutes we arrived at our destination: the door was opened, ourselves and our bundles (for we had only selected a few things for our march, the colonel promising to forward the remainder as soon as we wrote to inform him to which depot we were consigned), were rudely shoved in; and as the doors again closed, and the heavy bolts were shot, I felt a creeping, chilly sensation pass through my whole body. As soon as we could see--for although the prison was not very dark, yet so suddenly thrown in, after the glare of a bright sunshiny day, at first we could distinguish nothing--we found ourselves in company with about thirty English sailors. Most of them were sitting down on the pavement, or on boxes, or bundles containing their clothes that they had secured, conversing with each other, or playing at cards or draughts. Our entrance appeared to excite little attention; after having raised their eyes to indulge their curiosity, they continued their pursuits. I have often thought what a feeling of selfishness appeared to pervade the whole of them. At the time I was shocked, as I expected immediate sympathy and commiseration; but afterwards I was not surprised. Many of these poor fellows had been months in the prison, and a short confinement will produce that indifference to the misfortunes of others, which I then observed. Indeed, one man, who was playing at cards, looked up for a moment as we came in, and cried out, "Hurrah, my lads! the more the merrier," as if he really was pleased to find that there were others who were as unfortunate as himself. We stood looking at the groups for about ten minutes, when O'Brien observed, "that we might as well come to an anchor, foul ground being better than no bottom;" so we sat down in a corner, upon our bundles, where we remained for more than an hour, surveying the scene, without speaking a word to each other. I could not speak--I felt so very miserable. I thought of my father and mother in England, of my captain and my messmates, who were sailing about so happily in the frigate, of the kind Colonel O'Brien, and dear little Celeste, and the tears trickled down my cheeks as these scenes of former happiness passed through my mind in quick succession. O'Brien did not speak but once, and then he only said, "This is dull work, Peter." We had been in the prison about two hours, when a lad in a very greasy, ragged jacket, with a pale emaciated face, came up to us, and said, "I perceive by your uniforms that you are both officers, as well as myself." O'Brien stared at him for a little while, and then answered, "Upon my soul and honour, then, you've the advantage of us, for it's more than I could perceive in you; but I'll take your word for it. Pray what ship may have had the misfortune of losing such a credit to the service?" "Why, I belonged to the _Snapper_ cutter," replied the young lad; "I was taken in a prize, which the commanding officer had given in my charge to take to Gibraltar: but they won't believe that I'm an officer. I have applied for officer's allowance and rations, and they won't give them to me." "Well, but they know that we are officers," replied O'Brien; "why do they shove us in here, with the common seamen?" "I suppose you are only put in here for the present," replied the cutter's midshipman; "but why I cannot tell." Nor could we, until afterwards, when we found out, as our narrative will show, that the officer who received us from the cuirassiers had once quarrelled with Colonel O'Brien, who first pulled his nose, and afterwards ran him through the body. Being told by the cuirassiers that we were much esteemed by Colonel O'Brien, he resolved to annoy us as much as he could; and when he sent up the document announcing our arrival, he left out the word "Officers," and put us in confinement with the common seamen. "It's very hard upon me not to have my regular allowance as an officer," continued the midshipman. "They only give me a black loaf and three sous a day. If I had had my best uniform on, they never would have disputed my being an officer; but the scoundrels who retook the prize stole all my traps, and I have nothing but this old jacket." "Why, then," replied O'Brien, "you'll know the value of dress for the future. You cutter and gun-brig midshipmen go about in such a dirty state, that you are hardly acknowledged by us who belong to frigates to be officers, much less gentlemen. You look so dirty, and so slovenly when we pass you in the dockyard, that we give you a wide berth; how then can you suppose strangers to believe that you are either officers or gentlemen? Upon my conscience, I absolve the Frenchmen from all prejudice, for, as to, your being an officer, we, as Englishmen have nothing but your bare word for it." "Well, it's very hard," replied the lad, "to be attacked this way by a brother officer; your coat will be as shabby as mine, before you have been here long." "That's very true, my darling," returned O'Brien: "but at least I shall have the pleasant reflection that I came in as a gentleman, although I may not exactly go out under the same appearance. Good night, and pleasant dreams to you!" I thought O'Brien rather cross in speaking in such a way, but he was himself always as remarkably neat and well dressed, as he was handsome and well made. Fortunately we were not destined to remain long in this detestable hole. After a night of misery, during which we remained sitting on our bundles, and sleeping how we could, leaning with our backs against the damp wall, we were roused, at daybreak by the unbarring of the prison doors, followed up with an order to go into the prison yard. We were huddled out like a flock of sheep, by a file of soldiers with loaded muskets; and, as we went into the yard, were ranged two and two. The same officer who ordered us into prison, commanded the detachment of soldiers who had us in charge. O'Brien stepped out of the ranks, and, addressing them, stated that we were officers, and had no right to be treated like common sailors. The French officer replied, that he had better information, and that we wore coats which did not belong to us; upon which O'Brien was in a great rage, calling the officer a liar, and demanding satisfaction for the insult, appealing to the French soldiers, and stating, that Colonel O'Brien, who was at Cette, was his countryman, and had received him for two months into his house upon parole, which was quite sufficient to establish his being an officer. The French soldiers appeared to side with O'Brien after they had heard this explanation, stating that no common English sailor could speak such good French, and that they were present when we were sent in on parole, and they asked the officer whether he intended to give satisfaction. The officer stormed, and drawing his sword out of the scabbard, struck O'Brien with the flat of the blade, looking at him with contempt, and ordering him into the ranks. I could not help observing that, during this scene, the men-of-war sailors who were among the prisoners, were very indignant, while, on the contrary, those captured in merchant vessels appeared to be pleased with the insult offered to O'Brien. One of the French soldiers then made a sarcastic remark, that the French officer did not much like the name of O'Brien. This so enraged the officer, that he flew at O'Brien, pushed him back into the ranks, and taking out a pistol, threatened to shoot him through the head. I must do the justice to the French soldiers, that they all cried out "Shame!" They did not appear to have the same discipline, or the same respect for an officer, as the soldiers have in our service, or they would not have been so free in their language; yet, at the same time, they obeyed all his orders on service very implicitly. When O'Brien returned to the ranks, he looked defiance at the officer, telling him, "That he would pocket the affront very carefully, as he intended to bring it out again upon a future and more suitable occasion." We were then marched out in ranks, two and two, being met at the street by two drummers, and a crowd of people, who had gathered to witness our departure. The drums beat, and away we went. The officer who had charge of us mounted a small horse, galloping up and down from one end of the ranks to the other, with his sword drawn, bullying, swearing, and striking with the flat of the blade at any one of the prisoners who was not in his proper place. When we were close to the gates, we were joined by another detachment of prisoners: we were then ordered to halt, and were informed, through an interpreter, that any one attempting to escape would immediately be shot, after which information we once more proceeded on our route. Nothing remarkable occurred during our first day's march, except perhaps a curious conversation between O'Brien and one of the French soldiers, in which they disputed about the comparative bravery of the two nations. O'Brien, in his argument, told the Frenchman that his countrymen could not stand a charge of English bayonets. The Frenchman replied that there was no doubt but the French were quite as brave as the English--even more so; and that, as for not standing the charge of bayonets, it was not because they were less brave; but the fact was, that they were most excessively _ticklish_. We had black bread and sour wine served out to us this day, when we halted to refresh. O'Brien persuaded a soldier to purchase something for us more eatable; but the French officer heard of it, and was very angry, ordering the soldier to the rear. Chapter XX O'Brien fights a duel with a French officer, and proves that the great art of fencing is knowing nothing about it--We arrive at our new quarters, which we find very secure. At night we arrived at a small town, the name of which I forget. Here we were all put into an old church for the night, and a very bad night we passed. They did not even give us a little straw to lie down upon: the roof of the church had partly fallen in, and the moon shone through very brightly. This was some comfort; for to have been shut up in the dark, seventy-five in number, would have been very miserable. We were afraid to lie down anywhere, as, like all ruined buildings in France, the ground was covered with filth, and the smell was shocking. O'Brien was very thoughtful, and would hardly answer any question that I put to him; it was evident that he was brooding over the affront which he had received from the French officer. At daybreak, the door of the church was again opened by the French soldiers, and we were conducted to the square of the town, where we found the troops quartered, drawn up with their officers, to receive us from the detachment who had escorted us from Toulon. We were very much pleased with this, as we knew that we should be forwarded by another detachment, and thus be rid of the brutal officer who had hitherto had charge of the prisoners. But we were rid of him in another way. As the French officers walked along our ranks to look at us, I perceived among them a captain, whom we had known very intimately when we were living at Cette with Colonel O'Brien. I cried out his name immediately; he turned round, and seeing O'Brien and me, he came up to us, shaking us by the hand, and expressing his surprise at finding us in such a situation. O'Brien explained to him how we had been treated, at which he expressed his indignation, as did the other officers who had collected round us. The major who commanded the troops in the town turned to the French officer (he was only a lieutenant) who had conducted us from Toulon, and demanded of him his reason for behaving to us in such an unworthy manner. He denied having treated us ill, and said that he had been informed that we had put on officers' dresses which did not belong to us. At this O'Brien declared that he was a liar, and a cowardly _foutre_, that he had struck him with the back of his sabre, which he would not have dared do if he had not been a prisoner; adding, that all he requested was satisfaction for the insult offered to him, and appealed to the officers whether, if it were refused, the lieutenant's epaulets ought not to be cut off his shoulders. The major commandant and the officers retired to consult, and, after a few minutes, they agreed that the lieutenant was bound to give the satisfaction required. The lieutenant replied that he was ready; but, at the same time, did not appear to be very willing. The prisoners were left in charge of the soldiers, under a junior officer, while the others, accompanied by O'Brien, myself, and the lieutenant, walked to a short distance outside the town. As we proceeded there, I asked O'Brien with what weapons they would fight. "I take it for granted," replied he, "that it will be with the small sword." "But," said I, "do you know anything about fencing?" "Devil a bit, Peter; but that's all in my favour." "How can that be?" replied I. "I'll tell you, Peter. If one man fences well, and another is but an indifferent hand at it, it is clear that the first will run the other through the body; but, if the other knows nothing at all about it, why then, Peter, the case is not quite so clear: because the good fencer is almost as much puzzled by your ignorance as you are by his skill, and you become on more equal terms. Now, Peter, I've made up my mind that I'll run that fellow through the body, and so I will, as sure as I am an O'Brien." "Well, I hope you will; but pray do not be too sure." "It's feeling sure that will make me able to do it, Peter. By the blood of the O'Briens! didn't he slap me with his sword, as if I were a clown in the pantomime. Peter, I'll kill the harlequin scoundrel, and my word's as good as my bond!" By this time we had arrived at the ground. The French lieutenant stripped to his shirt and trousers; O'Brien did the same, kicking his boots off, and standing upon the wet grass in his stockings. The swords were measured, and handed to them; they took their distance, and set to. I must say, that I was breathless with anxiety; the idea of losing O'Brien struck me with grief and terror. I then felt the value of all his kindness to me, and would have taken his place, and have been run through the body, rather than he should have been hurt. At first, O'Brien put himself in the correct attitude of defence, in imitation of the lieutenant, but this was for a very few seconds; he suddenly made a spring, and rushed on to his adversary, stabbing at him with a velocity quite astonishing, the lieutenant parrying in his defence, until at last he had an opportunity of lungeing at O'Brien. O'Brien, who no longer kept his left arm raised in equipoise, caught the sword of the lieutenant at within six inches of the point, and directing it under his left arm, as he rushed in, passed his own through the lieutenant's body. It was all over in less than a minute--the lieutenant did not live half an hour afterwards. The French officers were very much surprised at the result, for they perceived at once that O'Brien knew nothing of fencing. O'Brien gathered a tuft of grass, wiped the sword, which he presented to the officer to whom it belonged, and thanking the major and the whole of them for their impartiality and gentlemanlike conduct, led the way to the square, where he again took his station in the ranks of the prisoners. Shortly after, the major commandant came up to us, and asked whether we would accept of our parole, as, in that case, we might travel as we pleased. We consented, with many thanks for his civility and kindness; but I could not help thinking at the time, that the French officers were a little mortified at O'Brien's success, although they were too honourable to express the feeling. O'Brien told me, after we had quitted the town, that had it not been for the handsome conduct of the officers, he would not have accepted our parole, as he felt convinced that we could have easily made our escape. We talked over the matter a long while, and at last agreed that there would be a better chance of success by and by, when more closely guarded, than there would be now, under consideration of all circumstances, as it required previously concerted arrangements to get out of the country. I had almost forgotten to say, that on our return after the duel the cutter's midshipman called out to O'Brien, requesting him to state to the commandant that he was also an officer; but O'Brien replied, that there was no evidence for it but his bare word. If he was an officer he must prove it himself, as everything in his appearance flatly contradicted his assertion. "It's very hard," replied the midshipman, "that because my jacket's a little tarry or so I must lose my rank." "My dear fellow," replied O'Brien, "it's not because your jacket's a little tarry; it is because what the Frenchmen call your _tout ensemble_ is quite disgraceful in an officer. Look at your face in the first puddle, and you'll find that it would dirty the water you look into. Look at your shoulders above your ears, and your back with a bow like a _kink_ in a cable. Your trowsers, sir, you have pulled your legs too far through, showing a foot and a half of worsted stockings. In short, look at yourself altogether, and then tell me, provided you be an officer, whether, from respect to the service, it would not be my duty to contradict it. It goes against my conscience, my dear fellow; but recollect that when we arrive at the depot, you will be able to prove it, so it's only waiting a little while, until the captains will pass their word for you, which is more than I will." "Well, it's very hard," replied the midshipman, "that I must go on eating this black rye bread; and very unkind of you." "It's very kind of me, you spalpeen of the Snapper. Prison will be a paradise to you, when you get into good commons. How you'll relish your grub by-and-by! So now shut your pan, or by the tail of Jonah's whale, I'll swear you're a Spaniard." I could not help thinking that O'Brien was very severe upon the poor lad, and I expostulated with him afterwards. He replied, "Peter, if, as a cutter's midshipman, he is a bit of an officer, the devil a bit is he of a gentleman, either born or bred: and I'm not bound to bail every blackguard-looking chap that I meet. By the head of St Peter, I would blush to be seen in his company, if I were in the wildest bog in Ireland, with nothing but an old crow as spectator." We were now again permitted to be on our parole, and received every attention and kindness from the different officers who commanded the detachments which passed the prisoners from one town to another. In a few days we arrived at Montpelier, where we had orders to remain a short time until directions were received from Government as to the depots for prisoners to which we were to be sent. At this delightful town, we had unlimited parole, not even a gendarme accompanying us. We lived at the table d'hote, were permitted to walk about where we pleased, and amused ourselves every evening at the theatre. During our stay there we wrote to Colonel O'Brien at Cette, thanking him for his kindness, and narrating what had occurred since we parted. I also wrote to Celeste, inclosing my letter unsealed in the one to Colonel O'Brien. I told her the history of O'Brien's duel, and all I could think would interest her; how sorry I was to have parted from her; that I never would forget her; and trusted that some day, as she was only half a Frenchwoman, we should meet again. Before we left Montpelier, we had the pleasure of receiving answers to our letters: the colonel's letters were very kind, particularly the one to me, in which he called me his dear boy, and hoped that I should soon rejoin my friends, and prove an ornament to my country. In his letter to O'Brien, he requested him not to run me into useless danger--to recollect that I was not so well able to undergo extreme hardship. I have no doubt but that this caution referred to O'Brien's intention to escape from prison, which he had not concealed from the colonel, and the probability that I would be a partner in the attempt. The answer from Celeste was written in English; but she must have had assistance from her father, or she could not have succeeded so well. It was like herself, very kind and affectionate; and also ended with wishing me a speedy return to my friends, who must (she said) be so fond of me, that she despaired of ever seeing me more, but that she consoled herself as well as she could with the assurance that I should be happy. I forgot to say, that Colonel O'Brien, in his letter to me, stated that he expected immediate orders to leave Cette, and take the command of some military post in the interior, or join the army, but which, he could not tell; that they had packed up everything, and he was afraid that our correspondence must cease, as he could not state to what place we should direct our letters. I could not help thinking at the time, that it was a delicate way of pointing out to us that it was not right that he should correspond with us in our relative situations; but still, I was sure that he was about to leave Cette, for he never would have made use of a subterfuge. I must here acquaint the reader with a circumstance which I forgot to mention, which was that when Captain Savage sent in a flag of truce with our clothes and money, I thought that it was but justice to O'Brien that they should know on board of the frigate the gallant manner in which he had behaved. I knew that he would never tell himself, so, ill as I was at the time, I sent for Colonel O'Brien, and requested him to write down my statement of the affair, in which I mentioned how O'Brien had spiked the last gun, and had been taken prisoner by so doing, together with his attempting to save me. When the colonel had written all down, I requested that he would send for the major, who first entered the fort with the troops, and translate it to him in French. This he did in my presence, and the major declared every word to be true. "Will he attest it, colonel, as it may be of great service to O'Brien?" The major immediately assented. Colonel O'Brien then enclosed my letter, with a short note from himself, to Captain Savage, paying him a compliment, and assuring him that his gallant young officers should be treated with every attention, and all the kindness which the rules of war would admit of. O'Brien never knew that I had sent that letter, as the colonel, at my request, kept the secret. In ten days we received an order to march on the following morning. The sailors, among whom was our poor friend the midshipman of the Snapper cutter, were ordered to Verdun; O'Brien and I, with eight masters of merchant vessels, who joined us at Montpelier, were directed by the Government to be sent to Givet, a fortified town in the department of Ardennes. But, at the same time, orders arrived from Government to treat the prisoners with great strictness, and not to allow any parole; the reason of this, we were informed, was that accounts had been sent to Government of the death of the French officer in the duel with O'Brien, and they had expressed their dissatisfaction at its having been permitted. Indeed, I very much doubt whether it would have been permitted in our country, but the French officers are almost romantically chivalrous in their ideas of honour; in fact, as enemies, I have always considered them as worthy antagonists to the English, and they appear more respectable in themselves, and more demanding our goodwill in that situation, than they do when we meet them as friends, and are acquainted with the other points of their character, which lessen them in our estimation. I shall not dwell upon a march of three weeks, during which we alternately received kind or unhandsome treatment, according to the dispositions of those who had us in charge; but I must observe, that it was invariably the case, that officers who were gentlemen by birth treated us with consideration, while those who had sprung from nothing during the Revolution, were harsh, and sometimes even brutal. It was exactly four months from the time of our capture that we arrived at our destined prison at Givet. "Peter," said O'Brien, as he looked hastily at the fortifications, and the river which divided the two towns, "I see no reason, either English or French, that we should not eat our Christmas dinner in England. I've a bird's eye view of the outside, and now, have only to find out where-abouts we may be in the inside." I must say that, when I looked at the ditches and high ramparts, I had a different opinion; so had a gendarme who was walking by our side, and who had observed O'Brien's scrutiny, and who quietly said to him in French, "_Vous le croyez possible!_" "Everything is possible to a brave man--the French armies have proved that," answered O'Brien. "You are right," replied the gendarme, pleased with the compliment to his nation; "I wish you success, you will deserve it; but--" and he shook his head. "If I could but obtain a plan of the fortress," said O'Brien, "I would give five Napoleons for one," and he looked at the gendarme. "I cannot see any objection to an officer, although a prisoner, studying fortification," replied the gendarme. "In two hours you will be within the walls; and now I recollect, in the map of the two towns, the fortress is laid down sufficiently accurately to give you an idea of it. But we have conversed too long." So saying, the gendarme dropped into the rear. In a quarter of an hour, we arrived at the Place d'Armes, where we were met, as usual, by another detachment of troops, and drummers, who paraded us through the town previous to our being drawn up before the governor's house. This, I ought to have observed, was, by order of Government, done at every town we passed through; it was very contemptible, but prisoners were so scarce, that they made all the display of us that they could. As we stopped at the governor's house, the gendarme, who had left us in the square, made a sign to O'Brien, as much as to say, I have it. O'Brien took out five Napoleons, which he wrapped in paper, and held in his hand. In a minute or two, the gendarme came up and presented O'Brien with an old silk handkerchief, saying, "_Votre mouchoir, monsieur_." "_Merci,"_ replied O'Brien, putting the handkerchief which contained the map into his pocket, "_voici à boire, mon ami_;" and he slipped the paper with the five Napoleons into the hand of the gendarme, who immediately retreated. This was very fortunate for us, as we afterwards discovered that a mark had been put against O'Brien's and my name, not to allow parole or permission to leave the fortress, even under surveillance. Indeed, even if it had not been so, we never should have obtained it, as the lieutenant killed by O'Brien was nearly related to the commandant of the fortress, who was as much a _mauvais sujet_ as his kinsman. Having waited the usual hour before the governor's house, to answer to our muster-roll, and to be stared at, we were dismissed; and in a few minutes, found ourselves shut up in one of the strongest fortresses in France. Chapter XXI O'Brien receives his commission as lieutenant, and then we take French leave of Givet. If I doubted the practicability of escape when I examined the exterior, when we were ushered into the interior of the fortress, I felt that it was impossible, and I stated my opinion to O'Brien. We were conducted into a yard surrounded by a high wall; the buildings appropriated for the prisoners were built with _lean-to_ roofs on one side, and at each side of the square was a sentry looking down upon us. It was very much like the dens which they now build for bears, only so much larger. O'Brien answered me with a "Pish! Peter, it's the very security of the place which will enable us to get out of it. But don't talk, as there are always spies about who understand English." We were shown into a room allotted to six of us; our baggage was examined, and then delivered over to us. "Better and better, Peter," observed O'Brien, "they've not found it out!" "What?" inquired I. "Oh, only a little selection of articles, which might be useful to us by-and-by." He then showed me what I never before was aware of: that he had a false bottom to his trunk; but it was papered over like the rest, and very ingeniously concealed. "And what is there, O'Brien?" inquired I. "Never mind; I had them made at Montpelier. You'll see by-and-by." The others, who were lodged in the same room, then came in, and after staying a quarter of an hour, went away at the sound of the dinner-bell. "Now, Peter," said O'Brien, "I must get rid of my load. Turn the key." O'Brien then undressed himself, and when he threw off his shirt and drawers, showed me a rope of silk, with a knot at every two feet, about half-an-inch in size, wound round and round his body. There were about sixty feet of it altogether. As I unwound it, he, turning round and round, observed, "Peter, I've worn this rope ever since I left Montpelier, and you've no idea of the pain I have suffered; but we must go to England, that's decided upon." When I looked at O'Brien, as the rope was wound off, I could easily imagine that he had really been in great pain; in several places his flesh was quite raw from the continual friction, and after it was all unwound, and he had put on his clothes, he fainted away. I was very much alarmed, but I recollected to put the rope into the trunk, and take out the key, before I called for assistance. He soon came to, and on being asked what was the matter, said that he was subject to fits from his infancy. He looked earnestly at me, and I showed him the key, which was sufficient. For some days O'Brien, who really was not very well, kept to his room. During this time, he often examined the map given him by the gendarme. One day he said to me, "Peter, can you swim?" "No," replied I; "but never mind that." "But I must mind it, Peter; for observe, we shall have to cross the river Meuse, and boats are not always to be had. You observe, that this fortress is washed by the river on one side: and as it is the strongest side, it is the least guarded--we must escape by it. I can see my way clear enough till we get to the second rampart on the river, but when we drop into the river, if you cannot swim, I must contrive to hold you up, somehow or another." "Are you then determined to escape, O'Brien? I cannot perceive how we are even to get up this wall, with four sentries staring us in the face." "Never do you mind that, Peter, mind your own business; and first tell me, do you intend to try your luck with me?" "Yes," replied I, "most certainly; if you have sufficient confidence in me to take me as your companion." "To tell you the truth, Peter, I would not give a farthing to escape without you. We were taken together, and, please God, we'll take ourselves off together; but that must not be for this month; our greatest help will be the dark nights and foul weather." The prison was by all accounts very different from Verdun and some others. We had no parole, and but little communication with the townspeople. Some were permitted to come in and supply us with various articles; but their baskets were searched to see that they contained nothing that might lead to an escape on the part of the prisoners. Without the precautions that O'Brien had taken, any attempt would have been useless. Still, O'Brien, as soon as he left his room, did obtain several little articles--especially balls of twine--for one of the amusements of the prisoners was flying kites. This, however, was put a stop to, in consequence of one of the strings, whether purposely or not, I cannot say, catching the lock of the musket carried by one of the sentries who looked down upon us, and twitching it out of his hand; after which an order was given by the commandant for no kites to be permitted. This was fortunate for us, as O'Brien, by degrees, purchased all the twine belonging to the other prisoners; and, as we were more than three hundred in number, it amounted to sufficient to enable him, by stealth, to lay it up into very strong cord, or rather, into a sort of square plait, known only to sailors. "Now, Peter," said he one day, "I want nothing more than an umbrella for you." "Why an umbrella for me?" "To keep you from being drowned with too much water, that's all." "Rain won't drown me." "No, no, Peter; but buy a new one as soon as you can." I did so. O'Brien boiled up a quantity of bees' wax and oil, and gave it several coats of this preparation. He then put it carefully away in the ticking of his bed. I asked him whether he intended to make known his plan to any of the other prisoners; he replied in the negative, saying, that there were so many of them who could not be trusted, that he would trust no one. We had been now about two months in Givet, when a Steel's List was sent to a lieutenant, who was confined there. The lieutenant came up to O'Brien, and asked him his Christian name. "Terence, to be sure," replied O'Brien. "Then," answered the lieutenant, "I may congratulate you on your promotion, for here you are upon the list of August." "Sure there must be some trifling mistake; let me look at it. Terence O'Brien, sure enough; but now the question is, has any other fellow robbed me of my name and promotion at the same time? Bother, what can it mane? I won't belave it--not a word of it. I've no more interest than a dog who drags cats'-meat." "Really, O'Brien," observed I, "I cannot see why you should not be made; I am sure you deserve your promotion for your conduct when you were taken prisoner." "And what did I do then, you simple Peter, but put you on my back as the men do their hammocks when they are piped down; but, barring all claim, how could any one know what took place in the battery, except you, and I, and the armourer, who lay dead? So explain that, Peter, if you can." "I think I can," replied I, after the lieutenant had left us. And I then told O'Brien how I had written to Captain Savage, and had had the fact attested by the major who had made us prisoners. "Well, Peter," said O'Brien, after a pause, "there's a fable about a lion and a mouse. If, by your means, I have obtained my promotion, why then the mouse is a finer baste than the lion; but instead of being happy, I shall now be miserable until the truth is ascertained one way or the other, and that's another reason why I must set off to England as fast as I can." For a few days after this O'Brien was very uneasy; but fortunately letters arrived by that time; one to me from my father, in which he requested me to draw for whatever money I might require, saying that the whole family would retrench in every way to give me all the comfort which might be obtained in my unfortunate situation. I wept at his kindness, and more than ever longed to throw myself in his arms, and thank him. He also told me that my uncle William was dead, and that there was only one between him and the title, but that my grandfather was in good health, and had been very kind to him lately. My mother was much afflicted at my having been made a prisoner, and requested I would write as often as I could. O'Brien's letter was from Captain Savage; the frigate had been sent home with despatches, and O'Brien's conduct represented to the Admiralty, which had, in consequence, promoted him to the rank of lieutenant. O'Brien came to me with the letter, his countenance radiant with joy as he put it into my hands. In return I put mine into his, and he read it over. "Peter, my boy, I'm under great obligations to you. When you were wounded and feverish, you thought of me at a time when you had quite enough to think of yourself; but I never thank in words. I see your uncle William is dead. How many more uncles have you?" "My uncle John, who is married, and has already two daughters." "Blessings on him; may he stick to the female line of business! Peter, my boy, you shall be a lord before you die." "Nonsense, O'Brien; I have no chance. Don't put such foolish ideas in my head." "What chance had I of being a lieutenant, and am I not one? Well, Peter, you've helped to make a lieutenant of me, but I'll make a _man_ of you, and that's better. Peter, I perceive, with all your simplicity, that you're not over and above simple, and that, with all your asking for advice, you can think and act for yourself on an emergency. Now, Peter, these are talents that must not be thrown away in this cursed hole, and therefore, my boy, prepare yourself to quit this place in a week, wind and weather permitting; that is to say, not fair wind and weather, but the fouler the better. Will you be ready at any hour of any night that I call you up?" "Yes, O'Brien, I will, and do my best." "No man can do much more that ever I heard of. But, Peter, do me one favour, as I am really a lieutenant, just touch your hat to me only once, that's all; but I wish the compliment, just to see how it looks." "Lieutenant O'Brien," said I, touching my hat, "have you any further orders?" "Yes, sir," replied he; "that you never presume to touch your hat to me again, unless we sail together, and then that's a different sort of thing." About a week afterwards, O'Brien came to me, and said, "The new moon's quartered in with foul weather; if it holds, prepare for a start. I have put what is necessary in your little haversack; it may be to-night. Go to bed now, and sleep for a week if you can, for you'll get but little sleep, if we succeed, for the week to come." This was about eight o'clock. I went to bed, and about twelve I was roused by O'Brien, who told me to dress myself carefully, and come down to him in the yard. I did so without disturbing any body, and found the night as dark as pitch (it was then November), and raining in torrents; the wind was high, howling round the yard, and sweeping in the rain in every direction as it eddied to and fro. It was some time before I could find O'Brien, who was hard at work; and, as I had already been made acquainted with all his plans, I will now explain them. At Montpelier he had procured six large pieces of iron, about eighteen inches long, with a gimlet at one end of each, and a square at the other, which fitted to a handle which unshipped. For precaution he had a spare handle, but each handle fitted to all the irons. O'Brien had screwed one of these pieces of iron between the interstices of the stones of which the wall was built, and sitting astride on that, was fixing another about three feet above. When he had accomplished this, he stood upon the lower iron, and supporting himself by the second, which about met his hip, he screwed in a third, always fixing them about six inches on one side of the other, and not one above the other. When he had screwed in his six irons, he was about half up the wall, and then he fastened his rope, which he had carried round his neck, to the upper iron, and lowering himself down, unscrewed the four lower irons: then ascending by the rope, he stood upon the fifth iron, and supporting himself by the upper iron, recommenced his task. By these means he arrived in the course of an hour and a half to the top of the wall, where he fixed his last iron, and making his rope fast, he came down again. "Now, Peter," said he, "there is no fear of the sentries seeing us; if they had the eyes of cats, they could not until we were on the top of the wall; but then we arrive at the glacis, and we must creep to the ramparts on our bellies. I am going up with all the materials. Give me your haversack--you will go up lighter; and recollect, should any accident happen to me, you run to bed again. If, on the contrary, I pull the rope up and down three or four times, you may sheer up it as fast as you can." O'Brien then loaded himself with the other rope, the two knapsacks, iron crows, and other implements he had procured; and, last of all, with the umbrella. "Peter, if the rope bears me with all this, it is clear it will bear such a creature as you are, therefore don't be afraid." So whispering, he commenced his ascent; in about three minutes he was up, and the rope pulled. I immediately followed him, and found the rope very easy to climb, from the knots at every two feet, which gave me a hold for my feet, and I was up in as short a time as he was. He caught me by the collar, putting his wet hand on my mouth, and I lay down beside him while he pulled up the rope. We then crawled on our stomachs across the glacis till we arrived at the rampart. The wind blew tremendously, and the rain pattered down so fast, that the sentries did not perceive us; indeed, it was no fault of theirs, for it was impossible to have made us out. It was some time before O'Brien could find out the point exactly above the drawbridge of the first ditch; at last he did--he fixed his crow-bar in, and lowered down the rope. "Now, Peter, I had better go first again; when I shake the rope from below, all's right." O'Brien descended, and in a few minutes the rope again shook; I followed him, and found myself received in his arms upon the meeting of the drawbridge; but the drawbridge itself was up. O'Brien led the way across the chains, and I followed him. When we had crossed the moat, we found a barrier gate locked; this puzzled us. O'Brien pulled out his picklocks to pick it, but without success; here we were fast. "We must undermine the gate, O'Brien; we must pull up the pavement until we can creep under." "Peter, you are a fine fellow; I never thought of that." We worked very hard until the hole was large enough, using the crow-bar which was left, and a little wrench which O'Brien had with him. By these means we got under the gate in the course of an hour or more. This gate led to the lower rampart, but we had a covered way to pass through before we arrived at it. We proceeded very cautiously, when we heard a noise: we stopped, and found that it was a sentry, who was fast asleep, and snoring. Little expecting to find one here, we were puzzled; pass him we could not well, as he was stationed on the very spot where we required to place our crow-bar to descend the lower rampart into the river. O'Brien thought for a moment. "Peter," said he, "now is the time for you to prove yourself a man. He is fast asleep, but his noise must be stopped. I will stop his mouth, but at the very moment that I do so you must throw open the pan of his musket, and then he cannot fire it." "I will, O'Brien; don't fear me." We crept cautiously up to him, and O'Brien motioning to me to put my thumb upon the pan, I did so, and the moment that O'Brien put his hand upon the soldier's mouth, I threw open the pan. The fellow struggled, and snapped his lock as a signal, but of course without discharging his musket, and in a minute he was not only gagged but bound by O'Brien, with my assistance. Leaving him there, we proceeded to the rampart, and fixing the crow-bar again, O'Brien descended; I followed him, and found him in the river, hanging on to the rope; the umbrella was opened and turned upwards; the preparation made it resist the water, and, as previously explained to me by O'Brien, I had only to hold on at arm's length to two beckets which he had affixed to the point of the umbrella, which was under water. To the same part O'Brien had a tow-line, which taking in his teeth, he towed me down with the stream to about a hundred yards clear of the fortress, where we landed. O'Brien was so exhausted that for a few minutes he remained quite motionless; I also was benumbed with the cold. "Peter," said he, "thank God we have succeeded so far; now must we push on as far as we can, for we shall have daylight in two hours." O'Brien took out his flask of spirits, and we both drank a half tumbler at least, but we should not in our state have been affected with a bottle. We now walked along the river-side till we fell in with a small craft, with a boat towing astern: O'Brien swam to it, and cutting the painter without getting in, towed it on shore. The oars were fortunately in the boat. I got in, we shoved off, and rowed away down the stream till the dawn of day. "All's right, Peter; now we'll land. This is the Forest of Ardennes." We landed, replaced the oars in the boat, and pushed her off into the stream, to induce people to suppose that she had broken adrift, and then hastened into the thickest of the wood. It still rained hard; I shivered, and my teeth chattered with the cold, but there was no help for it. We again took a dram of spirits, and, worn out with fatigue and excitement, soon fell fast asleep upon a bed of leaves which we had collected together. Chapter XXII Grave consequences of gravitation--O'Brien enlists himself as a gendarme, and takes charge of me--We are discovered, and obliged to run for it--The pleasures of a winter bivouac. It was not until noon that I awoke, when I found that O'Brien had covered me more than a foot deep with leaves to protect me from the weather. I felt quite warm and comfortable; my clothes had dried on me, but without giving me cold. "How very kind of you, O'Brien!" said I. "Not a bit, Peter: you have hard work to go through yet, and I must take care of you. You're but a bud, and I'm a full-blown rose." So saying, he put the spirit-flask to his mouth, and then handed it to me. "Now, Peter, we must make a start, for depend upon it they will scour the country for us; but this is a large wood, and they may as well attempt to find a needle in a bundle of hay, if we once get into the heart of it." "I think," said I, "that this forest is mentioned by Shakespeare, in one of his plays." "Very likely, Peter," replied O'Brien; "but we are at no playwork now; and what reads amazing prettily, is no joke in reality. I've often observed, that your writers never take the weather into consideration." "I beg your pardon, O'Brien; in King Lear the weather was tremendous." "Very likely; but who was the king that went out in such weather?" "King Lear did, when he was mad." "So he was, that's certain, Peter; but runaway prisoners have some excuse; so now for a start." We set off, forcing our way through the thicket, for about three hours, O'Brien looking occasionally at his pocket compass; it then was again nearly dark, and O'Brien proposed a halt. We made up a bed of leaves for the night, and slept much more comfortably than we had the night before. All our bread was wet, but as we had no water, it was rather a relief; the meat we had with us was sufficient for a week. Once more we laid down and fell fast asleep. About five o'clock in the morning I was roused by O'Brien, who at the same time put his hand gently over my mouth. I sat up, and perceived a large fire not far from us. "The Philistines are upon us, Peter," said he; "I have reconnoitred, and they are the gendarmes. I'm fearful of going away, as we may stumble upon some more of them. I've been thinking what's best before I waked you; and it appears to me, that we had better get up the tree, and lie there." At that time we were hidden in a copse of underwood, with a large oak in the centre, covered with ivy. "I think so too, O'Brien; shall we go up now, or wait a little?" "Now, to be sure, that they're eating their prog. Mount you, Peter, and I'll help you." O'Brien shoved me up the tree, and then waiting a little while to bury our haversacks among the leaves, he followed me. He desired me to remain in a very snug position, on the first fork of the tree, while he took another, amongst a bunch of ivy, on the largest bough. There we remained for about an hour, when day dawned. We observed the gendarmes mustered at the break of day, by the corporal, and then they all separated in different directions, to scour the wood. We were delighted to perceive this, as we hoped soon to be able to get away; but there was one gendarme who remained. He walked to and fro, looking everywhere, until he came directly under the tree in which we were concealed. He poked about, until at last he came to the bed of leaves upon which we had slept; these he turned over and over with his bayonet, until he routed out our haversacks. "Pardi!" exclaimed he, "where the nest and eggs are, the birds are near." He then walked round the tree, looking up into every part, but we were well concealed, and he did not discover us for some time. At last he saw me, and ordered me to come down. I paid no attention to him, as I had no signal from O'Brien. He walked round a little farther, until he was directly under the branch on which O'Brien lay. Taking up this position, he had a fairer aim at me, and levelled his musket, saying, "_Descendez, ou je tire_." Still I continued immoveable, for I knew not what to do. I shut my eyes, however; the musket shortly afterwards was discharged, and, whether from fear or not I can hardly tell, I lost my hold of a sudden, and down I came. I was stunned with the fall, and thought that I must have been wounded, and was very much surprised, when, instead of the gendarme, O'Brien came up to me, and asked whether I was hurt. I answered, I believed not, and got upon my legs, when I found the gendarme lying on the ground, breathing heavily, but insensible. When O'Brien perceived the gendarme level his musket at me, he immediately dropped from the bough, right upon his head; this occasioned the musket to go off, without hitting me, and at the same time, the weight of O'Brien's body from such a height killed the gendarme, for he expired before we left him. "Now, Peter," said O'Brien, "this is the most fortunate thing in the world, and will take us half through the country; but we have no time to lose." He then stripped the gendarme, who still breathed heavily, and dragging him to our bed of leaves, covered him up, threw off his own clothes, which he tied in a bundle, and gave to me to carry, and put on those of the gendarme. I could not help laughing at the metamorphosis, and asked O'Brien what he intended. "Sure, I'm a gendarme, bringing with me a prisoner, who has escaped." He then tied my hands with a cord, shouldered his musket, and off we set. We now quitted the wood as soon as we could; for O'Brien said that he had no fear for the next ten days; and so it proved. We had one difficulty, which was, that we were going the wrong way; but that was obviated by travelling mostly at night, when no questions were asked, except at the cabarets, where we lodged, and they did not know which way we came. When we stopped at night, my youth excited a great deal of commiseration, especially from the females; and in one instance I was offered assistance to escape. I consented to it, but at the same time informed O'Brien of the plan proposed. O'Brien kept watch--I dressed myself, and was at the open window, when he rushed in, seizing me, and declaring that he would inform the Government of the conduct of the parties. Their confusion and distress were very great. They offered O'Brien twenty, thirty, forty Napoleons, if he would hush it up, for they were aware of the penalty and imprisonment. O'Brien replied that he would not accept of any money in compromise of his duty; that after he had given me into the charge of the gendarme of the next post, his business was at an end, and he must return to Flushing, where he was stationed. "I have a sister there," replied the hostess, "who keeps an inn. You'll want good quarters, and a friendly cup; do not denounce us, and I'll give you a letter to her, which, if it does not prove of service, you can then return and give the information." O'Brien consented; the letter was delivered, and read to him, in which the sister was requested, by the love she bore to the writer, to do all she could for the bearer, who had the power of making the whole family miserable, but had refused so to do. O'Brien pocketed the letter, filled his brandy-flask, and saluting all the women, left the cabaret, dragging me after him with a cord. The only difference, as O'Brien observed after he went out, was, that he (O'Brien) kissed all the women, and all the women kissed me. In this way, we had proceeded by Charleroy and Louvain, and were within a few miles of Malines, when a circumstance occurred which embarrassed us not a little. We were following our route, avoiding Malines, which was a fortified town, and at the time were in a narrow lane, with wide ditches, full of water, on each side. At the turning of a sharp corner, we met the gendarme who had supplied O'Brien with a map of the town of Givet. "Good morning, comrade," said he to O'Brien, looking earnestly at him, "whom have we here?" "A young Englishman, whom I picked up close by, escaped from prison." "Where from?" "He will not say; but I suspect from Givet." "There are two who have escaped from Givet," replied he: "how they escaped no one can imagine; but," continued he, again looking at O'Brien, "_avec les braves, il n'y a rien d'impossible_." "That is true," replied O'Brien; "I have taken one, the other cannot be far off. You had better look for him." "I should like to find him," replied the gendarme, "for you know that to retake a runaway prisoner is certain promotion. You will be made a corporal." "So much the better," replied O'Brien; "_adieu, mon ami_." "Nay, I merely came for a walk, and will return with you to Malines, where of course you are bound." "We shall not get there to-night," said O'Brien, "my prisoner is too much fatigued." "Well, then, we will go as far as we can; and I will assist you. Perhaps we may find the second, who, I understand, obtained a map of the fortress by some means or other." We at once perceived that we were discovered. He afterwards told us that the body of a gendarme had been found in the wood, no doubt murdered by the prisoners, and that the body was stripped naked. "I wonder," continued he, "whether one of the prisoners put on his clothes, and passed as a gendarme." "Peter," said O'Brien, "are we to murder this man or not?" "I should say not: pretend to trust him, and then we may give him the slip." This was said during the time that the gendarme stopped a moment behind us. "Well, we'll try; but first I'll put him off his guard." When the gendarme came up with us, O'Brien observed, that the English prisoners were very liberal; that he knew that a hundred Napoleons were often paid for assistance, and he thought that no corporal's rank was equal to a sum that would in France make a man happy and independent for life. "Very true," replied the gendarme; "and let me only look upon that sum, and I will guarantee a positive safety out of France." "Then we understand each other," replied O'Brien; "this boy will give two hundred--one half shall be yours, if you will assist." "I will think of it," replied the gendarme, who then talked about indifferent subjects, until we arrived at a small town, called Acarchot, where we proceeded to a cabaret. The usual curiosity passed over we were left alone, O'Brien telling the gendarme that he would expect his reply that night or to-morrow morning. The gendarme said, to-morrow morning. O'Brien requesting him to take charge of me, he called the woman of the cabaret to show him a room; she showed him one or two, which he refused, as not sufficiently safe for the prisoner. The woman laughed at the idea, observing, "What had he to fear from a _pauvre enfant_ like me?" "Yet this _pauvre enfant_ escaped from Givet," replied O'Brien; "these Englishmen are devils from their birth." The last room showed to O'Brien suited him, and he chose it--the woman not presuming to contradict a gendarme. As soon as they came down again, O'Brien ordered me to bed, and went up-stairs with me. He bolted the door, and pulling me to the large chimney, we put our heads up, and whispered, that our conversation should not be heard. "This man is not to be trusted," said O'Brien, "and we must give him the slip. I know my way out of the inn, and we must return the way we came, and then strike off in another direction." "But will he permit us?" "Not if he can help it; but I shall soon find out his manoeuvres." O'Brien then went and stopped the key-hole, by hanging his handkerchief across it, and stripping himself of his gendarme uniform, put on his own clothes; then he stuffed the blankets and pillow into the gendarme's dress, and laid it down on the outside of the bed, as if it were a man sleeping in his clothes--indeed, it was an admirable deception. He laid his musket by the side of the image, and then did the same to my bed, making it appear as if there was a person asleep in it, of my size, and putting my cap on the pillow. "Now, Peter, we'll see if he is watching us. He will wait till he thinks we are asleep." The light still remained in the room, and about an hour afterwards we heard a noise of one treading on the stairs, upon which, as agreed, we crept under the bed. The latch of our door was tried, and finding it open, which he did not expect, the gendarme entered, and looking at both beds, went away. "Now," said I, after the gendarme had gone down-stairs, "O'Brien, ought we not to escape?" "I've been thinking of it, Peter, and I have come to a resolution that we can manage it better. He is certain to come again in an hour or two. It is only eleven. Now I'll play him a trick." O'Brien then took one of the blankets, make it fast to the window, which he left wide open, and at the same time disarranged the images he had made up, so as to let the gendarme perceive that they were counterfeit. We again crept under the bed, and as O'Brien foretold, in about an hour more the gendarme returned; our lamp was still burning, but he had a light of his own. He looked at the beds, perceived at once that he had been duped, went to the open window, and then exclaimed, "_Sacre Dieu! ils m'ont echappés et je ne suis plus caporal. F----tre! à la chasse_!" He rushed out of the room, and in a minute afterwards we heard him open the street door, and go away. "That will do, Peter," said O'Brien, laughing; "now we'll be off also, although there's no great hurry." O'Brien then resumed his dress of a gendarme; and about an hour afterwards we went down, and wishing the hostess all happiness, quitted the cabaret, returning the same road by which we had come. "Now, Peter," said O'Brien, "we're in a bit of a puzzle. This dress won't do any more, still there's a respectability about it, which will not allow me to put it off till the last moment." We walked on till daylight, when we hid ourselves in a copse of trees. At night we again started for the forest of Ardennes, for O'Brien said our best chance was to return, until they supposed that we had had time to effect our escape; but we never reached the forest, for on the next day a violent snowstorm came on; it continued without intermission for four days, during which we suffered much. Our money was not exhausted, as I had drawn upon my father for £60, which, with the disadvantageous exchange, had given me fifty Napoleons. Occasionally O'Brien crept into a cabaret, and obtained provisions; but, as we dared not be seen together as before, we were always obliged to sleep in the open air, the ground being covered more than three feet with snow. On the fifth day, being then six days from the forest of Ardennes, we hid ourselves in a small wood, about a quarter of a mile from the road. I remained there while O'Brien, as a gendarme, went to obtain provisions. As usual, I looked out for the best shelter during his absence, and what was my horror at falling in with a man and woman who lay dead in the snow, having evidently perished from the weather. Just as I discovered them, O'Brien returned, and I told him; he went with me to view the bodies. They were dressed in a strange attire, ribands pinned upon their clothes, and two pairs of very high stilts lying by their sides. O'Brien surveyed them, and then said, "Peter, this is the very best thing that could have happened to us. We may now walk through France without soiling our feet with the cursed country." "How do you mean?" "I mean," said he, "that these are the people that we met near Montpelier, who come from the Landes, walking about on their stilts for the amusement of others, to obtain money. In their own country they are obliged to walk so. Now, Peter, it appears to me that the man's clothes will fit me, and the girl's (poor creature, how pretty she looks, cold in death!) will fit you. All we have to do is to practise a little, and then away we start." O'Brien then, with some difficulty, pulled off the man's jacket and trowsers, and having so done, buried him in the snow. The poor girl was despoiled of her gown and upper petticoat, with every decency, and also buried. We collected the clothes and stilts, and removed to another quarter of the wood, where we found a well-sheltered spot, and took our meal. As we did not travel that night as usual, we had to prepare our own bed. We scraped away the snow, and made ourselves as comfortable as we could without a fire, but the weather was dreadful. "Peter," said O'Brien, "I'm melancholy. Here, drink plenty;" and he handed me the flask of spirits, which had never been empty. "Drink more, Peter." "I cannot, O'Brien, without being tipsy." "Never mind that, drink more; see how these two poor devils lost their lives by falling asleep in the snow. Peter," said O'Brien, starting up, "you sha'n't sleep here--follow me." I expostulated in vain. It was almost dark, and he led me to the village, near which he pitched upon a hovel (a sort of out-house). "Peter, here is shelter; lie down and sleep, and I'll keep the watch. Not a word, I will have it--down at once." I did so, and in a very few minutes was fast asleep, for I was worn out with cold and fatigue. For several days we had walked all night, and the rest we gained by day was trifling. Oh how I longed for a warm bed with four or five blankets! Just as the day broke, O'Brien roused me; he had stood sentry all night, and looked very haggard. "O'Brien, you are ill," said I. "Not a bit; but I've emptied the brandy-flask; and that's a bad job. However, it is to be remedied." We then returned to the wood in a mizzling rain and fog, for the weather had changed, and the frost had broken up. The thaw was even worse than the frost, and we felt the cold more. O'Brien again insisted upon my sleeping in the out-house, but this time I positively refused without he would also sleep there, pointing out to him, that we ran no more risk, and perhaps not so much, as if he stayed outside. Finding I was positive, he at last consented, and we both gained it unperceived. We lay down, but I did not go to sleep for some time, I was so anxious to see O'Brien fast asleep. He went in and out several times, during which I pretended to be fast asleep; at last it rained in torrents, and then he lay down again, and in a few minutes, overpowered by nature, he fell fast asleep, snoring so loudly, that I was afraid some one would hear us. I then got up and watched, occasionally lying down and slumbering awhile, and then going to the door. Chapter XXIII Exalted with our success, we march through France without touching the ground--I become feminine--We are voluntary conscripts. At day-break I called O'Brien, who jumped up in a great hurry. "Sure I've been asleep, Peter." "Yes, you have," replied I, "and I thank Heaven that you have, for no one could stand such fatigue as you have, much longer; and if you fall ill, what would become of me?" This was touching him on the right point. "Well, Peter, since there's no harm come of it, there's no harm done. I've had sleep enough for the next week, that's certain." We returned to the wood; the snow had disappeared, and the rain ceased; the sun shone out from between the clouds, and we felt warm. "Don't pass so near that way," said O'Brien, "we shall see the poor creatures, now that the snow is gone. Peter, we must shift our quarters to-night, for I have been to every cabaret in the village, and I cannot go there any more without suspicion, although I am a gendarme." We remained there till the evening, and then set off, still returning towards Givet. About an hour before daylight we arrived at a copse of trees, close to the road-side, and surrounded by a ditch, not above a quarter of a mile from a village. "It appears to me," said O'Brien, "that this will do: I will now put you there, and then go boldly to the village and see what I can get, for here we must stay at least a week." We walked to the copse, and the ditch being rather too wide for me to leap, O'Brien laid the four stilts together so as to form a bridge, over which I contrived to walk. Tossing to me all the bundles, and desiring me to leave the stilts as a bridge for him on his return, he set off to the village with his musket on his shoulder. He was away two hours, when he returned with a large supply of provisions, the best we had ever had. French saucissons, seasoned with garlic, which I thought delightful; four bottles of brandy, besides his flask; a piece of hung beef and six loaves of bread, besides half a baked goose and part of a large pie. "There," said he, "we have enough for a good week; and look here, Peter, this is better than all." And he showed me two large horse-rugs. "Excellent," replied I; "now we shall be comfortable." "I paid honestly for all but these rugs," observed O'Brien; "but I was afraid to buy them, so I stole them. However, we'll leave them here for those they belong to--it's only borrowing, after all." We now prepared a very comfortable shelter with branches, which we wove together, and laying the leaves in the sun to dry, soon obtained a soft bed to put one horse-rug on, while we covered ourselves up with the other. Our bridge of stilts we had removed, so that we felt ourselves quite secure from surprise. That evening we did nothing but carouse--the goose, the pie, the saucissons as big as my arm, were alternately attacked, and we went to the ditch to drink water, and then ate again. This was quite happiness to what we had suffered, especially with the prospect of a good bed. At dark, to bed we went, and slept soundly; I never felt more refreshed during our wanderings. At daylight O'Brien got up. "Now, Peter, a little practice before breakfast." "What practice do you mean?" "Mean! why on the stilts. I expect in a week that you'll be able to dance a gavotte at least; for mind me, Peter, you travel out of France upon these stilts, depend upon it." O'Brien then took the stilts belonging to the man, giving, me those of the woman. We strapped them to our thighs, and by fixing our backs to a tree, contrived to get upright upon them; but, at the first attempt to walk, O'Brien fell to the right, and I fell to the left. O'Brien fell against a tree, but I fell on my nose, and made it bleed very much; however, we laughed and got up again, and although we had several falls, at last we made a better hand of them. We then had some difficulty in getting down again, but we found out how, by again resorting to a tree. After breakfast we strapped them on again, and practised, and so we continued to do for the whole day, when we again attacked our provisions, and fell asleep under our horse-rug. This continued for five days, by which time, being constantly on the stilts, we became very expert; and although I could not dance a gavotte--for I did not know what that was--I could hop about with them with the greatest ease. "One day's more practice," said O'Brien, "for our provisions will last one day more, and then we start; but this time we must rehearse in costume." O'Brien then dressed me in the poor girl's clothes, and himself in the man's; they fitted very well, and the last day we practised as man and woman. "Peter, you make a very pretty girl," said O'Brien. "Now, don't you allow the men to take liberties." "Never fear," replied I. "But, O'Brien, as these petticoats are not very warm, I mean to cut off my trowsers up to my knees, and wear them underneath." "That's all right," said O'Brien, "for you may have a tumble, and then they may find out that you're not a lady." The next morning we made use of our stilts to cross the ditch, and carrying them in our hands we boldly set off on the high road to Malines. We met several people, gens-d'armes and others, but with the exception of some remarks upon my good looks, we passed unnoticed. Towards the evening we arrived at the village where we had slept in the outhouse, and as soon as we entered it we put on our stilts, and commenced a march. When the crowd had gathered we held out our caps, and receiving nine or ten sous, we entered a cabaret. Many questions were asked us, as to where we came from, and O'Brien answered, telling lies innumerable. I played the modest girl, and O'Brien, who stated I was his sister, appeared very careful and jealous of any attention. We slept well, and the next morning continued our route to Malines. We very often put on our stilts for practice on the road, which detained us very much, and it was not until the eighth day, without any variety or any interruption, that we arrived at Malines. As we entered the barriers we put on our stilts, and marched boldly on. The guard at the gate stopped us, not from suspicion, but to amuse themselves, and I was forced to submit to several kisses from their garlic lips, before we were allowed to enter the town. We again mounted on our stilts, for the guard had forced us to dismount, or they could not have kissed me, every now and then imitating a dance, until we arrived at the _Grande Place_, where we stopped opposite the hotel, and commenced a sort of waltz which we had practised. The people in the hotel looked out of the window to see our exhibition, and when we had finished I went up to the windows with O'Brien's cap to collect money. What was my surprise to perceive Colonel O'Brien looking full in my face, and staring very hard at me;--what was my greater astonishment at seeing Celeste, who immediately recognised me, and ran back to the sofa in the room, putting her hands up to her eyes, and crying out "_C'est lui, c'est lui_!" Fortunately O'Brien was close to me, or I should have fallen, but he supported me. "Peter, ask the crowd for money, or you are lost." I did so, and collecting some pence, then asked him what I should do. "Go back to the window--you can then judge of what will happen." I returned to the window; Colonel O'Brien had disappeared, but Celeste was there, as if waiting for me. I held out the cap to her, and she thrust her hand into it. The cap sank with the weight. I took out a purse, which I kept closed in my hand, and put it into my bosom. Celeste then retired from the window, and when she had gone to the back of the room kissed her hand to me, and went out at the door. I remained stupefied for a moment, but O'Brien roused me, and we quitted the _Grande Place_, taking up our quarters at a little cabaret. On examining the purse, I found fifty Napoleons in it: these must have been, obtained from her father. I cried over them with delight. O'Brien was also much affected at the kindness of the colonel. "He's a real O'Brien, every inch of him," said he: "even this cursed country can't spoil the breed." At the cabaret where we stopped, we were informed, that the officer who was at the hotel had been appointed to the command of the strong fort of Bergen-op-Zoom, and was proceeding thither. "We must not chance to meet him again, if possible," said O'Brien; "it would be treading too close upon the heels of his duty. Neither will it do to appear on stilts among the dikes; so, Peter, we'll just jump on clear of this town and then we'll trust to our wits." We walked out of the town early in the morning, after O'Brien had made purchases of some of the clothes usually worn by the peasantry. When within a few miles of St Nicholas, we threw away our stilts and the clothes which we had on, and dressed ourselves in those O'Brien had purchased. O'Brien had not forgotten to provide us with two large brown-coloured blankets, which we strapped on to our shoulders, as the soldiers do their coats. "But what are we to pass for now, O'Brien?" "Peter, I will settle that point before night. My wits are working, but I like to trust to chance for a stray idea or so; we must walk fast, or we shall be smothered with the snow." It was bitter cold weather, and the snow had fallen heavily during the whole day; but although nearly dusk, there was a bright moon ready for us. We walked very fast, and soon observed persons ahead of us. "Let us overtake them, we may obtain some information." As we came up with them, one of them (they were both lads of seventeen to eighteen) said to O'Brien, "I thought we were the last, but I was mistaken. How far is it now to St Nicholas?" "How should I know?" replied O'Brien, "I am a stranger in these parts as well as yourself." "From what part of France do you come?" demanded the other, his teeth chattering with the cold, for he was badly clothed, and with little defence from the inclement weather. "From Montpelier," replied O'Brien. "And I from Toulouse. A sad change, comrade, from olives and vines to such a climate as this. Curse the conscription: I intended to have taken a little wife next year." O'Brien gave me a push, as if to say, "Here's something that will do," and then continued,-- "And curse the conscription I say too, for I had just married, and now my wife is left to be annoyed by the attention of the _fermier général_. But it can't be helped. _C'est pour la France et pour la gloire_." "We shall be too late to get a billet," replied the other, "and not a sou have I in my pocket. I doubt if I get up with the main body till they are at Flushing. By our route, they are at Axel to-day." "If we arrive at St Nicholas, we shall do well," replied O'Brien; "but I have a little money left, and I'll not see a comrade want a supper or a bed who is going to serve his country. You can repay me when we meet at Flushing." "That I will with thanks," replied the Frenchman; "and so will Jacques here, if you will trust him." "With pleasure," replied O'Brien, who then entered into a long conversation, by which he drew out from the Frenchmen that a party of conscripts had been ordered to Flushing, and that they had dropped behind the main body. O'Brien passed himself off as a conscript belonging to the party, and me as his brother, who had resolved to join the army as a drummer, rather than part with him. In about an hour we arrived at St Nicholas, and after some difficulty obtained entrance into a cabaret. "_Vive la France_!" said O'Brien, going up to the fire, and throwing the snow off his hat. In a short time we were seated to a good supper and very tolerable wine, the hostess sitting down by us, and listening to the true narratives of the real conscripts, and the false one of O'Brien. After supper the conscript who first addressed us pulled out his printed paper, with the route laid down, and observed that we were two days behind the others. O'Brien read it over, and laid it on the table, at the same time calling for more wine, having already pushed it round very freely. We did not drink much ourselves, but plied them hard, and at last the conscript commenced the whole history of his intended marriage and his disappointment, tearing his hair, and crying now and then. "Never mind," interrupted O'Brien, every two or three minutes, "_buvons un autre coup pour la gloire_!" and thus he continued to make them both drink until they reeled away to bed, forgetting their printed paper, which O'Brien had some time before slipped away from the table. We also retired to our room, when O'Brien observed to me. "Peter, this description is as much like me as I am to Old Nick; but that's of no consequence, as nobody goes willingly as a conscript, and therefore they will never have a doubt but that it is all right. We must be off early to-morrow, while these good people are in bed, and steal a long march upon them. I consider that we are now safe as far as Flushing." Chapter XXIV What occurred at Flushing, and what occurred when we got out of Flushing. An hour before daybreak we started; the snow was thick on the ground, but the sky was clear, and without any difficulty or interruption we passed through the towns of Axel and Halst, arrived at Terneuse on the fourth day, and went over to Flushing in company with about a dozen more stragglers from the main body. As we landed, the guard asked us whether we were conscripts. O'Brien replied that he was, and held out his paper. They took his name, or rather that of the person it belonged to, down in a book, and told him that he must apply to the _état major_ before three o'clock. We passed on delighted with our success, and then O'Brien pulled out the letter which had been given to him by the woman of the cabaret, who had offered to assist me to escape, when O'Brien passed off as a gendarme, and reading the address, demanded his way to the street. We soon found out the house, and entered. "Conscripts!" said the woman of the house, looking at O'Brien; "I am billeted full already. It must be a mistake. Where is your order?" "Read," said O'Brien, handing her the letter. She read the letter, and putting it into her neckerchief, desired him to follow her. O'Brien beckoned me to come, and we went into a small room. "What can I do for you?" said the woman; "I will do all in my power: but, alas! you will march from here in two or three days." "Never mind," replied O'Brien, "we will talk the matter over by-and-by, but at present only oblige us by letting us remain in this little room; we do not wish to be seen." "_Comment done_!--you a conscript, and not wish to be seen! Are you, then, intending to desert?" "Answer me one question; you have read that letter, do you intend to act up to its purport, as your sister requests?" "As I hope for mercy I will, if I suffer everything. She is a dear sister, and would not write so earnestly if she had not strong reason. My house and everything you command are yours--can I say more?" "But," continued O'Brien, "suppose I did intend to desert, would you then assist me?" "At my peril," replied the woman: "have you not assisted my family when in difficulty?" "Well, then, I will not at present detain you from your business; I have heard you called several times. Let us have dinner when convenient, and we will remain here." "If I have any knowledge of phiz--_what d'ye call it_," observed O'Brien, after she left us, "there is honesty in that woman, and I must trust her, but not yet; we must wait till the conscripts have gone." I agreed with O'Brien, and we remained talking until an hour afterwards, when the woman brought us our dinner. "What is your name?" inquired O'Brien. "Louise Eustache; you might have read it on the letter." "Are you married?" "Oh yes, these six years. My husband is seldom at home; he is a Flushing pilot. A hard life, harder even than that of a soldier. Who is this lad?" "He is my brother, who, if I go as a soldier, intends to volunteer as a drummer." "_Pauvre enfant! c'est dommage_." The cabaret was full of conscripts and other people, so that the hostess had enough to do. At night, we were shown by her into a small bed-room, adjoining the room we occupied. "You are quite alone here; the conscripts are to muster to-morrow, I find, in the _Place d'Armes_, at two o'clock; do you intend to go?" "No," replied O'Brien: "they will think that I am behind. It is of no consequence." "Well," replied the woman, "do as you please, you may trust me: but I am so busy, without any one to assist me, that until they leave the town, I can hardly find time to speak to you." "That will be soon enough, my good hostess," replied O'Brien: "_au revoir_." The next evening, the woman came in, in some alarm, stating that a conscript had arrived whose name had been given in before, and that the person who had given it in, had not mustered at the place. That the conscript had declared, that his pass had been stolen from him by a person with whom he had stopped at St Nicholas, and that there were orders for a strict search to be made through the town, as it was known that some English officers had escaped, and it was supposed that one of them had obtained the pass. "Surely you're not English?" inquired the woman, looking earnestly at O'Brien. "Indeed, but I am, my dear," replied O'Brien: "and so is this lad with me: and the favour which your sister requires is, that you help us over the water, for which service there are one hundred louis ready to be paid upon delivery of us." "_Oh, mon Dieu! mais c'est impossible_." "Impossible!" replied O'Brien; "was that the answer I gave your sister in her trouble?" "_Au moins c'est fort difficile_." "That's quite another concern; but with your husband a pilot, I should think a great part of the difficulty removed." "My husband! I've no power over him," replied the woman, putting the apron up to her eyes. "But one hundred louis may have," replied O'Brien. "There is truth in that," observed the woman, after a pause, "but what am I to do, if they come to search the house?" "Send us out of it, until you can find an opportunity to send us to England. I leave it all to you--your sister expects it from you." "And she shall not be disappointed, if God helps us," replied the woman, after a short pause: "but I fear you must leave this house and the town also to-night." "How are we to leave the town?" "I will arrange that; be ready at four o'clock, for the gates are shut at dusk. I must go now, for there is no time to be lost." "We are in a nice mess now, O'Brien," observed I, after the woman had quitted the room. "Devil a bit, Peter; I feel no anxiety whatever, except at leaving such good quarters." We packed up all our effects, not forgetting our two blankets, and waited the return of the hostess. In about an hour she entered the room. "I have spoken to my husband's sister, who lives about two miles on the road to Middelburg. She is in town now, for it is market-day, and you will be safe where she hides you. I told her, it was by my husband's request, or she would not have consented. Here, boy, put on these clothes; I will assist you." Once more I was dressed as a girl, and when my clothes were on, O'Brien burst out into laughter at my blue stockings and short petticoats. "_Il n'est pas mal_," observed the hostess, as she fixed a small cap on my head, and then tied a kerchief under my chin, which partly hid my face. O'Brien put on a greatcoat, which the woman handed to him, with a wide-brimmed hat. "Now follow me!" She led us into the street, which was thronged, till we arrived at the market-place, when she met another woman, who joined her. At the end of the market-place stood a small horse and cart, into which the strange woman and I mounted, while O'Brien, by the directions of the landlady, led the horse through the crowd until we arrived at the barriers, when she wished us good day in a loud voice before the guard. The guard took no notice of us, and we passed safely through, and found ourselves upon a neatly-paved road, as straight as an arrow, and lined on each side with high trees and a ditch. In about an hour, we stopped near to the farmhouse of the woman who was in charge of us. "Do you observe that wood?" said she to O'Brien, pointing to one about half a mile from the road. "I dare not take you into the house, my husband is so violent against the English, who captured his schuyt, and made him a poor man, that he would inform against you immediately; but go you there, make yourselves as comfortable as you can to-night, and to-morrow I will send you what you want. _Adieu! Je vous plains, pauvre enfant_." said she, looking at me, as she drove off in the cart towards her own house. "Peter," said O'Brien, "I think that her kicking us out of her house is a proof of her sincerity, and therefore I say no more about it; we have the brandy-flask to keep up our spirits. Now then for the wood, though, by the powers, I shall have no relish for any of your pic-nic parties, as they call them, for the next twelve years." "But, O'Brien, how can I get over this ditch in petticoats? I could hardly leap it in my own clothes." "You must tie your petticoats round your waist and make a good run; get over as far as you can, and I will drag you through the rest." "But you forget that we are to sleep in the wood, and that it's no laughing matter to get wet through, freezing so hard as it does now." "Very true, Peter; but as the snow lies so deep upon the ditch, perhaps the ice may bear. I'll try; if it bears me, it will not condescend to bend at your shrimp of a carcass." O'Brien tried the ice, which was firm, and we both walked over, and making all the haste we could, arrived at the wood, as the woman called it, but which was not more than a clump of trees of about half an acre. We cleared away the snow for about six feet round a very hollow part, and then O'Brien cut stakes and fixed them in the earth, to which we stretched one blanket. The snow being about two feet deep, there was plenty of room to creep underneath the blanket. We then collected all the leaves we could, beating the snow off them, and laid them at the bottom of the hole; over the leaves we spread the other blanket, and taking our bundles in, we then stopped up with snow every side of the upper blanket, except the hole to creep in at. It was quite astonishing what a warm place this became in a short time after we had remained in it. It was almost too warm, although the weather outside was piercingly cold. After a good meal and a dose of brandy, we both fell fast asleep, but not until I had taken off my woman's attire and resumed my own clothes. We never slept better or more warmly than we did in this hole which we had made on the ground, covered with ice and snow. Chapter XXV O'Brien parts company to hunt for provisions, and I have other company in consequence of another hunt--O'Brien pathetically mourns my death and finds me alive--We escape. The ensuing morning we looked out anxiously for the promised assistance, for we were not very rich in provisions, although what we had were of a very good quality. It was not until three o'clock in the afternoon that we perceived a little girl coming towards us, escorted by a large mastiff. When she arrived at the copse of trees where we lay concealed, she cried out to the dog in Dutch, who immediately scoured the wood until he came to our hiding-place, when he crouched down at the entrance, barking furiously, and putting us in no small dread, lest he should attack us; but the little girl spoke to him again, and he remained in the same position, looking at us, wagging his tail, with his under jaw lying on the snow. She soon came up, and looking underneath, put a basket in, and nodded her head. We emptied the basket. O'Brien took out a napoleon and offered it to her; she refused it, but O'Brien forced it into her hand, upon which she again spoke to the dog, who commenced barking so furiously at us, that we expected every moment he would fly upon us. The girl at the same time presented the napoleon, and pointing to the dog, I went forward and took the napoleon from her, at which she immediately silenced the enormous brute, and laughing at us, hastened away. "By the powers, that's a fine little girl!" said O'Brien; "I'll back her and her dog against any man. Well, I never had a dog set at me for giving money before, but we live and learn, Peter; now let's see what she brought in the basket." We found hard-boiled eggs, bread, and a smoked mutton ham, with a large bottle of gin. "What a nice little girl! I hope she will often favour us with her company. I've been thinking, Peter, that we're quite as well off here, as in a midshipman's berth." "You forget you are a lieutenant." "Well, so I did, Peter, and that's the truth, but it's the force of habit. Now let's make our dinner. It's a new-fashioned way though, of making a meal, lying down; but however, it's economical, for it must take longer to swallow the victuals." "The Romans used to eat their meals lying down, so I have read, O'Brien." "I can't say that I ever heard it mentioned in Ireland, but that don't prove that it was not the case; so, Peter, I'll take your word for it. Murder! how fast it snows again! I wonder what my father's thinking on just at this moment." This observation of O'Brien induced us to talk about our friends and relations in England, and after much conversation we fell fast asleep. The next morning we found the snow had fallen about eight inches, and weighed down our upper blanket so much, that we were obliged to go out and cut stakes to support it up from the inside. While we were thus employed, we heard a loud noise and shouting, and perceived several men, apparently armed and accompanied with dogs, running straight in the direction of the wood where we were encamped. We were much alarmed, thinking that they were in search of us, but on a sudden they turned off in another direction, continuing with the same speed as before. "What could it be?" said I, to O'Brien. "I can't exactly say, Peter; but I should think that they were hunting something, and the only game that I think likely to be in such a place as this are otters." I was of the same opinion. We expected the little girl, but she did not come, and after looking out for her till dark, we crawled into our hole and supped upon the remainder of our provisions. The next day, as may be supposed, we were very anxious for her arrival, but she did not appear at the time expected. Night again came on, and we went to bed without having any sustenance, except a small piece of bread that was left, and some gin which was remaining in the flask. "Peter," said O'Brien, "if she don't come again to-morrow, I'll try what I can do; for I've no idea of our dying of hunger here, like the two babes in the wood, and being found covered up with dead leaves. If she does not appear at three o'clock, I'm off for provisions, and I don't see much danger, for in this dress I look as much of a boor as any man in Holland." We passed an uneasy night, as we felt convinced, either that the danger was so great that they dared not venture to assist us, or, that being over-ruled, they had betrayed us, and left us to manage how we could. The next morning I climbed up the only large tree in the copse and looked round, especially in the direction of the farm-house belonging to the woman who had pointed out to us our place of concealment; but nothing was to be seen but one vast tract of flat country covered with snow, and now and then a vehicle passing at a distance on the Middelburg road. I descended, and found O'Brien preparing for a start. He was very melancholy, and said to me, "Peter, if I am taken, you must, at all risks, put on your girl's clothes and go to Flushing to the cabaret. The women there, I am sure, will protect you, and send you back to England. I only want two napoleons; take all the rest, you will require them. If I am not back by to-night, set off for Flushing to-morrow morning." O'Brien waited some time longer, talking with me, and it then being past four o'clock, he shook me by the hand, and, without speaking, left the wood. I never felt more miserable during the whole time since we were first put into prison at Toulon, till that moment, and, when he was a hundred yards off, I knelt down and prayed. He had been absent two hours, and it was quite dusk, when I heard a noise at a distance: it advanced every moment nearer and nearer. On a sudden, I heard a rustling of the bushes, and hastened under the blanket, which was covered with snow, in hopes that they might not perceive the entrance; but I was hardly there before in dashed after me an enormous wolf. I cried out, expecting to be torn to pieces every moment, but the creature lay on his belly, his mouth wide open, his eyes glaring, and his long tongue hanging out of his mouth, and although he touched me, he was so exhausted that he did not attack me. The noise increased, and I immediately perceived that it was the hunters in pursuit of him. I had crawled in feet first, the wolf ran in head foremost, so that we lay head and tail. I crept out as fast as I could, and perceived men and dogs not two hundred yards off in full chase. I hastened to the large tree, and had not ascended six feet when they came up; the dogs flew to the hole, and in a very short time the wolf was killed. The hunters being too busy to observe me, I had in the meantime climbed up the trunk of the tree, and hidden myself as well as I could. Being not fifteen yards from them, I heard their expressions of surprise as they lifted up the blanket and dragged out the dead wolf, which they carried away with them; their conversation being in Dutch, I could not understand it, but I was certain that they made use of the word "_English_." The hunters and dogs quitted the copse, and I was about to descend, when one of them returned, and pulling up the blankets, rolled them together and walked away with them. Fortunately he did not perceive our bundles by the little light given by the moon. I waited a short time and then came down. What to do I knew not. If I did not remain and O'Brien returned, what would he think? If I did, I should be dead with cold before the morning. I looked for our bundles, and found that in the conflict between the dogs and the wolf, they had been buried among the leaves. I recollected O'Brien's advice, and dressed myself in the girl's clothes, but I could not make up my mind to go to Flushing. So I resolved to walk towards the farmhouse, which, being close to the road, would give me a chance of meeting with O'Brien. I soon arrived there and prowled round it for some time, but the doors and windows were all fast, and I dared not knock, after what the woman had said about her husband's inveteracy to the English. At last, as I looked round and round, quite at a loss what to do, I thought I saw a figure at a distance proceeding in the direction of the copse. I hastened after it and saw it enter. I then advanced very cautiously, for although I thought it might be O'Brien, yet it was possible that it was one of the men who chased the wolf in search of more plunder. But I soon heard O'Brien's voice, and I hastened towards him. I was close to him without his perceiving me, and found him sitting down with his face covered up in his two hands. At last he cried, "O Pater! my poor Pater! are you taken at last? Could I not leave you for one hour in safety? Ochone! why did I leave you? My poor, poor Pater! simple you were, sure enough, and that's why I loved you; but, Pater, I would have made a man of you, for you'd all the materials, that's the truth--and a fine man, too. Where am I to look for you, Pater? Where am I to find you, Pater? You're fast locked up by this time, and all my trouble's gone for nothing. But I'll be locked up too, Pater. Where you are, will I be; and if we can't go to England together, why then we'll go back to that blackguard hole at Givet together. Ochone! Ochone!" O'Brien spoke no more, but burst into tears. I was much affected with this proof of O'Brien's sincere regard, and I came to his side and clasped him in my arms. O'Brien stared at me, "Who are you, you ugly Dutch frow?" (for he had quite forgotten the woman's dress at the moment), but recollecting himself, he hugged me in his arms. "Pater, you come as near to an angel's shape as you can, for you come in that of a woman, to comfort me; for, to tell the truth, I was very much distressed at not finding you here; and all the blankets gone to boot. What has been the matter?" I explained in as few words as I could. "Well, Peter, I'm happy to find you all safe, and much happier to find that you can be trusted when I leave you, for you could not have behaved more prudently; now I'll tell you what I did, which was not much, as it happened. I knew that there was no cabaret between us and Flushing, for I took particular notice as I came along; so I took the road to Middelburg, and found but one, which was full of soldiers. I passed it, and found no other. As I came back past the same cabaret, one of the soldiers came out to me, but I walked along the road. He quickened his pace, and so did I mine, for I expected mischief. At last he came up to me, and spoke to me in Dutch, to which I gave him no answer. He collared me, and then I thought it convenient to pretend that I was deaf and dumb. I pointed to my mouth with an Au--au--and then to my ears, and shook my head; but he would not be convinced, and I heard him say something about English. I then knew that there was no time to be lost, so I first burst out into a loud laugh and stopped; and on his attempting to force me, I kicked up his heels, and he fell on the ice with such a rap on the pate, that I doubt if he has recovered it by this time. There I left him, and have run back as hard as I could, without anything for Peter to fill his little hungry inside with. Now, Peter, what's your opinion? for they say that out of the mouth of babes there is wisdom; and although I never saw anything come out of their mouths but sour milk, yet perhaps I may be more fortunate this time, for, Peter, you're but a baby." "Not a small one, O'Brien, although not quite so large as Fingal's _babby_ that you told me the story of. My idea is this.--Let us, at all hazards, go to the farmhouse. They have assisted us, and may be inclined to do so again; if they refuse, we must push on to Flushing and take our chance." "Well," observed O'Brien, after a pause, "I think we can do no better, so let's be off." We went to the farmhouse, and, as we approached the door, were met by the great mastiff. I started back, O'Brien boldly advanced. "He's a clever dog, and may know us again. I'll go up," said O'Brien, not stopping while he spoke, "and pat his head: if he flies at me, I shall be no worse than I was before, for depend upon it he will not allow us to go back again." O'Brien by this time had advanced to the dog, who looked earnestly and angrily at him. He patted his head, the dog growled, but O'Brien put his arm round his neck, and patting him again, whistled to him, and went to the door of the farmhouse. The dog followed him silently but closely. O'Brien knocked, and the door was opened by the little girl: the mastiff advanced to the girl, and then turned round, facing O'Brien, as much as to say, "Is he to come in?" The girl spoke to the dog, and went indoors. During her absence the mastiff lay down at the threshold. In a few seconds the woman who had brought us from Flushing, came out, and desired us to enter. She spoke very good French, and told us that fortunately her husband was absent; that the reason why we had not been supplied was, that a wolf had met her little girl returning the other day, but had been beaten off by the mastiff, and that she was afraid to allow her to go again; that she heard the wolf had been killed this evening, and had intended her girl to have gone to us early to-morrow morning; that wolves were hardly known in that country, but that the severe winter had brought them down to the lowlands, a very rare circumstance, occurring perhaps not once in twenty years. "But how did you pass the mastiff?" said she; "that has surprised my daughter and me." O'Brien told her, upon which she said "that the English were really '_des braves_.' No other man had ever done the same." So I thought, for nothing would have induced me to do it. O'Brien then told the history of the death of the wolf, with all particulars, and our intention, if we could not do better, of returning to Flushing. "I heard that Pierre Eustache came home yesterday," replied the woman; "and I do think that you will be safer there than here, for they will never think of looking for you among the _casernes_, which join their cabaret." "Will you lend us your assistance to get in?" "I will see what I can do. But are you not hungry?" "About as hungry as men who have eaten nothing for two days." "_Mon Dieu! c'est vrai._ I never thought it was so long, but those whose stomachs are filled forget those who are empty. God make us better and more charitable!" She spoke to the little girl in Dutch, who hastened to load the table, which we hastened to empty. The little girl stared at our voracity; but at last she laughed out, and clapped her hands at every fresh mouthful which we took, and pressed us to eat more. She allowed me to kiss her, until her mother told her that I was not a woman, when she pouted at me, and beat me off. Before midnight we were fast asleep upon the benches before the kitchen fire, and at daybreak were roused up by the woman, who offered us some bread and spirits, and then we went out to the door, where we found the horse and cart all ready, and loaded with vegetables for the market. The woman, the little girl, and myself got in, O'Brien leading as before, and the mastiff following. We had learnt the dog's name, which was "_Achille_," and he seemed to be quite fond of us. We passed the dreaded barriers without interruption, and in ten minutes entered the cabaret of Eustache; and immediately walked into the little room through a crowd of soldiers, two of whom chucked me under the chin. Whom should we find there but Eustache, the pilot himself, in conversation with his wife, and it appeared that they were talking about us, she insisting, and he unwilling to have any hand in the business. "Well, here they are themselves, Eustache; the soldiers who have seen them come in will never believe that this is their first entry if you give them up. I leave them to make their own bargain; but mark me, Eustache, I have slaved night and day in this cabaret for your profit; if you do not oblige me and my family, I no longer keep a cabaret for you." Madame Eustache then quitted the room with her husband's sister and little girl, and O'Brien immediately accosted him. "I promise you," said he to Eustache, "one hundred louis if you put us on shore at any part of England, or on board of any English man-of-war; and if you do it within a week, I will make it twenty louis more." O'Brien then pulled out the fifty napoleons given us by Celeste, for our own were not yet expended, and laid them on the table. "Here is this in advance, to prove my sincerity. Say, is it a bargain or not?" "I never yet heard of a poor man who could withstand his wife's arguments, backed with one hundred and twenty louis," said Eustache smiling, and sweeping the money off the table. "I presume you have no objection to start to-night? That will be ten louis more in your favour," replied O'Brien. "I shall earn them," replied Eustache. "The sooner I am off the better, for I could not long conceal you here. The young frow with you is, I suppose, your companion that my wife mentioned. He has begun to suffer hardships early. Come, now, sit down and talk, for nothing can be done till dark." O'Brien narrated the adventures attending our escape, at which Eustache laughed heartily; the more so, at the mistake which his wife was under, as to the obligations of the family. "If I did not feel inclined to assist you before, I do now, just for the laugh I shall have at her when I come back, and if she wants any more assistance for the sake of her relations, I shall remind her of this anecdote; but she's a good woman and a good wife to boot, only too fond of her sisters." At dusk he equipped us both in sailor's jackets and trowsers, and desired us to follow him boldly. He passed the guard, who knew him well. "What, to sea already?" said one. "You have quarrelled with your wife." At which they all laughed, and we joined. We gained the beach, jumped into his little boat, pulled off to his vessel, and, in a few minutes, were under weigh. With a strong tide and a fair wind we were soon clear of the Scheldt, and the next morning a cutter hove in sight. We steered for her, ran under her lee, O'Brien hailed for a boat, and Eustache, receiving my bill for the remainder of his money, wished us success; we shook hands, and in a few minutes found ourselves once more under the British pennant. Chapter XXVI Adventures at home--I am introduced to my grandfather--He obtains employment for O'Brien and myself, and we join a frigate. As soon as we were on the deck of the cutter, the lieutenant commanding her inquired of us, in a consequential manner, who we were. O'Brien replied that we were English prisoners who had escaped. "Oh, midshipmen, I presume," replied the lieutenant; "I heard that some had contrived to get away." "My name, sir," said O'Brien, "is Lieutenant O'Brien; and if you'll send for a 'Steel's List,' I will have the honour of pointing it out to you. This young gentleman is Mr Peter Simple, midshipman, and grandson to the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Privilege." The lieutenant, who was a little snub-nosed man, with a pimply face, then altered his manner towards us, and begged we would step down into the cabin, where he offered, what perhaps was the greatest of all luxuries to us, some English cheese and bottled porter. "Pray," said he, "did you see anything of one of my officers, who was taken prisoner when I was sent with despatches to the Mediterranean fleet?" "May I first ask the name of your lively little craft?" said O'Brien. "'The Snapper,'" replied the lieutenant. "Och, murder; sure enough we met him. He was sent to Verdun, but we had the pleasure of his company _en route_ as far as Montpelier. A remarkably genteel, well-dressed young man, was he not?" "Why, I can't say much about his gentility; indeed, I am not much of a judge. As for his dress, he ought to have dressed well, but he never did when on board of me. His father is my tailor, and I took him as midshipman, just to square an account between us." "That's exactly what I thought," replied O'Brien. He did not say any more, which I was glad of, as the lieutenant might not have been pleased at what had occurred. "When do you expect to run into port?" demanded O'Brien; for we were rather anxious to put our feet ashore again in old England. The lieutenant replied that his cruise was nearly up; and he considered our arrival quite sufficient reason for him to run in directly, and that he intended to put his helm up after the people had had their dinner. We were much delighted with this intelligence, and still more to see the intention put into execution half an hour afterwards. In three days we anchored at Spithead, and went on shore with the lieutenant to report ourselves to the admiral. Oh! with what joy did I first put my foot on the shingle beach at Sallyport, and then hasten to the post-office to put in a long letter which I had written to my mother. We did not go to the admiral's, but merely reported ourselves at the admiral's office; for we had no clothes fit to appear in. But we called at Meredith's the tailor, and he promised that, by the next morning, we should be fitted complete. We then ordered new hats, and everything we required, and went to the Fountain inn. O'Brien refused to go to the Blue Posts, as being only a receptacle for midshipmen. By eleven o'clock the next morning, we were fit to appear before the admiral, who received us very kindly, and requested our company to dinner. As I did not intend setting off for home until I had received an answer from my mother, we, of course, accepted the invitation. There was a large party of naval officers and ladies, and O'Brien amused them very much during dinner. When the ladies left the room, the admiral's wife told me to come up with them; and when we arrived at the drawing-room, the ladies all gathered round me, and I had to narrate the whole of my adventures, which very much entertained and interested them. The next morning I received a letter from my mother--such a kind one! entreating me to come home as fast as I could, and bring my _preserver_ O'Brien with me. I showed it to O'Brien, and asked him whether he would accompany me. "Why, Peter, my boy, I have a little business of some importance to transact; which is, to obtain my arrears of pay, and some prize-money which I find due. When I have settled that point, I will go to town to pay my respects to the First Lord of the Admiralty, and then I think I will go and see your father and mother: for, until I know how matters stand, and whether I shall be able to go with spare cash in my pocket, I do not wish to see my own family; so write down your address here, and you'll be sure I'll come, if it is only to square my accounts with you, for I am not a little in your debt." I cashed a cheque sent by my father, and set off in the mail that night; the next evening I arrived safe home. But I shall leave the reader to imagine the scene: to my mother I was always dear, and circumstances had rendered me of some importance to my father; for I was now an only son, and his prospects were very different from what they were when I left home. About a week afterwards, O'Brien joined us, having got through all his business. His first act was to account with my father for his share of the expenses; and he even insisted upon paying his half of the fifty napoleons given me by Celeste, which had been remitted to a banker at Paris before O'Brien's arrival, with a guarded letter of thanks from my father to Colonel O'Brien, and another from me to dear little Celeste. When O'Brien had remained with us about a week, he told me that he had about one hundred and sixty pounds in his pocket, and that he intended to go and see his friends, as he was sure that he would be welcome even to Father M'Grath. "I mean to stay with them about a fortnight, and shall then return and apply for employment. Now, Peter, will you like to be again under my protection?" "O'Brien, I will never quit you or your ship, if I can help it." "Spoken like a sensible Peter. Well, then, I was promised immediate employment, and I will let you know as soon as the promise is performed." O'Brien took his leave of my family, who were already very partial to him, and left that afternoon for Holyhead. My father no longer treated me as a child; indeed, it would have been an injustice if he had. I do not mean to say that I was a clever boy; but I had seen much of the world in a short time, and could act and think for myself. He often talked to me about his prospects, which were very different from what they were when I left him. My two uncles, his elder brothers, had died, the third was married and had two daughters. If he had no son, my father would succeed to the title. The death of my elder brother Tom had brought me next in succession. My grandfather, Lord Privilege, who had taken no more notice of my father than occasionally sending him a basket of game, had latterly often invited him to the house, and had even requested, _some day or another_, to see his wife and family. He had also made a handsome addition to my father's income, which the death of my two uncles had enabled him to do. Against all this, my uncle's wife was reported to be again in the family way. I cannot say that I was pleased when my father used to speculate upon these chances so often as he did. I thought, not only as a man, but more particularly as a clergyman, he was much to blame; but I did not know then so much of the world. We had not heard from O'Brien for two months, when a letter arrived, stating that he had seen his family, and bought a few acres of land, which had made them all quite happy, and had quitted with Father M'Grath's double blessing, with unlimited absolution; that he had now been a month in town trying for employment, but found that he could not obtain it, although one promise was backed up by another. A few days after this, my father received a note from Lord Privilege, requesting he would come and spend a few days with him, and bring his son Peter who had escaped from the French prison. Of course this was an invitation not to be neglected, and we accepted it forthwith. I must say, I felt rather in awe of my grandfather; he had kept the family at such a distance, that I had always heard his name mentioned more with reverence than with any feeling of kindred, but I was a little wiser now. We arrived at Eagle Park, a splendid estate, where he resided, and were received by a dozen servants in and out of livery, and ushered into his presence. He was in his library, a large room, surrounded with handsome bookcases, sitting on an easy chair. A more venerable, placid old gentleman I never beheld; his grey hairs hung down on each side of his temples, and were collected in a small _queue_ behind. He rose and bowed, as we were announced; to my father he held out _two_ fingers in salutation, to me only _one_, but there was an elegance in the manner in which it was done which was indescribable. He waved his hand to chairs, placed by the _gentleman_ out of livery, and requested we would be seated. I could not, at the time, help thinking of Mr Chucks, the boatswain, and his remarks upon high breeding, which were so true: and I laughed to myself when I recollected that Mr Chucks had once dined with him. As soon as the servants had quitted the room, the distance on the part of my grandfather appeared to wear off. He interrogated me on several points, and seemed pleased with my replies; but he always called me "child." After a conversation of half an hour, my father rose, saying that his lordship must be busy, and that we would go over the grounds till dinner-time. My grandfather rose, and we took a sort of formal leave; but it was not a formal leave, after all, it was high breeding, respecting yourself and respecting others. For my part, I was pleased with the first interview, and so I told my father after we had left the room. "My dear Peter," replied he, "your grandfather has one idea which absorbs most others--the peerage, the estate, and the descent of it in the right line. As long as your uncles were alive, we were not thought of, as not being in the line of descent; nor should we now, but that your uncle William has only daughters. Still we are not looked upon as actual, but only contingent, inheritors of the title. Were your uncle to die to-morrow, the difference in his behaviour would be manifested immediately." "That is to say, instead of _two fingers_ you would receive the _whole_ hand, and instead of _one_ finger, I should obtain promotion to _two_." At this my father laughed heartily, saying, "Peter, you have exactly hit the mark. I cannot imagine how we ever could have been so blind as to call you the fool of the family." To this I made no reply, for it was difficult so to do without depreciating others or depreciating myself; but I changed the subject by commenting on the beauties of the park, and the splendid timber with which it was adorned. "Yes, Peter," replied my father, with a sigh, "thirty-five thousand a year in land, money in the funds, and timber worth at least forty thousand more, are not to be despised. But God wills everything." After this remark, my father appeared to be in deep thought, and I did not interrupt him. We stayed ten days with my grandfather, during which he would often detain me for two hours after breakfast, listening to my adventures, and I really believe was very partial to me. The day before I went away he said, "Child, you are going to-morrow; now tell me what you would like, as I wish to give you a token of regard. Don't be afraid; what shall it be--a watch and seals, or--anything you most fancy?" "My lord," replied I, "if you wish to do me a favour, it is, that you will apply to the First Lord of the Admiralty to appoint Lieutenant O'Brien to a fine frigate, and, at the same time, ask for a vacancy as midshipman for me." "O'Brien!" replied his lordship; "I recollect it was he who accompanied you from France, and appears, by your account, to have been a true friend. I am pleased with your request, my child, and it shall be granted." His lordship then desired me to hand him the paper and ink-standish, wrote by my directions, sealed the letter, and told me he would send me the answer. The next day we quitted Eagle Park, his lordship wishing my father good-bye with _two_ fingers, and to me extending _one_, as before; but he said, "I am pleased with you, child; you may write occasionally." When we were on our route home, my father observed that "I had made more progress with my grandfather than he had known anyone to do, since he could recollect. His saying that you might write to him is at least ten thousand pounds to you in his will, for he never deceives any one, or changes his mind." My reply was, that I should like to see the ten thousand pounds, but that I was not so sanguine. A few days after our return home, I received a letter and enclosure from Lord Privilege, the contents of which were as follow:-- "My dear Child,--I send you Lord----'s answer, which I trust will prove satisfactory. My compliments to your family.--Yours, &c., PRIVILEGE." The inclosure was a handsome letter from the First Lord, stating that he had appointed O'Brien to the _Sanglier_ frigate, and had ordered me to be received on board as midshipman. I was delighted to forward this letter to O'Brien's address, who, in a few days sent me an answer, thanking me, and stating that he had received his 'appointment, and that I need not join for a month, which was quite time enough, as the ship was refitting; but, that if my family were tired of me, which was sometimes the case in the best regulated families, why, then I should learn something of my duty by coming to Portsmouth. He concluded by sending his kind regards to all the family, and his _love_ to my grandfather, which last I certainly did not forward in my letter of thanks. About a month afterwards I received a letter from O'Brien, stating that the ship was ready to go out of harbour, and would be anchored off Spithead in a few days. Chapter XXVII Captain and Mrs To--Pork--We go to Plymouth, and fall in with our old Captain. I immediately took leave of my family, and set off for Portsmouth, and in two days arrived at the Fountain inn, where O'Brien was waiting to receive me. "Peter, my boy, I feel so much obliged to you, that if your uncle won't go out of the world by fair means, I'll pick a quarrel with him, and shoot him, on purpose that you may be a lord, as I am determined you shall be. Now come up into my room, where we'll be all alone, and I'll tell you all about the ship and our new captain. In the first place, we'll begin with the ship, as the most important personage of the two: she's a beauty, I forget her name before she was taken, but the French know how to build ships better than keep them. She's now called the _Sanglier_, which means a wild pig, and, by the powers! a _pig_ ship she is, as you will hear directly. The captain's name is a very short one, and wouldn't please Mr Chucks, consisting only of two letters, T and O, which makes To; his whole title is Captain John To. It would almost appear as if somebody had broken off the better half of his name, and only left him the commencement of it; but, however, it's a handy name to sign when he pays off his ship. And now I'll tell you what sort of a looking craft he is. He's built like a Dutch schuyt, great breadth of beam, and very square tuck. He applied to have the quarter galleries enlarged in the two last ships he commanded. He weighs about eighteen stone, rather more than less. He is a good-natured sort of a chap, amazingly ungenteel, not much of an officer, not much of a sailor, but a devilish good hand at the trencher. But he's only part of the concern; he has his wife on board, who is a red-herring sort of a lady, and very troublesome to boot. What makes her still more annoying is, that she has a _piano_ on board, very much out of _tune_, on which she plays very much out of _time_. Holystoning is music compared with her playing: even the captain's spaniel howls when she comes to the high notes; but she affects the fine lady, and always treats the officers with music when they dine in the cabin, which makes them very glad to get out of it." "But, O'Brien, I thought wives were not permitted on board." "Very true, but there's the worst part in the man's character: he knows that he is not allowed to take his wife to sea, and, in consequence, he never says she _is_ his wife, or presents her on shore to anybody. If any of the other captains ask how Mrs To is to-day? 'Why,' he replies, 'pretty well, I thank you;' but at the same time he gives a kind of smirk, as if to say, 'She is not my wife;' and although everybody knows that she is, yet he prefers that they should think otherwise, rather than be at the expense of keeping her on shore; for you know, Peter, that although there are regulations about wives, there are none with regard to other women." "But does his wife know this?" inquired I. "I believe, from my heart, she is a party to the whole transaction, for report says, that she would skin a flint if she could. She's always trying for presents from the officers, and, in fact, she commands the ship." "Really, O'Brien, this is not a very pleasant prospect." "Whist! wait a little; now I come to the wind-up. This Captain To is very partial to pig's _mate_, and we have as many live pigs on board as we have pigs of ballast. The first lieutenant is right mad about them. At the same time he allows no pigs but his own on board, that there may be no confusion. The manger is full of pigs; there are two cow-pens between the main-deck guns, drawn from the dock-yard, and converted into pig-pens. The two sheep-pens amidships are full of pigs, and the geese and turkey-coops are divided off into apartments for four _sows_ in the _family way_. Now, Peter, you see there's little or no expense in keeping pigs on board of a large frigate, with so much _pay_-soup and whole peas for them to eat, and this is the reason why he keeps them, for the devil a bit of any other stock has he on board. I presume he means to _milk_ one of the _old sows_ for breakfast when the ship sails. The first thing that he does in the morning, is to go round to his pigs with the butcher, feeling one, scratching the dirty ears of another, and then he classes them--his _bacon_ pigs, his _porkers_, his _breeding_ sows, and so on. The old boar is still at the stables of this inn, but I hear he is to come on board with the sailing orders: but he is very savage, and is therefore left on shore to the very last moment. Now really, Peter, what with the squealing of the pigs and his wife's piano, we are almost driven mad. I don't know which is the worse of the two; if you go aft you hear the one, if you go forward you hear the other, by way of variety, and that, they say, is charming. But, is it not shocking that such a beautiful frigate should be turned into a pig-sty, and that her main-deck should smell worse than a muckheap?" "But how does his wife like the idea of living only upon hog's flesh?" "She! Lord bless you, Peter! why, she looks as spare as a shark, and she has just the appetite of one, for she'll _bolt_ a four-pound piece of pork before it's well put on her plate." "Have you any more such pleasant intelligence to communicate, O'Brien?" "No, Peter; you have the worst of it. The lieutenants are good officers and pleasant messmates: the doctor is a little queer, and the purser thinks himself a wag; the master, an old north-countryman, who knows his duty, and takes his glass of grog. The midshipmen are a very genteel set of young men, and full of fun and frolic. I'll bet a wager there'll be a bobbery in the pig-sty before long, for they are ripe for mischief. Now, Peter, I hardly need say that my cabin and everything I have is at your service; and I think if we could only have a devil of a gale of wind, or a hard-fought action, to send the _pigs_ overboard and smash the _piano_, we should do very well." The next day I went on board, and was shown down into the cabin, to report my having joined. Mrs To, a tall thin woman, was at her piano; she rose, and asked me several questions--who my friends were--how much they allowed me a year, and many other questions, which I thought impertinent: but a captain's wife is allowed to take liberties. She then asked me if I was fond of music? That was a difficult question, as, if I said that I was, I should in all probability be obliged to hear it: if I said that I was not, I might have created a dislike in her. So I replied, that I was very fond of music on shore, when it was not interrupted by other noise. "Ah! then I perceive you are a real amateur, Mr Simple," replied the lady. Captain To then came out of the after-cabin, half-dressed. "Well, youngster, so you've joined us at last. Come and dine with us to-day? and, as you go down to your berth, desire the sentry to pass the word for the butcher; I want to speak with him." I bowed and retired. I was met in the most friendly manner by the officers and by my own messmates, who had been prepossessed in my favour by O'Brien, previous to my arrival. In our service you always find young men of the best families on board large frigates, they being considered the most eligible class of vessels; I found my messmates to be gentlemen, with one or two exceptions, but I never met so many wild young lads together. I sat down and ate some dinner with them, although I was to dine in the cabin, for the sea air made me hungry. "Don't you dine in the cabin, Simple?" said the caterer. "Yes," replied I. "Then don't eat any pork, my boy, now, for you'll have plenty there. Come, gentlemen, fill your glasses; we'll drink happiness to our new messmate, and pledging him, we pledge ourselves to try to promote it." "I'll just join you in that toast," said O'Brien, walking into the midshipmen's berth. "What is it you're drinking it in?" "Some of Collier's port, sir. Boy, bring a glass for Mr O'Brien." "Here's your health, Peter, and wishing you may keep out of a French prison this cruise. Mr Montague, as caterer, I will beg you will order another candle, that I may see what's on the table, and then perhaps I may find something I should like to pick a bit off." "Here's the fag end of a leg of mutton, Mr O'Brien, and there's a piece of boiled pork." "Then I'll just trouble you for a bit close to the knuckle. Peter, you dine in the cabin, so do I--the doctor refused." "Have you heard when we sail, Mr O'Brien?" inquired one of my messmates. "I heard at the admiral's office, that we were expected to be ordered round to Plymouth, and receive our orders there, either for the East or West Indies, they thought; and, indeed, the stores we have taken on board indicate that we are going foreign, but the captain's signal is just made, and probably the admiral has intelligence to communicate." In about an hour afterwards, the captain returned, looking very red and hot. He called the first lieutenant aside from the rest of the officers, who were on deck to receive him, and told him, that we were to start for Plymouth next morning; and the admiral had told him confidentially, that we were to proceed to the West Indies with a convoy, which was then collecting. He appeared to be very much alarmed at the idea of going to make a feast for the land crabs; and certainly, his gross habit of body rendered him very unfit for the climate. This news was soon spread through the ship, and there was of course no little bustle and preparation. The doctor, who had refused to dine in the cabin upon plea of being unwell, sent up to say, that he felt himself so much better, that he should have great pleasure to attend the summons, and he joined the first lieutenant, O'Brien, and me, as we walked in. We sat down to table; the covers were removed, and as the midshipmen prophesied, there was plenty of _pork_--mock-turtle soup, made out of a pig's head--a boiled leg of pork and peas-pudding--a roast spare-rib, with the crackling on--sausages and potatoes, and pig's pettitoes. I cannot say that I disliked my dinner, and I ate very heartily; but a roast sucking-pig came on as a second course, which rather surprised me; but what surprised me more, was the quantity devoured by Mrs To. She handed her plate from the boiled pork to the roast, asked for some pettitoes, tried the sausages, and finished with a whole plateful of sucking-pig and stuffing. We had an apple pie at the end, but as we had already eaten apple sauce with the roast pork, we did not care for it. The doctor, who abominated pork, ate pretty well, and was excessively attentive to Mrs To. "Will you not take a piece of the roast pig, doctor?" said the captain. "Why, really Captain To, as we are bound, by all reports, to a station where we must not venture upon pork, I think I will not refuse to take a piece, for I am very fond of it." "How do you mean?" inquired the captain and his lady, both in a breath. "Perhaps I may be wrongly informed," replied the doctor, "but I have heard that we were ordered to the West Indies; now, if so, everyone knows, that although you may eat salt pork there occasionally without danger, in all tropical climates, and especially the West Indies, two or three days' living upon this meat will immediately produce dysentery, which is always fatal in that climate." "Indeed!" exclaimed the captain. "You don't say so!" rejoined the lady. "I do indeed: and have always avoided the West Indies for that very reason--I am so fond of pork." The doctor then proceeded to give nearly one hundred instances of messmates and shipmen who had been attacked with dysentery, from the eating of fresh pork in the West Indies; and O'Brien, perceiving the doctor's drift, joined him, telling some most astonishing accounts of the dreadful effects of pork in a hot country. I think he said, that when the French were blockaded, previous to the surrender of Martinique, that, having nothing but pigs to eat, thirteen hundred out of seventeen hundred soldiers and officers died in the course of three weeks, and the others were so reduced by disease, that they were obliged to capitulate. The doctor then changed the subject, and talked about the yellow fever, and other diseases of the climate, so that, by his account, the West India islands were but hospitals to die in. Those most likely to be attacked, were men in full strong health. The spare men stood a better chance. This conversation was carried on until it was time to leave--Mrs To at last quite silent, and the captain gulping down his wine with a sigh. When we rose from the table, Mrs To did not ask us, as usual, to stay and hear a little music; she was, like her piano, not a little out of tune. "By the powers, doctor, you did that nately," said O'Brien, as we left the cabin. "O'Brien," said the doctor, "oblige me, and you, Mr Simple, oblige me also, by not saying a word in the ship about what I have said; if it once gets wind, I shall have done no good, but if you both hold your tongues for a short time, I think I may promise you to get rid of Captain To, his wife, and his pigs." We perceived the justice of his observation, and promised secrecy. The next morning the ship sailed for Plymouth, and Mrs To sent for the doctor, not being very well. The doctor prescribed for her, and I believe, on my conscience, made her worse on purpose. The illness of his wife, and his own fears, brought Captain To more than usual in contact with the doctor, of whom he frequently asked his candid opinion, as to his own chance in a hot country. "Captain To," said the doctor, "_I_ never would have given my opinion, if you had not asked it, for I am aware, that, as an officer, you would never flinch from your duty, to whatever quarter of the globe you may be ordered; but, as you have asked the question, I must say, with your full habit of body, I think you would not stand a chance of living for more than two months. At the same time, sir, I may be mistaken; but, at all events, I must point out that Mrs To is of a very bilious habit, and I trust you will not do such an injustice to an amiable woman, as to permit her to accompany you." "Thanky, doctor, I'm much obliged to you," replied the captain, turning round and going down the ladder to his cabin. We were then beating down the channel; for, although we ran through the Needles with a fair wind, it fell calm, and shifted to the westward, when we were abreast of Portland. The next day the captain gave an order for a very fine pig to be killed, for he was out of provisions. Mrs To still kept her bed, and he therefore directed that a part should be salted, as he could have no company. I was in the midshipman's berth, when some of them proposed that we should get possession of the pig; and the plan they agreed upon was as follows:--they were to go to the pen that night, and with a needle stuck in a piece of wood, to prick the pig all over, and then rub gunpowder into the parts wounded. This was done, and although the butcher was up a dozen times during the night to ascertain what made the pigs so uneasy, the midshipmen passed the needle from watch to watch, until the pig was well tattooed in all parts. In the morning watch it was killed, and when it had been scalded in the tub, and the hair taken off, it appeared covered with blue spots. The midshipman of the morning watch, who was on the main-deck, took care to point out to the butcher, that the pork was _measly_, to which the man unwillingly assented, stating, at the same time, that he could not imagine how it could be, for a finer pig he had never put a knife into. The circumstance was reported to the captain, who was much astonished. The doctor came in to visit Mrs To, and the captain requested the doctor to examine the pig, and give his opinion. Although this was not the doctor's province, yet, as he had great reason for keeping intimate with the captain, he immediately consented. Going forward, he met me, and I told him the secret. "That will do," replied he; "it all tends to what we wish." The doctor returned to the captain, and said, "that there was no doubt but that the pig was measly, which was a complaint very frequent on board ships, particularly in hot climates, where all pork became _measly_--one great reason for its there proving so unwholesome." The captain sent for the first lieutenant, and, with a deep sigh, ordered him to throw the pig overboard; but the first lieutenant, who knew what had been done from O'Brien, ordered the _master's mate_ to throw it overboard: the master's mate, touching his hat, said, "Ay, ay, sir," and took it down into the berth, where we cut it up, salted one half, and the other we finished before we arrived at Plymouth, which was six days from the time we left Portsmouth. On our arrival, we found part of the convoy lying there, but no orders for us; and, to my great delight, on the following day the _Diomede_ arrived, from a cruise off the Western Islands. I obtained permission to go on board with O'Brien, and we once more greeted our messmates. Mr Falcon, the first lieutenant, went down to Captain Savage, to say we were on board, and he requested us to come into the cabin. He greeted us warmly, and gave us great credit for the manner in which we had effected our escape. When we left the cabin, I found Mr Chucks, the boatswain, waiting outside. "My dear Mr Simple, extend your flapper to me, for I'm delighted to see you. I long to have a long talk with you." "And I should like it also, Mr Chucks, but I'm afraid we have not time; I dine with Captain Savage to-day, and it only wants an hour of dinner-time." "Well, Mr Simple, I've been looking at your frigate, and she's a beauty --much larger than the _Diomede_." "And she behaves quite as well," replied I. "I think we are two hundred tons larger. You've no idea of her size until you are on her decks." "I should like to be boatswain of her, Mr Simple; that is, with Captain Savage, for I will not part with him." I had some more conversation with Mr Chucks, but I was obliged to attend to others, who interrupted us. We had a very pleasant dinner with our old captain, to whom we gave a history of our adventures, and then we returned on board. Chapter XXVIII We get rid of the pigs and piano-forte--The last boat on shore before sailing--The First Lieutenant too hasty, and the consequences to me. We waited three days, at the expiration of which, we heard that Captain To was about to exchange with Captain Savage. We could not believe such good news to be true, and we could not ascertain the truth of the report, as the captain had gone on shore with Mrs To, who recovered fast after she was out of our doctor's hands; so fast, indeed, that a week afterwards, on questioning the steward, upon his return on board, how Mrs To was, he replied, "O charming well again, sir, she has eaten a _whole pig_, since she left the ship." But the report was true: Captain To, afraid to go to the West Indies, had effected an exchange with Captain Savage. Captain Savage was permitted, as was the custom of the service, to bring his first lieutenant, his boatswain, and his barge's crew with him. He joined a day or two before we sailed, and never was there more joy on board: the only people miserable were the first lieutenant, and those belonging to the _Sanglier_ who were obliged to follow Captain To; who, with his wife, his pigs, and her piano, were all got rid of in the course of one forenoon. I have already described pay-day on board of a man-of-war, but I think that the two days before sailing are even more unpleasant; although, generally speaking, all our money being spent, we are not sorry when we once are fairly out of harbour, and find ourselves in _blue water_. The men never work well on those days: they are thinking of their wives and sweethearts, of the pleasure they had when at liberty on shore, where they might get drunk without punishment; and many of them are either half drunk at the time, or suffering from the effects of previous intoxication. The ship is in disorder, and crowded with the variety of stock and spare stores which are obliged to be taken on board in a hurry, and have not yet been properly secured in their places. The first lieutenant is cross, the officers are grave, and the poor midshipmen, with all their own little comforts to attend to, are harassed and driven about like post-horses. "Mr Simple," inquired the first lieutenant, "where do you come from?" "From the gun wharf, sir, with the gunner's spare blocks, and breechings." "Very well--send the marines aft to clear the boat, and pipe away the first putter. Mr Simple, jump into the first cutter, and go to Mount Wise for the officers. Be careful that none of your men leave the boat. Come, be smart." Now, I had been away the whole morning, and it was then half-past one, and I had had no dinner: but I said nothing, and went into the boat. As soon as I was off, O'Brien, who stood by Mr Falcon, said, "Peter was thinking of his dinner, poor fellow!" "I really quite forgot it," replied the first lieutenant, "there is so much to do. He is a willing boy, and he shall dine in the gun-room when he comes back." And so I did--so I lost nothing by not expostulating, and gained more of the favour of the first lieutenant, who never forgot what he called _zeal_. But the hardest trial of the whole, is to the midshipman who is sent with the boat to purchase the supplies for the cabin and gun-room on the day before the ship's sailing. It was my misfortune to be ordered upon that service this time, and that very unexpectedly. I had been ordered to dress myself to take the gig on shore for the captain's orders, and was walking the deck with my very best uniform and side arms, when the marine officer, who was the gun-room caterer, came up to the first lieutenant, and asked him for a boat. The boat was manned, and a midshipman ordered to take charge of it; but when he came up, the first lieutenant recollecting that he had come off two days before with only half his boat's crew, would not trust him, and called out to me, "Here, Mr Simple, I must send you in this boat; mind you are careful that none of the men leave it; and bring off the sergeant of marines, who is on shore looking for the men who have broken their liberty." Although I could not but feel proud of the compliment, yet I did not much like going in my very best uniform, and would have run down and changed it, but the marine officer and all the people were in the boat, and I could not keep it waiting, so down the side I went, and we shoved off. We had, besides the boat's crew, the marine officer, the purser, the gun-room steward, the captain's steward, and the purser's steward; so that we were pretty full. It blew hard from the S.E., and there was a sea running, but as the tide was flowing into the harbour there was not much bubble. We hoisted the foresail, flew before the wind and tide, and in a quarter of an hour we were at Mutton Cove, when the marine officer expressed his wish to land. The landing-place was crowded with boats, and it was not without sundry exchanges of foul words and oaths, and the bow-men dashing the point of their boat-hooks into the shore-boats, to make them keep clear of us, that we forced our way to the beach. The marine officer and all the stewards then left the boat, and I had to look after the men. I had not been there three minutes before the bow-man said that his wife was on the wharf with his clothes from the wash, and begged leave to go and fetch them. I refused, telling him that she could bring them to him. "Vy now, Mr Simple," said the woman, "ar'n't you a nice lady's man, to go for to ax me to muddle my way through all the dead dogs, cabbage-stalks, and stinking hakes' heads, with my bran new shoes and clean stockings?" I looked at her, and sure enough she was, as they say in France, _bien chaussée_. "Come, Mr Simple, let him out to come for his clothes, and you'll see that he's back in a moment." I did not like to refuse her, as it was very dirty and wet, and the shingle was strewed with all that she had mentioned. The bow-man made a spring out with his boat-hook, threw it back, went up to his wife, and commenced talking with her, while I watched him. "If you please, sir, there's my young woman come down, mayn't I speak to her?" said another of the men. I turned round, and refused him. He expostulated, and begged very hard, but I was resolute; however, when I again turned my eyes to watch the bow-man, he and his wife were gone. "There," says I to the coxswain, "I knew it would be so; you see Hickman is off." "Only gone to take a parting glass, sir," replied the coxswain; "he'll be here directly." "I hope so; but I'm afraid not." After this, I refused all the solicitations of the men to be allowed to leave the boat, but I permitted them to have some beer brought down to them. The gun-room steward then came back with a basket of _soft-tack_, _i.e._ loaves of bread, and told me that the marine officer requested I would allow two of the men to go up with him to Glencross's shop, to bring down some of the stores. Of course, I sent two of the men, and told the steward if he saw Hickman, to bring him down to the boat. By this time many of the women belonging to the ship had assembled, and commenced a noisy conversation with the boat's crew. One brought an article for Jim, another some clothes for Bill; some of them climbed into the boat, and sat with the men; others came and went, bringing beer and tobacco, which the men desired them to purchase. The crowd, the noise, and confusion were so great, that it was with the utmost difficulty that I could keep my eyes on all my men, who, one after another, made an attempt to leave the boat. Just at that time came down the sergeant of the marines, with three of our men whom he had picked up, _roaring drunk_. They were tumbled into the boat, and increased the difficulty, as in looking after those who were riotous, and would try to leave the boat by force, I was not so well able to keep my eyes on those who were sober. The sergeant then went up after another man, and I told him also about Hickman. About half an hour afterwards the steward came down with the two men, loaded with cabbages, baskets of eggs, strings of onions, crockery of all descriptions, paper parcels of groceries, legs and shoulders of mutton, which were crowded in, until not only the stern-sheets, but all under the thwarts of the boat were also crammed full. They told me that they had a few more things to bring down, and that the marine officer had gone to Stonehouse to see his wife, so that they should be down long before him. In half an hour more, during which I had the greatest difficulty to manage the boat's crew, they returned with a dozen geese and two ducks, tied by the legs, but without the two men, who had given them the slip, so that there were now three men gone, and I knew Mr Falcon would be very angry, for they were three of the smartest men in the ship. I was now determined not to run the risk of losing more men, and I ordered the boat's crew to shove off, that I might lie at the wharf, where they could not climb up. They were very mutinous, grumbled very much, and would hardly obey me; the fact is, they had drunk a great deal, and some of them were more than half tipsy. However, at last I was obeyed, but not without being saluted with a shower of invectives from the women, and the execrations of the men belonging to the wherries and _shore_ boats which were washed against our sides by the swell. The weather had become much worse, and looked very threatening. I waited an hour more, when the sergeant of marines came down with two more men, one of whom, to my great joy, was Hickman. This made me more comfortable, as I was not answerable for the other two; still I was in great trouble from the riotous and insolent behaviour of the boat's crew, and the other men brought down by the sergeant of marines. One of them fell back into a basket of eggs, and smashed them all to atoms; still the marine officer did not come down, and it was getting late. The tide being now at the ebb, running out against the wind, there was a heavy sea, and I had to go off to the ship with a boat deeply laden, and most of the people in her in a state of intoxication. The coxswain, who was the only one who was sober, recommended our shoving off, as it would soon be dark, and some accident would happen. I reflected a minute, and agreeing with him, I ordered the oars to be got out, and we shoved off, the sergeant of marines and the gun-room steward perched up in the bows--drunken men, ducks and geese, lying together at the bottom of the boat--the stern sheets loaded up to the gunwale, and the other passengers and myself sitting how we could among the crockery and a variety of other articles with which the boat was crowded. It was a scene of much confusion--the half-drunken boat's crew _catching crabs_, and falling forward upon the others--those who were quite drunk swearing they _would_ pull. "Lay on your oar, Sullivan; you are doing more harm than good. You drunken rascal, I'll report you as soon as we get on board." "How the divil can I pull, your honour, when there's that fellow Jones breaking the very back o' me with his oar, and he never touching the water all the while?" "You lie," cried Jones; "I'm pulling the boat by myself against the whole of the larbard oars." "He's rowing _dry_, your honour--only making bilave." "Do you call this rowing dry?" cried another, as a sea swept over the boat, fore and aft, wetting everybody to the skin. "Now, your honour, just look and see if I ain't pulling the very arms off me?" cried Sullivan. "Is there water enough to cross the bridge, Swinburne?" said I to the coxswain. "Plenty, Mr Simple; it is but quarter ebb, and the sooner we are on board the better." We were now past Devil's Point, and the sea was very heavy: the boat plunged in the trough, so that I was afraid that she would break her back. She was soon half full of water, and the two after-oars were laid in for the men to bale. "Plase your honour, hadn't I better cut free the legs of them ducks and geese, and allow them to swim for their lives?" cried Sullivan, resting on his oar; "the poor birds will be drowned else in their own _iliment_." "No, no--pull away as hard as you can." By this time the drunken men in the bottom of the boat began to be very uneasy, from the quantity of water which washed about them, and made several staggering attempts to get on their legs. They fell down again upon the ducks and geese, the major part of which were saved from being drowned by being suffocated. The sea on the bridge was very heavy; and although the tide swept us out, we were nearly swamped. Soft bread was washing about the bottom of the boat; the parcels of sugar, pepper, and salt, were wet through with the salt water, and a sudden jerk threw the captain's steward, who was seated upon the gunwale close to the after-oar, right upon the whole of the crockery and eggs, which added to the mass of destruction. A few more seas shipped completed the job, and the gun-room steward was in despair. "That's a darling," cried Sullivan: "the politest boat in the whole fleet. She makes more bows and curtseys than the finest couple in the land. Give way, my lads, and work the crater stuff out of your elbows, and the first lieutenant will see us all so sober, and so wet in the bargain, and think we're all so dry, that perhaps he'll be after giving us a raw nip when we get on board." In a quarter of an hour we were nearly alongside, but the men pulled so badly, and the sea was so great, that we missed the ship and went astern. They veered out a buoy with a line, which we got hold of, and were hauled up by the marines and after-guard, the boat plunging bows under, and drenching us through and through. At last we got under the counter, and I climbed up by the stern ladder. Mr Falcon was on deck, and very angry at the boat not coming alongside properly. "I thought, Mr Simple, that you knew by this time how to bring a boat alongside." "So I do, sir, I hope," replied I; "but the boat was so full of water, and the men would not give way." "What men has the sergeant brought on board?" "Three, sir," replied I, shivering with the cold, and unhappy at my very best uniform being spoiled. "Are all your boat's crew with you, sir?" "No sir; there are two left on shore; they--" "Not a word, sir. Up to the mast-head, and stay there till I call you down. If it were not so late, I would send you on shore, and not receive you on board again without the men. Up, sir, immediately." I did not venture to explain, but up I went. It was very cold, blowing hard from the S.E., with heavy squalls; I was so wet that the wind appeared to blow through me, and it was now nearly dark. I reached the cross-trees, and when I was seated there, I felt that I had done my duty, and had not been fairly treated. During this time, the boat had been hauled up alongside to clear, and a pretty clearance there was. All the ducks and geese were dead, the eggs and crockery all broke, the grocery almost all washed away; in short, as O'Brien observed, there was "a very pretty general average." Mr Falcon was still very angry. "Who are the men missing?" inquired he, of Swinburne, the coxswain, as he came up the side. "Williams and Sweetman, sir." "Two of the smartest topmen, I am told. It really is too provoking; there is not a midshipman in the ship I can trust. I must work all day, and get no assistance. The service is really going to the devil now, with the young men who are sent on board to be brought up as officers, and who are above doing their duty. What made you so late, Swinburne?" "Waiting for the marine officer, who went to Stonehouse to see his wife; but Mr Simple would not wait any longer, as it was getting dark, and we had so many drunken men in the boat." "Mr Simple did right. I wish Mr Harrison would stay on shore with his wife altogether--it's really trifling with the service. Pray, Mr Swinburne, why had you not your eyes about you if Mr Simple was so careless? How came you to allow these men to leave the boat?" "The men were ordered up by the marine officer to bring down your stores, sir, and they gave the steward the slip. It was no fault of Mr Simple's, nor of mine either. We lay off at the wharf for two hours before we started, or we should have lost more; for what can a poor lad do, when he has charge of drunken men who _will not_ obey orders?" And the coxswain looked up at the mast-head, as much as to say, Why is he sent there? "I'll take my oath, sir," continued Swinburne, "that Mr Simple never put his foot out of the boat, from the time that he went over the side until he came on board, and that no young gentleman could have done his duty more strictly." Mr Falcon looked very angry at first at the coxswain speaking so freely, but he said nothing. He took one or two turns on the deck, and then hailing the mast-head, desired me to come down. But I _could not_; my limbs were so cramped with the wind blowing upon my wet clothes, that I could not move. He hailed again; I heard him, but was not able to answer. One of the topmen then came up, and perceiving my condition, hailed the deck, and said he believed I was dying, for I could not move, and that he dared not leave me for fear I should fall. O'Brien, who had been on deck all the while, jumped up the rigging, and was soon at the cross-trees where I was. He sent the topman down into the top for a tail-block and the studding-sail haulyards, made a whip, and lowered me on deck. I was immediately put into my hammock; and the surgeon ordering me some hot brandy-and-water, and plenty of blankets, in a few hours I was quite restored. O'Brien, who was at my bedside, said, "Never mind, Peter, and don't be angry with Mr Falcon, for he is very sorry." "I am not angry, O'Brien; for Mr Falcon has been too kind to me not to make me forgive him for being once hasty." The surgeon came to my hammock, gave me some more hot drink, desired me to go to sleep, and I woke the next morning quite well. When I came into the berth, my messmates asked me how I was, and many of them railed against the tyranny of Mr Falcon; but I took his part, saying, that he was hasty in this instance, perhaps, but that, generally speaking, he was an excellent and very just officer. Some agreed with me, but others did not. One of them, who was always in disgrace, sneered at me, and said, "Peter reads the Bible, and knows that if you smite one cheek, he must offer the other. Now, I'll answer for it, if I pull his right ear he will offer me his left." So saying, he lugged me by the ear, upon which I knocked him down for his trouble. The berth was then cleared away for a fight, and in a quarter of an hour my opponent gave in; but I suffered a little, and had a very black eye. I had hardly time to wash myself and change my shirt, which was bloody, when I was summoned on the quarter-deck. When I arrived, I found Mr Falcon walking up and down. He looked very hard at me, but did not ask me any questions as to the cause of my unusual appearance. "Mr Simple," said he, "I sent for you to beg your pardon for my behaviour to you last night, which was not only very hasty but very unjust. I find that you were not to blame for the loss of the men." I felt very sorry for him when I heard him speak so handsomely; and, to make his mind more easy, I told him that, although I certainly was not to blame for the loss of those two men, still I had done wrong in permitting Hickman to leave the boat; and that had not the sergeant picked him up, I should have come off without him, and therefore I _did_ deserve the punishment which I had received. "Mr Simple," replied Mr Falcon, "I respect you, and admire your feelings; still, I was to blame, and it is my duty to apologise. Now go down below. I would have requested the pleasure of your company to dinner, but I perceive that something else has occurred, which, under any other circumstances, I would have inquired into, but at present I shall not." I touched my hat and went below. In the meantime, O'Brien had been made acquainted with the occasion of the quarrel, which he did not fail to explain to Mr Falcon, who, O'Brien declared, "was not the least bit in the world angry with me for what had occurred." Indeed, after that, Mr Falcon always treated me with the greatest kindness, and employed me on every duty which he considered of consequence. He was a sincere friend; for he did not allow me to neglect my duty, but, at the same time, treated me with consideration and confidence. The marine officer came on board very angry at being left behind, and talked about a court-martial on me for disrespect, and neglect of stores entrusted to my charge; but O'Brien told me not to mind him, or what he said. "It's my opinion, Peter, that the gentleman has eaten no small quantity of _flap-doodle_ in his lifetime." "What's that, O'Brien?" replied I; "I never heard of it." "Why, Peter," rejoined he, "it's the stuff they _feed fools on_." Chapter XXIX A long conversation with Mr Chucks--The advantage of having a prayer-book in your pocket--We run down the trades--Swinburne, the quartermaster, and his yarns--The Captain falls sick. The next day the captain came on board with sealed orders, with directions not to open them until off Ushant. In the afternoon, we weighed and made sail. It was a fine northerly wind, and the Bay of Biscay was smooth. We bore up, set all the studding-sails, and ran along at the rate of eleven miles an hour. As I could not appear on the quarter-deck, I was put down on the sick-list. Captain Savage, who was very particular, asked what was the matter with me. The surgeon replied, "An inflamed eye." The captain asked no more questions; and I took care to keep out of his way. I walked in the evening on the forecastle, when I renewed my intimacy with Mr Chucks, the boatswain, to whom I gave a full narrative of all my adventures in France. "I have been ruminating, Mr Simple," said he, "how such a stripling as you could have gone through so much fatigue, and now I know how it is. It is _blood_, Mr Simple--all blood--you are descended from good blood; and there's as much difference between nobility and the lower classes, as there is between a racer and a cart-horse." "I cannot agree with you, Mr Chucks. Common people are quite as brave as those who are well-born. You do not mean to say that you are not brave-- that the seamen on board this ship are not brave?" "No, no, Mr Simple; but as I observed about myself, my mother was a woman who could not be trusted, and there is no saying who was my father; and she was a very pretty woman to boot, which levels all distinctions for the moment. As for the seamen, God knows, I should do them an injustice if I did not acknowledge that they were as brave as lions. But there are two kinds of bravery, Mr Simple--the bravery of the moment, and the courage of bearing up for a long while. Do you understand me?" "I think I do; but still do not agree with you. Who will bear more fatigue than our sailors?" "Yes, yes, Mr Simple, that is because they are _endured_ to it from their hard life: but if the common sailors were all such little thread-papers as you, and had been brought up so carefully, they would not have gone through all you have. That's my opinion, Mr Simple-- there's nothing like _blood_." "I think, Mr Chucks, you carry your ideas on that subject too far." "I do not, Mr Simple; and I think, moreover, that he who has more to lose than another will always strive more. Now a common man only fights for his own credit; but when a man is descended from a long line of people famous in history, and has a coat _in_ arms, criss-crossed, and stuck all over with lions and unicorns to support the dignity of--why, has he not to fight for the credit of all his ancestors, whose names would be disgraced if he didn't behave well?" "I agree with you, Mr Chucks, in the latter remark, to a certain extent." "Ah! Mr Simple, we never know the value of good descent when we have it, but it's when we cannot get it that we can _'preciate_ it. I wish I had been born a nobleman--I do, by heavens!" and Mr Chucks slapped his fist against the funnel, so as to make it ring again. "Well, Mr Simple," continued he, after a pause, "it is, however, a great comfort to me that I have parted company with that fool, Mr Muddle, with his twenty-six thousand and odd years, and that old woman, Dispart, the gunner. You don't know how those two men used to fret me; it was very silly, but I couldn't help it. Now the warrant officers of this ship appear to be very respectable, quiet men, who know their duty and attend to it, and are not too familiar, which I hate and detest. You went home to your friends, of course, when you arrived in England?" "I did, Mr Chucks, and spent some days with my grandfather, Lord Privilege, whom you say you once met at dinner." "Well, and how was the old gentleman?" inquired the boatswain, with a sigh. "Very well, considering his age." "Now do, pray, Mr Simple, tell me all about it; from the time that the servants met you at the door until you went away. Describe to me the house and all the rooms, for I like to hear of all these things, although I can never see them again." To please Mr Chucks, I entered into a full detail, which he listened to very attentively, until it was late, and then with difficulty would he permit me to leave off, and go down to my hammock. The next day, rather a singular circumstance occurred. One of the midshipmen was mast-headed by the second lieutenant, for not waiting on deck until he was relieved. He was down below when he was sent for, and expecting to be punished from what the quarter-master told him, he thrust the first book into his jacket-pocket which he could lay his hand on, to amuse himself at the mast-head, and then ran on deck. As he surmised, he was immediately ordered aloft. He had not been there more than five minutes, when a sudden squall carried away the main-top-gallant mast, and away he went flying over to leeward (for the wind had shifted, and the yards were now braced up). Had he gone overboard, as he could not swim, he would, in all probability, have been drowned; but the book in his pocket brought him up in the jaws of the fore-brace block, where he hung until taken out by the main-topmen. Now it so happened that it was a prayer-book which he had laid hold of in his hurry, and those who were superstitious declared it was all owing to his having taken a religious book with him. I did not think so, as any other book would have answered the purpose quite as well: still the midshipman himself thought so, and it was productive of good, as he was a sad scamp, and behaved much better afterwards. But I had nearly forgotten to mention a circumstance which occurred on the day of our sailing, which will be eventually found to have had a great influence upon my after life. It was this. I received a letter from my father, evidently written in great vexation and annoyance, informing me that my uncle, whose wife I have already mentioned had two daughters, and was again expected to be confined, had suddenly broken up his housekeeping, discharged every servant, and proceeded to Ireland under an assumed name. No reason had been given for this unaccountable proceeding; and not even my grandfather, or any of the members of the family, had had notice of his intention. Indeed, it was by mere accident that his departure was discovered, about a fortnight after it had taken place. My father had taken a great deal of pains to find out where he was residing; but although my uncle was traced to Cork, from that town all clue was lost, but still it was supposed, from inquiries, that he was not very far from thence. "Now," observed my father, in his letter, "I cannot help surmising, that my brother, in his anxiety to retain the advantages of the title to his own family, has resolved to produce to the world a spurious child as his own, by some contrivance or other. His wife's health is very bad, and she is not likely to have a large family. Should the one now expected prove a daughter, there is little chance of his ever having another; and I have no hesitation in declaring my conviction that the measure has been taken with a view of defrauding you of your chance of eventually being called to the House of Lords." I showed this letter to O'Brien, who, after reading it over two or three times, gave his opinion that my father was right in his conjectures "Depend upon it, Peter, there's foul play intended, that is, if foul play is rendered necessary." "But, O'Brien, I cannot imagine why, if my uncle has no son of his own, he should prefer acknowledging a son of any other person's, instead of his own nephew." "But I can, Peter: your uncle is not a man likely to live very long, as you know. The doctors say that, with his short neck, his life is not worth two years' purchase. Now if he had a son, consider that his daughters would be much better off, and much more likely to get married; besides, there are many reasons which I won't talk about now, because it's no use making you think your uncle to be a scoundrel. But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go down to my cabin directly, and write to Father M'Grath, telling him the whole affair, and desiring him to ferret him out, and watch him narrowly, and I'll bet you a dozen of claret, that in less than a week he'll find him out, and will dog him to the last. He'll get hold of his Irish servants, and you little know the power that a priest has in our country. Now give the description as well as you can of your uncle's appearance, also of that of his wife, and the number of their family, and their ages. Father M'Grath must have all particulars, and then let him alone for doing what is needful." I complied with O'Brien's directions as well as I could, and he wrote a very long letter to Father M'Grath, which was sent on shore by a careful hand. I answered my father's letter, and then thought no more about the matter. Our sealed orders were opened, and proved our destination to be the West Indies, as we expected. We touched at Madeira to take in some wine for the ship's company; but as we only remained one day, we were not permitted to go on shore. Fortunate indeed would it have been if we had never gone there; for the day after, our captain, who had dined with the consul, was taken alarmingly ill. From the symptoms, the surgeon dreaded that he had been poisoned by something which he had eaten, and which most probably had been cooked in a copper vessel not properly tinned. We were all very anxious that he should recover; but, on the contrary, he appeared to grow worse and worse every day, wasting away, and dying, as they say, by inches. At last he was put into his cot, and never rose from it again. This melancholy circumstance, added to the knowledge that we were proceeding to an unhealthy climate, caused a gloom throughout the ship; and, although the trade wind carried us along bounding over the bright blue sea--although the weather was now warm, yet not too warm--although the sun rose in splendour, and all was beautiful and cheering, the state of the captain's health was a check to all mirth. Every one trod the deck softly, and spoke in a low voice, that he might not be disturbed; all were anxious to have the morning report of the surgeon, and our conversation was generally upon the sickly climate, the yellow fever, of death, and the palisades where they buried us. Swinburne, the quarter-master, was in my watch, and as he had been long in the West Indies, I used to obtain all the information from him that I could. The old fellow had a secret pleasure in frightening me as much as he could. "Really, Mr Simple, you ax so many questions," he would say, as I accosted him while he was at his station at the _conn_, "I wish you wouldn't ax so many questions, and make yourself uncomfortable --'steady so'--'steady it is;'--with regard to Yellow Jack, as we calls the yellow fever, it's a devil incarnate, that's sartain--you're well and able to take your allowance in the morning, and dead as a herring 'fore night. First comes a bit of a head-ache--you goes to the doctor, who bleeds you like a pig--then you go out of your senses--then up comes the black vomit, and then it's all over with you, and you go to the land crabs, who pick your bones as clean and as white as a sea elephant's tooth. But there be one thing to be said in favour of Yellow Jack, a'ter all. You dies _straight,_ like a gentleman--not cribbled up like a snow-fish, chucked out on the ice of the river St Lawrence, with your knees up to your nose, or your toes stuck into your arm-pits, as does take place in some of your foreign complaints; but straight, quite straight, and limber, like a _gentleman_. Still Jack is a little mischievous, that's sartain. In the Euridiscy we had as fine a ship's company as was ever piped aloft--'Steady, starboard, my man, you're half-a-pint off your course;'--we dropped our anchor in Port Royal, and we thought that there was mischief brewing, for thirty-eight sharks followed the ship into the harbour, and played about us day and night. I used to watch them during the night watch, as their fins, above water, skimmed along, leaving a trail of light behind them; and the second night I said to the sentry abaft, as I was looking at them smelling under the counter--'Soldier,' says I, 'them sharks are mustering under the orders of Yellow Jack,' and I no sooner mentioned Yellow Jack, than the sharks gave a frisky plunge, every one of them, as much as to say, 'Yes, so we are, d----n your eyes.' The soldier was so frightened that he would have fallen overboard, if I hadn't caught him by the scruff of the neck, for he was standing on the top of the taffrail. As it was, he dropped his musket over the stern, which the sharks dashed at from every quarter, making the sea look like fire--and he had it charged to his wages, £1 16s. I think. However, the fate of his musket gave him an idea of what would have happened to him if he had fallen in instead of it-- and he never got on the taffrail again. 'Steady, port--mind your helm, Smith--you can listen to my yarn all the same.' Well, Mr Simple, Yellow Jack came, sure enough. First the purser was called to account for all his roguery. We didn't care much about the land crabs eating him, who had made so many poor dead men chew tobacco, cheating their wives and relations, or Greenwich Hospital, as it might happen. Then went two of the middies, just about your age, Mr Simple: they, poor fellows, went off in a sad hurry; then went the master--and so it went on, till at last we had no more nor sixty men left in the ship. The captain died last, and then Yellow Jack had filled his maw, and left the rest of us alone. As soon as the captain died, all the sharks left the ship, and we never saw any more of them." Such were the yarns told to me and the other midshipmen during the night watches; and I can assure the reader, that they gave us no small alarm. Every day that we worked our day's work, and found ourselves so much nearer to the islands, did we feel as if we were so much nearer to our graves. I once spoke to O'Brien about it, and he laughed. "Peter," says he, "fear kills more people than the yellow fever, or any other complaint, in the West Indies. Swinburne is an old rogue, and only laughing at you. The devil's not half so black as he's painted--nor the yellow fever half so yellow, I presume." We were now fast nearing the island of Barbadoes, the weather was beautiful, the wind always fair; the flying fish rose in shoals, startled by the foaming seas, which rolled away, and roared from the bows as our swift frigate cleaved through the water; the porpoises played about us in thousands--the bonetas and dolphins at one time chased the flying fish, and at others, appeared to be delighted in keeping company with the rapid vessel. Everything was beautiful, and we all should have been happy, had it not been for the state of Captain Savage, in the first place, who daily became worse and worse, and from the dread of the hell, which we were about to enter through such a watery paradise. Mr Falcon, who was in command, was grave and thoughtful; he appeared indeed to be quite miserable at the chance which would insure his own promotion. In every attention, and every care that could be taken to insure quiet and afford relief to the captain, he was unremitting; the offence of making a noise was now, with him, a greater crime than drunkenness, or even mutiny. When within three days' sail of Barbadoes, it fell almost calm, and the captain became much worse; and now for the first time did we behold the great white shark of the Atlantic. There are several kinds of sharks, but the most dangerous are the great white shark and the ground shark. The former grows to an enormous length--the latter is seldom very long, not more than twelve feet, but spreads to a great breadth. We could not hook the sharks as they played around us, for Mr Falcon would not permit it, lest the noise of hauling them on board should disturb the captain. A breeze again sprang up. In two days we were close to the island, and the men were desired to look out for the land. Chapter XXX Death of Captain Savage--His funeral--Specimen of true Barbadian born-- Sucking the monkey--Effects of a hurricane. The next morning, having hove-to part of the night, land was discovered on the bow, and was reported by the mast-head man at the same moment that the surgeon came up and announced the death of our noble captain. Although it had been expected for the last two or three days, the intelligence created a heavy gloom throughout the ship; the men worked in silence, and spoke to one another in whispers. Mr Falcon was deeply affected, and so were we all. In the course of the morning, we ran in to the island, and unhappy as I was, I never can forget the sensation of admiration which I felt on closing with Needham Point to enter Carlisle Bay. The beach of such a pure dazzling white, backed by the tall, green cocoa-nut trees, waving their spreading heads to the fresh breeze, the dark blue of the sky, and the deeper blue of the transparent sea, occasionally varied into green as we passed by the coral rocks which threw their branches out from the bottom--the town opening to our view by degrees, houses after houses, so neat, with their green jalousies, dotting the landscape, the fort with the colours flying, troops of officers riding down, a busy population of all colours, relieved by the whiteness of their dress. Altogether the scene realised my first ideas of Fairyland, for I thought I had never witnessed anything so beautiful. "And can this be such a dreadful place as it is described?" thought I. The sails were clewed up, the anchor was dropped to the bottom, and a salute from the ship, answered by the forts, added to the effect of the scene. The sails were furled, the boats lowered down, the boatswain squared the yards from the jolly-boat ahead. Mr Falcon dressed, and his boat being manned, went on shore with the despatches. Then, as soon as the work was over, a new scene of delight presented itself to the sight of midshipmen who had been so long upon his Majesty's allowance. These were the boats, which crowded round the ship, loaded with baskets of bananas, oranges, shaddocks, soursops, and every other kind of tropical fruit, fried flying fish, eggs, fowls, milk, and everything which could tempt a poor boy after a long sea voyage. The watch being called, down we all hastened into the boats, and returned loaded with treasures, which we soon contrived to make disappear. After stowing away as much fruit as would have sufficed for a dessert to a dinner given to twenty people in England, I returned on deck. There was no other man-of-war in the bay; but my attention was directed to a beautiful little vessel, a schooner, whose fairy form contrasted strongly with a West India trader which lay close to her. All of a sudden, as I was looking at her beautiful outline, a yell rose from her which quite startled me, and immediately afterwards her deck was covered with nearly two hundred naked figures with woolly heads, chattering and grinning at each other. She was a Spanish slaver, which had been captured, and had arrived the evening before. The slaves were still on board, waiting the orders of the governor. They had been on deck about ten minutes, when three or four men, with large panama straw hats on their heads, and long rattans in their hands, jumped upon the gunnel, and in a few seconds drove them all down below. I then turned round, and observed a black woman who had just climbed up the side of the frigate. O'Brien was on deck, and she walked up to him in the most consequential manner. "How do you do, sar? Very happy you com back again," said she to O'Brien. "I'm very well, I thank you, ma'am," replied O'Brien, "and I hope to go back the same; but never having put my foot into this bay before, you have the advantage of me." "Nebber here before, so help me Gad! me tink I know you--me tink I recollect your handsome face--I Lady Rodney, sar. Ah, piccaninny buccra! how you do?" said she, turning round to me. "Me hope to hab the honour to wash for you, sar," courtesying to O'Brien. "What do you charge in this place?" "All the same price, one bit a piece." "What do you call a bit?" inquired I. "A bit, lilly massa?--what you call um _bit_? Dem four _sharp shins_ to a pictareen." Our deck was now enlivened by several army officers, besides gentlemen residents, who came off to hear the news. Invitations to the mess and to the houses of the gentlemen followed, and as they departed Mr Falcon returned on board. He told O'Brien and the other officers, that the admiral and squadron were expected in a few days, and that we were to remain in Carlisle Bay and refit immediately. But although the fright about the yellow fever had considerably subsided in our breasts, the remembrance that our poor captain was lying dead in the cabin was constantly obtruding. All that night the carpenters were up making up his coffin, for he was to be buried the next day. The body is never allowed to remain many hours unburied in the tropical climates, where putrefaction is so rapid. The following morning the men were up at daylight, washing the decks and putting the ship in order; they worked willingly, and yet with a silent decorum which showed what their feelings were. Never were the decks better cleaned, never were the ropes more carefully _flemished_ down; the hammocks were stowed in their white cloths, the yards carefully squared, and the ropes hauled taut. At eight o'clock, the colours and pennant were hoisted half-mast high. The men were then ordered down to breakfast, and to clean themselves. During the time that the men were at breakfast, all the officers went into the cabin to take a last farewell look at our gallant captain. He appeared to have died without pain, and there was a beautiful tranquillity in his face; but even already a change had taken place, and we perceived the necessity of his being buried so soon. We saw him placed in his coffin, and then quitted the cabin without speaking to each other. When the coffin was nailed down, it was brought up by the barge's crew to the quarter-deck, and laid upon the gratings amidships, covered over with the Union Jack. The men came up from below without waiting for the pipe, and a solemnity appeared to pervade every motion. Order and quiet were universal, out of respect to the deceased. When the boats were ordered to be manned, the men almost appeared to steal into them. The barge received the coffin, which was placed in the stern sheets. The other boats then hauled up, and received the officers, marines, and sailors, who were to follow the procession. When all was ready, the barge was shoved off by the bow-men, the crew dropped their oars into the water without a splash and pulled the _minute stroke:_ the other boats followed, and as soon as they were clear of the ship, the minute guns boomed along the smooth surface of the bay from the opposite side of the ship, while the yards were topped to starboard and to port, the ropes were slackened and hung in bights, so as to give the idea of distress and neglect. At the same time, a dozen or more of the men who had been ready, dropped over the sides of the ship in differents [sic] parts, and with their cans of paint and brushes in a few minutes effaced the whole of the broad white riband which marked the beautiful run of the frigate, and left her all black and in deep mourning. The guns from the forts now responded to our own. The merchant ships lowered their colours, and the men stood up respectfully with their hats off, as the procession moved slowly to the landing-place. The coffin was borne to the burial-ground by the crew of the barge, followed by Mr Falcon as chief mourner, all the officers of the ship who could be spared, one hundred of the seamen walking two and two, and the marines with their arms reversed. The _cortege_ was joined by the army officers, while the troops lined the streets, and the bands played the Dead March. The service was read, the volleys were fired over the grave, and with oppressed feelings we returned to the boats, and pulled on board. It then appeared to me, and to a certain degree I was correct, that as soon as we had paid our last respect to his remains, we had also forgotten our grief. The yards were again squared, the ropes hauled taut, working dresses resumed, and all was activity and bustle. The fact is, that sailors and soldiers have no time for lamentation, and running as they do from clime to clime, so does scene follow scene in the same variety and quickness. In a day or two, the captain appeared to be, although he was not, forgotten. Our first business was to _water_ the ship by rafting and towing off the casks. I was in charge of the boat again, with Swinburne as coxswain. As we pulled in, there were a number of negroes bathing in the surf, bobbing their woolly heads under it, as it rolled into the beach. "Now, Mr Simple," said Swinburne, "see how I'll make them _niggers_ scamper." He then stood up in the stern sheets, and pointing with his finger, roared out, "A shark! a shark!" Away started all the bathers for the beach, puffing and blowing, from their dreaded enemy; nor did they stop to look for him until they were high and dry out of his reach. Then, when we all laughed, they called us "_all the hangman tiefs_," and every other opprobrious name which they could select from their vocabulary. I was very much amused with this scene, and as much afterwards with the negroes who crowded round us when we landed. They appeared such merry fellows, always laughing, chattering, singing, and showing their white teeth. One fellow danced round us, snapping his fingers, and singing songs without beginning or end. "Eh, massa, what you say now? Me no slave--true Barbadian born, sir. Eh! "Nebba see de day Dat Rodney run away, Nebba see um night Dat Rodney cannot fight. Massa me free man, sar. Suppose you give me pictareen, drink massa health. "Nebba see de day, boy, Pompey lickum de Caesar. Eh! and you nebba see de day dat de Grasshopper run on de Warrington." "Out of the way, you nigger," cried one of the men who was rolling down a cask. "Eh! who you call nigger? Me free man, and true Barbadian born. Go along you man-of-war man. "Man-of-war, buccra, Man-of-war, buccra, He de boy for me; Sodger, buccra, Sodger, buccra, Nebba, nebba do, Nebba, nebba do for me; Sodger give me one shilling, Sailor give me two. Massa, now suppose you give me only one pictareen now. You really handsome young gentleman." "Now, just walk off," said Swinburne, lifting up a stick he found on the beach. "Eh! walk off. "Nebba see de day, boy, 'Badian run away, boy. Go, do your work, sar. Why you talk to me? Go, work, sar. I free man, and real Barbadian born. "Negro on de shore See de ship come in, De buccra come on shore, Wid de hand up to the chin; Man-of-war buccra, Man-of-war buccra, He de boy for me, Man-of-war, buccra, Man-of-war, buccra, Gib pictareen to me." At this moment my attention was directed to another negro, who lay on the beach rolling and foaming at the mouth, apparently in a fit. "What's the matter with that fellow?" said I to the same negro who continued close to me, notwithstanding Swinburne's stick. "Eh! call him Sam Slack, massa. He ab um _tic tic_ fit." And such was apparently the case. "Stop, me cure him;" and he snatched the stick out of Swinburne's hand, and running up to the man, who continued to roll on the beach, commenced belabouring him without mercy. "Eh, Sambo!" cried he at last, quite out of breath, "you no better yet--try again." He recommenced, until at last the man got up and ran away as fast as he could. Now, whether the man was shamming, or whether it was real _tic tic_, or epileptic fit, I know not; but I never heard of such a cure for it before. I threw the fellow half a pictareen, as much for the amusement he had afforded me as to get rid of him. "Tanky, massa; now man-of-war man, here de tick for you again to keep off all the dam niggers." So saying, he handed the stick to Swinburne, made a polite bow, and departed. We were, however, soon surrounded by others, particularly some dingy ladies with baskets of fruit, and who, as they said, "sell ebery ting." I perceived that my sailors were very fond of cocoa-nut milk, which, being a harmless beverage, I did not object to their purchasing from these ladies, who had chiefly cocoa-nuts in their baskets. As I had never tasted it, I asked them what it was, and bought a cocoa-nut. I selected the largest. "No, massa, dat not good for you. Better one for buccra officer." I then selected another, but the same objection was made. "No, massa, dis very fine milk. Very good for de tomac." I drank off the milk from the holes on the top of the cocoa-nut, and found it very refreshing. As for the sailors, they appeared very fond of it indeed. But I very soon found that if good for de tomac, it was not very good for the head, as my men, instead of rolling the casks, began to roll themselves in all directions, and when it was time to go off to dinner, most of them were dead drunk at the bottom of the boat. They insisted that it was the _sun_ which affected them. Very hot it certainly was, and I believed them at first, when they were only giddy; but I was convinced to the contrary when I found that they became insensible; yet how they had procured the liquor was to me a mystery. When I came on board, Mr Falcon, who, although acting captain, continued his duties as first lieutenant almost as punctually as before, asked how it was that I had allowed my men to get so tipsy. I assured him that I could not tell, that I had never allowed one to leave the watering-place, or to buy any liquor: the only thing that they had to drink was a little cocoa-nut milk, which, as it was so very hot, I thought there could be no objection to. Mr Falcon smiled and said, "Mr Simple, I'm an old stager in the West Indies, and I'll let you into a secret. Do you know what '_sucking the monkey_' means?" "No, sir." "Well, then, I'll tell you; it is a term used among seamen for drinking _rum_ out of _cocoa-nuts,_ the milk having been poured out, and the liquor substituted. Now do you comprehend why your men are tipsy?" I stared with all my eyes, for it never would have entered into my head; and I then perceived why it was that the black woman would not give me the first cocoa-nuts which I selected. I told Mr Falcon of this circumstance, who replied, "Well, it was not your fault, only you must not forget it another time." It was my first watch that night, and Swinburne was quarter-master on deck. "Swinburne," said I, "you have often been in the West Indies before, why did you not tell me that the men were '_sucking the monkey_' when I thought that they were only drinking cocoa-nut milk?" Swinburne chuckled, and answered, "Why, Mr Simple, d'ye see, it didn't become me as a ship-mate to peach. It's but seldom that a poor fellow has an opportunity of making himself a 'little happy,' and it would not be fair to take away the chance. I suppose you'll never let them have cocoa-nut milk again?" "No, that I will not; but I cannot imagine what pleasure they can find in getting so tipsy." "It's merely because they are not allowed to be so, sir. That's the whole story in few words." "Well, I think I could cure them if I were permitted to try." "I should like to hear how you'd manage that, Mr Simple." "Why, I would oblige a man to drink off a half pint of liquor, and then put him by himself. I would not allow him companions to make merry with so as to make a pleasure of intoxication. I would then wait until next morning when he was sober, and leave him alone with a racking headache until the evening, when I would give him another dose, and so on, forcing him to get drunk until he hated the smell of liquor." "Well, Mr Simple, it might do with some, but many of our chaps would require the dose you mention to be repeated pretty often before it would effect a cure; and what's more, they'd be very willing patients, and make no wry faces at their physic." "Well, that might be, but it would cure them at last. But tell me, Swinburne, were you ever in a hurricane?" "I've been in everything, Mr Simple, I believe, except at school, and I never had no time to go there. Do you see that battery at Needham Point? Well, in the hurricane of '82, them same guns were whirled away by the wind, right over to this point here on the opposite side, the sentries in their sentry-boxes after them. Some of the soldiers who faced the wind had their teeth blown down their throats like broken 'baccy-pipes, others had their heads turned round like dog vanes, 'cause they waited for orders to the '_right about face_,' and the whole air was full of young _niggers_ blowing about like peelings of _ingons_." "You don't suppose I believe all this, Swinburne?" "That's as may be, Mr Simple, but I've told the story so often, that I believe it myself." "What ship were you in?" "In the _Blanche_, Captain Faulkner, who was as fine a fellow as poor Captain Savage, whom we buried yesterday; there could not be a finer than either of them. I was at the taking of the Pique, and carried him down below after he had received his mortal wound. We did a pretty thing out here when we took Fort Royal by a coup-de-_main_, which means, boarding from the _main_-yard of the frigate, and dropping from it into the fort. But what's that under the moon?--there's a sail in the offing." Swinburne fetched the glass and directed it to the spot. "One, two, three, four. It's the admiral, sir, and the squadron hove-to for the night. One's a line-of-battle ship, I'll swear." I examined the vessels, and agreeing with Swinburne, reported them to Mr Falcon. My watch was then over, and as soon as I was released I went to my hammock. END OF VOL. I. TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. PETER SIMPLE AND THE THREE CUTTERS BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT VOL. II. LONDON J.M. DENT AND CO. BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN AND CO. MDCCCXCV Contents VOLUME II PETER SIMPLE CHAPTER XXXI 1 CHAPTER XXXII 12 CHAPTER XXXIII 24 CHAPTER XXXIV 38 CHAPTER XXXV 45 CHAPTER XXXVI 53 CHAPTER XXXVII 59 CHAPTER XXXVIII 68 CHAPTER XXXIX 80 CHAPTER XL 87 CHAPTER XLI 96 CHAPTER XLII 105 CHAPTER XLIII 111 CHAPTER XLIV 117 CHAPTER XLV 123 CHAPTER XLVI 128 CHAPTER XLVII 134 CHAPTER XLVIII 140 CHAPTER XLIX 146 CHAPTER L 153 CHAPTER LI 160 CHAPTER LII 169 CHAPTER LIII 175 CHAPTER LIV 180 CHAPTER LV 186 CHAPTER LVI 195 CHAPTER LVII 203 CHAPTER LVIII 209 CHAPTER LIX 217 CHAPTER LX 221 CHAPTER LXI 225 CHAPTER LXII 232 CHAPTER LXIII 238 CHAPTER LXIV 244 CHAPTER LXV 255 _THE THREE CUTTERS_ CHAPTER I 267 CHAPTER II 279 CHAPTER III 287 CHAPTER IV 293 CHAPTER V 302 CHAPTER VI 313 CHAPTER VII 321 Peter Simple Chapter XXXI Captain Kearney--The dignity ball. The next morning at daylight we exchanged numbers, and saluted the flag, and by eight o'clock they all anchored. Mr Falcon went on board the admiral's ship with despatches, and to report the death of Captain Savage. In about half an hour he returned, and we were glad to perceive, with a smile upon his face, from which we argued that he would receive his acting order as commander, which was a question of some doubt, as the admiral had the power to give the vacancy to whom he pleased, although it would not have been fair if he had not given it to Mr Falcon; not that Mr Falcon would not have received his commission, as Captain Savage dying when the ship was under no admiral's command, he _made himself_; but still the admiral might have sent him home, and not have given him a ship. But this he did, the captain of the _Minerve_ being appointed to the _Sanglier_, the captain of the _Opossum_ to the _Minerve_, and Captain Falcon taking command of the _Opossum_. He received his commission that evening, and the next day the exchanges were made. Captain Falcon would have taken me with him, and offered so to do; but I could not leave O'Brien, so I preferred remaining in the _Sanglier_. We were all anxious to know what sort of a person our new captain was, whose name was Kearney; but we had no time to ask the midshipmen, except when they came in charge of the boats which brought his luggage; they replied generally, that he was a very good sort of fellow, and there was no harm in him. But when I had the night watch with Swinburne, he came up to me, and said, "Well, Mr Simple, so we have a new captain. I sailed with him for two years in a brig." "And pray, Swinburne, what sort of a person is he?" "Why, I'll tell you, Mr Simple: he's a good-tempered, kind fellow enough, but--" "But what?" "Such a _bouncer_!!" "How do you mean? He's not a very stout man." "Bless you, Mr Simple, why you don't understand English. I mean that he's the greatest liar that ever walked a deck. Now, Mr Simple, you know I can spin a yarn occasionally." "Yes, that you can, witness the hurricane the other night." "Well, Mr Simple, I cannot _hold a candle_ to him. It a'n't that I might not stretch now and then, just for fun, as far as he can, but, d----n it, he's always on the stretch. In fact, Mr Simple, he never tells the truth except _by mistake_. He's as poor as a rat, and has nothing but his pay; yet to believe him, he is worth at least as much as Greenwich Hospital. But you'll soon find him out, and he'll sarve to laugh at behind his back, you know, Mr Simple, for that's _no go_ before his face." Captain Kearney made his appearance on board the next day. The men were mustered to receive him, and all the officers were on the quarter-deck. "You've a fine set of marines here, Captain Falcon," observed he; "those I left on board of the _Minerve_ were only fit to be _hung_; and you have a good show of reefers too--those I left in the _Minerve_ were not _worth hanging_. If you please, I'll read my commission, if you'll order the men aft." His commission was read, all hands with their hats off from respect to the authority from which it proceeded. "Now, my lads," said Captain Kearney, addressing the ship's company, "I've but few words to say to you. I am appointed to command this ship, and you appear to have a very good character from your late first lieutenant. All I request of you is this: be smart, keep sober, and always _tell the truth_--that's enough. Pipe down. Gentlemen," continued he, addressing the officers, "I trust that we shall be good friends; and I see no reason that it should be otherwise." He then turned away with a bow, and called his coxswain--"Williams, you'll go on board, and tell my steward that I have promised to dine with the governor to-day, and that he must come to dress me; and, coxswain, recollect to put the sheepskin mat on the stern gratings of my gig--not the one I used to have when I was on shore in my _carriage_, but the blue one which was used for the _chariot_--you know which I mean." I happened to look Swinburne in the face, who cocked his eye at me, as much as to say--"There he goes." We afterwards met the officers of the _Minerve_, who corroborated all that Swinburne had said, although it was quite unnecessary, as we had the captain's own words every minute to satisfy us of the fact. Dinner parties were now very numerous, and the hospitality of the island is but too well known. The invitations extended to the midshipmen, and many was the good dinner and kind reception which I had during my stay. There was, however, one thing I had heard so much of, that I was anxious to witness it, which was a _dignity ball_. But I must enter a little into explanation, or my readers will not understand me. The coloured people of Barbadoes, for reasons best known to themselves, are immoderately proud, and look upon all the negroes who are born on other islands as _niggers_; they have also an extraordinary idea of their own bravery, although I never heard that it has ever been put to the proof. The free Barbadians are, most of them, very rich, and hold up their heads as they walk with an air quite ridiculous. They ape the manners of the Europeans, at the same time that they appear to consider them as almost their inferiors. Now, a _dignity_ ball is a ball given by the most consequential of their coloured people, and from the amusement and various other reasons, is generally well attended by the officers both on shore and afloat. The price of the tickets of admission was high--I think they were half a joe, or eight dollars each. The governor sent out cards for a grand ball and supper for the ensuing week, and Miss Betsy Austin, a quadroon woman, ascertaining the fact, sent out her cards for the same evening. This was not altogether in _rivalry_, but for another reason, which was, that she was aware that most of the officers and midshipmen of the ships would obtain permission to go to the governor's ball, and, preferring hers, would slip away and join the party, by which means she ensured a full attendance. On the day of invitation our captain came on board, and told our new first lieutenant (of whom I shall say more hereafter) that the governor insisted that all _his_ officers should go--that he would take no denial, and, therefore, he presumed, go they must; that the fact was, that the governor was a _relation_ of his wife, and under some trifling obligations to him in obtaining for him his present command. He certainly had spoken to the _prime minister_, and he thought it not impossible, considering the intimate terms which the minister and he had been on from childhood, that his solicitation might have had some effect; at all events, it was pleasant to find that there was some little gratitude left in this world. After this, of course, every officer went, with the exception of the master, who said that he'd as soon have two round turns in his hawse as go to see people kick their legs about like fools, and that he'd take care of the ship. The governor's ball was very splendid, but the ladies were rather sallow, from the effects of the climate. However, there were exceptions, and on the whole it was a very gay affair; but we were all anxious to go to the _dignity_ ball of Miss Betsy Austin. I slipped away with three other midshipmen, and we soon arrived there. A crowd of negroes were outside of the house; but the ball had not yet commenced, from the want of gentlemen, the ball being very correct, nothing under mulatto in colour being admitted. Perhaps I ought to say here, that the progeny of a white and a negro is a mulatto, or half and half--of a white and mulatto, a _quadroon_, or one-quarter black, and of this class the company were chiefly composed. I believe a quadroon and white make the _mustee_ or one-eighth black, and the mustee and white the mustafina, or one-sixteenth black. After that, they are _whitewashed_, and considered as Europeans. The pride of colour is very great in the West Indies, and they have as many quarterings as a German prince in his coat of arms; a quadroon looks down upon a mulatto, while a mulatto looks down upon a _sambo_, that is, half mulatto half negro, while a sambo in his turn looks down upon a _nigger_. The quadroons are certainly the handsomest race of the whole, some of the women are really beautiful; their hair is long and perfectly straight, their eyes large and black, their figures perfection, and you can see the colour mantle in their cheeks quite as plainly, and with as much effect, as in those of a European. We found the door of Miss Austin's house open, and ornamented with orange branches, and on our presenting ourselves were accosted by a mulatto gentleman, who was, we presumed, "usher of the black rod." His head was well powdered, he was dressed in white jean trousers, a waistcoat not six inches long, and a half-worn post-captain's coat on, as a livery, With a low bow, he "took de liberty to trouble de gentlemen for de card for de ball," which being produced, we were ushered on by him to the ball-room, at the door of which Miss Austin was waiting to receive her company. She made us a low courtesy, observing, "She really happy to see de _gentlemen_ of de ship, but hoped to see de _officers_ also at her _dignity_." This remark touched our _dignity_, and one of my companions replied, "That we midshipmen considered ourselves officers, and no _small_ ones either, and that if she waited for the lieutenants she must wait until they were tired of the governor's ball, we having given the preference to hers." This remark set all to rights; sangaree was handed about, and I looked around at the company. I must acknowledge, at the risk of losing the good opinion of my fair countrywomen, that I never saw before so many pretty figures and faces. The _officers_ not having yet arrived, we received all the attention, and I was successively presented to Miss Eurydice, Miss Minerva, Miss Sylvia, Miss Aspasia, Miss Euterpe, and many others, evidently borrowed from the different men-of-war which had been on the station. All these young ladies gave themselves all the airs of Almack's. Their dresses I cannot pretend to describe--jewels of value were not wanting, but their drapery was slight; they appeared neither to wear nor to require stays, and on the whole, their figures were so perfect that they could only be ill dressed by having on too much dress. A few more midshipmen and some lieutenants (O'Brien among the number) having made their appearance, Miss Austin directed that the ball should commence. I requested the honour of Miss Eurydice's hand in a cotillon, which was to open the ball. At this moment stepped forth the premier violin, master of the ceremonies and ballet-master, Massa Johnson, really a very smart man, who gave lessons in dancing to all the "'Badian ladies." He was a dark quadroon, his hair slightly powdered, dressed in a light blue coat thrown well back, to show his lily-white waistcoat, only one button of which he could afford to button to make full room for the pride of his heart, the frill of his shirt, which really was _un Jabot superb_, four inches wide, and extending from his collar to the waistband of his nankeen tights, which were finished off at his knees with huge bunches of ribbon; his legs were encased in silk stockings, which, however, was not very good taste on his part, as they showed the manifest advantage which an European has over a coloured man in the formation of the leg: instead of being straight, his shins curved like a cheese-knife, and, moreover, his leg was planted into his foot like the handle into a broom or scrubbing-brush, there being quite as much of the foot on the heel side as on the toe side. Such was the appearance of Mr Apollo Johnson, whom the ladies considered as the _ne plus ultra_ of fashion, and the _arbiter elegantiarum_. His _bow-tick_, or fiddle-stick, was his wand, whose magic rap on the fiddle produced immediate obedience to his mandates. "Ladies and gentle, take your seats." All started up. "Miss Eurydice, you open de ball." Miss Eurydice had but a sorry partner, but she undertook to instruct me. O'Brien was our _vis-à-vis_ with Miss Euterpe. The other gentlemen were officers from the ships, and we stood up twelve, checkered brown and white, like a chess-board. All eyes were fixed upon Mr Apollo Johnson, who first looked at the couples, then at his fiddle, and lastly, at the other musicians, to see if all was right, and then with a wave of his _bow-tick_ the music began. "Massa lieutenant," cried Apollo to O'Brien, "cross over to opposite lady, right hand and left, den figure to Miss Eurydice--dat right; now four hand round. You lilly midshipman, set your partner, sir; den twist her round; dat do; now stop. First figure all over." At this time I thought I might venture to talk a little with my partner, and I ventured a remark; to my surprise she answered very sharply, "I come here for dance, sar, and not for chatter; look, Massa Johnson, he tap um bow-tick." The second figure commenced, and I made a sad bungle; so I did of the third, and fourth, and fifth, for I never had danced a cotillon. When I handed my partner to her place, who certainly was the prettiest girl in the room, she looked rather contemptuously at me, and observed to a neighbour, "I really pity de gentleman as come from England dat no know how to dance nor nothing at all, until em hab instruction at Barbadoes." A country dance was now called for, which was more acceptable to all parties, as none of Mr Apollo Johnson's pupils were very perfect in their cotillon, and none of the officers, except O'Brien, knew anything about them. O'Brien's superior education on this point, added to his lieutenant's epaulet and handsome person, made him much courted; but he took up with Miss Eurydice after I had left her, and remained with her the whole evening; thereby exciting the jealousy of Mr Apollo Johnson, who, it appears, was amorous in that direction. Our party increased every minute; all the officers of the garrison, and, finally, as soon as they could get away, the governor's aid-de-camps, all dressed in _mufti_ (i.e., plain clothes). The dancing continued until three o'clock in the morning, when it was quite a squeeze, from the constant arrival of fresh recruits from all the houses of Barbadoes. I must say, that a few bottles of eau de Cologne thrown about the room would have improved the atmosphere. By this time the heat was terrible, and the _mopping_ of the ladies' faces everlasting. I would recommend a DIGNITY ball to all stout gentlemen who wish to be reduced a stone or two. Supper was now announced, and having danced the last country dance with Miss Minerva, I of course had the pleasure of handing her into the supper-room. It was my fate to sit opposite to a fine turkey, and I asked my partner if I should have the pleasure of helping her to a piece of the breast. She looked at me very indignantly, and said, "Curse your impudence, sar, I wonder where you larn manners. Sar, I take a lilly turkey _bosom_, if you please. Talk of _breast_ to a lady, sar;--really quite _horrid_." I made two or three more barbarous mistakes before the supper was finished. At last the eating was over, and I must say a better supper I never sat down to. "Silence, gentlemen and ladies," cried Mr Apollo Johnson. "Wid the permission of our amiable hostess, I will propose a toast. Gentlemen and ladies--You all know, and if be so you don't, I say that there no place in the world like Barbadoes. All de world fight against England, but England nebber fear; King George nebber fear, while _Barbadoes 'tand 'tiff_. 'Badian fight for King George to last drop of him blood. Nebber see the day 'Badian run away; you all know dem Frenchmans at San Lucee, give up Morne Fortunee, when he hear de 'Badian volunteer come against him. I hope no 'fence present company, but um sorry to say English come here too jealous of 'Badians. Gentlemen and lady--Barbadian born ab only one fault--he _really too brave_. I propose health of 'Island of Barbadoes.'" Acclamations from all quarters followed this truly modest speech, and the toast was drunk with rapture; the ladies were delighted with Mr Apollo's eloquence, and the lead which he took in the company. O'Brien then rose and addressed the company as follows:-- "Ladies and gentlemen--Mr Poll has spoken better than the best parrot I ever met with in this country, but as he has thought proper to drink the 'Island of Barbadoes,' I mean to be a little more particular. I wish, with him, all good health to the island; but there is a charm without which the island would be a desert--that is, the society of the lovely girls which now surround us, and take our hearts by storm--" (here O'Brien put his arm gently round Miss Eurydice's waist, and Mr Apollo ground his teeth so as to be heard at the furthest end of the room)"-- therefore, gentlemen, with your permission, I will propose the health of the ''Badian Ladies.'" This speech of O'Brien's was declared, by the females at least, to be infinitely superior to Mr Apollo Johnson's. Miss Eurydice was even more gracious, and the other ladies were more envious. Many other toasts and much more wine was drunk, until the male part of the company appeared to be rather riotous. Mr Apollo, however, had to regain his superiority, and after some hems and hahs, begged permission to give a sentiment. "Gentlemen and ladies, I beg then to say-- "Here's to de cock who make lub to de hen, Crow till he hoarse and make lub again." This _sentiment_ was received with rapture; and after silence was obtained, Miss Betsy Austin rose and said--"Unaccustomed as she was to public 'peaking, she must not sit 'till and not tank de gentleman for his very fine toast, and in de name of de ladies she begged to propose another sentimen', which was-- "Here to de hen what nebber refuses, Let cock pay compliment whenebber he chooses." If the first toast was received with applause, this was with enthusiasm; but we received a damper after it was subsided, by the lady of the house getting up and saying--"Now, gentlemen and ladies, me tink it right to say dat it time to go home; I nebber allow people get drunk or kick up bobbery in my house, so now I tink we better take parting-glass, and very much obliged to you for your company." As O'Brien said, this was a broad hint to be off, so we all now took our parting-glass, in compliance with her request, and our own wishes, and proceeded to escort our partners on their way home. While I was assisting Miss Minerva to her red crape shawl, a storm was brewing in another quarter, to wit, between Mr Apollo Johnson and O'Brien. O'Brien was assiduously attending to Miss Eurydice, whispering what he called soft blarney in her ear, when Mr Apollo, who was above spirit-boiling heat with jealousy, came up, and told Miss Eurydice that he would have the honour of escorting her home. "You may save yourself the trouble, you dingy gut-scraper," replied O'Brien; "the lady is under my protection, so take your ugly black face out of the way, or I'll show you how I treat a ''Badian who is really too brave.'" "So 'elp me Gad, Massa Lieutenant, 'pose you put finger on me, I show you what 'Badian can do." Apollo then attempted to insert himself between O'Brien and his lady, upon which O'Brien shoved him back with great violence, and continued his course towards the door. They were in the passage when I came up, for hearing O'Brien's voice in anger, I left Miss Minerva to shift for herself. Miss Eurydice had now left O'Brien's arm, at his request, and he and Mr Apollo were standing in the passage, O'Brien close to the door, which was shut, and Apollo swaggering up to him. O'Brien, who knew the tender part of a black, saluted Apollo with a kick on the shins which would have broken my leg. Massa Johnson roared with pain, and recoiled two or three paces, parting the crowd away behind him. The blacks never fight with fists, but butt with their heads like rams, and with quite as much force. When Mr Apollo had retreated, he gave his shin one more rub, uttered a loud yell, and started at O'Brien, with his head aimed at O'Brien's chest, like a battering-ram. O'Brien, who was aware of this plan of fighting, stepped dexterously on one side, and allowed Mr Apollo to pass by him, which he did with such force, that his head went clean through the panel of the door behind O'Brien, and there he stuck as fast as if in a pillory, squeaking like a pig for assistance, and foaming with rage. After some difficulty he was released, and presented a very melancholy figure. His face was much cut, and his superb _Jabot_ all in tatters; he appeared, however, to have had quite enough of it, as he retreated to the supper-room, followed by some of his admirers, without asking or looking after O'Brien. But if Mr Apollo had had enough of it, his friends were too indignant to allow us to go off scot free. A large mob was collected in the street, vowing vengeance on us for our treatment of their flash man, and a row was to be expected. Miss Eurydice had escaped, so that O'Brien had his hands free. "Cam out, you hangman tiefs, cam out; only wish had rock stones, to mash your heads with," cried the mob of negroes. The officers now sallied out in a body, and were saluted with every variety of missile, such as rotten oranges, cabbage-stalks, mud, and cocoa-nut shells. We fought our way manfully, but as we neared the beach the mob increased to hundreds, and at last we could proceed no further, being completely jammed up by the niggers, upon whose heads we could make no more impression than upon blocks of marble. "We must draw our swords," observed an officer. "No, no," replied O'Brien, "that will not do; if once we shed blood, they will never let us get on board with our lives. The boat's crew by this time must be aware that there is a row." O'Brien was right. He had hardly spoken, before a lane was observed to be made through the crowd in the distance, which in two minutes was open to us. Swinburne appeared in the middle of it, followed by the rest of the boat's crew, armed with the boat's stretchers, which they did not aim at the _heads_ of the blacks, but swept them like scythes against their _shins_. This they continued to do, right and left of us, as we walked through and went down to the boats, the seamen closing up the rear with their stretchers, with which they ever and anon made a sweep at the black fellows if they approached too near. It was now broad daylight, and in a few minutes we were again safely on board the frigate. Thus ended the first and last dignity ball that I attended. Chapter XXXII I am claimed by Captain Kearney as a relation--Trial of skill between first lieutenant and captain with the long bow--The shark, the pug-dog, and the will--A quarter-deck picture. As the admiral was not one who would permit the ships under his command to lie idle in port, in a very few days after the dignity ball which I have described, all the squadron sailed on their various destinations. I was not sorry to leave the bay, for one soon becomes tired of profusion, and cared nothing for either oranges, bananas, or shaddocks, nor even for, the good dinners and claret at the tables of the army mess and gentlemen of the island. The sea breeze soon became more precious to us than anything else, and if we could have bathed without the fear of a shark, we should have equally appreciated that most refreshing of all luxuries under the torrid zone. It was therefore with pleasure that we received the information that we were to sail the next day to cruise off the French island of Martinique. Captain Kearney had been so much on shore that we saw but little of him, and the ship was entirely under the control of the first lieutenant, of whom I have hitherto not spoken. He was a very short, pock-marked man, with red hair and whiskers, a good sailor, and not a bad officer; that is, he was a practical sailor, and could show any foremast man his duty in any department--and this seamen very much appreciate, as it is not very common; but I never yet knew an officer who prided himself upon his practical knowledge, who was at the same time a good navigator, and too often, by assuming the Jack Tar, they lower the respect due to them, and become coarse and vulgar in their manners and language. This was the case with Mr Phillott, who prided himself upon his slang, and who was at one time "hail fellow well met" with the seamen, talking to them, and being answered as familiarly as if they were equals, and at another, knocking the very same men down with a handspike if he was displeased. He was not bad-tempered, but very hasty; and his language to the officers was occasionally very incorrect; to the midshipmen invariably so. However, on the whole, he was not disliked, although he was certainly not respected as a first lieutenant should have been. It is but fair to say, that he was the same to his superiors as he was to his inferiors, and the bluntness with which he used to contradict and assert his disbelief of Captain Kearney's narratives often produced a coolness between them for some days. The day after we sailed from Carlisle Bay I was asked to dine in the cabin. The dinner was served upon plated dishes, which looked very grand, but there was not much in them. "This plate," observed the captain, "was presented to me by some merchants for my exertions in saving their property from the Danes when I was cruising off Heligoland." "Why, that lying steward of yours told me that you bought it at Portsmouth," replied the first lieutenant: "I asked him in the galley this morning." "How came you to assert such a confounded falsehood, sir?" said the captain to the man who stood behind his chair. "I only said that I thought so," replied the steward. "Why, didn't you say that the bill had been sent in, through you, seven or eight times, and that the captain had paid it with a flowing sheet?" "Did you dare say that, sir?" interrogated the captain, very angrily. "Mr Phillott mistook me, sir?" replied the steward. "He was so busy damning the sweepers, that he did not hear me right. I said, the midshipmen had paid their crockery bill with the fore-topsail." "Ay! ay!" replied the captain, "that's much more likely." "Well, Mr Steward," replied Mr Phillott, "I'll be d----d if you ar'n't as big a liar as your--" (master, he was going to plump out, but fortunately the first lieutenant checked himself, and added)--"as your father was before you." The captain changed the conversation by asking me whether I would take a slice of ham. "It's real Westphalia, Mr Simple; I have them sent me direct by Count Troningsken, an intimate friend of mine, who kills his own wild boars in the Hartz mountains." "How the devil do you get them over, Captain Kearney?" "There are ways and means of doing everything, Mr Phillott, and the First Consul is not quite so bad as he is represented. The first batch was sent over with a very handsome letter to me, written in his own hand, which I will show you some of these days. I wrote to him in return, and sent to him two Cheshire cheeses by a smuggler, and since that they came regularly. Did you ever eat Westphalia ham, Mr Simple?" "Yes," replied I; "once I partook of one at Lord Privilege's." "Lord Privilege! why he's a distant relation of mine, a sort of fifth cousin," replied Captain Kearney. "Indeed, sir!" replied I. "Then you must allow me to introduce you to a relation, Captain Kearney," said the first lieutenant; "for Mr Simple is his grandson." "Is it possible? I can only say, Mr Simple, that I shall be most happy to show you every attention, and am very glad that I have you as one of my officers." Now although this was all false, for Captain Kearney was not in the remotest manner connected with my family, yet having once asserted it, he could not retract, and the consequence was, that I was much the gainer by his falsehood, as he treated me very kindly afterwards, always calling me _cousin_. The first lieutenant smiled and gave me a wink, when the captain had finished his speech to me, as much as to say, "You're in luck," and then the conversation changed. Captain Kearney certainly dealt in the marvellous to admiration, and really told his stories with such earnestness, that I actually believe that he thought he was telling the truth. Never was there such an instance of confirmed habit. Telling a story of a cutting-out expedition, he said, "The French captain would have fallen by my hand, but just as I levelled my musket, a ball came, and cut off the cock of the lock as clean as if it was done with a knife--a very remarkable instance," observed he. "Not equal to what occurred in a ship I was in," replied the first lieutenant, "when the second lieutenant was grazed by a grape-shot, which cut off one of his whiskers, and turning round his head to ascertain what was the matter, another grape-shot came and took off the other. Now that's what I call a _close shave_." "Yes," replied Captain Kearney, "very close, indeed, if it were true; but you'll excuse me, Mr Phillott, but you sometimes tell strange stories. I do not mind it myself, but the example is not good to my young relation here, Mr Simple." "Captain Kearney," replied the first lieutenant, laughing very immoderately, "do you know what the pot called the kettle?" "No, sir, I do not," retorted the captain, with offended dignity. "Mr Simple, will you take a glass of wine?" I thought that this little _brouillerie_ would have checked the captain; it did so, but only for a few minutes, when he again commenced. The first lieutenant observed that it would be necessary to let water into the ship every morning, and pump it out, to avoid the smell of the bilge-water. "There are worse smells than bilge-water," replied the captain. "What do you think of a whole ship's company being nearly poisoned with otto of roses? Yet that occurred to me when in the Mediterranean. I was off Smyrna, cruising for a French ship, that was to sail to France, with a pasha on board, as an ambassador. I knew she would be a good prize, and was looking sharp out, when one morning we discovered her on the lee bow. We made all sail, but she walked away from us, bearing away gradually till we were both before the wind, and at night we lost sight of her. As I knew that she was bound to Marseilles, I made all sail to fall in with her again. The wind was light and variable; but five days afterwards, as I lay in my cot, just before daylight, I smelt a very strong smell, blowing in at the weather port, and coming down the skylight, which was open; and after sniffing at it two or three times, I knew it to be otto of roses. I sent for the officer of the watch, and asked him if there was anything in sight. He replied 'that there was not;' and I ordered him to sweep the horizon with his glass, and look well out to windward. As the wind freshened, the smell became more powerful. I ordered him to get the royal yards across, and all ready to make sail, for I knew that the Turk must be near us. At daylight there he was, just three miles ahead in the wind's eye. But although he beat us going free, he was no match for us, on a wind, and before noon we had possession of him and all his harem. By-the-by, I could tell you a good story about the ladies. She was a very valuable prize, and among other things, she had a _puncheon_ of otto of roses on board--." "Whew!" cried the first lieutenant. "What! a whole puncheon?" "Yes," replied the captain, "a Turkish puncheon--not quite so large, perhaps, as ours on board; their weights and measures are different. I took out most of the valuables into the brig I commanded--about 20,000 sequins--carpets--and among the rest, this cask of otto of roses, which we had smelt three miles off. We had it safe on board, when the mate of the hold, not slinging it properly, it fell into the spirit-room with a run, and was stove to pieces. Never was such a scene; my first lieutenant and several men on deck fainted; and the men in the hold were brought up lifeless; it was some time before they were recovered. We let the water into the brig, and pumped it out, but nothing would take away the smell, which was so overpowering, that before I could get to Malta I had forty men on the sick list. When I arrived there, I turned the mate out of the service for his carelessness. It was not until after having smoked the brig, and finding that of little use, after having sunk her for three weeks, that the smell was at all bearable; but even then it could never be eradicated, and the admiral sent the brig home, and she was sold out of the service. They could do nothing with her at the dockyards. She was broken up, and bought by the people at Brighton and Tunbridge Wells, who used her timbers for turning fancy articles, which, smelling as they did, so strongly of otto of roses, proved very profitable. Were you ever at Brighton, Mr Simple?" "Never, sir." Just at this moment, the officer of the watch came down to say that there was a very large shark under the counter, and wished to know if the captain had any objection to the officers attempting to catch it. "By no means," replied Captain Kearney; "I hate sharks as I do the devil. I nearly lost £14,000 by one, when I was in the Mediterranean." "May I inquire how, Captain Kearney?" said the first lieutenant, with a demure face; "I'm very anxious to know." "Why the story is simply this," replied the captain. "I had an old relation at Malta, whom I found out by accident--an old maid of sixty, who had lived all her life on the island. It was by mere accident that I knew of her existence. I was walking upon Strada Reale, when I saw a large baboon that was kept there, who had a little fat pug-dog by the tail, which he was pulling away with him, while an old lady was screaming out for help: for whenever she ran to assist her dog, the baboon made at her as if he would have ravished her, and caught her by the petticoats with one hand, while he held the pug-dog fast by the other. I owed that brute a spite for having attacked me one night when I passed him, and perceiving what was going on, I drew my sword and gave Mr Jacko such a clip as sent him away howling, and bleeding like a pig, leaving me in possession of the little pug, which I took up and handed to his mistress. The old lady trembled very much, and begged me to see her safe home. She had a very fine house, and after she was seated on the sofa, thanked me very much for my gallant assistance, as she termed it, and told me her name was Kearney: upon this I very soon proved my relationship with her, at which she was much delighted, requesting me to consider her house as my home. I was for two years afterwards on that station, and played my cards very well; and the old lady gave me a hint that I should be her heir, as she had no other relations that she knew anything of. At last I was ordered home, and not wishing to leave her, I begged her to accompany me, offering her my cabin. She was taken very ill a fortnight before we sailed, and made a will, leaving me her sole heir; but she recovered, and got as fat as ever. Mr Simple, the wine stands with you. I doubt if Lord Privilege gave you better claret than there is in that bottle; I imported it myself ten years ago, when I commanded the _Coquette_." "Very odd," observed the first lieutenant--"we bought some at Barbadoes with the same mark on the bottles and cork." "That may be," replied the captain; "old-established houses all keep up the same marks; but I doubt if your wine can be compared to this." As Mr Phillott wished to hear the end of the captain's story, he would not contradict him this time, by stating what he knew to be the case, that the captain had sent it on board at Barbadoes; and the captain proceeded. "Well, I gave up my cabin to the old lady, and hung up my cot in the gun-room during the passage home. "We were becalmed abreast of Ceuta for two days. The old lady was very particular about her pug-dog, and I superintended the washing of the little brute twice a week; but at last I was tired of it, and gave him to my coxswain to bathe. My coxswain, who was a lazy fellow, without my knowledge, used to put the little beast into the bight of a rope, and tow him overboard for a minute or so. It was during this calm that he had him overboard in this way, when a confounded shark rose from under the counter, and took in the pug-dog at one mouthful. The coxswain reported the loss as a thing of no consequence; but I knew better, and put the fellow in irons. I then went down and broke the melancholy fact to Miss Kearney, stating that I had put the man in irons, and would flog him well. The old lady broke out into a most violent passion at the intelligence, declared that it was my fault, that I was jealous of the dog, and had done it on purpose. The more I protested, the more she raved; and at last I was obliged to go on deck to avoid her abuse and keep my temper. I had not been on deck five minutes before she came up-- that is, was shoved up--for she was so heavy that she could not get up without assistance. You know how elephants in India push the cannon through a morass with their heads from behind; well, my steward used to shove her up the companion-ladder just in the same way, with his head completely buried in her petticoats. As soon as she was up, he used to pull his head out, looking as red and hot as a fresh-boiled lobster. Well, up she came, with her will in her hand, and, looking at me very fiercely, she said, 'Since the shark has taken my dear dog, he may have my will also,' and, throwing it overboard, she plumped down on the carronade slide. 'It's very well, madam,' said I, 'but you'll be cool by-and-by, and then you'll make another will.' 'I swear by all the hopes that I have of going to heaven that I never will!' she replied. 'Yes, you will, madam,' replied I. 'Never, so help me God! Captain Kearney; my money may now go to my next heir, and that, you know, will not be you.' Now, as I knew very well that the old lady was very positive and as good as her word, my object was to recover the will, which was floating about fifty yards astern, without her knowledge. I thought a moment, and then I called the boatswain's mate to _pipe all hands to bathe_. 'You'll excuse me, Miss Kearney,' said I, 'but the men are going to bathe, and I do not think you would like to see them all naked. If you would, you can stay on deck.' She looked daggers at me, and, rising from the carronade slide, hobbled to the ladder, saying, 'that the insult was another proof of how little I deserved any kindness from her.' As soon as she was below, the quarter-boats were lowered down, and I went in one of them and picked up the will, which still floated. Brigs having no stern-windows, of course she could not see my manoeuvre, but thought that the will was lost for ever. We had very bad weather after that, owing to which, with the loss of her favourite pug, and constant quarrelling with me--for I did all I could to annoy her afterwards--she fell ill, and was buried a fortnight after she was landed at Plymouth. The old lady kept her word; she never made another will. I proved the one I had recovered at Doctors' Commons, and touched the whole of her money." As neither the first lieutenant nor I could prove whether the story was true or not, of course we expressed our congratulations at his good fortune, and soon afterwards left the cabin to report his marvellous story to our messmates. When I went on deck, I found that the shark had just been hooked, and was hauling on board. Mr Phillott had also come on deck. The officers were all eager about the shark, and were looking over the side, calling to each other, and giving directions to the men. Now, although certainly there was a want of decorum on the quarter-deck, still, the captain having given permission, it was to be excused; but Mr Phillott thought otherwise, and commenced in his usual style, beginning with the marine officer. "Mr Westley, I'll trouble you not to be getting upon the hammocks. You'll get off directly, sir. If one of your fellows were to do so, I'd stop his grog for a month, and I don't see why you are to set a bad example; you've been too long in barracks, sir, by half. Who is that? Mr Williams and Mr Moore--both on the hammocks, too. Up to the foretopmast head, both of you, directly. Mr Thomas, up to the main; and I say, you youngster, stealing off, perch yourself upon the spanker-boom, and let me know when you've rode to London. By God! the service is going to hell! I don't know what officers are made of now-a-days. I'll marry some of you young gentlemen to the gunner's daughter before long. Quarter-deck's no better than a bear-garden. No wonder, when lieutenants set the example." This latter remark could only be applied to O'Brien, who stood in the quarter-boat giving directions, before the tirade of Mr Phillott stopped the amusement of the party. O'Brien immediately stepped out of the boat, and going up to Mr Phillott, touched his hat, and said, "Mr Phillott, we had the captain's permission to catch the shark, and a shark is not to be got on board by walking up and down on the quarter-deck. As regards myself, as long as the captain is on board, I hold myself responsible to him alone for my conduct; and if you think I have done wrong, forward your complaint; but if you pretend to use such language to me, as you have to others, I shall hold you responsible. I am here, sir, as an officer and a gentleman, and will be treated as such; and allow me to observe, that I consider the quarter-deck more disgraced by foul and ungentlemanly language, than I do by an officer accidentally standing upon the hammocks. However, as you have thought proper to interfere, you may now get the shark on board yourself." Mr Phillott turned very red, for he never had come in contact in this way with O'Brien. All the other officers had submitted quietly to his unpleasant manner of speaking to them. "Very well, Mr O'Brien; I shall hold you answerable for this language," replied he, "and shall most certainly report your conduct to the captain." "I will save you the trouble; Captain Kearney is now coming up, and I will report it myself." This O'Brien did, upon the captain's putting his foot on the quarter-deck. "Well," observed the captain to Mr Phillott, "what is it you complain of?" "Mr O'Brien's language, sir. Am I to be addressed on the quarter-deck in that manner?" "I really must say, Mr Phillott," replied Captain Kearney, "that I do not perceive anything in what Mr O'Brien said, but what is correct. I command here; and if an officer so nearly equal in rank to yourself has committed himself, you are not to take the law into your own hands. The fact is, Mr Phillott, your language is not quite so correct as I could wish it. I overheard every word that passed, and I consider that _you_ have treated _your superior_ officer with disrespect--that is, _me_. I gave permission that the shark should be caught, and with that permission, I consequently allowed those little deviations from the discipline of the service which must inevitably take place. Yet you have thought proper to interfere with my permission, which is tantamount to an order, and have made use of harsh language, and punished the young gentlemen for obeying my injunctions. You will oblige me, sir, by calling them all down, and in restraining your petulance for the future. I will always support your authority when you are correct; but I regret that in this instance you have necessitated me to weaken it." This was a most severe check to Mr Phillott, who immediately went below, after hailing the mastheads and calling down the midshipmen. As soon as he was gone we were all on the hammocks again; the shark was hauled forward, hoisted on board, and every frying-pan in the ship was in requisition. We were all much pleased with Captain Kearney's conduct on this occasion; and, as O'Brien observed to me, "He really is a good fellow and clever officer. What a thousand pities it is, that he is such a confounded liar!" I must do Mr Phillott the justice to say that he bore no malice on this occasion, but treated us as before, which is saying a great deal in his favour, when it is considered what power a first lieutenant has of annoying and punishing his inferiors. Chapter XXXIII Another set-to between the captain and first lieutenant--Cutting-out expedition--Mr Chucks mistaken--He dies like a gentleman--Swinburne begins his account of the battle off St Vincent. We had not been more than a week under the Danish island of St Thomas when we discovered a brig close in-shore. We made all sail in chase, and soon came within a mile and a half of the shore, when she anchored under a battery, which opened its fire upon us. Their elevation was too great, and several shots passed over us and between our masts. "I once met with a very remarkable circumstance," observed Captain Kearney. "Three guns were fired at a frigate I was on board of from a battery, all at the same time. The three shots cut away the three topsail ties, and down came all our topsail yards upon the cap at the same time. That the Frenchmen might not suppose that they had taken such good aim, we turned up our hands to reef topsails; and by the time that the men were off the yards the ties were spliced and the topsails run up again." Mr Phillott could not stand this most enormous fib, and he replied, "Very odd, indeed, Captain Kearney; but I have known a stranger circumstance. We had put in the powder to the four guns on the main deck when we were fighting the Danish gun-boats in a frigate I was in, and, as the men withdrew the rammer, a shot from the enemy entered the muzzle, and completed the loading of each gun. We fired their own shot back upon them, and this occurred three times running." "Upon my word," replied Captain Kearney, who had his glass upon the battery, "I think you must have dreamt that circumstance, Mr Phillott." "Not more than you did about the topsail ties, Captain Kearney." Captain Kearney at that time had the long glass in his hand, holding it up over his shoulder. A shot from the battery whizzed over his head, and took the glass out of his hand, shivering it to pieces. "That's once," said Captain Kearney, very coolly; "but will you pretend that that could ever happen three times running? They might take my head off, or my arm, next time, but not another glass; whereas the topsail ties might be cut by three different shot. But give me another glass, Mr Simple: I am certain that this vessel is a privateer. What think you, Mr O'Brien?" "I am every bit of your opinion, Captain Kearney," replied O'Brien; "and I think it would be a very pretty bit of practice to the ship's company to take her out from under that footy battery." "Starboard the helm, Mr Phillott; keep away four points, and then we will think of it to-night." The frigate was now kept away, and ran out of the fire of the battery. It was then about an hour before sunset, and in the West Indies the sun does not set as it does in the northern latitudes. There is no twilight: he descends in glory, surrounded with clouds of gold and rubies in their gorgeous tints; and once below the horizon, all is dark. As soon as it was dark, we hauled our wind off shore; and a consultation being held between the captain, Mr Phillott, and O'Brien, the captain at last decided that the attempt should be made. Indeed, although cutting-out is a very serious affair, as you combat under every disadvantage, still the mischief done to our trade by the fast-sailing privateers was so great in the West Indies, that almost every sacrifice was warrantable for the interests of the country. Still, Captain Kearney, although a brave and prudent officer--one who calculated chances, and who would not risk his men without he deemed that necessity imperiously demanded that such should be done--was averse to this attack, from his knowledge of the bay in which the brig was anchored; and although Mr Phillott and O'Brien both were of opinion that it should be a night attack, Captain Kearney decided otherwise. He considered, that although the risk might be greater, yet the force employed would be more consolidated, and that those who would hold back in the night dare not do so during the day. Moreover, that the people on shore in the battery, as well as those in the privateer, would be on the alert all night, and not expecting an attack during the day, would be taken off their guard. It was therefore directed that everything should be in preparation during the night, and that the boats should shove off before daylight, and row in-shore, concealing themselves behind some rocks under the cliffs which formed the cape upon one side of the harbour; and, if not discovered, remain there till noon, at which time it was probable that the privateer's men would be on shore, and the vessel might be captured without difficulty. It is always a scene of much interest on board a man-of-war when preparations are made for an expedition of this description; and, as the reader may not have been witness to them, it may perhaps be interesting to describe them. The boats of men-of-war have generally two crews; the common boats' crews, which are selected so as not to take away the most useful men from the ship; and the service, or fighting boats' crews, which are selected from the very best men on board. The coxswains of the boats are the most trustworthy men in the ship, and, on this occasion, have to see that their boats are properly equipped. The launch, yawl, first and second cutters, were the boats appointed for the expedition. They all carried guns mounted upon slides, which ran fore and aft between the men. After the boats were hoisted out, the guns were lowered down into them and shipped in the bows of the boats. The arm-chests were next handed in, which contain the cartridges and ammunition. The shot were put into the bottom of the boats; and so far they were all ready. The oars of the boats were fitted to pull with grummets upon iron thole-pins, that they might make little noise, and might swing fore and aft without falling overboard when the boats pulled alongside the privateer. A breaker or two (that is, small casks holding about seven gallons each) of water was put into each boat, and also the men's allowance of spirits, in case they should be detained by any unforeseen circumstances. The men belonging to the boats were fully employed in looking after their arms; some fitting their flints to their pistols, others, and the major part of them, sharpening their cutlasses at the grindstone, or with a file borrowed from the armourer,--all were busy and all merry. The very idea of going into action is a source of joy to an English sailor, and more jokes are made, more merriment excited, at that time than at any other. Then, as it often happens that one or two of the service boats' crews may be on the sick list, urgent solicitations are made by others that they may supply their places. The only parties who appear at all grave are those who are to remain in the frigate, and not share in the expedition. There is no occasion to order the boats to be manned, for the men are generally in long before they are piped away. Indeed, one would think that it was a party of pleasure, instead of danger and of death, upon which they were about to proceed. Captain Kearney selected the officers who were to have the charge of the boats. He would not trust any of the midshipmen on so dangerous a service. He said that he had known so many occasions in which their rashness and foolhardiness had spoilt an expedition; he therefore appointed Mr Phillott, the first lieutenant, to the launch; O'Brien to the yawl; the master to the first, and Mr Chucks, the boatswain, to the second cutter. Mr Chucks was much pleased with the idea of having the command of a boat, and asked me to come with him, to which I consented, although I had intended, as usual, to have gone with O'Brien. About an hour before daylight we ran the frigate to within a mile and a half of the shore, and the boats shoved off; the frigate then wore round, and stood out in the offing, that she might at daylight be at such a distance as not to excite any suspicion that our boats were sent away, while we in the boats pulled quietly in-shore. We were not a quarter of an hour before we arrived at the cape forming one side of the bay, and were well secreted among the cluster of rocks which were underneath. Our oars were laid in; the boats' painters made fast; and orders given for the strictest silence. The rocks were very high, and the boats were not to be seen without any one should come to the edge of the precipice; and even then they would, in all probability, have been supposed to have been rocks. The water was as smooth as glass, and when it was broad daylight, the men hung listlessly over the sides of the boats, looking at the corals below, and watching the fish as they glided between. "I can't say, Mr Simple," said Mr Chucks to me in an under tone, "that I think well of this expedition; and I have an idea that some of us will lose the number of our mess. After a calm comes a storm; and how quiet is everything now! But I'll take off my great coat, for the sun is hot already. Coxswain, give me my jacket." Mr Chucks had put on his great coat, but not his jacket underneath, which he had left on one of the guns on the main deck, all ready to change as soon as the heavy dew had gone off. The coxswain handed him the jacket, and Mr Chucks threw off his great coat to put it on; but when it was opened it proved, that by mistake he had taken away the jacket, surmounted by two small epaulettes, belonging to Captain Kearney, which the captain's steward, who had taken it out to brush, had also laid upon the same gun. "By all the nobility of England!" cried Mr Chucks, "I have taken away the captain's jacket by mistake. Here's a pretty mess! if I put on my great coat I shall be dead with sweating; if I put on no jacket I shall be roasted brown; but if I put on the captain's jacket I shall be considered disrespectful." The men in the boats tittered; and Mr Phillott, who was in the launch next to us, turned round to see what was the matter; O'Brien was sitting in the stern-sheets of the launch with the first lieutenant, and I leaned over and told them. "By the powers! I don't see why the captain's jacket will be at all hurt by Mr Chucks putting it on," replied O'Brien; "unless, indeed, a bullet were to go through it, and then it won't be any fault of Mr Chucks." "No," replied the first lieutenant; "and if one did, the captain might keep the jacket, and swear that the bullet went round his body without wounding him. He'll have a good yarn to spin. So put it on, Mr Chucks; you'll make a good mark for the enemy." "That I will stand the risk of with pleasure," observed the boatswain to me, "for the sake of being considered a gentleman. So here's on with it." There was a general laugh when Mr Chucks pulled on the captain's jacket, and sank down in the stern-sheets of the cutter, with great complacency of countenance. One of the men in the boat that we were in thought proper, however, to continue his laugh a little longer than Mr Chucks considered necessary, who, leaning forward, thus addressed him: "I say, Mr Webber, I beg leave to observe to you, in the most delicate manner in the world--just to hint to you--that it is not the custom to laugh at your superior officer. I mean just to insinuate, that you are a d----d impudent son of a sea cook; and if we both live and do well, I will prove to you, that if I am to be laughed at in a boat with the captain's jacket on, that I am not to be laughed at on board the frigate with the boatswain's rattan in my fist; and so look out, my hearty, for squalls, when you come on the forecastle; for I'll be d----d if I don't make you see more stars than God Almighty ever made, and cut more capers than all the dancing-masters in France. Mark my words, you burgoo-eating, pea-soup-swilling, trowsers-scrubbing son of a bitch." Mr Chucks, having at the end of this oration raised his voice above the pitch required by the exigency of the service, was called to order by the first lieutenant, and again sank back into the stern-sheets with all the importance and authoritative show peculiarly appertaining to a pair of epaulettes. We waited behind the rocks until noonday, without being discovered by the enemy; so well were we concealed. We had already sent an officer, who, carefully hiding himself by lying down on the rocks, had several times reconnoitred the enemy. Boats were passing and repassing continually from the privateer to the shore; and it appeared that they went on shore full of men, and returned with only one or two; so that we were in great hopes that we should find but few men to defend the vessel. Mr Phillott looked at his watch, held it up to O'Brien, to prove that he had complied exactly with the orders he had received from the captain, and then gave the word to get the boats under weigh. The painters were cast off by the bowmen, the guns were loaded and primed, the men seized their oars, and in two minutes we were clear of the rocks, and drawn up in a line within a quarter of a mile from the harbour's mouth, and not half a mile from the privateer brig. We rowed as quickly as possible, but we did not cheer until the enemy fired the first gun; which he did from a quarter unexpected, as we entered the mouth of the harbour, with our union jack trailing in the water over our stern, for it was a dead calm. It appeared, that at the low point under the cliffs, at each side of the little bay, they had raised a water battery of two guns each. One of these guns, laden with grape shot, was now fired at the boats, but the elevation was too low, and although the water was ploughed up to within five yards of the launch, no injury was received. We were equally fortunate in the discharge of the other three guns; two of which we passed so quickly, that they were not aimed sufficiently forward, so that their shot fell astern; and the other, although the shot fell among us, did no further injury than cutting in half two of the oars of the first cutter. In the meantime, we had observed that the boats had shoved off from the privateer as soon as they had perceived us, and had returned to her laden with men; the boats had been despatched a second time, but had not yet returned. They were now about the same distance from the privateer as were our boats, and it was quite undecided which of us would be first on board. O'Brien perceiving this, painted out to Mr Phillott that we should first attack the boats, and afterwards board on the side to which they pulled; as, in all probability, there would be an opening left in the boarding nettings, which were tied up to the yard-arms, and presented a formidable obstacle to our success. Mr Phillott agreed with O'Brien: he ordered the bowmen to lay in their oars and keep the guns pointed ready to fire at the word given, and desiring the other men to pull their best. Every nerve, every muscle was brought into play by our anxious and intrepid seamen. When within about twenty yards of the vessel, and also of the boats, the orders were given to fire--the carronade of the launch poured out round and grape so well directed, that one of the French boats sunk immediately; and the musket balls with which our other smaller guns were loaded, did great execution among their men. In one minute more, with three cheers from our sailors, we were all alongside together, English and French boats pell-mell, and a most determined close conflict took place. The French fought desperately, and as they were overpowered, they were reinforced by those from the privateer, who could not look on and behold their companions requiring their assistance, without coming to their aid. Some jumped down into our boats from the chains, into the midst of our men; others darted cold shot at us, either to kill us or to sink our boats; and thus did one of the most desperate hand-to-hand conflicts take place that ever was witnessed. But it was soon decided in our favour, for we were the stronger party and the better armed; and when all opposition was over, we jumped into the privateer, and found not a man left on board, only a large dog, who flew at O'Brien's throat as he entered the port. "Don't kill him," said O'Brien, as the sailors hastened to his assistance; "only take away his gripe." The sailors disengaged the dog, and O'Brien led him up to a gun, saying, "By Jasus, my boy, you are my prisoner." But although we had possession of the privateer, our difficulties, as it will prove, were by no means over. We were now exposed not only to the fire of the two batteries at the harbour-mouth which we had to pass, but also to that of the battery at the bottom of the bay, which had fired at the frigate. In the meantime, we were very busy in cutting the cable, lowering the topsails, and taking the wounded men on board the privateer, from out of the boats. All this was, however, but the work of a few minutes. Most of the Frenchmen were killed; our own wounded amounted to only nine seamen and Mr Chucks, the boatswain, who was shot through the body, apparently with little chance of surviving. As Mr Phillott observed, the captain's epaulettes had made him a mark for the enemy, and he had fallen in his borrowed plumes. As soon as they were all on board, and laid on the deck--for there were, as near as I can recollect, about fourteen wounded Frenchmen as well as our own--tow-ropes were got out forwards, the boats were manned, and we proceeded to tow the brig out of the harbour. It was a dead calm, and we made but little way, but our boat's crew, flushed with victory, cheered, and rallied, and pulled with all their strength. The enemy perceiving that the privateer was taken, and the French boats drifting empty up the harbour, now opened their fire upon us, and with great effect. Before we had towed abreast of the two water batteries, we had received three-shots between wind and water from the other batteries, and the sea was pouring fast into the vessel. I had been attending to poor Mr Chucks, who lay on the starboard side, near the wheel, the blood flowing from his wound, and tracing its course down the planks of the deck, to a distance of some feet from where he lay. He appeared very faint, and I tied my handkerchief round his body, so as to stop the effusion of blood, and brought him some water, with which I bathed his face, and poured some into his mouth. He opened his eyes wide, and looked at me. "Ah, Mr Simple," said he, faintly, "is it you? It's all over with me; but it could not be better--could it?" "How do you mean?" inquired I. "Why, have I not fallen dressed like an officer and a gentleman?" said he, referring to the captain's jacket and epaulettes. "I'd sooner die now with this dress on, than recover to put on the boatswain's uniform. I feel quite happy." He pressed my hand, and then closed his eyes again, from weakness. We were now nearly abreast of the two batteries on the points, the guns of which had been trained so as to bear upon our boats that were towing out the brig. The first shot went through the bottom of the launch, and sank her; fortunately, all the men were saved; but as she was the boat that towed next to the brig, great delay occurred in getting the others clear of her, and taking the brig again in tow. The shot now poured in thick, and the grape became very annoying. Still our men gave way, cheering at every shot fired, and we had nearly passed the batteries, with trifling loss, when we perceived that the brig was so full of water that she could not swim many minutes longer, and that it would be impossible to tow her alongside of the frigate. Mr Phillott, under these circumstances, decided that it would be useless to risk more lives, and that the wounded should be taken out of the brig, and the boats should pull away for the ship. He desired me to get the wounded men into the cutter, which he sent alongside, and then to follow the other boats. I made all the haste I could, not wishing to be left behind; and as soon as all our wounded men were in the boats, I went to Mr Chucks, to remove him. He appeared somewhat revived, but would not allow us to remove him. "My dear Mr Simple," said he, "it is of no use; I never can recover it, and I prefer dying here. I entreat you not to move me. If the enemy take possession of the brig before she sinks, I shall be buried with military honours; if they do not, I shall at least die in the dress of a gentleman. Hasten away as fast as you can, before you lose more men. Here I stay--that's decided." I expostulated with him, but at that time two boats full of men appeared, pulling out of the harbour to the brig. The enemy had perceived that our boats had deserted her, and were coming to take possession. I had therefore no time to urge Mr Chucks to change his resolution, and not wishing to force a dying man, I shook his hand and left him. It was with some difficulty I escaped, for the boats had come up close to the brig; they chased me a little while, but the yawl and the cutter turning back to my assistance, they gave up the pursuit. On the whole, this was a very well arranged and well conducted expedition. The only man lost was Mr Chucks, for the wounds of the others were none of them mortal. Captain Kearney was quite satisfied with our conduct, and so was the admiral, when it was reported to him. Captain Kearney did indeed grumble a little about his jacket, and sent for me to inquire why I had not taken it off Mr Chucks, and brought it on board. As I did not choose to tell him the exact truth, I replied, "That I could not disturb a dying man, and that the jacket was so saturated with blood, that he never could have worn it again," which was the case. "At all events, you might have brought away my epaulettes," replied he; "but you youngsters think of nothing but gormandizing." I had the first watch that night, when Swinburne, the quarter-master, came up to me, and asked me all the particulars of the affair, for he was not in the boats. "Well," said he, "that Mr Chucks appeared to be a very good boatswain in his way, if he could only have kept his rattan a little quiet. He was a smart fellow, and knew his duty. We had just such another killed in our ship, in the action off Cape St Vincent." "What! were you in that action?" replied I. "Yes, I was, and belonged to the _Captain_, Lord Nelson's ship." "Well, then, suppose you tell me all about it." "Why, Mr Simple, d'ye see, I've no objection to spin you a yarn, now and then," replied Swinburne, "but, as Mr Chucks used to say, allow me to observe, in the most delicate manner in the world, that I perceive that the man who has charge of your hammock, and slings you a clean one now and then, has very often a good glass of grog for his _yarns_, and I do not see but that mine are as well worth a glass of grog as his." "So they are, Swinburne, and better too, and I promise you a good stiff one to-morrow evening." "That will do, sir: now then, I'll tell you all about it, and more about it too than most can, for I know how the action was brought about." I have the log, marked the board, and then sat down abaft on the signal chest with Swinburne, who commenced his narrative as follows:-- "You must know, Mr Simple, that when the English fleet came down the Mediterranean, after the 'vackyation of Corsica, they did not muster more than seventeen sail of the line, while the Spanish fleet from Ferrol and Carthagena had joined company at Cadiz, and 'mounted to near thirty. Sir John Jervis had the command of our fleet at the time, but as the Dons did not seem at all inclined to come out and have a brush with us, almost two to one, Sir John left Sir Hyde Parker, with six sail of the line, to watch the Spanish beggars, while he went in to Lisbon with the remainder of the fleet, to water and refit. Now, you see, Mr Simple, Portugal was at that time what they calls neutral, that is to say, she didn't meddle at all in the affair, being friends with both parties, and just as willing to supply fresh beef and water to the Spaniards as to the English, if so be the Spaniards had come out to ax for it, which they dar'n't. The Portuguese and the English have always been the best of friends, because we can't get no port wine anywhere else, and they can't get nobody else to buy it of them; so the Portuguese gave up their arsenal at Lisbon, for the use of the English, and there we kept all our stores, under the charge of that old dare-devil, Sir Isaac Coffin. Now it so happened, that one of the clerks in old Sir Isaac's _office_, a Portuguese chap, had been some time before that in the office of the Spanish ambassador; he was a very smart sort of a chap, and sarved as interpreter, and the old commissioner put great faith in him." "But how did you learn all this, Swinburne?" "Why, I'll tell you, Mr Simple. I steered the yawl as coxswain, and when admirals and captains talk in the stern-sheets, they very often forget that the coxswain is close behind them. I only learnt half of it that way; the rest I put together when I compared logs with the admiral's steward, who, of course, heard a great deal now and then. The first I heard of it was when old Sir John called out to Sir Isaac, after the second bottle, 'I say, Sir Isaac, who killed the Spanish messenger?' 'Not I, by God!' replied Sir Isaac; 'I only left him for dead;' and then they both laughed, and so did Nelson, who was sitting with them. Well, Mr Simple, it was reported to Sir Isaac that his clerk was often seen taking memorandums of the different orders given to the fleet, particularly those as to there being no wasteful expenditure of his Majesty's stores. Upon which, Sir Isaac goes to the admiral, and requests that the man might be discharged. Now, old Sir John was a sly old fox, and he answered, 'Not so, commissioner; perhaps we may catch them in their own trap.' So the admiral sits down, and calls for pen and ink, and he flourishes out a long letter to the commissioner, stating that all the stores of the fleet were expended, representing as how it would be impossible to go to sea without a supply, and wishing to know when the commissioner expected more transports from England. He also said that if the Spanish fleet were now to come out from Cadiz, it would be impossible for him to protect Sir H. Parker with his six sail of the line, who was watching the Spanish fleet, as he could not quit the port in his present condition. To this letter the commissioner answered that, from the last accounts, he thought that in the course of six weeks or two months they might receive supplies from England, but that sooner than that was impossible. These letters were put in the way of the d----d Portuguese spy-clerk, who copied them, and was seen that evening to go into the house of the Spanish ambassador. Sir John then sent a message to Ferro--that's a small town on the Portuguese coast to the southward--with a despatch to Sir Hyde Parker, desiring him to run away to Cape St Vincent, and decoy the Spanish fleet there, in case they should come out after him. Well, Mr Simple, so far d'ye see the train was well laid. The next thing to do was to watch the Spanish ambassador's house, and see if he sent away any despatches. Two days after the letters had been taken to him by this rascal of a clerk, the Spanish ambassador sent away two messengers--one for Cadiz and the other for Madrid, which is the town where the King of Spain lives. The one to Cadiz was permitted to go, but the one to Madrid was stopped by the directions of the admiral, and this job was confided to the commissioner, Sir Isaac, who settled it somehow or another; and this was the reason why the admiral called out to him, 'I say, Sir Isaac, who killed the messenger?' They brought back his despatches, by which they found out that advice had been sent to the Spanish admiral--I forget his name, something like _Magazine_--informing him of the supposed crippled state of our squadron. Sir John, taking it for granted that the Spaniards would not lose an opportunity of taking six sail of the line-- more English ships than they have ever taken in their lives--waited a few days to give them time, and then sailed from Lisbon for Cape St Vincent, where he joined Sir Hyde Parker, and fell in with the Spaniards sure enough, and a pretty drubbing we gave them. Now, it's not everybody that could tell you all that, Mr Simple." "Well, but now for the action, Swinburne." "Lord bless you, Mr Simple! it's now past seven bells, and I can't fight the battle of St Vincent in half an hour; besides which, it's well worth another glass of grog to hear all about that battle." "Well, you shall have one, Swinburne; only don't forget to tell it to me." Swinburne and I then separated, and in less than an hour afterwards I was dreaming of despatches--Sir John Jervis--Sir Isaac Coffin--and Spanish messengers. Chapter XXXIV O'Brien's good advice--Captain Kearney again deals in the marvellous. I do not remember any circumstance in my life which, at that time, lay so heavily on my mind as the loss of poor Mr Chucks, the boatswain, who, of course, I took it for granted I should never see again. I believe that the chief cause was that at the time I entered the service, and every one considered me to be the fool of the family, Mr Chucks and O'Brien were the only two who thought of and treated me differently; and it was their conduct which induced me to apply myself and encouraged me to exertion. I believe that many a boy, who, if properly patronized, would turn out well, is, by the injudicious system of browbeating and ridicule, forced into the wrong path, and, in his despair, throws away all self-confidence, and allows himself to be carried away by the stream to perdition. O'Brien was not very partial to reading himself. He played the German flute remarkably well, and had a very good voice. His chief amusement was practising, or rather playing, which is a very different thing; but although he did not study himself, he always made me come into his cabin for an hour or two every day, and, after I had read, repeat to him the contents of the book. By this method he not only instructed me, but gained a great deal of information himself; for he made so many remarks upon what I had read, that it was impressed upon both our memories. "Well, Peter," he would say, as he came into the cabin, "what have you to tell me this morning? Sure it's you that's the schoolmaster, and not me--for I learn from you every day." "I have not read much, O'Brien, to-day, for I have been thinking of poor Mr Chucks." "Very right for you so to do, Peter. Never forget your friends in a hurry. You'll not find too many of them as you trot along the highway of life." "I wonder whether he is dead?" "Why, that's a question I cannot answer. A bullet through the chest don't lengthen a man's days, that's certain; but this I know, that he'll not die if he can help it, now that he's got the captain's jacket on." "Yes; he always aspired to be a gentleman, which was absurd enough in a boatswain." "Not at all absurd, Peter, but very absurd of you to talk without thinking. When did any one of his shipmates ever know Mr Chucks to do an unhandsome or mean action? Never; and why? Because he aspired to be a gentleman, and that feeling kept him above it. Vanity's a confounded donkey, very apt to put his head between his legs, and chuck us over; but pride's a fine horse, who will carry us over the ground, and enable us to distance our fellow-travellers. Mr Chucks has pride, and that's always commendable, even in a boatswain. How often have you read of people rising from nothing, and becoming great men? This was from talent, sure enough; but it was talent with pride to force it onward, not talent with vanity to check it." "You are very right, O'Brien; I spoke foolishly." "Never mind, Peter, nobody heard you but me; so it's of no consequence. Don't you dine in the cabin to-day?" "Yes." "So do I. The captain is in a most marvellous humour this morning. He told me one or two yarns that quite staggered my politeness and my respect for him on the quarter-deck. What a pity it is that a man should have gained such a bad habit!" "He's quite incurable, I'm afraid," replied I; "but, certainly, his fibs do no harm; they are what they call white lies. I do not think he would really tell a lie--that is, a lie which would be considered to disgrace a gentleman." "Peter, _all_ lies disgrace a gentleman, white or black, although I grant there is a difference. To say the least of it, it is a dangerous habit; for white lies are but the gentlemen ushers to black ones. I know but of one point on which a lie is excusable, and that is, when you wish to deceive the enemy. Then your duty to your country warrants your lying till you're black in the face; and, for the very reason that it goes against your grain, it becomes, as it were, a sort of virtue." "What was the difference between the marine officer and Mr Phillott that occurred this morning?" "Nothing at all in itself. The marine officer is a bit of a gaby, and takes offence where none is meant. Mr Phillott has a foul tongue; but he has a good heart." "What a pity it is!" "It is a pity, for he's a smart officer; but the fact is, Peter, that junior officers are too apt to copy their superiors, and that makes it very important that a young gentleman should sail with a captain who is a gentleman. Now, Phillott served the best of his time with Captain Ballover, who is notorious in the service for foul and abusive language. What is the consequence? That Phillott and many others who have served under him have learnt his bad habit." "I should think, O'Brien, that the very circumstance of having had your feelings so often wounded by such language when you were a junior officer, would make you doubly careful not to make use of it to others, when you had advanced in the service." "Peter, that's just the _first_ feeling, which wears away after a time; but at last, your own sense of indignation becomes blunted, and becoming indifferent to it, you forget also that you wound the feelings of others, and carry the habit with you, to the great injury and disgrace of the service. But it's time to dress for dinner, so you'd better make yourself scarce, Peter, while I tidivate myself off a little, according to the rules and regulations of His Majesty's service, when you are asked to dine with the skipper." We met at the captain's table, where we found, as usual, a great display of plate, but very little else, except the ship's allowance. We certainly had now been cruising some time, and there was some excuse for it; but still, few captains would have been so unprovided. "I'm afraid, gentlemen, you will not have a very grand dinner," observed the captain, as the steward removed the plated covers of the dishes; "but when on service we must rough it out how we can. Mr O'Brien, pea-soup? I recollect faring harder than this through one cruise in a flush vessel. We were thirteen weeks up to our knees in water, and living the whole time upon raw pork--not being able to light a fire during the cruise." "Pray, Captain Kearney, may I ask where this happened?" "To be sure. It was off Bermudas: we cruised for seven weeks before we could find the Islands, and began verily to think that the Bermudas were themselves on a cruise." "I presume, sir, you were not so sorry to have a fire to cook your provisions when you came to an anchor?" said O'Brien. "I beg your pardon," replied Captain Kearney; "we had become so accustomed to raw provisions and wet feet, that we could not eat our meals cooked, or help dipping our legs over the side, for a long while afterwards. I saw one of the boat-keepers astern catch a large barracouta and eat it alive--indeed, if I had not given the strictest orders, and flogged half-a-dozen of them, I doubt whether they would not have eaten their victuals raw to this day. The force of habit is tremendous." "It is, indeed," observed Mr Phillott, drily, and winking to us, referring to the captain's incredible stories. "It is, indeed," repeated O'Brien; "we see the ditch in our neighbour's eye, and cannot observe the log of wood in our own;" and O'Brien winked at me, referring to Phillott's habit of bad language. "I once knew a married man," observed the captain, "who had been always accustomed to go to sleep with his hand upon his wife's head, and would not allow her to wear a nightcap in consequence. Well, she caught cold and died, and he never could sleep at night until he took a clothes-brush to bed with him, and laid his hand upon that, which answered the purpose--such was the force of habit." "I once saw a dead body galvanized," observed Mr Phillott: "it was the body of a man who had taken a great deal of snuff during his lifetime, and as soon as the battery was applied to his spine, the body very gently raised its arm, and put its fingers to its nose, as if it was taking a pinch." "You saw that yourself, Mr Phillott?" observed the captain, looking at the first lieutenant earnestly in the face. "Yes, sir," replied Mr Phillott, coolly. "Have you told that story often?" "Very often, sir." "Because I know that some people, by constantly telling a story, at last believe it to be true; not that I refer to you, Mr Phillott; but still, I should recommend you not to tell that story where you are not well known, or people may doubt your credibility." "I make it a rule to believe everything myself," observed Mr Phillott, "out of politeness, and I expect the same courtesy from others." "Then, upon my soul! when you tell that story, you trespass very much upon our good manners. Talking of courtesy, you must meet a friend of mine, who has been a courtier all his life; he cannot help bowing, I have seen him bow to his horse and thank him after he had dismounted-- beg pardon of a puppy for treading on his tail; and one day, when he fell over a scraper, he took his hat off, and made it a thousand apologies for his inattention." "Force of habit again," said O'Brien. "Exactly so. Mr Simple, will you take a slice of this pork? and perhaps you'll do me the honour to take a glass of wine? Lord Privilege would not much admire our dinner to-day, would he, Mr Simple?" "As a variety he might, sir, but not for a continuance." "Very truly said. Variety is charming. The negroes here get so tired of salt fish and occra broth, that they eat dirt by way of a relish. Mr O'Brien, how remarkably well you played that sonata of Pleydel's this morning." "I am happy that I did not annoy you, Captain Kearney, at all events," replied O'Brien. "On the contrary, I am very partial to good music. My mother was a great performer. I recollect once, she was performing a piece on the piano in which she had to imitate a _thunderstorm_. So admirably did she hit it off, that when we went to tea all the cream was _turned sour_, as well as three casks of _beer_ in the cellar." At this assertion Mr Phillott could contain himself no longer; he burst out into a loud laugh, and having a glass of wine to his lips, spattered it all over the table, and over me, who unfortunately was opposite to him. "I really beg pardon, Captain Kearney, but the idea of such an expensive talent was too amusing. Will you permit me to ask you a question? As there could not have been thunder without lightning, were any people killed at the same time by the electric fluid of the piano?" "No sir," replied Captain Kearney, very angrily; "but her performance _electrified_ us, which was something like it. Perhaps, Mr Phillott, as you lost your last glass of wine, you will allow me to take another with you?" "With great pleasure," replied the first lieutenant, who perceived that he had gone far enough. "Well, gentlemen," said the captain, "we shall soon be in the land of plenty. I shall cruise a fortnight more, and then join the admiral at Jamaica. We must make out our despatch relative to the cutting out of the _Sylvia_ (that was the name of the privateer brig), and I am happy to say that I shall feel it my duty to make honourable mention of all the party present. Steward, coffee." The first lieutenant, O'Brien, and I, bowed to this flattering avowal on the part of the captain; as for me, I felt delighted. The idea of my name being mentioned in the "Gazette," and the pleasure that it would give to my father and mother, mantled the blood in my cheeks till I was as red as a turkey-cock. "_Cousin_ Simple," said the captain, good-naturedly, "you have no occasion to blush; your conduct deserves it; and you are indebted to Mr Phillott for having made me acquainted with your gallantry." Coffee was soon over, and I was glad to leave the cabin, and be alone, that I might compose my perturbed mind. I felt too happy. I did not, however, say a word to my messmates, as it might have created feelings of envy or ill-will. O'Brien gave me a caution not to do so, when I met him afterwards, so that I was very glad that I had been so circumspect. Chapter XXXV Swinburne continues his narrative of the battle off Cape St Vincent. The second night after this, we had the middle watch, and I claimed Swinburne's promise that he would spin his yarn, relative to the battle of St Vincent. "Well, Mr Simple, so I will; but I require a little priming, or I shall never go off." "Will you have your glass of grog before or after?" "Before, by all means, if you please, sir. Run down and get it, and I'll heave the log for you in the meantime, when we shall have a good hour without interruption, for the sea-breeze will be steady, and we are under easy sail." I brought up a stiff glass of grog, which Swinburne tossed off, and as he finished it, sighed deeply as if in sorrow that there was no more. Having stowed away the tumbler in one of the capstern holes for the present, we sat down upon a coil of ropes under the weather bulwarks, and Swinburne, replacing his quid of tobacco, commenced as follows-- "Well, Mr Simple, as I told you before, old Jervis started with all his fleet for Cape St Vincent. We lost one of our fleet--and a three-decker too--the _St George_; she took the ground, and was obliged to go back to Lisbon; but we soon afterwards were joined by five sail of the line, sent out from England, so that we mustered fifteen sail in all. We had like to lose another of our mess, for d'ye see, the old _Culloden_ and _Colossus_ fell foul of each other, and the _Culloden_ had the worst on it; but Troubridge, who commanded her, was not a man to shy his work, and ax to go in to refit, when there was a chance of meeting the enemy-- so he patched her up somehow or another, and reported himself ready for action the very next day. Ready for action he always was, that's sure enough, but whether his ship was in a fit state to go into action is quite another thing. But as the sailors used to say in joking, he was a _true bridge_, and you might trust to him; which meant as much as to say, that he knew how to take his ship into action, and how to fight her when he was fairly in it. I think it was the next day that Cockburn joined us in the _Minerve_, and he brought Nelson along with him with the intelligence that the Dons had chased him, and that the whole Spanish fleet was out in pursuit of us. Well, Mr Simple, you may guess we were not a little happy in the _Captain_, when Nelson joined us, as we knew that if he fell in with the Spaniards our ship would cut a figure--and so she did sure enough. That was on the morning of the 13th, and old Jervis made the signal to prepare for action, and keep close order, which means, to have your flying jib-boom in at the starn windows of the ship ahead of you; and we did keep close order, for a man might have walked right round from one ship to the other, either lee or weather line of the fleet. I sha'n't forget that night, Mr Simple, as long as I live and breathe. Every now and then we heard the signal guns of the Spanish fleet booming at a distance to windward of us, and you may guess how our hearts leaped at the sound, and how we watched with all our ears for the next gun that was fired, trying to make out their bearings and distance, as we assembled in little knots upon the booms and weather-gangway. It was my middle watch, and I was signalman at the time, so of course I had no time to take a caulk if I was inclined. When my watch was over I could not go down to my hammock, so I kept the morning watch too, as did most of the men on board: as for Nelson, he walked the deck the whole night, quite in a fever. At daylight it was thick and hazy weather, and we could not make them out; but, about five bells, the old _Culloden_, who, if she had broke her nose, had not lost the use of her eyes, made the signal for a part of the Spanish fleet in sight. Old Jervis repeated the signal to prepare for action, but he might have saved the wear and tear of the bunting, for we were all ready, bulk-heads down, screens up, guns shotted, tackles rove, yards slung, powder filled, shot on deck, and fire out--and what's more, Mr Simple, I'll be d----d if we weren't all willing too. About six bells in the forenoon, the fog and haze all cleared away at once, just like the raising of the foresail that they lower down at the Portsmouth theatre, and discovered the whole of the Spanish fleet. I counted them all. 'How many, Swinburne?' cries Nelson. 'Twenty-six sail, sir,' answered I. Nelson walked the quarter-deck backwards and forwards, rubbing his hands, and laughing to himself, and then he called for his glass, and went to the gangway with Captain Miller. 'Swinburne, keep a good look upon the admiral,' says he. 'Ay, ay, sir,' says I. Now you see, Mr Simple, twenty-six sail against fifteen were great odds upon paper; but we didn't think so, because we know'd the difference between the two fleets. There was our fifteen sail of the line, all in apple-pie order, packed up as close as dominoes, and every man on board of them longing to come to the scratch; while there was their twenty-six, all _somehow nohow_, two lines here and _no lines_ there, with a great gap of water in the middle of them. For this gap between their ships we all steered, with all the sail we could carry because, d'ye see, Mr Simple, by getting them on both sides of us, we had the advantage of fighting both broadsides, which is just as easy as fighting one, and makes shorter work of it. Just as it struck seven bells, Troubridge opened the ball _setting_ to half a dozen of the Spaniards, and making them _reel_ 'Tom Collins' whether or no. Bang--bang--bang, bang! Oh, Mr Simple, it's a beautiful sight to see the first guns fired that are to bring on a general action. He's the luckiest dog, that Troubridge,' said Nelson, stamping with impatience. Our ships were soon hard at it, hammer and tongs (my eyes, how they did pelt it in!), and old Sir John, in the _Victory_, smashed the cabin windows of the Spanish admiral, with such a hell of a raking broadside, that the fellow bore up as if the devil kicked him. Lord a mercy, you might have drove a Portsmouth waggon into his starn--the broadside of the _Victory_ had made room enough. However, they were soon all smothered up in smoke, and we could not make out how things were going on--but we made a pretty good guess. Well, Mr Simple, as they say at the play, that was act the first, scene the first; and now we had to make our appearance, and I'll leave you to judge, after I've told my tale, whether the old _Captain_ wasn't principal performer, and _top sawyer_ over them all. But stop a moment, I'll just look at the binnacle, for that young topman's nodding at the wheel.--I say, Mr Smith, are you shutting your eyes to keep them warm, and letting the ship run half a point out of her course? Take care I don't send for another helmsman, that's all, and give the reason why. You'll make a wry face upon six-water grog to-morrow, at seven bells. D----n your eyes, keep them open--can't you?" Swinburne, after this genteel admonition to the man at the wheel, reseated himself and continued his narrative. "All this while, Mr Simple, we in the _Captain_ had not fired a gun; but were ranging up as fast as we could to where the enemy lay in a heap. There were plenty to pick and choose from; and Nelson looked out sharp for a big one, as little boys do when they have to choose an apple; and, by the piper that played before Moses! it was a big one that he ordered the master to put him alongside of. She was a four-decker, called the _Santissima Trinidad_. We had to pass some whoppers, which would have satisfied any reasonable man; for there was the _San Josef_, and _Salvador del Mondo_ and _San Nicolas_: but nothing would suit Nelson but this four-decked ship; so we crossed the hawse of about six of them, and as soon as we were abreast of her, and at the word 'Fire!' every gun went off at once, slap into her, and the old _Captain_ reeled at the discharge, as if she was drunk. I wish you'd only seen how we pitched it into this _Holy Trinity_; she was _holy_ enough before we had done with her, riddled like a sieve, several of her ports knocked into one, and every scupper of her running blood and water. Not but what she stood to it as bold as brass, and gave us nearly gun for gun, and made a very pretty general average in our ship's company. Many of the old captains went to kingdom-come in that business, and many more were obliged to bear up for Greenwich Hospital. "'Fire away, my lads--steady aim!' cries Nelson. 'Jump down there, Mr Thomas; pass the word to reduce the cartridges, the shot go clean through her. Double shot the guns there, fore and aft.' "So we were at it for about half an hour, when our guns became so hot from quick firing, that they bounced up to the beams overhead, tearing away their ringbolts, and snapping their breechings like rope-yarns. By this time we were almost as much unrigged as if we had been two days paying off in Portsmouth harbour. The four-decker forged ahead, and Troubridge, in the jolly old _Culloden_, came between us and two other Spanish ships, who were playing into us. She was as fresh as a daisy, and gave them a dose which quite astonished them. They shook their ears, and fell astern, when the _Blenheim_ laid hold of them, and mauled them so that they went astern again. But it was out of the frying-pan into, the fire: for the _Orion, Prince George_, and one or two others, were coming up, and knocked the very guts out of them. I'll be d----d if they forget the 14th of April, and sarve them right, too. Wasn't a four-decker enough for any two-decker, without any more coming on us? and couldn't the beggars have matched themselves like gentlemen? Well, Mr Simple, this gave us a minute or two to fetch, our breath, let the guns cool, and repair damages, and swab the blood from the decks; but we lost our four-decker, for we could not get near her again." "What odd names the Spaniards give to their ships, Swinburne?" "Why yes, they do; it would almost appear wicked to belabour the _Holy Trinity_ as we did. But why they should call a four-decked ship the _Holy Trinity_, seeing as how there's only three of them, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I can't tell. Bill Saunders said that the fourth deck was for the Pope, who was as great a personage as the others; but I can't understand how that can be. Well, Mr Simple, as I was head signalman, I was perched on the poop, and didn't serve at a gun. I had to report all I could see, which was not much, the smoke was so thick; but now and then I could get a peep, as it were through the holes in the blanket. Of course I was obliged to keep my eye as much as possible upon the admiral, not to make out his signals, for Commodore Nelson wouldn't thank me for that; I knew he hated a signal when in action, so I never took no notice of the bunting, but just watched to see what he was about. So while we are repairing damages, I'll just tell you what I saw of the rest of the fleet. As soon as old Jervis had done for the Spanish admiral, he hauled his wind on the larboard tack, and followed by four or five other ships, weathered the Spanish line, and joined Collingwood in the _Excellent_. Then they all dashed through the line; the _Excellent_ was the leading ship, and she first took the shine out of the _Salvador del Mondo_, and then left her to be picked up by the other ships, while she attacked a two-decker, who hauled down her colours--I forget her name just now. As soon as the _Victory_ ran alongside of the _Salvador del Mondo_, down went her colours, and _excellent_ reasons had she for striking her flag. And now, Mr Simple. The old _Captain_ comes into play again. Having parted company with the four-decker, we had recommenced action with the _San Nicolas_, a Spanish eighty, and while we were hard at it, old Collingwood comes up in the _Excellent_. The _San Nicolas_, knowing that the _Excellent's_ broadside would send her to old Nick, put her helm up to avoid being raked: in so doing, she fell foul of the _San Josef_, a Spanish three-decker, and we being all cut to pieces and unmanageable--all of us indeed reeling about like drunken men--Nelson ordered his helm a-starboard, and in a jiffy there we were, all three hugging each other, running in one another's guns, smashing our chain-plates, and poking our yard-arms through each other's canvas. "'All hands to board!' roared Nelson, leaping on the hammocks and waving his sword. "'Hurrah! hurrah!' echoed through the decks, and up flew the men, like as many angry bees out of a bee-hive. In a moment pikes, tomahawks, cutlasses, and pistols were seized (for it was quite unexpected, Mr Simple), and our men poured into the eighty-gun ship, and in two minutes the decks were cleared and all the Dons pitched below. I joined the boarders and was on the main deck when Captain Miller came down, and cried out 'On deck again immediately.' Up we went, and what do you think it was for, Mr Simple? Why to board a second time; for Nelson having taken the two-decker, swore that he'd have the three-decker as well. So away we went again, clambering up her lofty sides how we could, and dropping down on her decks like hailstones. We all made for the quarter-deck, beat down every Spanish beggar that showed fight, and in five minutes more we had hauled down the colours of two of the finest ships in the Spanish navy. If that wasn't taking the shine out of the Dons, I should like to know what is. And didn't the old captains cheer and shake hands, as Commodore Nelson stood on the deck of the _San Josef_, and received the swords of the Spanish officers! There was enough of them to go right round the capstern, and plenty to spare. Now, Mr Simple, what do you think of that for a spree?" "Why, Swinburne, I can only say that I wish I had been there." "So did every man in the fleet, Mr Simple, I can tell you." "But what became of the _Santissima Trinidad_? "Upon my word, she behaved one _deck_ better than all the others. She held out against four of our ships for a long while, and then hauled down her colours, and no disgrace to her, considering what a precious hammering she had taken first. But the lee division of the Spanish weather fleet, if I may so call it, consisting of eleven sail of the line, came up to her assistance, and surrounded her, so that they got her off. Our ships were too much cut up to commence a new action, and the admiral made the signal to secure the prizes. The Spanish fleet then did what they should have done before--got into line; and we lost no time in doing the same. But we both had had fighting enough." "But do you think, Swinburne, that the Spaniards fought well?" "They'd have fought better, if they'd only have known how. There's no want of courage in the Dons, Mr Simple, but they did not support each other. Only observe how Troubridge supported us. By God, Mr Simple, he was the _real fellow_, and Nelson knew it well. He was Nelson's right-hand man; but you know, there wasn't room for _two_ Nelsons. Their ships engaged held out well, it must be acknowledged, but why weren't they all in their proper berths? Had they kept close order of sailing, and had all fought as well as those who were captured, it would not have been a very easy matter for fifteen ships to gain a victory over twenty-six. That's long odds, even when backed with British seamen." "Well, how did you separate?" "Why, the next morning the Spaniards had the weathergage, so they had the option whether to fight or not. At one time they had half a mind, for they bore down to us; upon which we hauled our wind to show them we were all ready to meet them, and then they thought better of it, and rounded-to again. So as they wouldn't fight, and we didn't wish it, we parted company in the night; and two days afterwards we anchored, with our four prizes, in Lagos Bay. So now you have the whole of it, Mr Simple, and I've talked till I'm quite hoarse. You haven't by chance another drop of the stuff left to clear my throat? It would be quite a charity." "I think I have, Swinburne; and as you deserve it, I will go and fetch it." Chapter XXXVI A letter from Father M'Grath, who diplomatizes--When priest meets priest, then comes the tug of war--Father O'Toole not to be made a tool of. We continued our cruise for a fortnight, and then made sail for Jamaica, where we found the admiral at anchor at Port Royal, but our signal was made to keep under weigh, and Captain Kearney, having paid his respects to the admiral, received orders to carry despatches to Halifax. Water and provisions were sent on board by the boats of the admiral's ships, and, to our great disappointment, as the evening closed in, we were again standing out to sea, instead of, as we had anticipated, enjoying ourselves on shore; but the fact was, that orders had arrived from England to send a frigate immediately up to the admiral at Halifax, to be at his disposal. I had, however, the satisfaction to know that Captain Kearney had been true to his word in making mention of my name in the despatch, for the clerk showed me a copy of it. Nothing occurred worth mentioning during our passage, except that Captain Kearney was very unwell nearly the whole of the time, and seldom quitted his cabin. It was in October that we anchored in Halifax harbour, and the Admiralty, expecting our arrival there, had forwarded our letters. There were none for me, but there was one for O'Brien, from Father M'Grath, the contents of which were as follows:-- "MY DEAR SON,--And a good son you are, and that's the truth on it, or devil a bit should you be a son of mine. You've made your family quite contented and peaceable, and they never fight for the _praties_ now-- good reason why they shouldn't, seeing that there's a plenty for all of them, and the pig craturs into the bargain. Your father and your mother, and your brother, and your three sisters, send their duty to you, and their blessings too--and you may add my blessing, Terence, which is worth them all; for won't I get you out of purgatory in the twinkling of a bed-post? Make yourself quite aisy on that score, and lave it all to me; only just say a _pater_ now and then, that when St Peter lets you in, he mayn't throw it in your teeth, that you've saved your soul by contract, which is the only way by which emperors and kings ever get to heaven. Your letter from Plymouth came safe to hand: Barney, the post-boy, having dropped it under foot, close to our door, the big pig took it into his mouth and ran away with it; but I caught sight of him, and _speaking_ to him, he let it go, knowing (the 'cute cratur!) that I could read it better than him. As soon as I had digested the contents, which it was lucky the pig did not instead of me, I just took my meal and my big stick, and then set off for Ballycleuch. "Now you know, Terence, if you haven't forgot--and if you have, I'll just remind you--that there's a flaunty sort of young woman at the poteen shop there, who calls herself Mrs O'Rourke, wife to a Corporal O'Rourke, who was kilt or died one day, I don't know which, but that's not of much consequence. The devil a bit do I think the priest ever gave the marriage-blessing to that same; although she swears that she was married on the rock of Gibraltar--it may be a strong rock fore I know, but it's not the rock of salvation like the seven sacraments, of which marriage is one. _Benedicite_! Mrs O'Rourke is a little too apt to fleer and jeer at the priests; and if it were not that she softens down her pertinent remarks with a glass or two of the real poteen, which proves some respect for the church, I'd excommunicate her body and soul, and every body and every soul that put their lips to the cratur at her door. But she must leave that off, as I tell her, when she gets old and ugly, for then all the whisky in the world sha'n't save her. But she's a fine woman now, and it goes agin my conscience to help the devil to a fine woman. Now this Mrs O'Rourke knows everybody and everything that's going on in the country about; and she has a tongue which has never had a holiday since it was let loose. "'Good morning to ye, Mrs O'Rourke,' says I. "'An' the top of the morning to you, Father M'Grath,' says she, with a smile; 'what brings you here? Is it a journey that you're taking to buy the true wood of the cross? or is it a purty girl that you wish to confess, Father M'Grath? or is it only that you're come for a drop of poteen, and a little bit of chat with Mrs O'Rourke?' "'Sure it's I who'd be glad to find the same true wood of the cross, Mrs O'Rourke, but it's not grown, I suspect, at your town of Ballycleuch; and it's no objection I'd have to confess a purty girl like yourself, Mrs O'Rourke, who'll only tell me half her sins, and give me no trouble; but it's the truth, that I'm here for nothing else but to have a bit of chat with yourself, dainty dear, and taste your poteen, just by way of keeping my mouth nate and clane.' "So Mrs O'Rourke poured out the real stuff, which I drank to her health; and then says I, putting down the bit of a glass, 'So you've a stranger come, I find, in your parts, Mrs O'Rourke.' "'I've heard the same,' replied she. So you observe, Terence, I came to the fact all at once by a guess. "'I am tould,' says I, 'that he's a Scotchman, and spakes what nobody can understand.' "'Devil a bit,' says she, 'he's an Englishman, and speaks plain enough.' "'But what can a man mane, to come here and sit down all alone?' says I. "'All alone, Father M'Grath!' replied she; 'is a man all alone when he's got his wife and childer, and more coming, with the blessing of God?' "'But those boys are not his own childer, I believe,' says I. "'There again you're all in a mistake, Father M'Grath,' rejoins she. 'The childer are all his own, and all girls to boot. It appears that it's just as well that you come down, now and then, for information, to our town of Ballycleuch.' "'Very true, Mrs O'Rourke,' says I; 'and who is it that knows everything so well as yourself?' You observe, Terence, that I just said everything contrary and _arce versa_, as they call it, to the contents of your letter; for always recollect, my son, that if you would worm a secret out of a woman, you'll do more by contradiction than you ever will by coaxing--so I went on: 'Anyhow, I think it's a burning shame, Mrs O'Rourke, for a gentleman to bring over with him here from England a parcel of lazy English servants, when there's so many nice boys and girls here to attind upon them.' "'Now there you're all wrong again, Father M'Grath,' says she. 'Devil a soul has he brought from the other country, but has hired them all here. Arn't there Ella Flanagan for one maid, and Terence Driscol for a footman? and it's well that he looks in his new uniform, when he comes down for the newspapers; and arn't Moggy Cala there to cook the dinner, and pretty Mary Sullivan for a nurse for the babby as soon as it comes into the world?' "'Is it Mary Sullivan you mane?' says I; 'she that was married about three months back, and is so quick in child-getting, that she's all but ready to fall to pieces in this same time?' "'It's exactly she,' says Mrs O'Rourke; 'and do you know the reason?' "'Devil a bit,' says I; 'how should I?' "'Then it's just that she may send her own child away, and give her milk to the English babby that's coming; because the lady is too much of a lady to have a child hanging to her breast.' "'But suppose Mary Sullivan's child ar'n't born till afterwards, how then?" says I. 'Speak, Mrs O'Rourke, for you're a sensible woman.' "'How then?' says she. 'Och! that's all arranged; for Mary says that she'll be in bed a week before the lady, so that's all right, you'll perceive, Father M'Grath.' "'But don't you perceive, sensible woman as you are, that a young woman, who is so much out of her reckoning as to have a child three months after her marriage, may make a little mistake in her lying-in arithmetic, Mrs O'Rourke.' "'Never fear, Father M'Grath, Mary Sullivan will keep her word; and sooner than disappoint the lady, and lose her place, she'll just tumble down-stairs, and won't that put her to bed fast enough?' "'Well, that's what I call a faithful good servant that earns her wages,' says I; 'so now I'll just take another glass, Mrs O'Rourke, and thank you too. Sure you're the woman that knows everything, and a mighty pretty woman into the bargain.' "'Let me alone now, Father M'Grath, and don't be pinching me that way, anyhow.' "'It was only a big flea that I perceived hopping on your gown, my darling, devil anything else.' "'Many thanks to you, father, for that same; but the next time you'd kill my fleas, just wait until they're in a _more dacent_ situation.' "'Fleas are fleas, Mrs O'Rourke, and we must catch 'em when we can, and how we can, and as we can, so no offence. A good night's rest to you, Mrs O'Rourke--when do you mean to confess?' "'I've an idea that I've too many fleas about me to confess to you just now, Father M'Grath, and that's the truth on it. So a pleasant walk back to you.' "So you'll perceive, my son, that having got all the information from Mrs O'Rourke, it's back I went to Ballyhinch, till I heard it whispered that there were doings down at the old house at Ballycleuch. Off I set, and went to the house itself, as priests always ought to be welcomed at births, and marriages, and deaths, being, as you know, of great use on such occasions--when who should open the door but Father O'Toole, the biggest rapparee of a priest in the whole of Ireland. Didn't he steal a horse, and only save his neck by benefit of clergy? and did he ever give absolution to a young woman without making her sin over again? 'What may be your pleasure here, Father M'Grath?' says he, holding the door with his hand. "'Only just to call and hear what's going on.' "'For the matter of that,' says he, 'I'll just tell you that we're all going on very well; but ar'n't you ashamed of yourself, Father M'Grath, to come here to interfere with my flock, knowing that I confess the house altogether?' "'That's as may be,' says I; 'but I only wanted to know what the lady had brought into the world.' "'It's a _child_' says he. "'Indeed!' says I; 'many thanks for the information; and pray what is it that Mary Sullivan has brought into the world?' "'That's a _child_ too,' says he; 'and now that you know all about it, good evening to you, Father M'Grath.' And the ugly brute slammed the door right in my face. "'Who stole a horse?' cries I; but he didn't hear me--more's the pity. "So you'll perceive, my dear boy, that I have found out something, at all events, but not so much as I intended; for I'll prove to Father O'Toole that he's no match for Father M'Grath. But what I find out must be reserved for another letter, seeing that it's not possible to tell it to you in this same. Praties look well, but somehow or another, _clothes_ don't grow upon trees in ould Ireland; and one of your half-quarterly bills, or a little prize-money, if it found its way here, would add not a little to the respectability of the family appearance. Even my cassock is becoming too _holy_ for a parish priest; not that I care about it so much, only Father O'Toole, the baste! had on a bran new one--not that I believe that he ever came honestly by it, as I have by mine--but, get it how you may, a new gown always looks better than an old one, that's certain. So no more at present from your loving friend and confessor, "URTAGH M'GRATH." "Now, you'll observe, Peter," said O'Brien, after I had read the letter, "that, as I supposed, your uncle meant mischief when he went over to Ireland. Whether the children are both boys or both girls, or your uncle's is a boy, and the other is a girl, there is no knowing at present. If an exchange was required, it's made, that's certain; but I will write again to Father M'Grath, and insist upon his finding out the truth, if possible. Have you any letter from your father?" "None, I am sorry to say. I wish I had, for he would not have failed to speak on the subject." "Well, never mind, it's no use dreaming over the matter; we must do our best when we get to England ourselves, and in the meantime trust to Father M'Grath. I'll go and write to him while my mind's full of it." O'Brien wrote his letter, and the subject was not started again. Chapter XXXVII Captain Kearney's illness--He makes his will, and devises sundry châteaux en Espagne for the benefit of those concerned--The legacy duty in this instance not ruinous--He signs, seals, and dies. The captain, as was his custom, went on shore, and took up his quarters at a friend's house; that is to say, the house of an acquaintance, or any polite gentleman who would ask him to take a dinner and a bed. This was quite sufficient for Captain Kearney, who would fill his portmanteau, and take up his quarters, without thinking of leaving them until the ship sailed, or some more advantageous invitation was given. This conduct in England would have very much trespassed on our ideas of hospitality; but in our foreign settlements and colonies, where the society is confined and novelty is desirable, a person who could amuse like Captain Kearney was generally welcome, let him stay as long as he pleased. All sailors agree in asserting that Halifax is one of the most delightful ports in which a ship can anchor. Everybody is hospitable, cheerful, and willing to amuse and be amused. It is, therefore, a very bad place to send a ship to if you wish her to refit in a hurry; unless, indeed, the admiral is there to watch over your daily progress, and a sharp commissioner to expedite your motions in the dockyard. The admiral was there when we arrived, and we should not have lain there long, had not the health of Captain Kearney, by the time that we were ready for sea, been so seriously affected, that the doctor was of opinion that he could not sail. Another frigate was sent to our intended cruising-ground, and we lay idle in port. But we consoled ourselves: if we did not make prize-money, at all events, we were very happy, and the major part of the officers very much in love. We had remained in Halifax harbour about three weeks, when a very great change for the worse took place in Captain Kearney's disease. Disease, indeed, it could hardly be called. He had been long suffering from the insidious attacks of a hot climate, and though repeatedly advised to invalid, he never would consent. His constitution appeared now to be breaking up. In a few days he was so ill, that, at the request of the naval surgeons, he consented to be removed to the hospital, where he could command more comforts than in any private house. He had not been at the hospital more than two days, when he sent for me, and stated his wish that I should remain with him. "You know, Peter, that you are a cousin of mine, and one likes to have one's relations near one when we are sick, so bring your traps on shore. The doctor has promised me a nice little room for yourself, and you shall come and sit with me all day." I certainly had no objection to remain with him, because I considered it my duty so to do, and I must say that there was no occasion for me to make any effort to entertain him, as he always entertained me; but I could not help seriously reflecting, and feeling much shocked, at a man, lying in so dangerous a state--for the doctors had pronounced his recovery to be impossible--still continuing a system of falsehood during the whole day, without intermission. But it really appeared in him to be innate; and, as Swinburne said, "if he told truth, it was entirely by mistake." "Peter," said he, one day, "there's a great draught. Shut the door, and put on some more coals." "The fire does not draw well, sir," replied I, "without the door is open." "It's astonishing how little people understand the nature of these things. When I built my house, called Walcot Abbey, there was not a chimney would draw; I sent for the architect and abused him, but he could not manage it: I was obliged to do it myself." "Did you manage it, sir?" "Manage it--I think I did. The first time I lighted the fire, I opened the door, and the draught was so great, that my little boy, William, who was standing in the current of air, would have gone right up the chimney, if I had not caught him by the petticoats; as it was, his frock was on fire." "Why sir, it must have been as bad as a hurricane!" "No, no, not quite so bad--but it showed what a little knowledge of philosophical arrangement could effect. We have no hurricanes in England, Peter; but I have seen a very pretty whirlwind when I was at Walcot Abbey." "Indeed, sir." "Yes; it cut four square haystacks quite round, and I lost twenty tons of hay; it twisted the iron lamp-post at the entrance just as a porpoise twists a harpoon, and took up a sow and her litter of pigs, that were about a hundred yards from the back of the house, and landed them safe over the house to the front, with the exception of the old sow putting her shoulder out." "Indeed, sir." "Yes, but what was strange, there were a great many rats in the hayrick, and up they went with the hay. Now, Peter, by the laws of gravitation, they naturally come down before the hay, and I was walking with my greyhound, or rather terrier, and after one coming down close to her, which she killed, it was quite ridiculous to witness her looking up in the air, and watching for the others." "A greyhound did you say, sir, or a terrier?" "Both, Peter; the fact is, she had been a greyhound, but breaking her foreleg against a stump, when coursing, I had the other three amputated as well, and then she made a capital terrier. She was a great favourite of mine." "Well," observed I, "I have read something like that in Baron Munchausen." "Mr Simple," said the captain, turning on his elbow and looking me severely in the face, "what do you mean to imply?" "Oh, nothing, sir, but I have read a story of that kind." "Most probably; the great art of invention is to found it upon facts. There are some people who out of a mole-hill will make a mountain; and facts and fiction become so blended nowadays, that even truth becomes a matter of doubt." "Very true, sir," replied I; and as he did not speak for some minutes, I ventured to bring my Bible to his bedside, as if I was reading it to myself. "What are you reading, Peter?" said he. "Only a chapter in the Bible, sir," said I. "Would you like that I should read aloud?" "Yes, I'm very fond of the Bible--it's the book of _truth_. Peter, read me about Jacob, and his weathering Esau with a mess of pottage, and obtaining his father's blessing." I could not help thinking it singular that he should select a portion in which, for divine reasons, a lie was crowned with success and reward. When I had finished it, he asked me to read something more; I turned over to the Acts of the Apostles, and commenced the chapter in which Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead. When I had finished, he observed very seriously, "That is a very good lesson for young people, Peter, and points out that you never should swerve from the truth. Recollect, as your motto, Peter, to 'tell truth and shame the devil.'" After this observation I laid down the book, as it appeared to me that he was quite unaware of his propensity; and without a sense of your fault, how can repentance and amendment be expected? He became more feeble and exhausted every day, and, at last, was so weak that he could scarcely raise himself in his bed. One afternoon he said, "Peter, I shall make my will, not that I am going to kick the bucket just yet; but still it is every man's duty to set his house in order, and it will amuse me; so fetch pen and paper, and come and sit down by me." I did as he requested. "Write, Peter, that I, Anthony George William Charles Huskisson Kearney (my father's name was Anthony, Peter; I was christened George, after the present Regent, William and Charles after Mr Pitt and Mr Fox, who were my sponsors; Huskisson is the name of my great uncle, whose property devolves to me; he's eighty-three now, so he can't last long)--have you written down that?" "Yes, sir." "Being in sound mind, do hereby make my last will and testament, revoking all former wills." "Yes, sir." "I bequeath to my dearly beloved wife, Augusta Charlotte Kearney (she was named after the Queen and Princess Augusta, who held her at the baptismal font), all my household furniture, books, pictures, plate, and houses, for her own free use and will, and to dispose of at her pleasure upon her demise. Is that down?" "Yes, sir." "Also, the interest of all my money in the three percents, reduced, and in the long annuities, and the balance in my agent's hands, for her natural life. At her death to be divided into equal portions between my two children, William Mohamed Potemkin Kearney, and Caroline Anastasia Kearney. Is that down?" "Yes, sir." "Well, then, Peter, now for my real property. My estate in Kent (let me see, what is the name of it?)--Walcot Abbey, my three farms in the Vale of Aylesbury, and the marsh lands in Norfolk, I bequeath to my two children aforenamed, the proceeds of the same to be laid up, deducting all necessary expenses for their education, for their sole use and benefit. Is that down?" "Not yet, sir--'use and benefit.' Now it is, sir." "Until they come to the age of twenty-one years; or in case of my daughter, until she marries with the consent of my executors, then to be equally and fairly valued and divided between them. You observe, Peter, I never make any difference between girls and boys--a good father will leave one child as much as another. Now, I'll take my breath a little." I was really astonished. It was well known that Captain Kearney had nothing but his pay, and that it was the hopes of prize-money to support his family, which had induced him to stay out so long in the West Indies. It was laughable; yet I could not laugh: there was a melancholy feeling at such a specimen of insanity, which prevented me. "Now, Peter, we'll go on," said Captain Kearney, after a pause of a few minutes. "I have a few legacies to bequeath. First, to all my servants £50 each, and two suits of mourning; to my nephew, Thomas Kearney, of Kearney Hall, Yorkshire, I bequeath the sword presented me by the Grand Sultan. I promised it to him, and although we have quarrelled, and not spoken for years, I always keep my word. The plate presented me by the merchants and underwriters of Lloyd's, I leave to my worthy friend, the Duke of Newcastle. Is that down?" "Yes, sir." "Well; my snuff-box, presented me by Prince Potemkin, I bequeath to Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin; and, also, I release him from the mortgage which I hold over his property of the Madeline Islands, in North America. By-the-bye, say, and further, I bequeath to him the bag of snuff presented to me by the Dey of Algiers; he may as well have the snuff as he has the snuff-box. Is that down?" "Yes, sir." "Well then, now, Peter, I must leave you something." "Oh, never mind me," replied I. "No, no, Peter, I must not forget my cousin. Let me see; you shall have my fighting sword. A real good one, I can tell you. I once fought a duel with it at Palermo, and ran a Sicilian prince so clean through the body, and it held so tight, that we were obliged to send for a pair of post-horses to pull it out again. Put that down as a legacy for my cousin, Peter Simple. I believe that is all. Now for my executors; and I request my particular friends, the Earl of Londonderry, the Marquis of Chandos, and Mr John Lubbock, banker, to be my executors, and leave each of them the sum of one thousand pounds for their trouble, and in token of regard. That will do, Peter. Now, as I have left so much real property, it is necessary that there should be three witnesses; so call in two more, and let me sign in your presence." This order was obeyed, and this strange will duly attested, for I hardly need say, that even the presents he had pretended to receive were purchased by himself at different times; but such was the force of his ruling passion even to the last. Mr Phillott and O'Brien used to come and see him, as did occasionally some of the other officers, and he was always cheerful and merry, and seemed to be quite indifferent about his situation, although fully aware of it. His stories, if anything, became more marvellous, as no one ventured to express a doubt as to their credibility. I had remained in the hospital about a week, when Captain Kearney was evidently dying: the doctor came, felt his pulse, and gave it as his opinion that he could not outlive the day. This was on a Friday, and there certainly was every symptom of dissolution. He was so exhausted that he could scarcely articulate; his feet were cold, and his eyes appeared glazed, and turned upwards. The doctor remained an hour, felt his pulse again, shook his head, and said to me, in a low voice, "He is quite gone." As soon as the doctor quitted the room, Captain Kearney opened his eyes, and beckoned me to him. "He's a confounded fool, Peter," said he: "he thinks I am slipping my wind now--but I know better; going I am, 'tis true--but I shan't die till next Thursday." Strange to say, from that moment he rallied; and although it was reported that he was dead, and the admiral had signed the acting order for his successor, the next morning, to the astonishment of everybody, Captain Kearney was still alive. He continued in this state, between life and death, until the Thursday next, the day on which he asserted that he would die--and, on that morning, he was evidently sinking fast. Towards noon, his breathing became much oppressed and irregular, and he was evidently dying; the rattle in his throat commenced; and I watched at his bedside, waiting for his last gasp, when he again opened his eyes, and beckoning me, with an effort, to put my head close to him to hear what he had to say, he contrived, in a sort of gurgling whisper, and with much difficulty, to utter--"Peter, I'm going now--not that the rattle--in my throat--is a sign of death: for I once knew a man--to _live_ with--_the rattle in his throat_--for _six weeks_." He fell back and expired, having, perhaps, at his last gasp, told the greatest lie of his whole life. Thus died this most extraordinary character, who, in most other points, commanded respect: he was a kind man and a good officer; but from the idiosyncrasy of his disposition, whether from habit or from nature, could not speak the truth. I say from _nature_, because I have witnessed the vice of stealing equally strong, and never to be eradicated. It was in a young messmate of good family, and who was supplied with money to almost any extent: he was one of the most generous, open-hearted lads that I ever knew; he would offer his purse, or the contents of his chest, to any of his messmates, and, at the same time, would steal everything that he could lay his hands upon. I have known him watch for hours, to steal what could be of no use to him, as, for instance, an _odd_ shoe, and that much too small for his foot. What he stole he would give away the very next day; but to check it was impossible. It was so well known, that if anything was missed, we used first to apply to his chest to see if it was there, and usually found the article in question. He appeared to be wholly insensible to shame upon this subject, though in every other he showed no want of feeling or of honour; and, strange to say, he never covered his theft with a lie. After vain attempts to cure him of this propensity, he was dismissed the service as incorrigible. Captain Kearney was buried in the churchyard with the usual military honours. In his desk we found directions, in his own hand, relative to his funeral, and the engraving on his tombstone. In these, he stated his aged to be thirty-one years. If this was correct, Captain Kearney, from the time that he had been in the service of his country, must have entered the navy just _four months before_ he was born. It was unfortunate that he commenced the inscription with "Here lies Captain Kearney," &c. &c. His tombstone had not been set up twenty-four hours before somebody, who knew his character, put a dash under one word, as emphatic as it was true of the living man, "Here _lies_ Captain." Chapter XXXVIII Captain Horton--Gloomy news from home--Get over head and ears in the water, and find myself afterwards growing one way, and my clothes another--Though neither as rich as a Jew, nor as large as a camel, I pass through my examination, which my brother candidates think passing strange. The day after Captain Kearney's decease, his acting successor made his appearance on board. The character of Captain Horton was well known to us from the complaints made by the officers belonging to his ship, of his apathy and indolence; indeed, he went by the _soubriquet_ of "the Sloth." It certainly was very annoying to his officers to witness so many opportunities of prize-money and distinction thrown away through the indolence of his disposition. Captain Horton was a young man of family who had advanced rapidly in the service from interest, and from occasionally distinguishing himself. In the several cutting-out expeditions, on which he had not volunteered but had been ordered, he had shown, not only courage, but a remarkable degree of coolness in danger and difficulty, which had gained him much approbation: but it was said that this coolness arose from his very fault--an unaccountable laziness. He would walk away, as it were, from the enemy's fire, when others would hasten, merely because he was so apathetic that he would not exert himself to run. In one cutting-out expedition in which he distinguished himself, it is said that having to board a very high vessel, and that in a shower of grape and musketry, when the boat dashed alongside, and the men were springing up, he looked up at the height of the vessel's sides, and exclaimed, with a look of despair, "My God! must we really climb up that vessel's decks?" When he had gained the deck, and became excited, he then proved how little fear had to do with the remark, the captain of the ship falling by his hand, as he fought in advance on his own men. But this peculiarity, which in a junior officer was of little consequence, and a subject of mirth, in a captain became of a very serious nature. The admiral was aware how often he had neglected to annoy or capture the enemy when he might have done it; and, by such neglect, Captain Horton infringed one of the articles of war, the punishment awarded to which infringement is _death_. His appointment, therefore, to the _Sanglier_ was as annoying to us as his quitting his former ship was agreeable to those on board of her. As it happened, it proved of little consequence: the admiral had instructions from home to advance Captain Horton to the first vacancy, which of course he was obliged to comply with; but not wishing to keep on the station an officer who would not exert himself, he resolved to send her to England with despatches and retain the other frigate which had been ordered home, and which we had been sent up to replace. We therefore heard it announced with feelings of joy, mingled with regret, that we were immediately to proceed to England. For my part, I was glad of it. I had now served my time as midshipman, to within five months, and I thought that I had a better chance of being made in England than abroad. I was also very anxious to go home, for family reasons, which I have already explained. In a fortnight we sailed with several vessels, and directions to take charge of a large convoy from Quebec, which was to meet us off the island of St John's. In a few days we joined our convoy, and with a fair wind bore up for England. The weather soon became very bad, and we were scudding before a heavy gale, under bare poles. Our captain seldom quitted the cabin, but remained there on a sofa, stretched at his length, reading a novel, or dozing, as he found most agreeable. I recollect a circumstance which occurred, which will prove the apathy of his disposition, and how unfit he was to command so fine a frigate. We had been scudding three days, when the weather became much worse. O'Brien, who had the middle watch, went down to report that "it blew very hard." "Very well," said the captain; "let me know if it blows harder." In about an hour more the gale increased, and O'Brien went down again. "It blows much harder, Captain Horton." "Very well," answered Captain Horton, turning in his cot; "you may call me again when it _blows harder_." At about six bells the gale was at its height, and the wind roared in its fury. Down went O'Brien again. "It blows tremendous hard now, Captain Horton." "Well, well, if the weather becomes worse--" "It can't be worse," interrupted O'Brien; "it's impossible to blow harder." "Indeed! Well, then," replied the captain, "let me know when _it lulls_." In the morning watch a similar circumstance took place. Mr Phillott went down, and said that several of the convoy were out of sight astern. "Shall we heave-to, Captain Horton?" "Oh, no," replied he, "she will be so uneasy. Let me know if you lose sight of any more." In another hour the first lieutenant reported that "there were very few to be seen." "Very well, Mr Phillott," replied the captain, turning round to sleep; "let me know if you lose any more." Some time elapsed, and the first lieutenant reported "that they were all out of sight." "Very well, then," said the captain; "call me when you see them again." This was not very likely to take place, as we were going twelve knots an hour, and running away from them as fast as we could; so the captain remained undisturbed until he thought proper to get up to breakfast. Indeed, we never saw any more of our convoy, but taking the gale with us, in fifteen days anchored in Plymouth Sound. The orders came down for the frigate to be paid off, all standing, and recommissioned. I received letters from my father, in which he congratulated me at my name being mentioned in Captain Kearney's despatches, and requested me to come home as soon as I could. The admiral allowed my name to be put down on the books of the guard-ship, that I might not lose my time, and then gave me two months' leave of absence. I bade farewell to my shipmates, shook hands with O'Brien, who proposed to go over to Ireland previous to his applying for another ship, and, with my pay in my pocket, set off in the Plymouth mail, and in three days was once more in the arms of my affectionate mother, and warmly greeted by my father and the remainder of my family. Once more with my family, I must acquaint the reader with what had occurred since my departure. My eldest sister, Lucy, had married an officer in the army, a Captain Fielding, and his regiment having been ordered out to India, had accompanied her husband, and letters had been received, just before my return announcing their safe arrival at Ceylon. My second sister, Mary, had also been engaged to be married, and from her infancy was of extremely delicate health. She was very handsome, and much admired. Her intended husband was a baronet of good family; but unfortunately, she caught a cold at the assize ball and went off in a decline. She died about two months before my arrival, and the family were in deep mourning. My third sister, Ellen, was still unmarried; she also was a very beautiful girl, and now seventeen. My mother's constitution was much shaken by the loss of my sister Mary, and the separation from her eldest child. As for my father, even the loss of his daughter appeared to be wholly forgotten in the unwelcome intelligence which he had received, that my uncle's wife had been safely delivered of a _son_, which threw him out of the anticipated titles and estates of my grandfather. It was indeed a house of mourning. My mother's grief I respected, and tried all I could to console her; that of my father was so evidently worldly, and so at variance with his clerical profession, that I must acknowledge I felt more of anger at it than sorrow. He had become morose and sullen, harsh to those around him, and not so kind to my mother as her state of mind and health made it his duty to be, even if inclination were wanted. He seldom passed any portion of the day with her, and in the evening she went to bed very early, so that there was little communication between them. My sister was a great consolation to her, and so I hope was I; she often said so as she embraced me, and the tears rolled down her cheeks, and I could not help surmising that those tears were doubled from the coolness and indifference, if not unkindness, with which my father behaved to her. As for my sister, she was an angel; and as I witnessed her considerate attentions to my mother, and the total forgetfulness of self which she displayed (so different from my father, who was all self), I often thought what a treasure she would prove to any man who was fortunate enough to win her love. Such was the state of my family when I returned to it. I had been at home about a week, when one evening, after dinner, I submitted to my father the propriety of trying to obtain my promotion. "I can do nothing for you, Peter; I have no interest whatever," replied he, moodily. "I do not think that much is required, sir," replied I; "my time will be served on the 20th of next month. If I pass, which I trust I shall be able to do, my name having been mentioned in the public despatches will render it a point of no very great difficulty to obtain my commission at the request of my grandfather." "Yes, your grandfather might succeed, I have no doubt; but I think you have little chance now in that quarter. My brother has a son, and we are thrown out. You are not aware, Peter, how selfish people are, and how little they will exert themselves for their relations. Your grandfather has never invited me since the announcement of my brother's increase to his family. Indeed, I have never been near him, for I know that it is of no use." "I must think otherwise of Lord Privilege, my dear father, until your opinion is confirmed by his own conduct. That I am not so much an object of interest, I grant; but still he was very kind, and appeared to be partial to me." "Well, well, you can try all you can, but you'll soon see of what stuff this world is made; I am sure I hope it will be so, for what is to become of you children if I die, I do not know;--I have saved little or nothing. And now all my prospects are blasted by this--" and my father dashed his fist upon the table in a manner by no means clerical, and with a look very unworthy of an apostle. I am sorry that I must thus speak of my father, but I must not disguise the truth. Still, I must say, there was much in extenuation of his conduct. He had always a dislike to the profession of the church: his ambition, as a young man, had been to enter the army, for which service he was much better qualified; but, as it has been the custom for centuries to entail all the property of the aristocracy upon the eldest son, and leave the other brothers to be supported by the state, or rather by the people, who are taxed for their provision, my father was not permitted to follow the bent of his own inclination. An elder brother had already selected the army as his profession, and it was therefore decided that my father should enter the church; and thus it is that we have had, and still have, so many people in that profession, who are not only totally unfit for, but who actually disgrace, their calling. The law of primogeniture is beset with evils and injustice; yet without it, the aristocracy of a country must sink into insignificance. It appears to me, that as long as the people of a country are content to support the younger sons of the nobility, it is well that the aristocracy should be held up as a third estate, and a link between the sovereign and the people; but that if the people are either too poor, or are unwilling to be so taxed, they have a right to refuse taxation for such purposes, and to demand that the law of primogeniture should be abolished. I remained at home until my time was complete, and then set off for Plymouth to undergo my examination. The passing-day had been fixed by the admiral for the Friday, and, as I arrived on Wednesday, I amused myself during the day, walking about the dockyard, and trying all I could to obtain further information in my profession. On the Thursday, a party of soldiers from the depot were embarking at the landing-place in men-of-war boats, and, as I understood, were about to proceed to India. I witnessed the embarkation, and waited till they shoved off, and then walked to the anchor wharf to ascertain the weights of the respective anchors of the different classes of vessels in the King's service. I had not been there long, when I was attracted by the squabbling created by a soldier, who, it appeared, had quitted the ranks to run up to the tap in the dockyard to obtain liquor. He was very drunk, and was followed by a young woman with a child in her arms, who was endeavouring to pacify him. "Now be quiet, Patrick, jewel," said she, clinging to him; "sure it's enough that you've left the ranks, and will come to disgrace when you get on board. Now be quiet, Patrick, and let us ask for a boat, and then perhaps the officer will think it was all a mistake, and let you off aisy; and sure I'll speak to Mr O'Rourke, and he's a kind man." "Out wid you, you cratur, it is Mr O'Rourke you'd be having a conversation wid, and he be chucking you under that chin of yours. Out wid you, Mary, and lave me to find my way on board. Is it a boat I want, when I can swim like St Patrick, wid my head under my arm, if it wasn't on my shoulders? At all events, I can wid my nappersack and musket to boot." The young woman cried, and tried to restrain him, but he broke from her, and running down to the wharf, dashed off into the water. The young woman ran to the edge of the wharf, perceived him sinking, and shrieking with despair, threw up her arms in her agony. The child fell, struck on the edge of the piles, turned over, and before I could catch hold of it, sank into the sea. "The child! the child!" burst forth in another wild scream, and the poor creature lay at my feet in violent fits. I looked over, the child had disappeared; but the soldier was still struggling with his head above water. He sank and rose again--a boat was pulling towards him, but he was quite exhausted. He threw back his arms as if in despair, and was about disappearing under a wave, when, no longer able to restrain myself, I leaped off the high wharf, and swam to his assistance, just in time to lay hold of him as he was sinking for the last time. I had not been in the water a quarter of a minute before the boat came up to us, and dragged us on board. The soldier was exhausted and speechless. I, of course, was only very wet. The boat rowed to the landing-place at my request, and we were both put on shore. The knapsack which was fixed on the soldier's back, and his regimentals, indicated that he belonged to the regiment just embarked; and I stated my opinion that, as soon as he was a little recovered, he had better be taken on board. As the boat which picked us up was one of the men-of-war boats, the officer who had been embarking the troops, and had been sent on shore again to know if there were any yet left behind, consented. In a few minutes the soldier recovered, and was able to sit up and speak, and I only waited to ascertain the state of the poor young woman whom I had left on the wharf. In a few minutes she was led to us by the warder, and the scene between her and her husband was most affecting. When she had become a little composed, she turned round to me, where I stood dripping wet, and, intermingled with lamentation for the child, showering down emphatic blessings on my head, inquired my name. "Give it to me!" she cried; "give it to me on paper, in writing, that I may wear it next my heart, read and kiss it every day of my life, and never forget to pray for you, and to bless you!" "I'll tell it you. My name--" "Nay, write it down for me--write it down. Sure you'll not refuse me. All the saints bless you, dear young man, for saving a poor woman from despair!" The officer commanding the boat handed me a pencil and a card; I wrote my name and gave it to the poor woman; she took my hand as I gave it, kissed the card repeatedly, and put it into her bosom. The officer, impatient to shove off, ordered her husband into the boat--she followed, clinging to him, wet as he was--the boat shoved off, and I hastened up to the inn to dry my clothes. I could not help observing, at the time, how the fear of a greater evil will absorb all consideration for a minor. Satisfied that her husband had not perished, she had hardly once appeared to remember that she had lost her child. I had only brought one suit of clothes with me: they were in very good condition when I arrived, but salt water plays the devil with a uniform. I laid in bed until they were dry; but when I put them on again, not being before too large for me, for I grew very fast, they were now shrunk and shrivelled up, so as to be much too small. My wrists appeared below the sleeves of my coat--my trousers had shrunk half way up to my knees--the buttons were all tarnished, and altogether I certainly did not wear the appearance of a gentlemanly, smart midshipman. I would have ordered another suit, but the examination was to take place at ten o'clock the next morning, and there was no time. I was therefore obliged to appear as I was, on the quarter-deck of the line-of-battle ship, on board of which the passing was to take place. Many others were there to undergo the same ordeal, all strangers to me, and as I perceived by their nods and winks to each other, as they walked up and down in their smart clothes, not at all inclined to make my acquaintance. There were many before me on the list, and our hearts beat every time that a name was called, and the owner of it walked aft into the cabin. Some returned with jocund faces, and our hopes mounted with the anticipation of similar good fortune; others came out melancholy and crest-fallen, and then the expression of their countenances was communicated to our own, and we quailed with fear and apprehension. I have no hesitation in asserting, that although "passing" may be a proof of being qualified, "not passing" is certainly no proof to the contrary. I have known many of the cleverest young men turned back (while others of inferior abilities have succeeded), merely from the feeling of awe occasioned by the peculiarity of the situation: and it is not to be wondered at, when it is considered that all the labour and exertion of six years are at stake at this appalling moment. At last my name was called, and almost breathless from anxiety, I entered the cabin, where I found myself in presence of the three captains who were to decide whether I were fit to hold a commission in His Majesty's service. My logs and certificates were examined and approved; my time calculated and allowed to be correct. The questions in navigation which were put to me were very few, for the best of all possible reasons, that most captains in His Majesty's service know little or nothing of navigation. During their servitude as midshipmen, they learn it by _rote_, without being aware of the principles upon which the calculations they use are founded. As lieutenants, their services as to navigation are seldom required, and they rapidly forget all about it. As captains, their whole remnant of mathematical knowledge consists in being able to set down the ship's position on the chart. As for navigating the ship, the master is answerable; and the captains not being responsible themselves, they trust entirely to his reckoning. Of course there are exceptions, but what I state is the fact; and if an order from the Admiralty was given, that all captains should pass again, although they might acquit themselves very well in seamanship, nineteen out of twenty would be turned back when they were questioned in navigation. It is from the knowledge of this fact that I think the service is injured by the present system, and the captain should be held _wholly_ responsible for the navigation of his ship. It has been long known that the officers of every other maritime state are more scientific than our own, which is easily explained, from the responsibility not being invested in our captains. The origin of masters in our service is singular. When England first became a maritime power, ships for the King's service were found by the Cinque Ports and other parties--the fighting part of the crew was composed of soldiers sent on board. All the vessels at that time had a crew of sailors, with a master to navigate the vessel. During our bloody naval engagements with the Dutch, the same system was acted upon. I think it was the Earl of Sandwich, of whom it is stated, that his ship being in a sinking state, he took a boat to hoist his flag on board of another vessel in the fleet, but a shot cutting the boat in two, and the _weight of his armour_ bearing him down, the Earl of Sandwich perished. But to proceed. As soon as I had answered several questions satisfactorily, I was desired to stand up. The captain who had interrogated me on navigation, was very grave in his demeanour towards me, but at the same time not uncivil. During his examination, he was not interfered with by the other two, who only undertook the examination in "seamanship." The captain, who now desired me to stand up, spoke in a very harsh tone, and quite frightened me. I stood up pale and trembling, for I augured no good from this commencement. Several questions in seamanship were put to me, which I have no doubt I answered in a very lame way, for I cannot even now recollect what I said. "I thought so," observed the captain; "I judged as much from your appearance. An officer who is so careless of his dress, as not even to put on a decent coat when he appears at his examination, generally turns out an idle fellow, and no seaman. One would think you had served all your time in a cutter, or a ten-gun brig, instead of dashing frigates. Come, sir, I'll give you one more chance." I was so hurt at what the captain said, that I could not control my feelings. I replied, with a quivering lip, "that I had had no time to order another uniform,"--and I burst into tears. "Indeed, Burrows, you are rather too harsh," said the third captain; "the lad is frightened. Let him sit down and compose himself for a little while. Sit down, Mr Simple, and we will try you again directly." I sat down, checking my grief and trying to recall my scattered senses. The captains, in the meantime, turning over the logs to pass away the time; the one who had questioned me in navigation reading the Plymouth newspaper, which had a few minutes before been brought on board and sent into the cabin. "Heh! what's this? I say Burrows--Keats, look here," and he pointed to a paragraph. "Mr Simple, may I ask whether it was you who saved the soldier who leaped off the wharf yesterday?" "Yes, sir," replied I; "and that's the reason why my uniforms are so shabby. I spoilt them then, and had no time to order others. I did not like to say why they were spoilt." I saw a change in the countenances of all the three, and it gave me courage. Indeed, now that my feelings had found vent, I was no longer under any apprehension. "Come, Mr Simple, stand up again," said the captain, kindly, "that is, if you feel sufficiently composed; if not, we will wait a little longer. Don't be afraid, we _wish_ to pass you." I was not afraid, and stood up immediately. I answered every question satisfactorily; and finding that I did so, they put more difficult ones. "Very good, very good indeed, Mr Simple; now let me ask you one more; it's seldom done in the service, and perhaps you may not be able to answer it. Do you know how to _club-haul_ a ship?" "Yes, sir," replied I, having, as the reader may recollect, witnessed the manoeuvre when serving under poor Captain Savage, and I immediately stated how it was to be done. "That is sufficient, Mr Simple. I wish to ask you no more questions. I thought at first you were a careless officer and no seaman: I now find that you are a good seaman and a gallant young man. Do you wish to ask any more questions?" continued he, turning to the two others. They replied in the negative; my passing certificate was signed, and the captains did me the honour to shake hands with me, and wish me speedy promotion. Thus ended happily this severe trial to my poor nerves; and, as I came out of the cabin, no one could have imagined that I had been in such distress within, when they beheld the joy that irradiated my countenance. Chapter XXXIX Is a chapter of plots--Catholic casuistry in a new cassock--Plotting promotes promotion--A peasant's love and a peer's peevishness--Prospects of prosperity. As soon as I arrived at the hotel, I sent for a Plymouth paper, and cut out the paragraph which had been of such importance to me in my emergency, and the next morning returned home to receive the congratulations of my family. I found a letter from O'Brien, which had arrived the day before. It was as follows:-- "MY DEAR PETER,--Some people, they say, are lucky to 'have a father born before them,' because they are helped on in the world--upon which principle, mine was born _after_ me, that's certain; however, that can't be helped. I found all my family well and hearty; but they all shook a cloth in the wind with respect to toggery. As for Father M'Grath's cassock, he didn't complain of it without reason. It was the ghost of a garment; but, however, with the blessing of God, my last quarterly bill, and the help of a tailor, we have had a regular refit, and the ancient family of the O'Briens of Ballyhinch are now rigged from stem to starn. My two sisters are both to be spliced to young squireens in the neighbourhood; it appears that they only wanted for a dacent town gown to go to the church in. They will be turned off next Friday, and I only wish, Peter, you were here to dance at the weddings. Never mind, I'll dance for you and for myself too. In the meantime, I'll just tell you what Father M'Grath and I have been doing, all about and consarning that thief of an uncle of yours. "It's very little or nothing at all that Father M'Grath did before I came back, seeing as how Father O'Toole had a new cassock, and Father M'Grath's was so shabby that he couldn't face him under such a disadvantage; but still Father M'Grath spied about him, and had several hints from here and from there, all of which, when I came to add them up, amounted to just nothing at all. "But since I came home, we have been busy. Father M'Grath went down to Ballycleuch, as bold as a lion in his new clothing, swearing that he'd lead Father O'Toole by the nose for slamming the door in his face, and so he would have done, if he could have found him; but as he wasn't to be found, Father M'Grath came back again just as wise, and quite as brave, as he went out. "So, Peter, I just took a walk that way myself, and, as I surrounded the old house where your uncle had taken up his quarters, who should I meet but the little girl, Ella Flanagan, who was in his service; and I said to myself, 'There's two ways of obtaining things in this world, one is for love, and the other is for money.' The O'Briens are better off in the first article than in the last, as most of their countrymen are, so I've been spending it very freely in your service, Peter. "'Sure,' says I, 'you are the little girl that my eyes were ever looking upon when last I was in this way.' "'And who are you?' says she. "'Lieutenant O'Brien, of his Majesty's service, just come home for a minute to look out for a wife,' says I; 'and it's one about your make, and shape, and discretion that would please my fancy.' "And then I praised her eyes, and her nose, and her forehead, and so downwards, until I came to the soles of her feet; and asked her leave to see her again, and when she would meet me in the wood and tell me her mind. At first, she thought (sure enough) that I couldn't be in earnest, but I swore by all the saints that she was the prettiest girl in the parts--and so she is altogether--and then she listened to my blarney. The devil a word did I say about your uncle, or your aunt, or Father M'Grath, that she might not suspect for I've an idea that they're all in the story. I only talked about my love for her pretty self, and that blinded her, as it will all women, 'cute as they may be. "And now, Peter, it's three weeks last Sunday, that I've been bespeaking this poor girl for your sake, and my conscience tells me that it's not right to make the poor crature fond of me, seeing as how that I don't care a fig for her in the way of a wife, and in any other way it would be the ruin of the poor thing. I have spoken to Father M'Grath on the subject, who says, 'that we may do evil that good may come, and that, if she has been a party to the deceit, it's nothing but proper that she should be punished in this world, and that will, perhaps, save her in the next;' still I don't like it, Peter, and it's only for you among the living that I'd do such a thing; for the poor creature now hangs upon me so fondly, and talks about the wedding-day; and tells me long stories about the connections which have taken place between the O'Flanagans and the O'Briens, times bygone, when they were all in their glory. Yesterday, as we sat in the wood, with her arm round my waist, 'Ella, dear,' says I, 'who are these people that you stay with?' And then she told me all she knew about their history, and how Mary Sullivan was a nurse to the baby. "'And what is the baby?' says I. "'A boy, sure,' says she. "'And Sullivan's baby?' "'That's a girl.' "'And is Mary Sullivan there now?' "'No' says she; 'it's yestreen she left with her husband and baby, to join the regiment that's going out to Ingy.' "'Yesterday she left?' says I, starting up. "'Yes,' replies she, 'and what do you care about them?' "'It's very much I care,' replied I, 'for a little bird has whispered a secret to me.' "'And what may that be?' says she. "'Only that the childer were changed, and you know it as well as I do.' But she swore that she knew nothing about it, and that she was not there when either of the children was born, and I believe that she told the truth. 'Well,' says I, 'who tended the lady?' "'My own mother,' says Ella. 'And if it was so, who can know but she?' "Then,' says I, 'Ella, jewel, I've made a vow that I'll never marry till I find out the truth of this matter; so the sooner you get it out of your mother the better.' Then she cried very much, and I was almost ready to cry too, to see how the poor thing was vexed at the idea of not being married. After a while, she swabbed up her cheeks, and kissing me, wished me good-by, swearing by all the saints that the truth should come out, somehow or another. "It's this morning that I saw her again, as agreed upon yesterday, and red her eyes were with weeping, poor thing; and she clung to me, and begged me to forgive her, and not to leave her; and then she told me that her mother was startled when she put the question to her, and chewed it, and cursed her when she insisted upon the truth; and how she had fallen on her knees, and begged her mother not to stand in the way of her happiness, as she would die if she did (I leave you to guess if my heart didn't smite me when she said that, Peter, but the mischief was done), and how her mother had talked about her oath and Father O'Toole, and said that she would speak to him. "Now, Peter, I'm sure that the childer have been changed, and that the nurse has been sent to the Indies to be out of the way. They say they were to go to Plymouth. The husband's name is, of course, O'Sullivan; so I'd recommend you to take a coach and see what you can do in that quarter; in the meantime I'll try all I can for the truth in this, and will write again as soon as I can find out anything more. All I want to do is to get Father M'Grath to go to the old devil of a mother, and I'll answer for it, he'll frighten her into swearing anything. God bless you, Peter, and give my love to all the family. "Yours ever, "TERENCE O'BRIEN." This letter of O'Brien was the subject of much meditation. The advice to go to Plymouth was too late, the troops having sailed some time; and I had no doubt but that Mary Sullivan and her husband were among those who had embarked at the time that I was at that port to pass my examination. Show the letter to my father I would not, as it would only have put him in a fever, and his interference would, in all probability, have done more harm than good. I therefore waited quietly for more intelligence, and resolved to apply to my grandfather to obtain my promotion. A few days afterwards I set off for Eagle Park, and arrived about eleven o'clock in the morning. I sent in my name, and was admitted into the library, where I found Lord Privilege in his easy chair as usual. "Well, child," said he, remaining on his chair, and not offering even _one_ finger to me, "what do you want, that you come here without an invitation?" "Only, my lord, to inquire after your health, and to thank you for your kindness to me in procuring me and Mr O'Brien the appointment to a fine frigate." "Yes," replied his lordship, "I recollect--I think I did so, at your request, and I think I heard some one say that you have behaved well, and had been mentioned in the despatches." "Yes, my lord," replied I, "and I have since passed my examination for lieutenant." "Well, child, I'm glad to hear it. Remember me to your father and family." And his lordship cast his eyes down upon the book which he had been reading. My father's observations appeared to be well grounded, but I would not leave the room until I had made some further attempt. "Has your lordship heard from my uncle?" "Yes," replied he, "I had a letter from him yesterday. The child is quite well. I expect them all here in a fortnight or three weeks, to live with me altogether. I am old--getting very old, and I shall have much to arrange with your uncle before I die." "If I might request a favour of your lordship, it would be to beg that you would interest yourself a little in obtaining my promotion. A letter from your lordship to the First Lord--only a few lines--" "Well, child, I see no objection--only--I am very old, too old to write now." And his lordship again commenced reading. I must do Lord Privilege the justice to state that he evidently was fast verging to a state of second childhood. He was much bowed down since I had last seen him, and appeared infirm in body as well as mind. I waited at least a quarter of an hour before his lordship looked up. "What, not gone yet, child? I thought you had gone home." "Your lordship was kind enough to say that you had no objection to write a few lines to the First Lord in my behalf. I trust your lordship will not refuse me." "Well," replied he, peevishly, "so I did--but I am too old, too old to write--I cannot see--I can hardly hold a pen." "Will your lordship allow me the honour of writing the letter for your lordship's signature?" "Well, child--yes--I've no objection. Write as follows--no--write anything you please--and I'll sign it. I wish your uncle William were come." This was more than I did. I had a great mind to show him O'Brien's letter, but I thought it would be cruel to raise doubts, and harass the mind of a person so close to the brink of the grave. The truth would never be ascertained during his life, I thought, and why, therefore, should I give him pain? At all events, although I had the letter in my pocket, I resolved not to make use of it except as a _dernier_ resort. I went to another table, and sat down to write the letter. As his lordship had said that I might write what I pleased, it occurred to me that I might assist O'Brien, and I felt sure that his lordship would not take the trouble to read the letter. I therefore wrote as follows, while Lord Privilege continued to read his book:-- "MY LORD,--You will confer a very great favour upon me, if you will hasten the commission which, I have no doubt, is in preparation for my nephew, Mr Simple, who has passed his examination, and has been mentioned in the public despatches, and also that you will not lose sight of Lieutenant O'Brien, who has so distinguished himself by his gallantry in the various cutting-out expeditions in the West Indies. Trusting that your lordship will not fail to comply with my earnest request, I have the honour to be, your lordship's very obedient humble servant." I brought this letter, with a pen full of ink, and the noise of my approach induced his lordship to look up. He stared at first, as having forgotten the whole circumstance--then said--"Oh yes! I recollect, so I did--give me the pen." With a trembling hand he signed his name, and gave me back the letter without reading it, as I expected. "There, child, don't tease me any more. Good-bye; remember me to your father." I wished his lordship a good morning, and went away well satisfied with the result of my expedition. On my arrival I showed the letter to my father, who was much surprised at my success, and he assured me that my grandfather's interest was so great with the administration, that I might consider my promotion as certain. That no accident might happen, I immediately set off for London, and delivered the letter at the door of the First Lord with my own hands, leaving my address with the porter. Chapter XL O'Brien and myself take a step each, _pari passu_--A family reunion productive of anything but unity--My uncle not always the best friend. A few days afterwards I left my card with my address with the First Lord, and the next day received a letter from his secretary, which, to my delight, informed me that my commission had been made out some days before. I hardly need say that I hastened to take it up, and when paying my fee to the clerk, I ventured, at a hazard, to inquire whether he knew the address of Lieutenant O'Brien. "No," replied he, "I wish to find it out, for he has this day been promoted to the rank of Commander." I almost leaped with joy when I heard this good news. I gave O'Brien's address to the clerk, hastened away with my invaluable piece of parchment in my hand, and set off immediately for my father's house. But I was met with sorrow. My mother had been taken severely ill, and I found the house in commotion--doctors, and apothecaries, and nurses, running to and fro, my father in a state of excitement, and my dear sister in tears. Spasm succeeded spasm; and although every remedy was applied, the next evening she breathed her last. I will not attempt to describe the grief of my father, who appeared to feel remorse at his late unkind treatment of her, my sister, and myself. These scenes must be imagined by those who have suffered under similar bereavements. I exerted myself to console my poor sister, who appeared to cling to me as to her only support, and, after the funeral was over, we recovered our tranquillity, although the mourning was still deeper in our hearts than in our outward dress. I had written to O'Brien to announce the mournful intelligence, and, like a true friend, he immediately made his appearance to console me. O'Brien had received the letter from the Admiralty, acquainting him with his promotion; and, two days after he arrived, went to take up his commission. I told him frankly by what means he had obtained it, and he again concluded his thanks by a reference to the mistake of the former supposition, that of my being "the fool of the family." "By the powers, it would be well for any man if he had a few of such foolish friends about him," continued he; "but I won't blarney you, Peter; you know what my opinion always has been, so we'll say no more about it." When he came back, we had a long consultation as to the best method of proceeding to obtain employment, for O'Brien was anxious to be again afloat, and so was I. I regretted parting with my sister, but my father was so morose and ill-tempered, that I had no pleasure at home, except in her company. Indeed, my sister was of opinion, that it would be better if I were away, as my father's misanthropy, now unchecked by my mother, appeared to have increased, and he seemed to view me with positive dislike. It was, therefore, agreed unanimously between my sister, and me, and O'Brien, who was always of our councils, that it would be advisable that I should be again afloat. "I can manage him much better when alone, Peter; I shall have nothing to occupy me, and take me away from him, as your presence does now; and, painful as it is to part with you, my duty to my father, and my wish for your advancement, induce me to request that you will, if possible, find some means of obtaining employment." "Spoken like a hero, as ye are, Miss Ellen, notwithstanding your pretty face and soft eyes," said O'Brien. "And now, Peter, for the means to bring it about. If I can get a ship, there is no fear for you, as I shall choose you for my lieutenant; but how is that to be managed? Do you think that you can come over the old gentleman at Eagle Park?" "At all events, I'll try," replied I; "I can but be floored, O'Brien." Accordingly, the next day I set off for my grandfather's, and was put down at the lodge, at the usual hour, about eleven o'clock. I walked up the avenue, and knocked at the door: when it was opened, I perceived a hesitation among the servants, and a constrained air, which I did not like. I inquired after Lord Privilege--the answer was, that he was pretty well, but did not see _any_ body. "Is my uncle here?" said I. "Yes, sir," replied the servant, with a significant look, "and all his family are here too." "Are you sure that I cannot see my _grandfather_" said I, laying a stress upon the word. "I will tell him that you are here, sir," replied the man, "but even that is against orders." I had never seen my uncle since I was a child, and could not even recollect him--my cousins, or my aunt, I had never met with. In a minute an answer was brought, requesting that I would walk into the library. When I was ushered in, I found myself in the presence of Lord Privilege, who sat in his usual place, and a tall gentleman, whom I knew at once to be my uncle, from his likeness to my father. "Here is the young gentleman, my lord," said my uncle, looking at me sternly. "Heh! what--oh? I recollect. Well, child, so you've been behaving very ill--sorry to hear it. Good-bye." "Behaving ill, my lord!" replied I. "I am not aware of having so done." "Reports are certainly very much against you, nephew," observed my uncle, drily. "Some one has told your grandfather what has much displeased him. I know nothing about it myself." "Then some rascal has slandered me, sir," replied I. My uncle started at the word rascal; and then recovering himself, replied, "Well, nephew, what is it that you require of Lord Privilege, for I presume this visit is not without a cause?" "Sir," replied I, "my visit to Lord Privilege was, first to thank him for having procured me my commission as lieutenant, and to request the favour that he would obtain me active employment, which a line from him will effect immediately." "I was not aware, nephew, that you had been made lieutenant; but I agree with you, that the more you are at sea the better. His lordship shall sign the letter. Sit down." "Shall I write it, sir?" said I to my uncle: "I know what to say." "Yes; and bring it to me when it is written." I felt convinced that the only reason which induced my uncle to obtain me employment was the idea that I should be better out of the way, and that there was more risk at sea than on shore. I took a sheet of paper, and wrote as follows:-- "My LORD,--May I request that your lordship will be pleased to appoint the bearer of this to a ship, as soon as convenient, as I wish him to be actively employed. "I am, my lord, &c, &c." "Why not mention your name?" "It is of no consequence," replied I, "as it will be delivered in person, and that will insure my speedy appointment." The letter was placed before his lordship for signature. It was with some difficulty that he was made to understand that he was to sign it. The old gentleman appeared much more imbecile than when I last saw him. I thanked him, folded up the letter, and put it in my pocket. At last he looked at me, and a sudden flash of recollection appeared to come across his mind. "Well child so you escaped from the French prison--heh! and how's your friend--what is his name, heh?" "O'Brien, my lord." "O'Brien!" cried my uncle, "he is _your_ friend; then, sir, I presume it is to you that I am indebted for all the inquiries and reports which are so industriously circulated in Ireland--the tampering with my servants-- and other impertinences?" I did not choose to deny the truth, although I was a little fluttered by the sudden manner in which it came to light. I replied, "I never tamper with any people's servants, sir." "No," said he, "but you employ others so to do. I discovered the whole of your proceedings after the scoundrel left for England." "If you apply the word scoundrel _to_ Captain O'Brien, sir, in his name I contradict it." "As you please, sir," replied my uncle, in a passion; "but you will oblige me by quitting this house immediately, and expect nothing more, either from the present or the future Lord Privilege, except that retaliation which your infamous conduct has deserved." I felt much irritated, and replied very sharply, "From the present Lord Privilege I certainly expect nothing more, neither do I from his successor; but after your death, uncle, I expect that the person who succeeds to the title will do all he can for your humble servant. I wish you a good morning, uncle." My uncle's eyes flashed fire as I finished my speech, which indeed was a very bold, and a very foolish one too, as it afterwards proved. I hastened out of the room, not only from the fear of being turned out of the house before all the servants, but also from the dread that my letter to the First Lord might be taken from me by force; but I shall never forget the scowl of vengeance which crossed my uncle's brows, as I turned round and looked at him as I shut the door. I found my way out without the assistance of the servants, and hastened home as fast as I could. "O'Brien," said I, on my return, "there is no time to be lost; the sooner you hasten to town with this letter of introduction, the better it will be, for depend upon it my uncle will do me all the harm that he can." I then repeated to him all that had passed, and it was agreed that O'Brien should take the letter, which, having reference to the bearer, would do as well for him as for me; and, if O'Brien obtained an appointment, I was sure not only of being one of his lieutenants, but also of sailing with a dear friend. The next morning O'Brien set off for London, and fortunately saw the First Lord the day after his arrival, which was a levee day. The First Lord received the letter from O'Brien, and requested him to sit down. He then read it, inquired after his lordship, asked whether his health was good, &c. O'Brien replied, "that with the blessing of God, his lordship might live many years: that he had never heard him complain of ill health." All which was not false, if not true. I could not help observing to O'Brien, when he returned home and told me what had passed, "that I thought, considering what he had expressed with respect to white lies and black lies, that he had not latterly adhered to his own creed." "That's very true, Peter; and I've thought of it myself, but it is my creed nevertheless. We all know what's right, but we don't always follow it. The fact is, I begin to think that it is absolutely necessary to fight the world with its own weapons. I spoke to Father M'Grath on the subject, and he replied--'That if anyone, by doing wrong, necessitated another to do wrong to circumvent him, that the first party was answerable, not only for his own sin, but also for the sin committed in self-defence." "But, O'Brien, I do not fix my faith so implicitly upon Father M'Grath; and I do not much admire many of his directions." "No more do I, Peter, when I think upon them; but how am I to puzzle my head upon these points? All I know is, that when you are divided between your inclination and your duty, it's mighty convenient to have a priest like Father M'Grath to decide for you, and to look after your soul into the bargain." It occurred to me that I myself, when finding fault with O'Brien, had, in the instance of both the letters from Lord Privilege, been also guilty of deceit. I was therefore blaming him for the same fault committed by myself; and I am afraid that I was too ready in consoling myself with Father M'Grath's maxim, "that one might do evil that good might come." But to return to O'Brien's interview. After some little conversation, the First Lord said, "Captain O'Brien, I am always very ready to oblige Lord Privilege, and the more so as his recommendation is of an officer of your merit. In a day or two, if you call at the Admiralty, you will hear further." O'Brien wrote to us immediately, and we waited with impatience for his next letter: but, instead of the letter, he made his appearance on the third day, and first hugged me in his arms, he then came to my sister, embraced her, and skipped and danced about the room. "What is the matter, O'Brien?" said I, while Ellen retreated in confusion. O'Brien pulled a parchment out of his pocket. "Here, Peter, my dear Peter; now for honour and glory. An eighteen-gun brig, Peter. The _Rattlesnake_--Captain O'Brien--West India station. By the holy father! my heart's bursting with joy!" and down he sank into an easy chair. "A'n't I almost beside myself?" inquired he, after a short pause. "Ellen thinks so, I dare say," replied I, looking at my sister, who stood in the corner of the room, thinking O'Brien was really out of his senses, and still red with confusion. O'Brien, who then called to mind what a slip of decorum he had been guilty of, immediately rose, and resuming his usual unsophisticated politeness, as he walked up to my sister, took her hand, and said, "Excuse me, my dear Miss Ellen; I must apologize for my rudeness; but my delight was so great, and my gratitude to your brother so intense, that I am afraid that in my warmth I allowed the expression of my feelings to extend to one so dear to him, and so like him in person and in mind. Will you only consider that you received the overflowings of a grateful heart towards your brother, and for his sake pardon my indiscretion?" Ellen smiled, and held out her hand to O'Brien, who led her to the sofa, where we all three sat down: and he then commenced a more intelligible narrative of what had passed. He had called on the day appointed, and sent up his card. The First Lord could not see him, but referred him to the private secretary, who presented him with his commission to the _Rattlesnake_, eighteen-gun brig. The secretary smiled most graciously, and told O'Brien in confidence that he would proceed to the West India station as soon as his vessel was manned and ready for sea. He inquired of O'Brien whom he wished as his first lieutenant. O'Brien replied that he wished for me; but as, in all probability, I should not be of sufficient standing to be first lieutenant, that the Admiralty might appoint any other to the duty, provided I joined the ship. The secretary made a minute of O'Brien's wish, and requested him, if he had a vacancy to spare as midshipman, to allow him to send one on board; to which O'Brien willingly acceded, shook hands with him, and O'Brien quitted the Admiralty to hasten down to us with the pleasing intelligence. "And now," said O'Brien, "I have made up my mind how to proceed. I shall first run down to Plymouth and hoist my pennant; then I shall ask for a fortnight's leave, and go to Ireland to see how they get on, and what Father M'Grath may be about. So, Peter, let's pass this evening as happily as we can; for though you and I shall soon meet again, yet it may be years, or perhaps never, that we three shall sit down on the same sofa as we do now." Ellen, who was still nervous, from the late death of my mother, looked down, and I perceived the tears start in her eyes at the remark of O'Brien, that perhaps we should never meet again. And I did pass a happy evening. I had a dear sister on one side of me, and a sincere friend on the other. How few situations more enviable! O'Brien left us early the next morning; and at breakfast-time a letter was handed to my father. It was from my uncle, coldly communicating to him that Lord Privilege had died the night before, very suddenly, and informing him that the burial would take place on that day week, and that the will would be opened immediately after the funeral. My father handed the letter over to me without saying a word, and sipped his tea with his tea-spoon. I cannot say that I felt very much on the occasion; but I did feel, because he had been kind to me at one time: as for my father's feelings, I could not--or rather I should say, I did not wish to analyze them. As soon as he had finished his cup of tea, he left the breakfast-table, and went into his study. I then communicated the intelligence to my sister Ellen. "My God!" said she, after a pause, putting her hand up to her eyes; "what a strange unnatural state of society must we have arrived at, when my father can thus receive the intelligence of a parent's death! Is it not dreadful?" "It is, my dearest girl," replied I; "but every feeling has been sacrificed to worldly considerations and an empty name. The younger sons have been neglected, if not deserted. Virtue, talent, everything set at naught--intrinsic value despised--and the only claim to consideration admitted, that of being the heir entail. When all the ties of nature are cast loose by the parents, can you be surprised if the children are no longer bound by them? Most truly do you observe, that it is a detestable state of society." "I did not say detestable, brother; I said strange and unnatural." "Had you said what I said, Ellen, you would not have been wrong. I would not for the title and wealth which it brings, be the heartless, isolated, I may say neglected being that my grandfather was; were it offered now, I would not barter for it Ellen's love." Ellen threw herself in my arms; we then walked into the garden, where we had a long conversation relative to our future wishes, hopes, and prospects. Chapter XLI Pompous obsequies--The reading of the will, not exactly after Wilkie--I am left a legacy--What becomes of it--My father, very warm, writes a sermon to cool himself--I join O'Brien's brig, and fall in with Swinburne. On that day week I accompanied my father to Eagle Park, to assist at the burial of Lord Privilege. We were ushered into the room where the body had laid in state for three days. The black hangings, the lofty plumes, the rich ornaments on the coffin, and the number of wax candles with which the room was lighted, produced a solemn and grand effect. I could not help, as I leaned against the balustrade before the coffin and thought of its contents, calling to mind when my poor grandfather's feelings seemed, as it were, inclined to thaw in my favour, when he called me "his child," and, in all probability, had not my uncle had a son, would have died in my arms, fond and attached to me for my own sake, independently of worldly considerations. I felt that had I known him longer, I could have loved him, and that he would have loved me; and I thought to myself, how little all these empty honours, after his decease, could compensate for the loss of those reciprocal feelings, which would have so added to his happiness during his existence. But he had lived for pomp and vanity; and pomp and vanity attended him to his grave. I thought of my sister Ellen, and of O'Brien, and walked away with the conviction that Peter Simple might have been an object of envy to the late Right Honourable Lord Viscount Privilege, Baron Corston, Lord Lieutenant of the county, and one of His Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Councillors. When the funeral, which was very tedious and very splendid, was over, we all returned in the carriages to Eagle Park, when my uncle, who had of course assumed the title, and who had attended as chief mourner, was in waiting to receive us. We were shown into the library, and in the chair so lately and constantly occupied by my grandfather, sat the new lord. Near to him were the lawyers, with parchments lying before them. As we severally entered, he waved his hand to unoccupied chairs, intimating to us to sit down; but no words were exchanged, except an occasional whisper between him and the lawyers. When all the branches of the family were present, down to the fourth and fifth cousins, the lawyer on the right of my uncle put on his spectacles, and unrolling the parchment commenced reading the will. I paid attention to it at first; but the legal technicalities puzzled me, and I was soon thinking of other matters, until after half an hour's reading, I was startled at the sound of my own name. It was a bequest by codicil to me, of the sum of ten thousand pounds. My father who sat by me, gave me a slight push, to attract my attention; and I perceived that his face was not quite so mournful as before. I was rejoicing at this unexpected intelligence. I called to mind what my father had said to me when we were returning from Eagle Park, "that my grandfather's attentions to me were as good as ten thousand pounds in his will," and was reflecting how strange it was that he had hit upon the exact sum. I also thought of what my father had said of his own affairs, and his not having saved anything for his children, and congratulated myself that I should now be able to support my dear sister Ellen, in case of any accident happening to my father, when I was roused by another mention of my name. It was a codicil dated about a week back, in which my grandfather, not pleased at my conduct, revoked the former codicil, and left me nothing. I knew where the blow came from, and I looked my uncle in the face; a gleam of malignant pleasure was in his eyes, which had been fixed on me, waiting to receive my glance. I returned it with a smile expressive of scorn and contempt, and then looked at my father, who appeared to be in a state of misery. His head had fallen upon his breast, and his hands were clasped. Although I was shocked at the blow, for I knew how much the money was required, I felt too proud to show it; indeed, I felt that I would not for worlds have exchanged situations with my uncle, much less feelings; for when those who remain meet to ascertain the disposition made, by one who is summoned away to the tribunal of his Maker, of those worldly and perishable things which he must leave behind him, feelings of rancour and ill-will might, for the time, be permitted to subside, and the memory of a "departed brother" be productive of charity and good-will. After a little reflection, I felt that I could forgive my uncle. Not so my father; the codicil which deprived me of my inheritance, was the last of the will, and the lawyer rolled up the parchment and took off his spectacles. Everybody rose; my father seized his hat, and telling me in a harsh voice to follow him, tore off the crape weepers, and then threw them on the floor as he walked away. I also took off mine, and laid them on the table, and followed him. My father called his carriage, waited in the hall till it was driven up, and jumped into it. I followed him; he drew up the blind, and desired them to drive home. "Not a sixpence! By the God of heaven, not a sixpence! My name not even mentioned, except for a paltry mourning ring! And yours--pray sir, what have you been about, after having such a sum left you, to forfeit your grandfather's good opinion? Heh! sir--tell me directly," continued he, turning round to me in a rage. "Nothing, my dear father, that I'm aware of. My uncle is evidently my enemy." "And why should he be particularly your enemy? Peter, there must be some reason for his having induced your grandfather to alter his bequest in your favour. I insist upon it, sir, that you tell me immediately." "My dear father, when you are more calm, I will talk this matter over with you. I hope I shall not be considered wanting in respect, when I say, that as a clergyman of the church of England--" "D--n the church of England, and those that put me into it!" replied my father, maddened with rage. I was shocked, and held my tongue. My father appeared also to be confused at his hasty expressions. He sank back in his carriage, and preserved a gloomy silence until we arrived at our own door. As soon as we entered, my father hastened to his own room, and I went up to my sister Ellen, who was in her bed room. I revealed to her all that had passed, and advised with her on the propriety of my communicating to my father the reasons which had occasioned my uncle's extreme aversion towards me. After much argument, she agreed with me, that the disclosure had now become necessary. After the dinner-cloth had been removed, I then communicated to my father the circumstances which had come to our knowledge relative to my uncle's establishment in Ireland. He heard me very attentively, took out tablets, and made notes. "Well, Peter," said he, after a few minutes' silence, when I had finished, "I see clearly through this whole business. I have no doubt but that a child has been substituted to defraud you and me of our just inheritance of the title and estates; but I will now set to work and try if I cannot find out the secret; and, with the help of Captain O'Brien and Father M'Grath, I think it is not at all impossible." "O'Brien will do all that he can, sir," replied I; "and I expect soon to hear from him. He must have now been a week in Ireland." "I shall go there myself," replied my father; "and there are no means that I will not resort to, to discover this infamous plot. No," exclaimed he, striking his fist on the table, so as to shiver two of the wine-glasses into fragments--"no means but I will resort to." "That is," replied I, "my dear father, no means which may be legitimately employed by one of your profession." "I tell you, no means that can be used by _man_ to recover his defrauded rights! Tell me not of legitimate means, when I am to lose a title and property by a spurious and illegitimate substitution! By the God of heaven, I will meet them with fraud for fraud, with false swearing for false swearing, and with blood for blood, if it should be necessary! My brother has dissolved all ties, and I will have my right, even if I demand it with a pistol at his ear." "For Heaven's sake, my dear father, do not be so violent--recollect your profession." "I do," replied he, bitterly; "and how I was forced into it against my will. I recollect my father's words, the solemn coolness with which he told me, 'I had my choice of the church, or--to starve.'--But I have my sermon to prepare for to-morrow, and I can sit here no longer. Tell Ellen to send me in some tea." I did not think my father was in a very fit state of mind to write a sermon, but I held my tongue. My sister joined me, and we saw no more of him till breakfast the next day. Before we met, I received a letter from O'Brien. "MY DEAR PETER,--I ran down to Plymouth, hoisted my pennant, drew my jollies from the dockyard, and set my first lieutenant to work getting in the ballast and water-tanks. I then set off for Ireland, and was very well received as Captain O'Brien by my family, who were all flourishing. "Now that my two sisters are so well married off, my father and mother are very comfortable, but rather lonely; for I believe I told you long before, that it had pleased Heaven to take all the rest of my brothers and sisters, except the two now married, and one who bore up for a nunnery, dedicating her service to God, after she was scarred with the small-pox, and no man would look at her. Ever since the family have been grown up, my father and mother have been lamenting and sorrowing that none of them would go off; and now that they're all gone off one way or another, they cry all day because they are left all alone with no one to keep company with them, except Father M'Grath and the pigs. We never are to be contented in this world, that's sartain; and now that they are comfortable in every respect, they find that they are very uncomfortable, and having obtained all their wishes, they wish everything back again; but as old Maddocks used to say, 'A good growl is better than a bad dinner' with some people; and the greatest pleasure that they now have is to grumble; and if that makes them happy, they must be happy all day long--for the devil a bit do they leave off from morning till night. "The first thing that I did was to send for Father M'Grath, who had been more away from home than usual--I presume, not finding things quite so comfortable as they used to be. He told me that he had met with Father O'Toole, and had a bit of a dialogue with him, which had ended in a bit of a row, and that he had cudgelled Father O'Toole well, and tore his gown off his back, and then tore it into shivers,-- that Father O'Toole had referred the case to the bishop, and that was how the matter stood just then. 'But,' says he, 'the spalpeen has left this part of the country, and, what is more, has taken Ella and her mother with him; and what is still worse, no one could find out where they were gone; but it was believed that they had all been sent over the water.' So you see, Peter, that this is a bad job in one point, which is, that we have no chance of getting the truth out of the old woman; for now that we have war with France, who is to follow them? On the other hand, it is good news; for it prevents me from decoying that poor young girl, and making her believe what will never come to pass; and I am not a little glad on that score, for Father M'Grath was told by those who were about her, that she did nothing but weep and moan for two days before she went away, scolded as she was by her mother, and threatened by that blackguard O'Toole. It appears to me, that all our hopes now are in finding out the soldier, and his wife the wet-nurse, who were sent to India--no doubt with the hope that the climate and the fevers may carry them off. That uncle of yours is a great blackguard, every bit of him. I shall leave here in three days, and you must join me at Plymouth. Make my compliments to your father, and my regards to your sister, whom may all the saints preserve! God bless her, for ever and ever. Amen. "Yours ever, "TERENCE O'BRIEN." I put this letter into my father's hands when he came out of his room. "This is a deep-laid plot," said he, "and I think we must immediately do as O'Brien states--look after the nurse who was sent to India. Do you know the regiment to which her husband belongs?" "Yes, sir," replied I; "it is the 33rd, and she sailed for India about three months back." "The name, you say, I think, is O'Sullivan," said he, pulling out his tablets. "Well, I will write immediately to Captain Fielding, and beg him to make the minutest inquiries. I will also write to your sister Lucy, for women are much keener than men in affairs of this sort. If the regiment is ordered to Ceylon, all the better: if not, he must obtain furlough to prosecute his inquiries. When that is done, I will go myself to Ireland, and try if we cannot trace the other parties." My father then left the room, and I retired with Ellen to make preparations for joining my ship at Plymouth. A letter announcing my appointment had come down, and I had written to request my commission to be forwarded to the clerk of the cheque at Plymouth, that I might save a useless journey to London. On the following day I parted with my father and my dear sister, and, without any adventure, arrived at Plymouth Dock, where I met with O'Brien. The same day I reported myself to the admiral, and joined my brig, which was lying alongside the hulk with her topmasts pointed through. Returning from the brig, as I was walking up Fore-street, I observed a fine stout sailor, whose back was turned to me, reading the handbill which had been posted up everywhere announcing that the _Rattlesnake_, Captain O'Brien (about to proceed to the West India station, where _doubloons_ were so plentiful that dollars were only used for ballast), was in want of a _few_ stout hands. It might have been said, of a great many: for we had not entered six men, and were doing all the work with the marines and riggers of the dockyard; but it is not the custom to show your poverty in this world either with regard to men or money. I stopped, and overheard him say, "Ay, as for the doubloons, that cock won't fight. I've served long enough in the West Indies not to be humbugged; but I wonder whether Captain O'Brien was the second lieutenant of the _Sanglier_. If so, I shouldn't mind trying a cruise with him." I thought that I recollected the voice, and touching him on the shoulder, he turned round, and it proved to be Swinburne. "What, Swinburne!" said I, shaking him by the hand, for I was delighted to see him, "is it you?" "Why, Mr Simple! Well, then, I expect that I'm right, and that Mr O'Brien is made, and commands this craft. When you meet the pilot-fish, the shark arn't far off, you know." "You're very right, Swinburne," said I, "in all except calling Captain O'Brien a shark. He's no shark." "No, that he arn't, except in one way; that is, that I expect he'll soon show his teeth to the Frenchmen. But I beg your pardon, sir;" and Swinburne took off his hat. "Oh! I understand; you did not perceive before that I had shipped the swab. Yes, I'm lieutenant of the _Rattlesnake_, Swinburne, and hope you'll join us." "There's my hand upon it, Mr Simple," said he, smacking his great fist into mine so as to make it tingle. "I'm content if I know that the captain's a good officer; but when there's two, I think myself lucky. I'll just take a boat, and put my name on the books, and then I'll be on shore again to spend the rest of my money, and try if I can't pick up a few hands as volunteers, for I know where they all be stowed away. I was looking at the craft this morning, and rather took a fancy to her. She has a d--d pretty run; but I hope Captain O'Brien will take off her fiddle-head, and get one carved: I never knew a vessel do much with a _fiddle_-head." "I rather think that Captain O'Brien has already applied to the Commissioner on the subject," replied I; "at all events, it won't be very difficult to make the alteration ourselves." "To be sure not," replied Swinburne; "a coil of four-inch will make the body of the snake; I can carve out the head; and as for a _rattle_, I be blessed if I don't rob one of those beggars of watchmen this very night. So good-bye, Mr Simple, till we meet again." Swinburne kept his word; he joined the ship that afternoon, and the next day came off with six good hands, who had been induced from his representations to join the brig. "Tell Captain O'Brien," said he to me, "not to be in too great a hurry to man his ship. I know where there are plenty to be had; but I'll try fair means first." This he did, and every day, almost, he brought off a man, and all he did bring off were good able seamen. Others volunteered, and we were now more than half-manned, and ready for sea. The admiral then gave us permission to send pressgangs on shore. "Mr Simple," said Swinburne, "I've tried all I can to persuade a lot of fine chaps to enter, but they won't. Now I'm resolved that my brig shall be well manned; and if they don't know what's good for them, I do, and I'm sure that they will thank me for it afterwards; so I'm determined to take every mother's son of them." The same night we mustered all Swinburne's men and went on shore to a crimp's house which they knew, surrounded it with our marines in blue jackets, and took out of it twenty-three fine able seamen, which nearly filled up our complement. The remainder we obtained by a draft from the admiral's ship; and I do not believe that there was a vessel that left Plymouth harbour and anchored in the Sound, better manned than the _Rattlesnake_. So much for good character, which is never lost upon seamen O'Brien was universally liked by those who had sailed with him, and Swinburne, who knew him well persuaded many, and forced the others, to enter with him, whether they liked it or not. This they in the event did, and, with the exception of those drafted from the flag-ship, we had no desertions. Indeed, none deserted whom we would have wished to retain, and their vacancies were soon filled up with better men. Chapter XLII We sail for the West Indies--A volunteer for the ship refused and set on shore again, for reasons which the chapter will satisfactorily explain to the reader. We were very glad when the master-attendant came on board to take us into the Sound; and still more glad to perceive that the brig, which had just been launched before O'Brien was appointed to her, appeared to sail very fast as she ran out. So it proved after we went to sea; she sailed wonderfully well, beating every vessel that she met, and overhauling in a very short time everything that we chased; turning to windward like magic, and tacking in a moment. Three days after we anchored in the Sound the ship's company were paid, and our sailing orders came down to proceed with despatches, by next evening's post, to the island of Jamaica. We started with a fair wind, and were soon clear of the channel. Our whole time was now occupied in training our new ship's company at the guns, and learning them _to pull together;_ and by the time that we had run down the trades, we were in a very fair state of discipline. The first lieutenant was rather an odd character; his brother was a sporting man of large property, and he had contracted, from his example, a great partiality for such pursuits. He knew the winning horses of the Derby and the Oaks for twenty years back, was an adept at all athletic exercises, a capital shot, and had his pointer on board. In other respects, he was a great dandy in his person, always wore gloves, even on service, very gentlemanlike and handsome, and not a very bad sailor; that is, he knew enough to carry on his duty very creditably, and evidently, now that he was the first lieutenant, and obliged to work, learnt more of his duty every day. I never met a more pleasant messmate or a more honourable young man. A brig is only allowed two lieutenants. The master was a rough, kind-hearted, intelligent young man, always in good humour. The surgeon and purser completed our mess; they were men of no character at all, except, perhaps, that the surgeon was too much of a courtier, and the purser too much of a skin-flint; but pursers are, generally speaking, more sinned against than sinning. But I have been led away, while talking of the brig and the officers, and had almost forgotten to narrate a circumstance which occurred two days before we sailed. I was with O'Brien in the cabin, when Mr Osbaldistone, the first lieutenant, came in, and reported that a boy had come on board to volunteer for the ship. "What sort of a lad is he?" said O'Brien. "A very nice lad--very slight, sir," replied the first lieutenant. "We have two vacancies." "Well, see what you make of him; and if you think he will do, you may put him on the books." "I have tried him, sir. He says that he has been a short time at sea. I made him mount the main-rigging, but he did not much like it." "Well, do as you please, Osbaldistone," replied O'Brien; and the first lieutenant quitted the cabin. In about a quarter of an hour he returned. "If you please, sir," said he, laughing, "I sent the boy down to the surgeon to be examined, and he refused to strip. The surgeon says that he thinks she is a woman. I have had her up on the quarter-deck, and she refuses to answer any questions, and requires to speak with you." "With me!" said O'Brien, with surprise. "Oh! one of the men's wives, I suppose, trying to steal a march upon us. Well, send her down here, Osbaldistone, and I'll prove to her the moral impossibility of her sailing in his Majesty's brig _Rattlesnake_." In a few minutes the first lieutenant sent her down to the cabin door, and I was about to retire as she entered; but O'Brien stopped me. "Stay, Peter: my reputation will be at stake if I'm left all alone," said he, laughing. The sentry opened the door, and whether boy or girl, a more interesting face I never beheld; the hair was cut close, and I could not tell whether the surgeon's suspicions were correct. "You wish to speak--holy St Patrick!" cried O'Brien, looking earnestly at her features; and O'Brien covered his face and bent over the table, exclaiming, "My God, my God!" In the meantime the colour of the young person fled from her countenance, and then rushed into it again, alternately leaving it pale and suffused with blushes. I perceived a trembling over the frame, the knees shook and knocked together, and had I not hastened, she--for a female it was--would have fallen on the deck. I perceived that she had fainted; I therefore laid her down on the deck, and hastened to obtain some water. O'Brien ran up and went to her. "My poor, poor girl!" said he, sorrowfully. "Oh! Peter, this is all your fault." "All my fault! how could she have come here?" "By all the saints who pray for us--dearly as I prize them, I would give up my ship and my commission, that this could be undone." As O'Brien hung over her, the tears from his eyes fell upon her face, while I bathed it with the water I had brought from the dressing-room. I knew who it must be, although I had never seen her. It was the girl to whom O'Brien had professed love, to worm out the secret of the exchange of my uncle's child; and as I beheld the scene I could not help saying to myself, "Who now will assert that evil may be done that good may come?" The poor girl showed symptoms of recovering, and O'Brien waved his hand to me, saying, "Leave us, Peter, and see that no one comes in." I remained nearly an hour at the cabin-door, by the sentry, and prevented many from entering, when O'Brien opened the door, and requested me to order his gig to be manned and then to come in. The poor girl had evidently been weeping bitterly, and O'Brien was much affected. "All is arranged, Peter; you must go on shore with her, and not leave her till you see her safe off by the night coach. Do me that favour, Peter--you ought indeed," continued he, in a low voice, "for you have been partly the occasion of this." I shook O'Brien's hand and made no answer--the boat was reported ready, and the girl followed me with a firm step. I pulled on shore, saw her safe in the coach without asking her any question, and then returned on board. "Come on board, sir," said I, entering the cabin with my hat in my hand, and reporting myself according to the regulations of the service. "Thank you," replied O'Brien: "shut the door, Peter. Tell me, how did she behave? What did she say?" "She never spoke, and I never asked her a question. She seemed to be willing to do as you had arranged." "Sit down, Peter. I never felt more unhappy, or more disgusted with myself in all my life. I feel as if I never could be happy again. A sailor's life mixes him up with the worst part of the female sex, and we do not know the real value of the better. I little thought when I was talking nonsense to that poor girl, that I was breaking one of the kindest hearts in the world, and sacrificing the happiness of one who would lay down her existence for me, Peter. Since you have been gone, it's twenty times that I've looked in the glass just to see whether I don't look like a villain. But, by the blood of St Patrick! I thought woman's _love_ was just like our own, and that a three months' cruise would set all to rights again." "I thought she had gone over to France." "So did I; but now she has told me all about it. Father M'Dermot[1] and her mother brought her down to the coast near here to embark in a smuggling boat for Dieppe. When the boat pulled in-shore in the night to take them in, the mother and the rascally priest got in, but she felt as if it was leaving the whole world to leave the country I was in, and she held back. The officers came down, one or two pistols were fired, and the boat shoved off without her, and she, with their luggage, was left on the beach. She went back to the next town with the officers, where she told the truth of the story, and they let her go. In Father M'Dermot's luggage she found letters, which she read, and found out that she and her mother were to have been placed in a convent at Dieppe; and, as the convent was named in the letters,--which she says are very important, but I have not had courage to read them yet,--she went to the people from whose house they had embarked, requesting them to forward the luggage and a letter to her mother--sending everything but the letters, which she reserved for me. She has since received a letter from her mother, telling her that she is safe and well in the convent, and begging her to come over to her as soon as possible. The mother took the vows a week after she arrived there, so we know where to find her, Peter." "And where is the poor girl going to stay now, O'Brien?" "That's all the worst part of it. It appears that she hoped not to be found out till after we had sailed, and then to have, as she said, poor thing! to have laid at my feet and watched over me in the storms; but I pointed out to her that it was not permitted, and that I would not be allowed to marry her. O Peter! this is a very sad business," continued O'Brien, passing his hand across his eyes. "Well, but, O'Brien, what is to become of the poor girl?" "She is going home to be with my father and mother, hoping one day that I shall come back and marry her. I have written to Father M'Grath, to see what he can do." "Have you then not undeceived her?" "Father M'Grath must do that, I could not. It would have been the death of her. It would have stabbed her to the heart, and it's not for me to give that blow. I'd sooner have died--sooner have married her, than have done it, Peter. Perhaps when I'm far away she'll bear it better. Father M'Grath will manage it." "O'Brien, I don't like that Father M'Grath." "Well, Peter, you may be right; I don't exactly like all he says myself; but what is a man to do?--either he is a Catholic, and believes as a Catholic, or he is not one. Will I abandon my religion, now that it is persecuted? Never, Peter: I hope not, without I find a much better, at all events. Still I do not like to feel that this advice of my confessor is at variance with my own conscience. Father M'Grath is a worldly man; but that only proves that he is wrong, not that our religion is--and I don't mind speaking to you on this subject. No one knows that I'm a Catholic except yourself: and at the Admiralty they never asked me to take that oath which I never would have taken, although Father M'Grath says I may take any oath I please with what he calls heretics, and he will grant me absolution. Peter, my dear fellow, say no more about it." I did not; but I may as well end the history of poor Ella Flanagan at once, as she will not appear again. About three months afterwards, we received a letter from Father M'Grath, stating that the girl had arrived safe, and had been a great comfort to O'Brien's father and mother, who wished her to remain with them altogether; that Father M'Grath, had told her that when a man took his commission as captain it was all the same as going into a monastery as a monk, for he never could marry. The poor girl believed him, and thinking that O'Brien was lost to her for ever, with the advice of Father M'Grath, had entered as a nun in one of the religious houses in Ireland, that, as she said, she might pray for him night and day. Many years afterwards, we heard of her--she was well, and not unhappy; but O'Brien never forgot his behaviour to this poor girl. It was a source of continual regret; and I believe, until the last day of his existence, his heart smote him for his inconsiderate conduct towards her. But I must leave this distressing topic, and return to the _Rattlesnake_, which had now arrived at the West Indies, and joined the Admiral at Jamaica. [Footnote 1: The worthy priest formerly called Father O'Toole.--ED.] Chapter XLIII Description of the Coast of Martinique--Popped at for peeping--No heroism in making oneself a target--Board a miniature Noah's Ark, under Yankee colours--Capture a French slaver--Parrot soup in lieu of mock turtle. We found orders at Barbadoes to cruise off Martinique, to prevent supplies being furnished to the garrison of the island, and we proceeded there immediately. I do not know anything more picturesque than running down the east side of this beautiful island--the ridges of hill spreading down to the water's edge, covered with the freshest verdure, divided at the base by small bays, with the beach of dazzling white sand, and where the little coasting vessels employed to bring the sugar from the neighbouring estates were riding at anchor. Each hill, at its adjutment towards the sea, crowned with a fort, on which waved the tri-colour--certainly, in appearance, one of the most war-like flags in the world. On the third morning we had rounded the Diamond Rock, and were scudding along the lee-side of the island just opening Fort Royal bay, when hauling rather too close round its eastern entrance, formed by a promontory called Solomon's Point, which was covered with brush-wood, we found ourselves nearer than agreeable to a newly constructed battery. A column of smoke was poured along the blue water, and it was followed by the whizzing of a shot, which passed through our boom main sail, first cutting away the dog-vane, which was close to old Swinburne's head, as he stood on the carronade, conning the brig. I was at dinner in the cabin with O'Brien and the first lieutenant. "Where the devil have they got the brig now?" said O'Brien, rising from his chair, and going on deck. We both followed; but before we were on deck, three or four more shot passed between the masts. "If you please, sir," said the master's mate in charge of the deck, whose name was O'Farrell, "the battery has opened upon us." "Thank you very much for your information, Mr O'Farrell," replied O'Brien; "but the French have reported it before you. May I ask if you've any particular fancy to be made a target of, or if you think that His Majesty's brig _Rattlesnake_ was sent here to be riddled for nothing at all? Starboard the helm, quartermaster." The helm was put up, and the brig was soon run out of the fire; not, however, until a few more shot were pitched close to us, and one carried away the foretopmast backstay. "Now, Mr O'Farrell," replied O'Brien, "I only wish to point out to you that I trust neither I nor any one in this ship cares a fig about the whizzing of a shot or two about our ears when there is anything to be gained for it, either for ourselves or for our country; but I do care a great deal about losing even the leg or the arm, much more the life of any of my men, when there's no occasion for it; so, in future, recollect it's no disgrace to keep out of the way of a battery when all the advantage is on their side. I've always observed that chance shots pick out the best men. Lower down the mainsail, and send the sailmakers aft to repair it." When O'Brien returned to the cabin I remained on deck, for it was my afternoon watch; and although O'Farrell had permission to look out for me, I did not choose to go down again. The bay of Fort Royal was now opened, and the view was extremely beautiful. Swinburne was still on the carronade; and as I knew he had been there before, I applied to him for information as to the _locale_. He told me the names of the batteries above the town, pointed out Fort Edward and Negro Point, and particularly Pigeon Island, the battery at the top of which wore the appearance of a mural crown. "It's well I remember that place, Mr Simple," said he. "It was in '94 when I was last here. The sodgers had 'sieged it for a whole month, and were about to give it up, 'cause they couldn't get a gun up on that 'ere hill you see there. So poor Captain Faulkner says, 'There's many a clear head under a tarpaulin hat, and I'll give any chap five doubloons that will hitch up a twenty-four pounder to the top of that hill.' Not quite so easy a matter, as you may perceive from here, Mr Simple." "It certainly appears to me to have been almost impossible, Swinburne," replied I. "And so it did to most of us, Mr Simple; but there was one Dick Smith, mate of a transport, who had come on shore, and he steps out, saying, 'I've been looking at your men handling that gun, and my opinion is, that if you gets a butt, crams in a carronade, well woulded up, and fill it with old junk and rope yarns, you might parbuckle it up to the very top.' So Captain Faulkner pulls out five doubloons, and gives them to him, saying, 'You deserve the money for the hint, even if it don't succeed.' But it did succeed, Mr Simple; and the next day, to their surprise, we opened fire on the French beggars, and soon brought their boasting down. One of the French officers, after he was taken prisoner, axed me how we had managed to get the gun up there; but I wasn't going to blow the gaff, so I told him, as a great secret, that we got it up with a kite, upon which he opened all his eyes, and crying '_sacre bleu!_' walked away, believing all I said was true; but a'n't that a sail we have opened with the point, Mr Simple?" It was so, and I reported it to O'Brien, who came up and gave chase. In half an hour we were alongside of her, when she hoisted American colours, and proved to be a brigantine laden up to her gunwale, which was not above a foot out of the water. Her cargo consisted of what the Americans called _notions_; that is, in English, an assorted cargo. Half-way up her masts down to the deck were hung up baskets containing apples, potatoes, onions, and nuts of various kinds. Her deck was crowded with cattle, sheep, pigs, and donkeys. Below was full of shingle, lumber, and a variety of different articles too numerous to mention. I boarded her, and asked the master whither he was bound? "Why," replied he, "I am bound for a market--nowise particular; and I guess you won't stop me." "Not if all's right," replied I; "but I must look at your log." "Well, I've a notion there's no great objection to that," replied he; and he brought it up on deck. I had no great time to examine it, but I could not help being amused at the little I did read, such as--"Horse latitudes--water very short-- killed white-faced bullock--caught a dolphin, and ate him for dinner-- broached molasses cask No. I, letter A. Fine night--saw little round things floating on the water--took up a bucket full--guessed they were pearls--judge I guessed wrong, only little Portuguese men-of-war--threw them overboard again--heard a scream, guessed it was a mermaid--looked out, saw nothing. Witnessed a very strange rippling ahead--calculated it might be the sea-serpent--stood on to see him plain, and nearly ran on Barbuda. Hauled off again--met a Britisher--treated _politely_." Having overhauled his log, I then begged to overhaul his men to ascertain if there were any Englishmen among his crew. This was not pleasing, and he grumbled very much; but they were ordered aft. One man I was satisfied was an Englishman, and told him so; but the man as well as the master persisted to the contrary. Nevertheless, I resolved to take him on board for O'Brien to decide, and ordered him into the boat. "Well, if you will use force, I can't help it. My decks an't clear as you see, or else--I tell you what, Mr Lieutenant, your vessel there will be another _Hermione_, I've a notion, if you presses true-blooded Yankees; and, what's more, the States will take it up, as sure as there's snakes in Virginny." Notwithstanding this remonstrance, I took them on board to O'Brien, who had a long conversation with the American in the cabin. When they returned on deck he was allowed to depart with his man, and we again made sail. I had the first watch that night, and as we ran along the coast I perceived a vessel under the high land in what the sailors called the _doldrums_; that is, almost becalmed, or her sails flapping about in every direction with the eddying winds. We steered for her, and were very soon in the same situation, not more than a quarter of a mile from her. The quarter-boat was lowered down, and I proceeded to board her; but as she was large and rakish, O'Brien desired me to be careful, and if there was the least show of resistance to return. As I pulled up to her bows they hailed me in French, and desired me to keep off, or they would fire. This was quite sufficient; and, in obedience to my orders, I returned to the brig and reported to O'Brien. We lowered down all the quarter-boats, and towed round the brig's broadside to her, and then gave her half a dozen carronades of round and grape. Hearing great noise and confusion on board after we had ceased firing, O'Brien again sent me to know if they had surrendered. They replied in the affirmative, and I boarded her. She proved to be the _Commerce de Bordeaux_, with three hundred and thirty slaves on board, out of five hundred embarked from the coast, bound to Martinique. The crew were very sickly, and were most of them in their hammocks. Latterly, they had been killing parrots to make soup for them; a few that were left, of the grey species, spoke remarkably well. When they left the coast they had nearly one thousand parrots on board. O'Brien perceiving that I had taken possession, sent another boat to know what the vessel was. I desired the surgeon to be sent on board, as some of the men and many of the poor slaves were wounded by our shot. Of all the miserable objects, I know of none to be compared to the poor devils of slaves on board of a slave vessel: the state of suffocation between decks--the dreadful stench arising from their filth, which is hardly ever cleared away--the sick lying without help, and looked upon by those who are stronger with the utmost indifference--men, women, and children, all huddled and crowded together in a state of nudity, worn to skin and bone from stench, starvation, and living in an atmosphere that none but a negro could exist in. If all that occurs in a slave-ship were really known, I think it would be acknowledged that to make the slave-trade piracy would be nothing more than a just retribution; and this is certain, that unless it be made piracy, it never will be discontinued. By daylight the vessel was ready, and O'Brien determined to take her to Dominica, so that the poor devils might be immediately sent on shore. We anchored with her, in a few days, in Prince Rupert's Bay, where we only had twenty-four hours to obtain some refreshments and arrange about our prize, which I hardly need say was of some value. During the short time that I was on shore, purchasing some fowls and vegetables for O'Brien and our own mess, I was amused at witnessing a black serjeant drilling some of his regiment of free negroes and mulattoes. He appeared resolved to make the best appearance that he could, for he began by saying, "You hab shoe and 'tocking, stand in front--you hab shoe no 'tocking, stand in centre--you hab no shoe no 'tocking, stand in um rear. Face to mountain--back to sea-beach. Why you no 'tep out, sar?--you hangman!" I was curious to count the numbers qualified for the front rank: there were only two mulattoes. In the second rank there were also only two. No shoe and no 'tocking appeared to be the fashion. As usual, we were surrounded by the negroes; and although we had been there but a few hours, they had a song composed for us, which they constantly repeated:-- "Don't you see the _Rattlesnake_ Coming under sail? Don't you see the _Rattlesnake_ With prizes at um tail?--' _Rattlesnake_ hab all the money--ding, ding-- She shall have all that's funny, ding, ding!" Chapter XLIV Money can purchase anything in the new country--American information not always to be depended upon--A night attack; we are beaten off--It proves a _cut up_, instead of a _cut out_--After all, we save something out of the fire. The next morning we weighed anchor, and returned to our station off Martinique. We had run within three miles of St Pierre's when we discovered a vessel coming out under jury-masts. She steered directly for us, and we made her out to be the American brigantine which we had boarded some time before. O'Brien sent a boat to bring the master of her on board. "Well, captain," said he, "so you met with a squall?" "I calculate not," replied he. "Why, then, what the devil have you been about?" "Why, I guess I sold all my cargo, and, what's more, I've sold my masts." "Sold your masts! who did you sell them to?" "To an almighty pretty French privateer lying in St Pierre's, which had lost her spars when she was chased by one of your brass-bottomed sarpents; and I've a notion they paid pretty handsomely too." "But how do you mean to get home again?" "I calculate to get into the _stream_, and then I'll do very well. If I meet a nor-wester, why then I'll make a signal of distress, and some one will tow me in, I guess." "Well," replied O'Brien, "but step down into the cabin and take something, captain." "With particular pleasure," replied this strange mortal; and down they went. In about half an hour they returned on deck, and the boat took the American on board. Soon afterwards, O'Brien desired Osbaldistone and myself to step down into the cabin. The chart of the harbour of St Pierre's lay on the table, and O'Brien said, "I have had a long conversation with the American, and he states that the privateer is at anchor in this spot" (pointing to a pencil-mark on the chart). "If so, she is well out; and I see no difficulty in capturing her. You see that she lays in four fathoms water, and so close under the outer battery, that the guns could not be pointed down upon the boats. I have also inquired if they keep a good look-out, and the American says that they feel so secure that they keep no look-out at all; that the captain and officers belonging to her are on shore all night, drinking, smoking, and boasting of what they will do. Now the question is, whether this report be correct. The American has been well-treated by us, and I see no reason to doubt him; indeed, he gave the information voluntarily, as if he wished to serve us." I allowed Osbaldistone to speak first: he coincided with O'Brien. I did not: the very circumstance of her requiring new masts made me doubt the truth of his assertion as to where she lay; and if one part of his story was false, why not the whole? O'Brien appeared struck with my argument, and it was agreed that if the boats did go away, it should be for a reconnoissance, and that the attempt should only be made, provided it was found that the privateer laid in the same spot pointed out by the American master. It was, however, decided that the reconnoissance should take place that very night, as, allowing the privateer to be anchored on the spot supposed, there was every probability that she would not remain there, but haul further in, to take in her new masts. The news that an expedition was at hand was soon circulated through the ship, and all the men had taken their cutlasses from the capstern to get them ready for action. The lighting boats' crews, without orders, were busy with their boats, some cutting up old blankets to muffle the oars, other making new grummets. The ship's company were as busy as bees, bustling and buzzing about the decks, and reminding you of the agitation which takes place in a hive previous to a swarm. At last, Osbaldistone came on deck, and ordered the boats' crews to be piped away, and prepare for service. He was to have the command of the expedition in the launch--I had charge of the first cutter--O'Farrell of the second, and Swinburne had the charge of the jolly-boat. At dusk, the head of the brig was again turned towards St Pierre's, and we ran slowly in. At ten we hove-to, and about eleven the boats were ordered to haul up, O'Brien repeating his orders to Mr Osbaldistone, not to make the attempt if the privateer were found to be anchored close to the town. The men were all mustered on the quarter-deck, to ascertain if they had the distinguishing mark on their jackets, that is, square patches of canvas sewed on the left arm, so that we might recognize friend from foe--a very necessary precaution in a night expedition; and then they were manned, and ordered to shove off. The oars were dropped in the water, throwing out a phosphorescent light, so common in that climate, and away we went. After an hour's pulling, Osbaldistone lay on his oars in the launch, and we closed with him. "We are now at the mouth of the harbour," said he, "and the most perfect silence must be observed." "At the mouth of the harbour, sir!" said Swinburne; "I reckon we are more than half way in; we passed the point at least ten minutes ago, and this is the second battery we are now abreast of." To this Osbaldistone did not agree, nor indeed did I think that Swinburne was right; but he persisted in it, and pointed out to us the lights in the town, which were now all open to us, and which would not be the case if we were only at the mouth of the harbour. Still we were of a different opinion, and Swinburne, out of respect to his officers, said no more. We resumed our oars, pulling with the greatest caution; the night was intensely dark, and we could distinguish nothing. After pulling ten minutes more, we appeared to be close to the lights in the town; still we could see no privateer or any other vessel. Again we lay upon our oars, and held a consultation. Swinburne declared that if the privateer laid where we supposed, we had passed her long ago; but while we were debating, O'Farrell cried out, "I see her," and he was right--she was not more than a cable's length from us. Without waiting for orders, O'Farrell desired his men to give way, and dashed alongside of the privateer. Before he was half-way on board of her, lights flew about in every direction, and a dozen muskets were discharged. We had nothing to do but to follow him, and in a few seconds we were all alongside of her; but she was well prepared, and on the alert. Boarding nettings were triced up all round, every gun had been depressed as much as possible, and she appeared to be full of men. A scene of confusion and slaughter now occurred, which I trust never again to witness. All our attempts to get on board were unavailing; if we tried at a port, a dozen pikes thrust us back; if we attempted the boarding nettings, we were thrown down, killed or wounded, into the boats. From every port, and from the decks of the privateer, the discharge of musketry was incessant. Pistols were protruded and fired in our faces, while occasionally her carronades went off, stunning us with their deafening noise, and rocking the boats in the disturbed water, if they had no other effect. For ten minutes our exertions never ceased; at last, with half our numbers lying killed and wounded in the bottom of the boats, the men, worn out and dispirited at their unavailing attempts, sat down most of them on the boats' thwarts, loading their muskets, and discharging them into the ports. Osbaldistone was among the wounded; and perceiving that he was not in the launch, of whose crew not six remained, I called to Swinburne, who was alongside of me, and desired him to tell the other boats to make the best of their way out of the harbour. This was soon communicated to the survivors, who would have continued the unequal contest to the last man, if I had not given the order. The launch and second cutter shoved off--O'Farrell also having fallen; and, as soon as they were clear of the privateer, and had got their oars to pass, I proceeded to do the same, amidst the shouts and yells of the Frenchmen, who now jumped on their gunwale and pelted us with their musketry, cheering, and mocking us. "Stop, sir," cried Swinburne, "we'll have a bit of revenge;" so saying, he hauled-to the launch, and wending her bow to the privateer, directed her carronade--which they had no idea that we had on board, as we had not fired it--to where the Frenchmen were crowded the thickest. "Stop one moment, Swinburne; put another dose of canister in." We did so, and then discharged the gun, which had the most murderous effect, bringing the major part of them down upon the deck. I feel convinced, from the cries and groans which followed, that if we had had a few more men, we might have returned and captured the privateer; but it was too late. The batteries were all lighted up, and although they could not see the boats, fired in the direction where they supposed us to be; for they were aware, from the shouting on board the vessel, that we had been beaten off. The launch had but six hands capable of taking an oar; the first cutter had but four. In my own boat I had five. Swinburne had two besides himself in the jolly-boat. "This is a sorry business, sir," said Swinburne; "now, what's best to be done? My idea is, that we had better put all the wounded men into the launch, man the two cutters and jolly-boat, and tow her off. And, Mr Simple, instead of keeping on this side, as they will expect in the batteries, let us keep close in-shore, upon the near side, and their shot will pass over us." This advice was too good not to be followed. It was now two o'clock, and we had a long pull before us, and no time to lose: we lifted the dead bodies and the wounded men out of the two cutters and jolly-boat into the launch. I had no time for examination, but I perceived that O'Farrell was quite dead, and also a youngster of the name of Pepper, who must have smuggled himself into the boats. I did, however, look for Osbaldistone, and found him in the stern sheets of the launch. He had received a deep wound in the breast, apparently with a pike. He was sensible, and asked me for a little water, which I procured from the breaker which was in the launch, and gave it to him. At the word water, and hearing it poured out from the breaker, many of the wounded men faintly called out for some. Having no time to spare, I left two men in the launch, one to steer and the other to give them water, and then taking her in tow, pulled directly in for the batteries, as advised by Swinburne, who now sat alongside of me. As soon as we were well in-shore, I pulled out of the harbour, with feelings not by any means enviable. Swinburne said to me in a low voice, "This will be a hard blow for the captain, Mr Simple. I've always been told, that a young captain losing his men without bringing any dollars to his admiral, is not very well received." "I am more sorry for him than I can well express, Swinburne," replied I; "but--what is that a-head--a vessel under weigh?" Swinburne stood up in the stern of the cutter, and looked for a few seconds. "Yes, a large ship standing in under royals--she must be a Frenchman. Now's our time, sir; so long as we don't go out empty-handed, all will be well. Oars, all of you. Shall we cast off the launch, sir?" "Yes," replied I; "and now, my lads, let us only have the vessel, and we shall do. She is a merchantman, that's clear (not that I was sure of it). Swinburne, I think it will be better to let her pass us in-shore; they will all be looking out of the other side, for they must have seen the firing." "Well thought of, sir," replied Swinburne. We laid on our oars, and let her pass us, which she did, creeping in at the rate of two miles an hour. We then pulled for her quarter in the three boats, leaving the launch behind us, and boarded. As we premised, the crew were on deck, and all on the other side of the vessel, so anxiously looking at the batteries, which were still firing occasional random shot, that they did not perceive us until we were close to them, and then they had no time to seize their arms. There were several ladies on board; some of the people protected them, others ran below. In two minutes we had possession of her, and had put her head the other way. To our surprise we found that she mounted fourteen guns. One hatch we left open for the ladies, some of whom had fainted, to be taken down below; the others were fastened down by Swinburne. As soon as we had the deck to ourselves, we manned one of the cutters, and sent it for the launch; and as soon as she was made fast alongside, we had time to look about us. The breeze freshened, and, in half an hour, we were out of gun-shot of all the batteries. I then had the wounded men taken out of the launch, and Swinburne and the other men bound up their wounds, and made them as comfortable as they could. Chapter XLV Some remarkable occurrences take place in the letter of marque--Old friends with improved faces--The captor a captive; but not carried away, though the captive is, by the ship's boat--The whole chapter a mixture of love, war, and merchandise. We had had possession of the vessel about an hour, when the man who was sentry over the hatchway told me that one or the prisoners wished to speak with the English commanding officer, and asked leave to come on deck. I gave permission, and a gentleman came up, stating that he was a passenger; that the ship was a letter of marque, from Bordeaux; that there were seven lady passengers on board, who had come out to join their husbands and families; and that he trusted I would have no objection to put them on shore, as women could hardly be considered as objects of warfare. As I knew that O'Brien would have done so, and that he would be glad to get rid of both women and prisoners if he could, I replied "Most certainly;" that I would heave-to, that they might not have so far to pull on shore, and that I would permit the ladies and other passengers to go on shore. I begged that they would be as quick as possible in getting their packages ready, and that I would give them two of the boats belonging to the ship, with a sufficient number of French seamen belonging to her to man the boats. The Frenchman was very grateful, thanked me in the name of the ladies, and went down below to impart the intelligence. I then hove-to, lowered down the boats from the quarters, and waited for them to come up. It was daylight before they were ready, but that I did not care about; I saw the brig in the offing about seven miles off, and I was well clear of the batteries. At last they made their appearance, one by one coming up the ladder, escorted by French gentlemen. They had to wait while the packages and bundles were put into the boats. The first sight which struck them with horror was the many dead and wounded Englishmen lying on the decks. Expressing their commiseration, I told them that we had attempted to take the privateer, and had been repulsed, and that it was coming out of the harbour that I had fallen in with their ship and captured it. All the ladies had severally thanked me for my kindness in giving them their liberty, except one, whose eyes were fixed upon the wounded men, when the French gentleman went up to her, and reminded her that she had not expressed her thanks to the commanding officer. She turned round to me--I started back. I certainly had seen that face before--I could not be mistaken; yet she had now grown up into a beautiful young woman. "Celeste," said I, trembling. "Are you not Celeste?" "Yes," replied she, looking earnestly at me, as if she would discover who I was, but which it was not very easy to do, begrimed as my face was with dust and gunpowder. "Have you forgotten Peter Simple?" "Oh! no--no--never forgot you!" cried Celeste, bursting into tears, and holding out her hands. This scene occasioned no small astonishment to the parties on deck, who could not comprehend it. She smiled through her tears, as I told her how happy I was to have the means of being of service to her. "And where is the colonel?" said I. "There," replied she, pointing to the island; "he is now general, and commands the force in the garrison. And where is Mr O'Brien?" interrogated Celeste. "There," replied I; "he commands that man-of-war, of which I am the second lieutenant." A rapid exchange of inquiries took place, and the boats were stopped while we were in conversation. Swinburne reported that the brig was standing in for us, and I felt that in justice to the wounded I could no longer delay. Still I found time to press her hand, to thank her for the purse she had given me when I was on the stilts, and to tell her that I had never forgotten her, and never would. With many remembrances to her father, I was handing her into the boat, when she said, "I don't know whether I am right to ask it, but you could do me such a favour." "What is it, Celeste?" "You have allowed more than one-half of the men to pull us on shore; some must remain, and they are so miserable--indeed it is hardly yet decided which of them are to go. Could you let them all go?" "That I will, for your sake, Celeste. As soon as your two boats have shoved off, I will lower down the boat astern, and send the rest after you; but I must make sail now--God bless you!" The boats then shoved off, the passengers waving their handkerchiefs to us, and I made sail for the brig. As soon as the stern-boat was alongside, the rest of the crew were called up and put into her, and followed their companions. I felt that O'Brien would not be angry with me for letting them all go: and especially when I told him who begged for them. The vessel's name was the _Victorine_, mounting fourteen guns, and twenty-four men, with eleven passengers. She was chiefly laden with silks and wine, and was a very valuable prize. Celeste had time to tell me that her father had been four years in Martinique, and had left her at home for her education; and that she was then coming out to join him. The other ladies were all wives or daughters of officers of the French garrison on the island, and the gentlemen passengers were some of them French officers; but as this was told me in secrecy, of course I was not bound to know it, as they were not in uniform. As soon as we had closed with the brig, I hastened on board to O'Brien; and as soon as a fresh supply of hands to man the boats, and the surgeon had been despatched on board of the prize, to superintend the removal of the wounded, I went down with him into the cabin, and narrated what had occurred. "Well," said O'Brien, "all's well that ends well; but this is not the luckiest hit in the world. Your taking the ship has saved me, Peter; and I must make as flourishing a despatch as I can. By the powers but it's very lucky that she has fourteen guns--it sounds grand. I must muddle it all up together, so that the admiral must think we intended to cut them both out--and so we did, sure enough, if we had known she had been there. But I am most anxious to hear the surgeon's report, and whether poor Osbaldistone will do well. Peter, oblige me by going on board, and put two marines sentry over the hatchway, so that no one goes down and pulls the traps about; for I'll send on shore everything belonging to the passengers, for Colonel O'Brien's sake." The surgeon's report was made--six killed and sixteen wounded. The killed were, O'Farren and Pepper, midshipmen, two seamen and two marines. The first lieutenant, Osbaldistone, was severely wounded in three places, but likely to do well; five other men were dangerously wounded: the other ten would, in all probability, return to their duty in less than a month. As soon as the wounded were on board, O'Brien returned with me to the prize, and we went down into the cabin. All the passengers' effects were collected; the trunks which had been left open were nailed down: and O'Brien wrote a handsome letter to General O'Brien, containing a list of the packages sent on shore. We sent the launch with a flag of truce to the nearest battery; after some demur it was accepted, and effects landed. We did not wait for an answer, but made all sail to join the admiral at Barbadoes. The next morning we buried those who had fallen. O'Farrell was a fine young man, brave as a lion, but very hot in his temper. He would have made a good officer had he been spared. Poor little Pepper was also much regretted. He was but twelve years old. He had bribed the bowman of the second cutter to allow him to conceal himself under the fore-sheets of the boat. His day's allowance of spirits had purchased him this object of his ambition, which ended so fatally. But as soon as the bodies had disappeared under the wave, and the service was over, we all felt happier. There is something very unpleasant, particularly to sailors, in having a corpse on board. We now sailed merrily along, the prize keeping company with us; and, before we reached Barbadoes, most of the men were convalescent. Osbaldistone's wounds, were, however, very severe; and he was recommended to return home, which he did, and obtained his promotion as soon as he arrived. He was a pleasant messmate, and I was sorry to lose him; although, the lieutenant appointed in his room being junior to me, I was promoted to be first lieutenant of the brig. Soon after Osbaldistone went home, his brother broke his neck when hunting, and Osbaldistone came into the property. He then quitted the service. We found the admiral at Barbadoes, who received O'Brien and his despatch very well. O'Brien had taken two good prizes, and that was sufficient to cover a multitude of sins, even if he had committed any; but the despatch was admirably written, and the admiral, in his letter to the Admiralty, commented upon Captain O'Brien's successful and daring attack; whereas, if the truth had been known, it was Swinburne's advice of pulling up the weather shore, which was the occasion of our capturing the _Victorine_; but it is very hard to come at the real truth of these sort of things, as I found out during the time that I was in His Majesty's service. Chapter XLVI O'Brien tells his crew that one Englishman is as good as three Frenchmen on salt water--They prove it--We fall in with an old acquaintance, although she could not be considered as a friend. Our next cruise was on the coast of Guinea and Gulf of Mexico, where we were running up and down for three months, without falling in with anything but West Indiamen bound to Demerara, Berbice, and Surinam, and occasionally chasing a privateer; but in the light winds they were too fast for us. Still we were useful in protecting the trade, and O'Brien had a letter of thanks from the merchants, and a handsome piece of plate upon his quitting the station. We had made sail for Barbadoes two days, and were within sight of the island of Trinidad, when we perceived six sail on the lee-bow. We soon made them out to be three large ships and three schooners; and immediately guessed, which afterwards proved to be correct, that they were three privateers, with West India ships which they had captured. We made all sail, and at first the three privateers did the same; but afterwards, having made out our force, and not liking to abandon their prizes, they resolved to fight. The West Indiamen hauled to the wind on the other tack, and the three privateers shortened sail and awaited our coming. We beat to quarters, and when everything was ready, and we were within a mile of the enemy, who had now thrown out the tri-coloured flag, O'Brien ordered all the men aft on the quarter-deck, and addressed them: "Now, my men, you see that there are three privateers, and you also see that there are three West Indiamen, which they have captured. As for the privateers, it's just a fair match for you one Englishman can always beat three Frenchmen. We must lick the privateers for honour and glory, and we must re-capture the ships for profit, because you'll all want some money when you get on shore again. So you've just half-a-dozen things to do, and then we'll pipe to dinner." This harangue suited the sailors very well, and they returned to their guns. "Now, Peter," said O'Brien, "just call away the sail-trimmers from the guns, for I mean to fight these fellows under sail, and out-manoeuvre them, if I can. Tell Mr Webster I want to speak with him." Mr Webster was the second lieutenant, a very steady, quiet young man, and a good officer. "Mr Webster," said O'Brien, "remember that all the foremost guns must be very much depressed. I prefer that the shot should strike the water before it reaches them, rather than it should go over them. See that your screws are run up at once, and I will take care that no broadside is thrown away. Starboard, Swinburne." "Starboard it is, sir." "Steady; so--that's right for the stern of the leeward vessel." We were within two cable lengths of the privateers, who still remained hove-to within half a cable's length of each other. They were very large schooners, full of men, with their boarding netting triced up, and showing a very good set of teeth: as it afterwards proved, one mounted sixteen, and the other two fourteen, guns. "Now, my lads, over to the lee guns, and fire as they bear, when we round to. Hands by the lee head-braces, and jib-sheet, stretch along the weather braces. Quarter-master abaft, tend the boom-sheet. Port hard, Swinburne." "Port it is, sir," replied Swinburne; and the brig rounded up on the wind, shooting up under the sterns of the two weathermost schooners, and discharging the broadsides into them as the guns bore. "Be smart and load, my lads, and stand by the same guns. Round in the weather head-braces. Peter, I don't want her to go about. Stand by to haul over the boom-sheet, when she pays off. Swinburne, helm amidships." By this time another broadside was poured into the schooner, who had not yet returned our fire, which, having foolishly remained hove to the wind, they could not do. The brig had now stern way, and O'Brien then executed a very skilful manoeuvre: he shifted the helm, and made a stern board, so as to back in between the two weather schooners and the one to leeward, bracing round at the same time on the other tack. "Man both sides, my lads, and give them your broadsides as we pass." The men stationed at the starboard guns flew over, and the other side being again loaded, we exchanged broadsides with the leeward and one of the windward schooners, the brig continuing her stern way until we passed ahead of them. By the time that we had re-loaded, the brig had gathered headway, and again passed between the same two schooners, exchanging broadsides, and then passing astern of them. "Capital, my lads--capital!" said O'Brien; "this is what I call good fighting." And so it was; for O'Brien had given two raking broadsides, and four others, receiving only two in return, for the schooners were not ready for us when we passed between them the last time. The smoke had now rolled away to leeward, and we were able to see the effect of our broadsides. The middle schooner had lost her main-boom, and appeared very much cut up in the hull. The schooner to leeward did not appear to have suffered much; but they now perceived their error, and made sail. They had expected that we should have run in between them, and fought broadside to broadside, by which means the weathermost schooner would have taken a raking position, while the others engaged us to windward and to leeward. Our own damages were trifling--two men slightly wounded, and one main shroud cut away. We ran about half a mile astern from them; then with both broadsides ready, we tacked, and found that, as we expected, we could weather the whole of them. This we did; O'Brien running the brig within biscuit-throw of the weather schooner, engaging him broadside to broadside, with the advantage that the other two could not fire a shot into us without standing a chance of striking their consort. If he made more sail, so did we; if he shortened, so did we; so as to keep our position with little variation. The schooner fought well; but her metal was not to be compared with our thirty-two pound carronades, which ploughed up her sides at so short a distance, driving two ports into one. At last her foremast went by the board, and she dropped astern. In the meantime the other schooners had both tacked, and were coming up under our stern to rake us, but the accident which happened to the one we had engaged left us at liberty. We knew that she could not escape, so we tacked and engaged the other two, nearing them as fast as we could. The breeze now sprang up fast, and O'Brien put up the helm and passed between them, giving them both a raking broadside of grape and cannister, which brought the sticks about their ears. This sickened them; the smallest schooner, which had been the leewardmost at the commencement of the action, made all sail on a wind. We clapped on the royals to follow her, when we perceived that the other schooner, which had been in the middle, and whose main-boom we had shot away, had put her helm up, and was crowding all sail before the wind. O'Brien then said, "Must not try for too much, or we shall lose all. Put her about, Peter, we must be content with the one that is left us." We went about, and ranged up to the schooner which had lost her foremast; but she, finding that her consort had deserted her, hauled down her colours just as we were about to pour in our broadside. Our men gave three cheers; and it was pleasant to see them all shaking hands with each other, congratulating and laughing at the successful result of our action. "Now, my lads, be smart;--we've done enough for honour, now for profit. Peter, take the two cutters full of men, and go on board of the schooner, while I get hold of the three West Indiamen. Rig something jury forward, and follow me." In a minute the cutters were down and full of men. I took possession of the schooner, while the brig again tacked, and crowding all sail stood after the captured vessels. The schooner, which was the largest of the three, was called the _Jean d' Arc_, mounting sixteen guns, and had fifty-three men on board, the remainder being away in the prizes. The captain was wounded very badly, and one officer killed. Out of her ship's company, she had but eight killed and five wounded. They informed me, that they had sailed three months ago from St Pierre's, Martinique, and had fallen in with the other two privateers, and cruised in company, having taken nine West Indiamen since they had come out. "Pray," said I to the officer who gave the information, "were you ever attacked by boats when you laid at St Pierre's?" He replied, yes; and that they had beaten them off. "Did you purchase these masts of an American?" He replied in the affirmative; so that we had captured the very vessel, in attempting to cut out which, we had lost so many men. We were all very glad of this, and Swinburne said, "Well, hang me if I didn't think that I had seen that port-hole before; there it was that I wrenched a pike out of one of the rascal's hands, who tried to stab me, and into that port-hole I fired at least a dozen muskets. Well, I'm d----d glad we've got hold of the beggar at last." We secured the prisoners below, and commenced putting the schooner in order. In half an hour, we had completed our knotting and splicing, and having two of the carpenters with us, in an hour we had got up a small jury mast forward, sufficient for the present. We lowered the mainsail, put try-sails on her, and stood after the brig, which was now close to the prizes; but they separated, and it was not till dark that she had possession of two. The third was then hull down on the other tack, with the brig in chase. We followed the brig, as did the two re-captured vessels, and even with our jury up, we found that we could sail as fast as they. The next morning, we saw the brig hove-to, and about three miles a-head, with the three vessels in her possession. We closed, and I went on board. Webster was put in charge of the privateer; and, after lying-to for that day to send our prize-masters and men on board to remove the prisoners, we got up a proper jury-mast, and all made sail together for Barbadoes. On my return on board, I found that we had but one man and one boy killed and six wounded, which I was not aware of. I forgot to say that the names of the other two privateers were _L'Etoile_ and _La Madeleine_. In a fortnight we arrived with all our prizes safe in Carlisle Bay, where we found the admiral, who had anchored but two days before. I hardly need say that O'Brien was well received, and gained a great deal of credit for the action. I found several letters from my sister, the contents of which gave me much pain. My father had been some months in Ireland, and returned without gaining any information. My sister said that he was very unhappy, paid no attention to his clerical duties, and would sit for days without speaking. That he was very much altered in his appearance, and had grown thin and care-worn. "In short," said she "my dear Peter, I am afraid that he is fretting himself to death. Of course, I am very lonely and melancholy. I cannot help reflecting upon what will be my situation if any accident should happen to my father. Accept my uncle's protection I will not; yet, how am I to live, for my father has saved nothing? I have been very busy lately, trying to qualify myself for a governess, and practise the harp and piano for several hours every day. I shall be very, very glad when you come home again." I showed the letters to O'Brien, who read them with much attention. I perceived the colour mount into his cheeks, when he read those parts of her letters in which she mentioned his name, and expressed her gratitude for his kindness towards me. "Never mind, Peter," said O'Brien, returning me the letters; "to whom is it that I am indebted for my promotion, and this brig, but to you--and for all the prize-money which I have made, and which, by the head of St Patrick, comes to a very dacent sum, but to you? Make yourself quite easy about your dear little sister. We'll club your prize-money and mine together, and she shall marry a duke, if there is one in England deserving her; and it's the French that shall furnish her dowry, as sure as the _Rattlesnake_ carries a tail." Chapter XLVII I am sent away after prizes, and meet with a hurricane--Am driven on shore, with the loss of more than half my men--Where is the _Rattlesnake?_ In three weeks we were again ready for sea, and the admiral ordered us to our old station off Martinique. We had cruised about a fortnight off St Pierre's, and, as I walked the deck at night, often did I look at the lights in the town, and wonder whether any of them were in the presence of Celeste, when, one evening, being about six miles off shore, we observed two vessels rounding Negro Point, close in-shore. It was quite calm, and the boats were towing ahead. "It will be dark in half-an-hour, Peter," said O'Brien, "and I think we might get them before they anchor, or, if they do anchor, it will be well outside. What do you think?" I agreed with him, for in fact, I always seemed to be happier when the brig was close in-shore, as I felt as if I was nearer to Celeste, and the further we were off, the more melancholy I became. Continually thinking of her, and the sight of her after so many years' separation, had changed my youthful attachment into strong affection. I may say that I was deeply in love. The very idea of going into the harbour, therefore, gave me pleasure, and there was no mad or foolish thing that I would not have done, only to gaze upon the walls which contained the constant object of my thoughts. These were wild and visionary notions, and with little chance of ever arriving to any successful issue; but at one or two-and-twenty we are fond of building castles, and very apt to fall in love, without considering our prospect of success. I replied, that I thought it very possible, and wished he would permit me to make the attempt, as, if I found there was much risk, I would return. "I know that I can trust you, Peter," replied O'Brien, "and it's a great pleasure to know that you have an officer you can trust: but haven't I brought you up myself, and made a man of you, as I promised I would, when you were a little spalpeen, with a sniffling nose, and legs in the shape of two carrots? So hoist out the launch, and get the boats ready-- the sooner the better. What a hot day this has been--not a cat's-paw on the water, and the sky all of a mist. Only look at the sun, how he goes down, puffed out to three times his size, as if he were in a terrible passion. I suspect we shall have the land breeze off strong." In half an hour I shoved off with the boats. It was now quite dark, and I pulled towards the harbour of St Pierre. The heat was excessive and unaccountable; not the slightest breath of wind moved in the heavens or below; no clouds to be seen, and the stars were obscured by a sort of mist: there appeared a total stagnation in the elements. The men in the boats pulled off their jackets, for, after a few moments' pulling, they could bear them no longer. As we pulled in, the atmosphere became more opaque, and the darkness more intense. We supposed ourselves to be at the mouth of the harbour, but could see nothing--not three yards ahead of the boat. Swinburne, who always went with me, was steering the boat, and I observed to him the unusual appearance of the night. "I've been watching it, sir," replied Swinburne, "and I tell you, Mr Simple, that if we only know how to find the brig, that I would advise you to get on board of her immediately. She'll want all her hands this night, or I'm much mistaken." "Why do you say so?" replied I. "Because I think, nay, I may say that I'm sartin, we'll have a hurricane afore morning. It's not the first time I've cruised in these latitudes. I recollect in '94--" But I interrupted him: "Swinburne, I believe that you are right. At all events, I'll turn back: perhaps we may reach the brig before it comes on. She carries a light, and we can find her out." I then turned the boat round, and steered, as near as I could guess, for where the brig was lying. But we had not pulled out more than two minutes before a low moaning was heard in the atmosphere--now here, now there--and we appeared to be pulling through solid darkness, if I may use the expression. Swinburne looked around him and pointed out on the starboard bow. "It's a-coming, Mr Simple, sure enough; many's the living being that will not rise on its legs to-morrow. See, sir." I looked, and dark as it was, it appeared as if a sort of black wall was sweeping along the water right towards us. The moaning gradually increased to a stunning roar, and then at once it broke upon us with a noise to which no thunder can bear a comparison. The oars were caught by the wind with such force that the men were dashed forward under the thwarts, many of them severely hurt. Fortunately we pulled with tholes and pins, or the gunwale and planks of the boat would have been wrenched off, and we should have foundered. The wind soon caught the boat on her broadside, and, had there been the least sea, would have inevitably thrown her over; but Swinburne put the helm down, and she fell off before the hurricane, darting through the boiling water at the rate of ten miles an hour. All hands were aghast; they had recovered their seats, but were obliged to relinquish them and sit down at the bottom, holding on by the thwarts. The terrific roaring of the hurricane prevented any communication, except by gesture. The other boats had disappeared; lighter than ours, they had flown away faster before the sweeping element; but we had not been a minute before the wind before the sea rose in a most unaccountable manner--it appeared to be by magic. Of all the horrors that ever I witnessed, nothing could be compared to the scene of this night. We could see nothing, and heard only the wind, before which we were darting like an arrow--to where we knew not, unless it was to certain death. Swinburne steered the boat, every now and then looking back as the waves increased. In a few minutes we were in a heavy swell, that at one minute bore us all aloft, and at the next almost sheltered us from the hurricane; and now the atmosphere was charged with showers of spray, the wind cutting off the summits of the waves, as if with a knife, and carrying them along with it, as it were, in its arms. The boat was filling with water, and appeared to settle down fast. The men baled with their hats in silence, when a large wave culminated over the stern, filling us up to our thwarts. The next moment we all received a shock so violent, that we were jerked from our seats. Swinburne was thrown over my head. Every timber of the boat separated at once, and she appeared to crumble from under us, leaving us floating on the raging waters. We all struck out for our lives, but with little hope of preserving them; but the next wave dashed us on the rocks, against which the boat had already been hurled. That wave gave life to some and death to others. Me, in Heaven's mercy, it preserved: I was thrown so high up that I merely scraped against the top of the rock, breaking two of my ribs. Swinburne, and eight more, escaped with me, but not unhurt: two had their legs broken, three had broken arms, and the others were more or less contused. Swinburne miraculously received no injury. We had been eighteen in the boat, of which ten escaped: the others were hurled up at our feet; and the next morning we found them dreadfully mangled. One or two had their skulls literally shattered to pieces against the rocks. I felt that I was saved, and was grateful; but still the hurricane howled --still the waves were washing over us. I crawled further up upon the beach, and found Swinburne sitting down with his eyes directed seaward. He knew me, took my hand, squeezed it, and then held it in his. For some moments we remained in this position, when the waves, which every moment increased in volume, washed up to us, and obliged us to crawl further up. I then looked around me; the hurricane continued in its fury, but the atmosphere was not so dark. I could trace, for some distance, the line of the harbour, from the ridge of foam upon the shore; and, for the first time, I thought of O'Brien and the brig. I put my mouth close to Swinburne's ear, and cried out, "O'Brien!" Swinburne shook his head, and looked up again at the offing. I thought whether there was any chance of the brig's escape. She was certainly six, if not seven miles off, and the hurricane was not direct on the shore. She might have a drift of ten miles, perhaps; but what was that against such tremendous power? I prayed for those on board of the brig, and returned thanks for my own preservation. I was, or soon should be, a prisoner, no doubt; but what was that? I thought of Celeste, and felt almost happy. In about three hours the force of the wind subsided. It still blew a heavy gale, but the sky cleared up, the stars again twinkled in the heavens, and we could see to a considerable distance. "It's breaking now, sir," said Swinburne, at last; "satisfied with the injury it has done--and that's no little. This is worse than '94." "Now, I'd give all my pay and prize-money if it were only daylight, and I could know the fate of the poor _Rattlesnake_. What do you think, Swinburne?" "All depends upon whether they were taken unprepared, sir. Captain O'Brien is as good a seaman as ever trod a plank; but he never has been in a hurricane, and may not have known, the signs and warnings which God in His mercy has vouchsafed to us. Your flush vessels fill easily--but we must hope for the best." Most anxiously did we look out for the day, which appeared to us as if it never would break. At last the dawn appeared, and we stretched our eyes to every part of the offing as it was lighted up, but we could not see the brig. The sun rose, and all was bright and clear; but we looked not around us, our eyes were directed to where we had left the brig. The sea was still running high, but the wind abated fast. "Thank God!" ejaculated Swinburne, when he had directed his eyes along the coast, "she is above water, at all events!" and looking in the direction where he pointed, I perceived the brig within two miles of the shore, dismantled, and tossing in the waves. "I see her," replied I, catching my breath with joy; "but--still--I think she must go on shore." "All depends upon whether she can get a little bit of sail up to weather the point," replied Swinburne; "and depend upon it, Captain O'Brien knows that as well as we do." We were now joined by the other men who were saved. We all shook hands. They pointed out to me the bodies of our shipmates who had perished. I directed them to haul them further up, and put them all together; and continued, with Swinburne, to watch the brig. In about half an hour we perceived a triangle raised, and in ten minutes afterwards a jury-mast abaft--a try-sail was hoisted and set. Then the shears were seen forward, and in as short a time another try-sail and a storm-jib were expanded to the wind. "That's all he can do now, Mr Simple," observed Swinburne; "he must trust to them and Providence. They are not more than a mile from the beach--it will be touch and go." Anxiously did we watch for more than half an hour; the other men returned to us, and joined in our speculations. At one time we thought it impossible--at another, we were certain that she would weather the point. At last, as she neared us, she warped ahead: my anxiety became almost insupportable. I stood first on one leg, and then on the other, breathless with suspense. She appeared to be on the point--actually touching the rocks--"God! she's struck!" said I. "No!" replied Swinburne;--and then we saw her pass on the other side of the outermost rock and disappear. "Safe, Mr Simple!--weathered, by God!" cried Swinburne, waving his hat with joy. "God be thanked!" replied I, overcome with delight. Chapter XLVIII The devastation of the hurricane--Peter makes friends--At destroying or saving, nothing like British seamen--Peter meets with General O'Brien, much to his satisfaction--Has another meeting still more so--A great deal of pressing of hands, "and all that," as Pope says. Now that the brig was safe, we thought of ourselves. My first attention was directed to the dead bodies, and as I looked at their mangled limbs, I felt grateful to Heaven that I had been so miraculously spared. We then cast our eyes along the beach to see if we could trace any remnants of the other boats, but in vain. We were about three miles from the town, which we could perceive had received considerable damage, and the beach below it was strewed with wrecks and fragments. I told the men that we might as well walk into the town and deliver ourselves up as prisoners; to which they agreed, and we set forward, promising to send for the poor fellows who were too much hurt to accompany us. As soon as we climbed up the rocks, and gained the inland, what a sight presented itself to us! Trees torn up by the roots in every direction-- cattle lying dead--here and there the remains of a house, of which the other parts had been swept away for miles. Everything not built of solid masonry had disappeared. We passed what had been a range of negro huts, but they were levelled to the ground. The negroes were busily searching for their property among the ruins, while the women held their infants in their arms, and the other children by their sides. Here and there was the mother wailing over the dead body of some poor little thing which had been crushed to death. They took no notice of us. About half a mile further on, to our great delight, we fell in with the crews of the other boats, who were sitting by the side of the road. They had all escaped unhurt; their boats, being so much more buoyant than ours, had been thrown up high and dry. They joined us, and we proceeded on our way. On our road we fell in with a cart blown over, under the wheel of which was the leg of the negro who conducted it. We released the poor fellow; his leg was fractured. We laid him by the side of the road in the shade, and continued our march. Our whole route was one scene of desolation and distress; but when we arrived at the town, we found that there it was indeed accumulated. There was not one house in three standing entire-- the beach was covered with remnants of bodies and fragments of vessels, whose masts lay forced several feet into the sand, and broken into four or five pieces. Parties of soldiers were busy taking away the bodies, and removing what few valuables had been saved. We turned up into the town, for no one accosted us or even noticed us; and here the scene was even more dreadful. In some streets they were digging out those who were still alive, and whose cries were heard among the ruins; in others they were carrying away the dead bodies. The lamentations of the relatives-- the howling of the negroes--the cries of the wounded--the cursing and swearing of the French soldiers, and the orders delivered continually by officers on horseback, with all the confusion arising from crowds of spectators, mingling their voices together, formed a scene as dreadful as it was novel. After surveying it for a few minutes, I went up to an officer on horseback, and told him in French, that I wished to surrender myself as a prisoner. "We have no time to take prisoners now," replied he; "hundreds are buried in the ruins, and we must try to save them. We must now attend to the claims of humanity." "Will you allow my men to assist you, sir?" replied I. "They are active and strong fellows." "Sir," said he, taking off his hat, "I thank you in the name of my unfortunate countrymen." "Show us, then, where we may be most useful." He turned and pointed to a house higher up, the offices of which were blown down. "There are living beings under those ruins." "Come, my lads," said I; and sore as they were, my men hastened with alacrity to perform their task. I could not help them myself, my side was so painful; but I stood by giving them directions. In half an hour we had cleared away, so as to arrive at a poor negro girl, whose cries we had distinctly heard. We released her and laid her down in the street, but she fainted. Her left hand was dreadfully shattered. I was giving what assistance I could, and the men were busy clearing away, throwing on one side the beams and rafters, when an officer on horseback rode up. He stood and asked me who we were. I told him that we belonged to the brig, and had been wrecked; and that we were giving what assistance we could until they were at leisure to send us to prison. "You English are fine brave fellows," replied he, and he rode on. Another unfortunate object had been recovered by our men, an old white-headed negro, but he was too much mangled to live. We brought him out, and were laying him beside the negro girl, when several officers on horseback rode down the street. The one who was foremost, in a general's uniform, I immediately recognized as my former friend, then Colonel O'Brien. They all stopped and looked at us. I told who we were. General O'Brien took off his hat to the sailors, and thanked them. He did not recognize me, and he was passing on, when I said to him in English, "General O'Brien, you have forgotten me, but I shall never forget your kindness." "My God!" said he, "is it you, my dear fellow?" and he sprang from his horse and shook me warmly by the hand. "No wonder that I did not know you; you are a very different person from little Peter Simple, who dressed up as a girl and danced on stilts. But I have to thank you, and so has Celeste for your kindness to her. I will not ask you to leave your work of charity and kindness, but when you have done what you can, come up to my house. Anyone will show it to you; and if you do not find me you will find Celeste, as you must be aware cannot leave this melancholy employment. God bless you!" He then rode off, followed by his staff. "Come, my lads," said I, "depend upon it we shall not be very cruelly treated. Let us work hard, and do all the good we can, and the Frenchmen won't forget it." We had cleared that house, and went back to where the other people were working under the orders of the officer on horseback. I went up to him, and told him we had saved two, and if he had no objection, would assist his party. He thankfully accepted our services. "And now, my lads," said Swinburne, "let us forget all our bruises, and show these French fellows how to work." And they did so: they tossed away the beams and rafters right and left with a quickness and dexterity which quite astonished the officer and other inhabitants who were looking on, and in half an hour had done more work than could have been possibly expected. Several lives were saved, and the French expressed their admiration at our sailors' conduct, and brought them something to drink, which they stood much in need of, poor fellows. After that they worked double tides, as we say, and certainly were the means of saving many lives which otherwise would have been sacrificed. The disasters occasioned by this hurricane were very great, owing to its having taken place at night, when the chief of the inhabitants were in bed and asleep. I was told that most of the wood houses were down five minutes after the hurricane burst upon them. About noon there was no more work for us to do, and I was not sorry that it was over. My side was very painful, and the burning heat of the sun made me feel giddy and sick at the stomach. I inquired of a respectable looking old Frenchman which was the General's house. He directed me to it, and I proceeded there, followed by my men. When I arrived, I found the orderly leading away the horse of General O'Brien, who had just returned. I desired a sergeant, who was in attendance at the door, to acquaint the general that I was below. He returned, and desired me to follow him. I was conducted into a large room, where I found him in company with several officers. He again greeted me warmly, and introduced me to the company as the officer who had permitted the ladies who had been taken prisoners to come on shore. "I have to thank you, then, for my wife," said an officer, coming up, and offering his hand. Another came up, and told me that I had also released his. We then entered into a conversation, in which I stated, the occasion of my having been wrecked, and all the particulars; also, that I had seen the brig in the morning dismasted, but that she had weathered the point, and was safe. "That brig of yours, I must pay you the compliment to say, has been very troublesome; and my namesake keeps the batteries more upon the alert than ever I could have done," said General O'Brien. "I don't believe there is a negro five years old upon the island who does not know your brig." We then talked over the attack of the privateer, in which we were beaten off. "Ah!" replied the aide-de-camp, "you made a mess of that. He has been gone these four months. Captain Carnot swears that he'll fight you if he falls in with you." "He has kept his word," replied I; and then I narrated our action with the three French privateers, and the capture of the vessel; which surprised and, I think, annoyed them very much. "Well, my friend," said General O'Brien, "you must stay with me while you are on the island; if you want anything, let me know." "I am afraid that I want a surgeon," replied I; "for my side is so painful that I can scarcely breathe." "Are you hurt then?" said General O'Brien, with an anxious look. "Not dangerously, I believe," said I, "but rather painfully." "Let me see," said an officer, who stepped forward; "I am surgeon to the forces here, and perhaps you will trust yourself in my hands. Take off your coat." I did so with difficulty. "You have two ribs broken," said he, "and a very severe contusion. You must go to bed, or lie on a sofa, for a few days. In a quarter of an hour I will come and dress you, and promise you to make you all well in ten days, in return for your having given me my daughter, who was on board of the _Victorine_ with the other ladies." The officers now made their bows, and left me alone with General O'Brien. "Recollect," said he, "that I tell it you once for all, that my purse, and everything, is at your command. If you do not accept them freely, I shall think you do not love us. It is not the first time, Peter, and you repaid me honourably. However, of course, I was no party to that affair; it was Celeste's doing," continued he, laughing. "Of course, I could not imagine that it was you who was dressed up as a woman, and so impudently danced through France on stilts. But I must hear all your adventures by-and-by, Celeste is most anxious to see you. Will you go now, or wait till after the surgeon comes?" "Oh, now, if you please, general. May I first beg that some care may be taken of my poor men; they have had nothing to eat since yesterday, are very much bruised, and have worked hard; and that a cart may be sent for those who lie maimed on the beach?" "I should have thought of them before," replied he: "and I will also order the same party to bury the other poor fellows who are lying on the beach. Come, now--will take you to Celeste." Chapter XLIX Broken ribs not likely to produce broken hearts--O'Brien makes something very like a declaration of peace--Peter Simple actually makes a declaration of love--Rash proceedings on all sides. I followed the general into a handsomely furnished apartment, where I found Celeste waiting to receive me. She ran to me as soon as I entered; and with what pleasure did I take her hand, and look on her beautiful expressive countenance! I could not say a word--neither did Celeste. For a minute I held her hand in mine, looking at her; the general stood by regarding us alternately. He then turned round, and walked to the window. I lifted the hand to my lips, and then released it. "It appears to be a dream, almost," said Celeste. I could not make any reply, but continued to gaze upon her--she had grown up into such a beautiful creature. Her figure was perfect, and the expression of her countenance was so varied--so full of intellect and feeling--it was angelic. Her eyes, suffused with tears, beamed so softly, so kindly on me, I could have fallen down and worshipped her. "Come," said General O'Brien; "come, my dear friend, now that you have seen Celeste, the surgeon must see you." "The surgeon," cried Celeste, with alarm. "Yes, my love; it is of no consequence--only a couple of ribs broken." I followed General O'Brien out of the room, and as I came to the door I turned round to look at Celeste. She had retreated to the sofa, and her handkerchief was up to her eyes. The surgeon was waiting for me; he bandaged me, and applied some cooling lotion to my side, which made me feel quite comfortable. "I must now leave you," said General O'Brien; "you had better lie down for an hour or two, and then, if I am not back, you know your way to Celeste." I lay down as he requested; but as soon as I heard the clatter of the horse's hoofs, as he rode off, I left the room, and hurried to the drawing-room. Celeste was there, and hastened to inquire if I was much hurt. I replied in the negative, and told her that I had come down to prove it to her; and we then sat down on the sofa together. "I have the misfortune never to appear before you, Celeste, except in a very unprepossessing state. When you first saw me I was wounded; at our next meeting I was in woman's clothes; the last time we met I was covered with dirt and gunpowder; and now I return to you wounded and in rags. I wonder whether I shall ever appear before you as a gentleman?" "It is not the clothes which make the gentleman, Peter. I am too happy to see you to think of how you are dressed. I have never yet thanked you for your kindness to us when we last met. My father will never forget it." "Nor have I thanked you, Celeste, for your kindness in dropping the purse into the hat, when you met me, trying to escape from France. I have never forgotten you, and since we met the last time, you have hardly ever been out of my thoughts. You don't know how thankful I am to the hurricane for having blown me into your presence. When we cruised in the brig, I have often examined the town with my glass, trying to fancy that I had my eye upon the house you were in; and have felt so happy when we were close in shore, because I knew that I was nearer to you." "And, Peter, I have often watched the brig, and have been so glad to see it come nearer, and then so afraid that the batteries would fire at you. What a pity it is that my father and you should be opposed to each other--we might be so happy!" "And may be yet, Celeste," replied I. We conversed for two hours, which appeared to be but ten minutes. I felt that I was in love, but I do not think that Celeste had any idea at the time that she was--but I leave the reader to judge from the little conversation I have quoted, whether she was not, or something very much approaching to it. The next morning I went out early to look for the brig, and, to my great delight, saw her about six miles off the harbour's mouth, standing in for the land. She had now got up very respectable jury-masts, with topgallants for topsails, and appeared to be well under command. When she was within three miles of the harbour she lowered the jolly-boat, the only one she had left, and it pulled in-shore with a flag of truce hoisted at the bows. I immediately returned to my room, and wrote a detailed account of what had taken place, ready to send to O'Brien when the boat returned, and I, of course, requested him to send me my effects, as I had nothing but what I stood in. I had just completed my letter when General O'Brien came in. "My dear friend," said he, "I have just received a flag of truce from Captain O'Brien, requesting to know the fate of his boats' crews, and permission to send in return the clothes and effects of the survivors." "I have written down the whole circumstances for him, and made the same request to him," replied I; and I handed him my letter. He read it over and returned it. "But, my dear lad, you must think very poorly of us Frenchmen, if you imagine that we intend to detain you here as a prisoner. In the first place, your liberation of so many French subjects, when you captured the _Victorine_, would entitle you to a similar act of kindness; and, in the next place, you have not been fairly captured, but by a visitation of Providence, which, by the means of the late storm, must destroy all national antipathies, and promote that universal philanthropy between all men, which your brave fellows proved that they possess. You are, therefore, free to depart with all your men, and we shall still hold ourselves your debtors. How is your side to-day?" "Oh, very bad, indeed," replied I; for I could not bear the idea of returning to the brig so soon, for I had been obliged to quit Celeste very soon after dinner the day before, and go to bed. I had not yet had much conversation with her, nor had I told General O'Brien how it was that we escaped from France. "I don't think I can possibly go on board to-day, but I feel very grateful to you for your kindness." "Well, well," replied the general, who observed my feelings, "I do not think it is necessary that you should go on board to-day. I will send the men and your letter, and I will write to Captain O'Brien, to say that you are in bed, and will not bear moving until the day after tomorrow. Will that do?" I thought it but a very short time, but I saw that the general looked as if he expected me to consent; so I did. "The boat can come and return again with some of your clothes," continued the general, "and I will tell Captain O'Brien that if he comes off the mouth of the harbour the day after to-morrow, I will send you on board in one of our boats." He then took my letter and quitted the room. As soon as he was gone I found myself quite well enough to go to Celeste, who waited for me, and I told her what had passed. That morning I sat with her and the general, and narrated all my adventures, which amused the general very much. I did not conceal the conduct of my uncle, and the hopes which I faintly entertained of being able, some day or another, to discover the fraud which had been practised, or how very unfavourable were my future prospects if I did not succeed. At this portion of my narrative the general appeared very thoughtful and grave. When I had finished, it was near dinner time, and I found that my clothes had arrived with a letter from O'Brien, who stated how miserable he had been at the supposition of my loss, and his delight at my escape. He stated that on going down into the cabin, after I had shoved off, he, by chance, cast his eyes on the barometer, and, to his surprise, found that it had fallen two inches, which he had been told was the case previous to a hurricane. This, combined with the peculiar state of the atmosphere, had induced him to make every preparation, and that they had just completed their work when it came on. The brig was thrown on her beam ends, and lay there for half an hour, when they were forced to cut away the masts to right her. That they did not weather the point the next morning by more than half a cable's length; and concluded by saying, that the idea of my death had made him so unhappy that, if it had not been for the sake of the men, it was almost a matter of indifference to him whether he had been lost or not. He had written to General O'Brien, thanking him for his kindness; and that, if fifty vessels should pass the brig, he would not capture one of them, until I was on board again, even if he were dismissed the service for neglect of duty. He said, that the brig sailed almost as fast under jury-masts as she did before, and that, as soon as I came on board, he should go back to Barbadoes. "As for your ribs being so bad, Peter, that's all bother," continued he; "I know that you are making arrangements for another sort of _rib_, as soon as you can manage it; but you must stop a little, my boy. You shall be a lord yet, as I always promised you that you should. It's a long lane that has no turning--so good-bye." When I was alone with Celeste, I showed her O'Brien's letter. I had read the part of it relative to his not intending to make any capture while I was on shore to General O'Brien, who replied, "that under such circumstances he thought' he should do right to detain me a little longer but," said he, "O'Brien is a man of honour, and worthy of his name." When Celeste came to that part of the letter in which O'Brien stated that I was looking after another rib, and which I had quite forgotten, she asked me to explain it; for, although she could read and speak English very well, she had not been sufficiently accustomed to it to comprehend the play upon words. I translated, and then said, "Indeed, Celeste, I had forgotten that observation of O'Brien's, or I should not have shown you the letter; but he has stated the truth. After all your kindness to me, how can I help being in love with you? and need I add, that I should consider it the greatest blessing which Heaven could grant me, if you could feel so much regard for me as one day to become my wife! Don't be angry with me for telling you the truth," continued I, for Celeste coloured up as I spoke to her. "Oh, no! I am not angry with you, Peter; far from it. It is very complimentary to me--what you have just said." "I am aware," continued I, "that at present I have little to offer you-- indeed, nothing. I am not even such a match as your father might approve of; but you know my whole history, and what my desires are." "My dear father loves me, Peter, and he loves you too, very much--he always did, from the hour he saw you--he was so pleased with your candour and honesty of character. He has often told me so, and very often talked of you." "Well, Celeste, tell me,--may I when far away, be permitted to think of you, and indulge a hope, that some day we may meet never to part again?" And I took Celeste by the hand, and put my arm round her waist. "I don't know what to say," replied she; "I will speak to my father, or perhaps you will; but I will never marry anybody else, if I can help it." I drew her close to me, and kissed her. Celeste burst into tears, and laid her head upon my shoulder. When General O'Brien came I did not attempt to move, nor did Celeste. "General," said I, "you may think me to blame, but I have not been able to conceal what I feel for Celeste. You may think that I am imprudent, and that I am wrong in thus divulging what I ought to have concealed, until I was in a situation to warrant my aspiring to your daughter's hand; but the short time allowed me to be in her company, the fear of losing her, and my devoted attachment, will, I trust, plead my excuse." The general took one or two turns up and down the room, and then replied, "What says Celeste?" "Celeste will never do anything to make her father unhappy," replied she, going up to him and hiding her face in his breast, with her arm round his neck. The general kissed his daughter, and then said, "I will be frank with you, Mr Simple. I do not know any man whom I would prefer to you as a son-in-law; but there are many considerations which young people are very apt to forget. I do not interfere in your attachment, which appears to be mutual; but, at the same time, I will have no promise and no engagement, you may never meet again. However, Celeste is very young, and I shall not put any constraint upon her; and at the same time you are equally free, if time and circumstances should alter your present feelings." "I can ask no more, my dear sir," replied I, taking the general by the hand; "it is candid--more than I had any reason to expect. I shall now leave you with a contented mind, and the hopes of one day claiming Celeste shall spur me to exertion." "Now, if you please, we will drop the subject," said the general. "Celeste, my dear, we have a large party to dinner, as you know. You had better retire to your room and get ready. I have asked all the ladies that you liberated, Peter, and all their husbands and fathers; so you will have the pleasure of witnessing how many people you made happy by your gallantry. Now that Celeste has left the room, Peter, I must beg that, as a man of honour, you do not exact from her any more promises, or induce her to tie herself down to you by oaths. Her attachment to you has grown up with her unaccountably, and she is already too fond of you for her peace of mind, should accident or circumstances part you for ever. Let us hope for the best, and depend upon it that it shall be no trifling obstacle which will hinder me from seeing you one day united." I thanked the general with tears; he shook me warmly by the hand as I gave my promise, and we separated. How happy did I feel when I went into my room, and sat down to compose my mind and think over what had happened. True, at one moment the thought of my dependent situation threw a damp over my joy; but in the next I was building castles, inventing a discovery of my uncle's plot, fancying myself in possession of the title and property, and laying it at the feet of my dear Celeste. Hope sustained my spirits, and I felt satisfied for the present with the consideration that Celeste returned my love. I decked myself carefully, and went down, where I found all the company assembled. We had a very pleasant, happy party, and the ladies entreated General O'Brien to detain me as a prisoner--very kind of them --and I felt very much disposed to join in their request. Chapter L Peter Simple first takes a command, then three West Indiamen, and twenty prisoners--One good turn deserves another--The prisoners endeavour to take him, but are themselves taken in. The next day I was very unhappy. The brig was in the offing waiting for me to come on hoard. I pointed her out to Celeste as we were at the window, and her eyes met mine. An hour's conversation could not have said more. General O'Brien showed that he had perfect confidence in me for he left us together. "Celeste," said I, "I have promised your father--" "I know what has passed," interrupted she; "he told me everything." "How kind he is! But I did not say that I would not bind myself, Celeste." "No! but my father made me promise that you should not--that if you attempted, I was immediately to prevent you--and so I shall." "Then you shall keep your word, Celeste. Imagine everything that can be said in this--" and I kissed her. "Don't think me forward, Peter, but I wish you to go away happy," said Celeste; "and therefore, in return, imagine all I could say in this" and she returned my salute. After this we had a conversation of two hours; but what lovers say is very silly, except to themselves, and the reader need not be troubled with it. General O'Brien came in and told me the boat was ready. I rose up--I was satisfied with what had passed, and with a firm voice I said, "Good-bye, Celeste; God bless you!" and followed the general, who, with some of his officers, walked down with me to the beach. I thanked the general, who embraced me, paid my adieus to the officers, and stepped into the boat. In half an hour I was on board of the brig, and in O'Brien's arms. We put the helm up, and in a short time the town of St Pierre was shut out from my longing sight, and we were on our way to Barbadoes. That day was passed in the cabin with O'Brien, giving him a minute detail of all that had passed. When we anchored once more in Carlisle Bay, we found that the hurricane had been much more extensive in the Windward Islands than we had imagined. Several men of war were lying there, having lost one or more of their masts, and there was great difficulty in supplying the wants of so many. As we arrived the last, of course we were last served; and, there being no boats left in store, there was no chance of our being ready for sea under two or three months. The _Joan d' Arc_ schooner privateer was still lying there, but had not been fitted out for want of men; and the admiral proposed to O'Brien that he should man her with a part of his ship's company, and send one of his lieutenants out to cruise in her. This was gladly assented to by O'Brien, who came on board and asked me whether I should like to have her, which I agreed to, as I was quite tired of Barbadoes and fried flying fish. I selected two midshipmen, Swinburne, and twenty men, and having taken on board provisions and water for three months, I received my written instructions from O'Brien, and made sail. We soon discovered that the masts which the American had sold to the schooner, were much too large for her; she was considerably overmasted, and we were obliged to be very careful. I stood for Trinidad, off which island was to be my cruising ground, and in three weeks had recaptured three West Indiamen, when I found myself so short of hands, that I was obliged to return to Barbadoes. I had put four hands into the first vessel, which, with the Englishmen, prisoners, were sufficient, and, three hands into the two others; but I was very much embarrassed with my prisoners, who amounted to nearly double my ship's company remaining on board. Both the midshipmen I had sent away, and I consulted with Swinburne as to what was best to be done. "Why, the fact is, Mr Simple, Captain O'Brien ought to have given us more hands; twenty men are little enough for a vessel with a boom mainsail like the one we have here; and now we have only ten left; but I suppose he did not expect us to be so lucky, and it's true enough that he has plenty of work for the ship's company, now that he has to turn everything in afresh. As for the prisoners, I think we had better run close in, and give them two of our boats to take them on shore. At all events, we must be rid of them, and not be obliged to have one eye aloft, and the other down the hatchway, as we must now." This advice corresponded with my own ideas, and I ran in-shore, gave them the stern boat, and one of the larger ones, which held them all, and sent them away, leaving only one boat for the schooner, which we hoisted up in the star-board chess-tree. It fell a dead calm as we sent away the prisoners; we saw them land and disappear over the rocks, and thought ourselves well rid of them, as they were twenty-two in number, most of them Spaniards, and very stout ferocious-looking fellows. It continued calm during the whole day, much to our annoyance, as I was very anxious to get away as soon as I could; still I could not help admiring the beauty of the scenery--the lofty mountains rising abruptly from the ocean, and towering in the clouds, reflected on the smooth water, as clear as in a looking-glass, every colour, every tint, beautifully distinct. The schooner gradually drifted close in-shore, and we could perceive the rocks at the bottom, many fathoms deep. Not a breath of wind was to be seen on the surface of the water for several miles round, although the horizon in the offing showed that there was a smart breeze outside. Night came on, and we still lay becalmed. I gave my orders to Swinburne, who had the first watch, and retired to my standing bed-place in the cabin. I was dreaming, and I hardly need say who was the object of my visions. I thought I was in Eagle Park, sitting down with her under one of the large chestnut trees, which formed the avenue, when I felt my shoulder roughly pushed. I started up--"What is the matter? Who's that-- Swinburne?" "Yes, sir. On with your clothes immediately, as we have work on hand, I expect." And Swinburne left the cabin, and I heard him calling the other men who were below. I knew that Swinburne would not give a false alarm. In a minute I was on deck, and was looking at the stern of the schooner. "What is that, Swinburne?" said I. "Silence, sir. Hark! don't you hear them?" "Yes," replied I; "the sound of oars." "Exactly, sir; depend upon it, those Spaniards have got more help, and are coming back to take the vessel; they know we have only ten hands on board." By this time the men were all on deck. I directed Swinburne to see all the muskets loaded, and ran down for my own sword and pistols. The water was so smooth, and the silence so profound, that Swinburne had heard the sound of the oars at a considerable distance. Fortunate it was, that I had such a trusty follower. Another might have slumbered, and the schooner have been boarded and captured without our being prepared. When I came on deck again, I spoke to the men, exhorted them to do their duty, and pointed out to them that these cut-throat villains would certainly murder us all if we were taken, which I firmly believe would have been the case. The men declared that they would sell their lives as dearly as they could. We had twenty muskets, and the same number of pistols, all of which were now loaded. Our guns were also ready, but of no use, now that the schooner had not steerage-way. The boats were in sight, about a quarter of a mile astern, when Swinburne said, "There's a cat's-paw flying along the water, Mr Simple; if we could only have a little wind, how we would laugh at them; but I'm afraid there's no such luck. Shall we let them know that we are ready?" "Let every one of us take two muskets," said I: "when the first boat is under the counter, take good aim, and discharge into one of the boats; then seize the other musket, and discharge it at the other boat. After that we must trust to our cutlasses and pistols; for if they come on, there will be no time to load again. Keep silence, all of you." The boats now came up full of men; but as we remained perfectly quiet, they pulled up gently, hoping to surprise us. Fortunately, one was a little in advance of the other; upon which I altered my directions, and desired my men to fire their second musket into the first boat, as, if we could disable her, we were an equal match for those in the other. When the boat was within six yards of the schooner's counter, "Now!" said I, and all the muskets were discharged at once, and my men cheered. Several of the oars dropped, and I was sure we had done great execution; but they were laid hold of by the other men, who had not been pulling, and again the boat advanced to the counter. "Good aim, my lads, this time," cried Swinburne; "the other boat will be alongside as soon as you have fired. Mr Simple, the schooner has headway, and there's a strong breeze coming up." Again we discharged our ten muskets into the boat, but this time we waited until the bow-man had hooked on the planeshear with his boat-hook, and our fire was very effective. I was surprised to find that the other boat was not on board of us; but a light breeze had come up, and the schooner glided through the water. Still she was close under our counter, and would have been aboard in a minute. In the meantime, the Spaniards who were in the first boat were climbing up the side, and were repulsed by my men with great success. The breeze freshened, and Swinburne ran to the helm. I perceived the schooner was going fast through the water, and the second boat could hardly hold her course. I ran to where the boat-hook was fixed on the planeshear, and unhooked it; the boat fell astern, leaving two Spaniards clinging to the side, who were cut down, and they fell into the water. "Hurrah! all safe!" cried Swinburne; "and now to punish them." The schooner was now darting along at the rate of five miles, with an increasing breeze. We stood in for two minutes, then tacked, and ran for the boats. Swinburne steered, and I continued standing in the bows, surrounded by the rest of the men. "Starboard a little, Swinburne."-- "Starboard it is." "Steady--steady: I see the first boat, she is close under our bows. Steady--port--port--port a little--port. Look out, my lads, and cut down all who climb up." Crash went the schooner on to the boat, the men in her in vain endeavouring to escape us. For a second or two she appeared to right, until her further gunwale was borne down under the water; she turned up, and the schooner went over her, sending every soul in her to their account. One man clung on to a rope, and was towed for a few seconds, but a cutlass divided the rope at the gunwale, and with a faint shriek he disappeared. The other boat was close to us, and perceived what had been done. They remained with their oars poised, all ready to pull so as to evade the schooner. We steered for her, and the schooner was now running at the rate of seven miles an hour. When close under our bows, by very dexterously pulling short round with their starboard oars, we only struck her with our bow; and before she went down many of the Spaniards had gained the deck, or were clinging to the side of the vessel. They fought with desperation, but we were too strong for them. It was only those who had gained the deck which we had to contend with. The others clung for a time, and, unable to get up the sides, one by one dropped into the water and went astern. In a minute, those on deck were lying at our feet, and in a minute more they were tossed overboard after their companions; not, however, until one of them struck me through the calf of the leg with his knife as we were lifting him over the gunwale. I do not mean to say that the Spaniards were not justified in attempting to take the schooner; but still, as we had liberated them but a few hours before, we felt that it was unhandsome and treacherous on their part, and therefore showed them no quarter. There were two of my men wounded as well as myself, but not severely, which was fortunate, as we had no surgeon on board, and only about half a yard of a diachylum plaster in the vessel. "Well out of that, sir," said Swinburne, as I limped aft. "By the Lord Harry! it might have been a _pretty go_." Having shaped our course for Barbadoes, I dressed my leg and went down to sleep. This time I did not dream of Celeste, but fought the Spaniards over again, thought I was wounded, and awoke with the pain of my leg. Chapter LI Peter turned out of his command by his vessel turning bottom up--A cruise on a main-boom, with sharks _en attendant_--Self and crew, with several flying fish, taken on board a negro boat--Peter regenerates by putting on a new outward man. We made Barbadoes without any further adventure, and were about ten miles off the bay, steering with a very light breeze, and I went down into the cabin, expecting to be at anchor before breakfast the next morning. It was just daylight, when I found myself thrown out of my bed-place on the deck, on the other side of the cabin, and heard the rushing of water. I sprang up, I knew the schooner was on her beam ends, and gained the deck. I was correct in my supposition: she had been upset by what is called a white squall, and in two minutes would be down. All the men were up on deck, some dressed, others, like myself, in their shirts. Swinburne was aft; he had an axe in his hand, cutting away the rigging of the main-boom. I saw what he was about; I seized another, and disengaged the jaw-rope and small gear about the mast. We had no other chance; our boat was under the water, being hoisted up on the side to leeward. All this, however, was but the work of two minutes; and I could not help observing by what trifles lives are lost or saved. Had the axe not been fortunately at the capstern, I should not have been able to cut the jaw-rope, Swinburne would not have had time, and the main-boom would have gone down with the schooner. Fortunately we had cleared it; the schooner filled, righted a little, and then sank, dragging us and the main-boom for a few seconds down in its vortex, and then we rose to the surface. The squall still continued, but the water was smooth. It soon passed over, and again it was nearly calm. I counted the men clinging to the boom, and found that they were all there. Swinburne was next to me. He was holding with one hand, while with the other he felt in his pocket for a quid of tobacco, which he thrust into his cheek. "I wasn't on deck at the time, Mr Simple," said he, "or this wouldn't have happened. I had just been relieved, and I told Collins to look out sharp for squalls. I only mention it, that if you are saved, and I am not, you mayn't think I was neglectful of my duty. We arn't far from the land, but still we are more likely to fall in with a shark than a friend, I'm thinking." These, indeed, had been my thoughts, but I had concealed them; but after Swinburne had mentioned the shark, I very often looked along the water for their fins, and down below to see if they were coming up to tear us to pieces. It was a dreadful feeling. "It was not your fault, Swinburne, I am sure. I ought to have relieved you myself, but I kept the first watch, and was tired. We must put our trust in God; perhaps, we may yet be spared." It was now almost calm, and the sun had mounted in the heavens: the scorching rays were intolerable upon our heads, for we had not the defence of hats. I felt my brain on fire, and was inclined to drop into the water, to screen myself from the intolerable heat. As the day advanced so did our sufferings increase. It was a dead calm, the sun perpendicular over us, actually burning that part of our bodies which rose clear of the water. I could have welcomed even a shark to relieve me of my torment; but I thought of Celeste, and I clung to life. Towards the afternoon I felt sick and dizzy; my resolution failed me; my vision was imperfect; but I was roused by Swinburne, who cried out, "A boat, by all that's gracious! Hang on a little longer, my men, and you are saved." It was a boat full of negroes, who had come out to catch flying-fish. They had perceived the spar on the water, and hastened to secure the prize. They dragged us all in, gave us water, which appeared like nectar, and restored us to our fleeting senses. They made fast the boom, and towed it in-shore. We had not been ten minutes on our way, when Swinburne pointed to the fin of a large shark above the water. "Look there, Mr Simple." I shuddered, and made no answer; but I thanked God in my heart. In two hours we were landed, but were too ill to walk. We were carried up to the hospital, bled, and put into cots. I had a brain fever, which lasted six or seven days, during which O'Brien never left my bedside. My head was shaved, all the skin came off my face like a mask, as well as off my back and shoulders. We were put into baths of brandy and water, and in three weeks were all recovered. "That was but an unlucky schooner from beginning to end," observed O'Brien, after I had narrated the events of my cruise. "We had a bad beginning with her, and we had a bad ending. She's gone to the bottom, and the devil go with her; however, all's well that ends well, and, Peter, you're worth a dozen dead men yet; but you occasion me a great deal of trouble and anxiety, that's the truth of it, and I doubt if I shall ever rear you, after all." I returned to my duty on board of the brig, which was now nearly ready for sea. One morning O'Brien came on board and said, "Peter, I've a piece of news for you. Our gunner is appointed to the _Araxes_, and the admiral has given me a gunner's warrant for old Swinburne. Send for him on deck." Swinburne was summoned, and came rolling up the hatchway. "Swinburne," said O'Brien, "you have done your duty well, and you are now gunner of the _Rattlesnake_. Here is your warrant, and I've great pleasure in getting it for you." Swinburne turned the quid in his cheek, and then replied, "May I be so bold as to ax, Captain O'Brien, whether I must wear one of them long tog, swallow-tailed coats--because, if so, I'd prefer being a quarter-master?" "A gunner may wear a jacket, Swinburne, if he likes; when you go on shore you may bend the swallow-tail, if you please." "Well, sir, then if that's the case, I'll take the warrant, because I know it will please the old woman." So saying, Swinburne hitched up his trousers, and went down below. I may here observe that Swinburne kept his round jacket until our arrival in England, when the "old woman," his wife, who thought her dignity at stake, soon made him ship the swallow-tail; and, after it was once on, Swinburne took a fancy to it, and always wore it, except when he was at sea. The same evening, as I was coming with O'Brien from the governor's house, where I had dined, we passed a building, lighted up. "What can that be?" observed O'Brien; "not a dignity ball--there is no music." Our curiosity induced us to enter, and we found it to be fitted up as a temporary chapel, filled with black and coloured people, who were ranged on the forms, and waiting for the preacher. "It is a Methodist meeting," said I to O'Brien. "Never mind," said he, "let us hear what is going on." In a moment afterwards the pulpit was filled, not by a white man, as we had anticipated, but by a tall negro. He was dressed in black, and his hair, which it was impossible to comb down straight, was plaited into fifty little tails, well tied at the end of them, like you sometimes see the mane of a horse; this produced a somewhat more clerical appearance. His throat was open and collar laid back; the wristbands of his shirt very large and white, and he flourished a white cambric handkerchief. "What a dandy he is!" whispered O'Brien. I thought it almost too absurd when he said he would take the liberty to praise God in the 17th hymn, and beg all the company to join chorus. He then gave out the stanzas in the most strange pronunciation. "Gentle Jesus, God um lub," &c. When the hymn was finished, which was sung by the whole congregation, in the most delightful discord,--everyone chose his own key--he gave an extempore prayer, which was most unfortunately incomprehensible, and then commenced his discourse, which was on _Faith_. I shall omit the head and front of his offending, which would, perhaps, hardly be gratifying although ludicrous. He reminded me of a monkey imitating a man; but what amused me most was his finale, in which he told his audience that there could be no faith without charity. For a little while he descanted upon this generally, and at last became personal. His words were, as well as I can recollect, nearly as follows:-- "And now you see, my dear bredren, how unpossible to go to heaven, with all the faith in the world, without charity. Charity mean, give away. Suppose you no give--you no ab charity; suppose you no ab charity--you no ab faith; suppose you no ab faith--you all go to hell and be damned. Now den, let me see if you ab charity. Here, you see, I come to save all your soul from hell-fire; and hell-fire dam hot, I can tell you. Dere you all burn like coal, till you turn white powder, and den burn on till you come black again; and so you go on, burn, burn, sometime white, sometime black, for ebber and ebber. The debil never allow Sangoree to cool tongue. No, no cocoa-nut milk,--not a lilly drap of water; debil see you damned first. Suppose you ask, he poke um fire, and laugh. Well, den, ab you charity? No, you ab not. You, Quashee, how you dare look me in the face? You keep shop--you sell egg--you sell yam--you sell pepper hot--but when you give to me? Eh! nebber, so help me God. Suppose you no send--you no ab charity, and you go to hell. You black Sambo," continued he, pointing to a man in the corner, "ab very fine boat, go out all day, catch fly-fish, bring um back, fry um, and sell for money; but when you send to me? not one little fish ebber find way to my mouth. What I tell you 'bout Peter and 'postles--all fishermen; good men, give 'way to poor. Sambo, you no ab charity; and 'spose you no repent this week, and send one very fine fish in plantain leaf, you go to hell, and burn for ebber and ebber. Eh! so you will run away, Massa Johnson," cried he out to another, who was edging to the door; "but you no run away from hell-fire: when debil catch you, he hold dam tight. You know you kill sheep and goat ebery day. You send bell ring all 'bout town for people to come buy; but when you send to me? nebber, 'cept once, you gave me lilly bit of libber. That not do, Massa Johnson; you no ab charity; and suppose you no send me sheep's head to-morrow morning, dam you libber, that's all. I see many more, but I see um all very sorry, and dat they mean to sin no more, so dis time I let um off, and say noting about it, because I know plenty of plantain and banana (pointing to one) and oranges and shaddock (pointing to another), and salt fish (pointing to a fourth), and ginger-pop and spruce beer (pointing to a fifth), and a straw hat (pointing to a sixth), and eberything else, come to my house to-morrow. So I say no more 'bout it; I see you all very sorry--you only forget. You all ab charity, and all ab faith; so now, my dear bredren, we go down on our knees, and thank God for all this, and more especially that I save all your souls from going to the debil, who run about Barbadoes like one roaring lion, seeking what he may lay hold of, and cram into his dam fiery jaw." "That will do, Peter," said O'Brien; "we have the cream of it, I think." We left the house, and walked down to the boat. "Surely, O'Brien," said I, "this should not be permitted?" "He's no worse than his neighbours," replied O'Brien, "and perhaps does less harm. I admire the rascal's ingenuity; he gave his flock what, in Ireland, we should call a pretty broad hint." "Yes, there was no mistaking him: but is he a licensed preacher?" "Very little licence in his preaching, I take it; no, I suppose he has had a _call_." "A call!--what do you mean?" "I mean that he wants to fill his belly. Hunger is a call of nature, Peter." "He seems to want a good many things, if we were to judge by his catalogue; what a pity it is that these poor people are not better instructed." "That they never will be, Peter, while there is what may be called free trade in religion." "You speak like a Catholic, O'Brien." "I am one," replied he. And here our conversation ended, for we were close to the boat, which was waiting for us on the beach. The next day a man-of-war brig arrived from England, bringing letters for the squadron on the station. I had two from my sister Ellen which made me very uncomfortable. She stated that my father had seen my uncle, Lord Privilege, and had had high words with him; indeed, as far as she could ascertain of the facts, my father had struck my uncle, and had been turned out of the house by the servants; that he had returned in a state of great excitement, and was very ill ever since; that there was a great deal of talk in the neighbourhood on the subject, people generally highly blaming my father's conduct, thinking that he was deranged in his intellect--a supposition very much encouraged by my uncle. She again expressed her hopes of my speedy return. I had now been absent nearly three years, and she had been so uncomfortable that she felt as if it had been at least ten. O'Brien also received a letter from Father M'Grath, which I shall lay before the reader:-- "MY DEAR SON,--Long life, and all the blessings of all the saints be upon you now and for evermore! Amen. And may you live to be married, and may I dance at your wedding, and may you never want children, and may they grow up as handsome as their father and their mother (whoever she may hereafter be), and may you die of a good old age, and in the true faith, and be waked handsomely, as your own father was last Friday s'ennight, seeing as how he took it into his head to leave this world for a better. It was a very dacent funeral-procession, my dear Terence, and your father must have been delighted to see himself so well attinded. No man ever made a more handsome corpse, considering how old, and thin, and haggard he had grown of late, and how gray his hair had turned. He held the nosegay between his fingers, across his breast as natural as life, and reminded us all of the blessed saint, Pope Gregory, who was called to glory some hundred years before either you or I was born. "Your mother's quite comfortable; and there she sits in her ould chair, rocking to and fro all day long, and never speaking a word to nobody, thinking about heaven, I dare to say; which is just what she ought to do, seeing that she stands a very pretty chance of going there in the course of a month or so. Divil a word has she ever said since your father's departure, but then she screamed and yelled enough to last for seven years at the least. She screamed away all her senses anyhow, for she has done nothing since but cough, cough, and fumble at her pater-nosters--a very blessed way to pass the remainder of her days, seeing that I expect her to drop every minute like an over-ripe sleepy pear. So don't think any more about her, my son, for without you are back in a jiffy, her body will be laid in consecrated ground, and her happy, blessed soul in purgatory. _Pax vobiscum._ Amen! amen! "And now having disposed of your father and your mother so much to your satisfaction, I'll just tell you that Ella's mother died in the convent at Dieppe, but whether she kept her secret or not I do not know; but this I do know, that if she didn't relieve her soul by confession, she's damned to all eternity. Thanks be to God for all his mercies. Amen! Ella Flanagan is still alive, and, for a nun, is as well as can be expected. I find that she knows nothing at all about the matter of the exchanging the genders of the babbies--only that her mother was on oath to Father M'Dermot, who ought to be hanged, drawn, and quartered instead of those poor fellows whom the government called rebels, but who were no more rebels than Father M'Grath himself, who'll uphold the Pretender, as they call our true Catholic king, as long as there's life in his body or a drop of whiskey left in ould Ireland to drink his health wid.-- "Talking about Father M'Dermot puts me in mind that the bishop has not yet decided our little bit of a dispute, saying that he must take time to think about it. Now, considering that it's just three years since the row took place, the old gentleman must be a very slow thinker not to have found out by this time that I was in the right, and that Father M'Dermot, the baste, is not good enough to be hanged. "Your two married sisters are steady and diligent young women, having each made three children since you last saw them. Fine boys, every mother's son of them, with elegant spacious features, and famous mouths for taking in whole potatoes. By the powers, but the offsets of the tree of the O'Briens begin to make a noise in the land, anyhow, as you would say if you only heard them roaring for their bit of suppers. "And now, my dear son Terence, the real purport of this letter, which is just to put to your soul's conscience, as a dutiful son, whether you ought not to send me a small matter of money to save your poor father's soul from pain and anguish--for it's no joke that being in purgatory, I can tell you; and you wouldn't care how soon you were tripped out of it yourself. I only wish you had but your little toe in it, and then you'd burn with impatience to have it out again. But you're a dutiful son, so I'll say no more about it--a nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse. "When your mother goes, which, with the blessing of God, will be in a very little while, seeing that she has only to follow her senses, which are gone already, I'll take upon myself to sell everything, as worldly goods and chattels are of no use to dead people; and I have no doubt but that, what with the furniture and the two cows, and the pigs, and the crops in the ground, there will be enough to save her soul from the flames, and bury her dacently into the bargain. However, as you are the heir-at-law, seeing that the property is all your own, I'll keep a debtor and creditor account of the whole; and should there be any over, I'll use it all out in masses, so as to send her up to heaven by express; and if there's not sufficient, she must remain where she is till you come back and make up the deficiency. In the meanwhile I am your loving father in the faith, "URTAGH M'GRATH." Chapter LII Good sense in Swinburne--No man a hero to his valet de chambre, or a prophet in his own country--O'Brien takes a step by strategy--O'Brien parts with his friend, and Peter's star no longer in the ascendant. O'Brien was sorry for the death of his father, but he could not feel as most people would have done, as his father had certainly never been a father to him. He was sent to sea to be got rid of, and ever since he had been there, had been the chief support of his family; his father was very fond of whiskey, and not very fond of exertion. He was too proud of the true Milesian blood in his veins to do anything to support himself, but not too proud to live upon his son's hard-earned gains. For his mother O'Brien felt very much; she had always been kind and affectionate, and was very fond of him. Sailors, however, are so estranged from their families when they have been long in their profession and so accustomed to vicissitudes, that no grief for the loss of a relation lasts very long, and in a week O'Brien had recovered his usual spirits, when a vessel brought us the intelligence that a French squadron had been seen off St Domingo. This put us all on the _qui vive_. O'Brien was sent for by the admiral, and ordered to hasten his brig for sea with all possible despatch, as he was to proceed with despatches to England forthwith. In three days we were reported ready, received our orders, and at eight o'clock in the evening made sail from Carlisle Bay. "Well, Mr Swinburne," said I, "how do you like your new situation?" "Why, Mr Simple, I like it well enough; and it's not disagreeable to be an officer, and sit in your own cabin; but still I feel that I should get on better if I were in another ship. I've been hail-fellow well met with the ship's company so long, that I can't top the officer over them, and we can't get the duty done as smart as I could wish: and then at night I find it very lonely stuck up in my cabin like a parson's clerk, and nobody to talk to; for the other warrants are particular, and say that I'm only acting, and may not be confirmed, so they hold aloof. I don't much like being answerable for all that lot of gunpowder--it's queer stuff to handle." "Very true, Swinburne; but still, if there were no responsibility, we should require no officers. You recollect that you are now provided for life, and will have half-pay." "That's what made me bite, Mr Simple. I thought of the old woman, and how comfortable it would make her in her old age; and so, d'ye see, I sacrificed myself." "How long have you been married, Swinburne?" "Ever since Christmas '94. I wasn't going to be hooked carelessly, so I nibbled afore I took the bait. Had four years' trial of her first, and, finding that she had plenty of ballast, I sailed her as my own." "How do you mean by plenty of ballast?" "I don't mean, Mr Simple, a broad bow and square hulk. You know very well that if a vessel has not ballast, she's bottom up in no time. Now, what keeps a woman stiff under her canvas is her modesty." "Very true; but it's a rare commodity on the beach." "And why, Mr Simple? because liquor is more valued. Many a good man has found it to be his bane; and as for a woman, when once she takes to it, she's like a ship without a rudder, and goes right before the wind to the devil. Not that I think a man ought not to take a nor-wester or two, when he can get them. Rum was not given by God Almighty only to make the niggers dance, but to make all our hearts glad; neither do I see why a woman is to stand out neither; what's good for Jack can't hurt Poll; only there is a medium, as they say, in all things, and half-an-half is quite strong enough." "I should think it was," replied I, laughing. "But don't be letting me prevent you from keeping a look-out, Mr Simple.--You, Hoskins, you're half a point off the wind. Luff you may.-- I think, Mr Simple, that Captain O'Brien didn't pick out the best man, when he made Tom Alsop a quarter-master in my place." "Why, he is a very steady, good man, Swinburne." "Yes, so he is; but he has natural defects, which shouldn't be overlooked. I doubt if he can see so far as the head of the mainsail." "I was not aware of that." "No, but I was. Alsop wants to sarve out his time for his pension, and when he has sarved, you see if, when the surgeons examine him, they don't invalid him, as blind as a bat. I should like to have him as gunner's mate, and that's just what he's fit for. But, Mr Simple, I think we shall have some bad weather. The moon looks greasy, and the stars want snuffing. You'll have two reefs in the topsails afore morning. There's five bells striking. Now I'll turn in; if I didn't keep half the first, and half the morning watch, I shouldn't sleep all the night. I miss my regular watch very much, Mr Simple--habit's everything --and I don't much fancy a standing bed-place, it's so large, and I feel so cold of my sides. Nothing like a hammock, after all. Good-night, Mr Simple." Our orders were to proceed with all _possible_ despatch; and O'Brien carried on day and night, generally remaining up himself till one or two o'clock in the morning. We had very favourable weather, and in a little more than a month we passed the Lizard. The wind being fair, we passed Plymouth, ran up Channel, and anchored at Spithead. After calling upon the admiral, O'Brien set off for town with his despatches, and left me in command of the ship. In three days I received a letter from him, informing me that he had seen the First Lord, who had asked him a great many questions concerning the station he had quitted; that he had also complimented O'Brien on his services. "On that hint I spake," continued O'Brien; "I ventured to insinuate to his lordship, that I had hoped I had earned my promotion; and as there is nothing like _quartering on the enemy_, I observed that I had not applied to Lord Privilege, as I considered my services would have been sufficient, without any application on his part. His lordship returned a very gracious answer: said that my Lord Privilege was a great ally of his, and very friendly to the government; and inquired when I was going to see him. I replied, that I certainly should not pay my respects to his lordship at present, unless there was occasion for it, as I must take a more favourable opportunity. So I hope that good may come from the great lord's error, which, of course, I shall not correct, as I feel I deserve my promotion--and you know, Peter, if you can't gain it by _hook_, you must by _crook_." He then concluded his letter; but there was a postscript as follows: "Wish me joy, my dear Peter. I have this moment received a letter from the private secretary, to say that I am _posted_, and appointed to the _Semiramis_ frigate, about to set sail for the East Indies. She is all ready to start; and now I must try to get you with me, of which I have no doubt; as, although her officers have been long appointed there will be little difficulty of success, when I mention your relationship to Lord Privilege, and while they remain in error as to his taking an interest in my behalf." I rejoiced at O'Brien's good fortune. His promotion I had considered certain, as his services had entitled him to it; but the command of so fine a frigate must have been given upon the supposition that it would be agreeable to my uncle, who was not only a prime supporter, but a very useful member, of the Tory Government. I could not help laughing to myself, at the idea of O'Brien obtaining his wishes from the influence of a person who probably detested him as much as one man could detest another; and I impatiently waited for O'Brien's next letter, by which I hoped to find myself appointed to the _Semiramis_; but a sad _contretemps_ took place. O'Brien did not write; but came down two days afterwards, hastened on board the _Semiramis_, read his commission, and assumed the command before even he had seen me; he then sent his gig on board of the _Rattlesnake_ to desire me to come to him directly. I did so, and we went down into the cabin of the frigate. "Peter," said he, "I was obliged to hasten down and read myself captain of this ship, as I am in fear that things are not going on well. I had called to pay my respects at the Admiralty, previous to joining, and was kicking my heels in the waiting-room, when who should walk up the passage, as if he were a captain on his own quarter-deck, but your uncle, Lord Privilege. His eye met mine--he recognised me immediately--and, if it did not flash fire, it did something very like it. He asked a few questions of one of the porters, and was giving his card, when my name was called for. I passed him, and up I went to the First Lord, thanked him for the frigate; and having received a great many compliments upon my exertions in the West India station, made my bow and retired. I had intended to have requested your appointment, but I knew that your name would bring up Lord Privilege's; and, moreover, your uncle's card was brought up and laid upon the table while I was sitting there. The First Lord, I presume, thought that his lordship was come to thank him for his kindness to me, which only made him more civil. I made my bow and went down, when I met the eye of Lord Privilege; who looked daggers at me as he walked up stairs--for, of course, he was admitted immediately after my audience was finished. Instead of waiting to hear the result of the explanation, I took a post-chaise, and have come down here as fast as four horses can bring me, and have read myself in--for, Peter, I feel sure, that if not on board, my commission will be cancelled; and I know that if once in command, as I am now, I can call for a court-martial, to clear my character if I am superseded. I know that the Admiralty _can_ do anything, but still they will be cautious in departing from the rules of the service, to please even Lord Privilege. I looked up at the sky as soon as I left the Admiralty portico, and was glad to see that the weather was so thick, and the telegraph not at work, or I might have been too late. Now I'll go on shore, and report myself to the admiral, as having taken the command of the _Semiramis_." O'Brien went on shore to report himself, was well received by the admiral, who informed him, that if he had any arrangements to make, he could not be too soon, as he should not be surprised if his sailing orders came down the next morning. This was very annoying, as I could not see how I should be able to join O'Brien's ship, even if I could effect an exchange, in so short a time. I therefore hastened on board of the _Semiramis_, and applied to the officers to know if any of them were willing to exchange into the _Rattlesnake_; but, although they did not much like going to the East Indies, they would not exchange into a brig, and I returned disappointed. The next morning, the admiral sent for O'Brien, and told him confidentially, for he was the same admiral who had received O'Brien when he had escaped from prison with me, and was very kind to him, that there was some _hitch_ about his having the _Semiramis_, and that orders had come down to pay her off, all standing, and examine her bottom, if Captain O'Brien had not joined her. "Do you understand what this means?" said the admiral, who was anxious to know the reason. O'Brien answered frankly, that Lord Privilege, by whose interest he had obtained his former command, was displeased with him; and that, as he saw him go up to the First Lord, he had no doubt but that his lordship had said something to his disadvantage, as he was a very vindictive man. "Well," said the admiral, "it's lucky that you have taken the command, as they cannot well displace you, or send her into dock without a survey, and upon your representation." And so it proved; the First Lord, when he found that O'Brien had joined, took no further steps, but allowed the frigate to proceed to her intended destination. But all chance of my sailing with him was done away, and now, for the first time, I had to part with O'Brien. I remained with him the whole time that I could be spared from my duties. O'Brien was very much annoyed, but there was no help. "Never mind, Peter," said he, "I've been thinking that perhaps it's all for the best. You will see more of the world, and be no longer in leading-strings. You are now a fine man grown up, big enough and ugly enough, as they say, to take care of yourself. We shall meet again; and if we don't, why then, God bless you, my boy, and don't forget O'Brien." Three days afterwards, O'Brien's orders came down. I accompanied him on board; and it was not until the ship was under weigh, and running towards the Needles with a fair wind, that I shook hands with him, and shoved off. Parting with O'Brien was a heavy blow to me; but I little knew how much I was to suffer before I saw him again. Chapter LIII I am pleased with my new captain--Obtain leave to go home--Find my father afflicted with a very strange disease, and prove myself a very good doctor, although the disorder always breaks out in a fresh place. The day after O'Brien had sailed for the East Indies, the dockyard men came on board to survey the brig, and she was found so defective as to be ordered into dock. I had received letters from my sister, who was overjoyed at the intelligence of my safe return, and the anticipation of seeing me. The accounts of my father were, however, very unsatisfactory. My sister wrote, that disappointment and anxiety had had such an effect upon him, that he was deranged in his intellects. Our new captain came down to join us. He was a very young man, and had never before commanded a ship. His character as lieutenant was well known, and not very satisfactory, being that of a harsh, unpleasant officer; but, as he had never been first lieutenant, it was impossible to say what he might prove when in command of a ship. Still we were a little anxious about it, and severely regretted the loss of O'Brien. He came on board the hulk to which the ship's company's had been turned over, and read his commission. He proved to be all affability, condescension, and good-nature. To me, he was particularly polite, stating that he should not interfere with me in carrying on the duty, as I must be so well acquainted with the ship's company. We thought that those who gave us the information must have been prejudiced or mistaken in his character. During the half hour that he remained on board, I stated, that now that the brig was in dock, I should like very much to have an opportunity of seeing my friends, if he would sanction my asking for leave. To this he cheerfully consented, adding, that he would extend it upon his own responsibility. My letter to the Admiralty was therefore forwarded through him, and was answered in the affirmative. The day afterwards, I set off by the coach, and once more embraced my dear sister. After the first congratulations were over, I inquired about my father; she replied, that he was so wild that nobody could manage him. That he was melancholy and irritable at the same time, and was certainly deranged, fancying himself to be made of various substances, or to be in a certain trade or capacity. That he generally remained in this way four or five days, when he went to bed, and slept for twenty-four hours, or more, and awoke with some new strange imagination in his head. His language was violent, but that, in other respects, he seemed to be more afraid of other people, than inclined to be mischievous, and that every day he was getting more strange and ridiculous. He had now just risen from one of his long naps, and was in his study; that before he had fallen asleep he had fancied himself to be a carpenter, and had sawed and chopped up several articles of furniture in the house. I quitted my sister to see my father, whom I found in his easy-chair. I was much shocked at his appearance. He was thin and haggard, his eye was wild, and he remained with his mouth constantly open. A sick-nurse, who had been hired by my sister, was standing by him. "Pish, pish, pish, pish!" cried my father; "what can you, a stupid old woman, know about my inside? I tell you the gas is generating fast, and even now I can hardly keep on my chair. I'm lifting--lifting now; and if you don't tie me down with cords, I shall go up like a balloon." "Indeed, sir," replied the woman, "it's only the wind in your stomach. You'll break it off directly." "It's inflammable gas, you old Hecate!--I know it is. Tell me, will you get a cord, or will you not? Hah! who's that--Peter? Why you've dropped from the clouds, just in time to see me mount up to them." "I hope you feel yourself better, sir," said I. "I feel myself a great deal lighter every minute. Get a cord, Peter, and tie me to the leg of the table." I tried to persuade him that he was under a mistake; but it was useless. He became excessively violent, and said I wished him in heaven. As I had heard that it was better to humour people afflicted with hypochondriacism, which was evidently the disease under which my father laboured, I tried that method. "It appears to me, sir," said I, "that if we could remove the gas every ten minutes, it would be a good plan." "Yes--but how?" replied he, shaking his head mournfully. "Why, with a syringe, sir," said I; "which will, if empty, of course draw out the gas, when inserted into your mouth." "My dear Peter, you have saved my life: be quick, though, or I shall go up, right through the ceiling." Fortunately, there was an instrument of that description in the house. I applied it to his mouth, drew up the piston, and then ejected the air, and re-applied it. In two minutes he pronounced himself better, and I left the old nurse hard at work, and my father very considerably pacified. I returned to my sister, to whom I recounted what had passed; but it was no source of mirth to us, although, had it happened to an indifferent person, I might have been amused. The idea of leaving her, as I must soon do--having only a fortnight's leave--to be worried by my father's unfortunate malady, was very distressing. But we entered into a long conversation, in which I recounted the adventures that had taken place since I had left her, and for the time forgot our source of annoyance and regret. For three days my father insisted upon the old woman pumping the gas out of his body; after that, he again fell into one of his sleeps, which lasted nearly thirty hours. When he arose, I went again to see him. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and I entered with a candle. "Take it away--quick, take it away; put it out carefully." "Why, what's the matter, sir?" "Don't come near me, if you love me; don't come near me. Put it out, I say--put it out." I obeyed his orders, and then asked him the reason. "Reason!" said he, now that we were in the dark; "can't you see?" "No, father; I can see nothing in the dark." "Well, then, Peter, I'm a magazine, full of gunpowder; the least spark in the world, and I am blown up. Consider the danger. You surely would not be the destruction of your father, Peter?" and the poor old gentleman burst into tears, and wept like a child. I knew that it was in vain to reason with him. "My dear father," said I, "on board ship, when there is any danger of this kind, we always _float_ the magazine. Now, if you were to drink a good deal of water, the powder would be spoiled, and there would be no danger." My father was satisfied with my proposal, and drank a tumbler of water every half-hour, which the old nurse was obliged to supply as fast as he called for it; and this satisfied him for three or four days, and I was again left to the company of my dear Ellen, when my father again fell into his stupor, and we wondered what would be his next fancy. I was hastily summoned by the nurse, and found my poor father lying in bed, and breathing in a very strange manner. "What is the matter, my dear sir?" inquired I. "Why don't you see what is the matter? How is a poor little infant, just born, to live, unless its mother is near to suckle it, and take care of it?" "Indeed, sir, do you mean to say that you are just born?" "To be sure I do. I'm dying for the breast." This was almost too absurd; but I gravely observed, "That it was all very true, but unfortunately his mother had died in childbirth, and the only remedy was to bring him up by hand." He agreed with me. I desired the nurse to make some gruel with brandy, and feed him; which she did, and he took the gruel just as if he were a baby. I was about to wish him goodnight, when he beckoned to me, and said, "Peter, she hasn't changed my napkin." This was too much, and I could not help laughing. I told the nurse what he said, and she replied, "Lord bless you, sir, what matter? if the old gentleman takes a fancy, why not indulge him? I'll fetch the kitchen table-cloth." This fit lasted about six days; for he went to sleep, because a baby always slept much: and I was in hopes it would last much longer: but he again went off into his lethargic fit, and, after a long sleep, awoke with a new fancy. My time had nearly expired, and I had written to my new captain, requesting an extension of leave, but I received an answer stating that it could not be granted, and requesting me to join the brig immediately. I was rather surprised at this, but of course was compelled to obey; and, embracing my dear sister once more, set off for Portsmouth. I advised her to humour my father, and this advice she followed; but his fancies were such, occasionally, as would have puzzled the most inventive genius to combat, or to find the remedy which he might acknowledge to be requisite. His health became certainly worse and worse, and his constitution was evidently destroyed by a slow, undermining, bodily and mental fever. The situation of my poor sister was very distressing; and I quitted her with melancholy forebodings. I ought here to observe that I received all my prize-money, amounting to £1560, a large sum for a lieutenant. I put it into the funds, and gave a power of attorney to Ellen, requesting her to use it as her own. We consulted as to what she should do if my father should die, and agreed that all his debts, which we knew to amount to three or four hundred pounds, should be paid, and that she should manage how she could upon what was left of my father's property, and the interest of my prize-money. Chapter LIV We receive our sailing orders, and orders of every description--A quarter-deck conversation--Listeners never hear any good of themselves. When I arrived at Portsmouth, I reported myself to the captain, who lived at the hotel. I was ushered into his room to wait for him, as he was dressing to dine with the admiral. My eyes naturally turned to what lay on the table, merely from the feeling which one has to pass away the time, not from curiosity; and I was much surprised to see a pile of letters, the uppermost of which was franked by Lord Privilege. This, however, might be merely accidental; but my curiosity was excited, and I lifted up the letter, and found that the second, the third, and indeed at least ten of these were franked by my uncle. I could not imagine how there could be any intimacy between him and my uncle, and was reflecting upon it when Captain Hawkins, for that was his name, entered the room. He was very kind and civil, apologized for not being able to extend my leave, which, he said, was because he had consulted the admiral, who would not sanction the absence of the first lieutenant, and had very peremptorily desired he would recall me immediately. I was satisfied: he shook my hand, and we parted. On my arrival on board the hulk, for the brig was still in dock, I was warmly received by my messmates. They told me that the captain had, generally speaking, been very civil, but that, occasionally, the marks of the cloven foot appeared. "Webster," said I, to the second lieutenant, "do you know anything about his family or connections?" "It is a question I have asked of those who have sailed with him, and they all say that he never speaks of his own family, but very often boasts of his intimacy with the nobility. Some say that he is a _bye-blow_ of some great man." I reflected very much upon this, and connecting it with the numerous franks of Lord Privilege, which I saw on the table, had my misgivings; but then I knew that I could do my duty, and had no reason to fear any man. I resolved, in my own mind, to be very correct, and put it out of the power of any one to lay hold of me, and then dismissed the subject. The brig was repaired and out of dock, and for some days I was very busy getting her ready for sea. I never quitted her; in fact, I had no wish. I never had any taste for bad company and midnight orgies, and I had no acquaintance with the respectable portion of the inhabitants of Portsmouth. At last the ship's company were removed into the brig: we went out of harbour, and anchored at Spithead. Captain Hawkins came on board and gave me an order-book, saying, "Mr Simple, I have a great objection to written orders, as I consider that the articles of war are quite sufficient to regulate any ship. Still, a captain is in a very responsible situation, and if any accident occurs he is held amenable. I therefore have framed a few orders of my own for the interior discipline of the vessel, which may probably save me harmless, in case of being _hauled over the coals_; but not with any wish that they should interfere with the comforts of the officers, only to guard against any mischance, of which the _onus_ may fall upon myself." I received the order-book, and the captain went ashore. When I went down into the gun-room, to look through it, I at once perceived that if rigidly conformed to, every officer in the ship would be rendered uncomfortable; and if not conformed to, I should be the party that was answerable. I showed it to Webster, who agreed with me, and gave it as his opinion that the captain's good nature and amiability were all a blind, and that he was intending to lay hold of us as soon as it was in his power. I therefore called all the officers together, and told them my opinion. Webster supported me, and it was unanimously agreed that the orders should be obeyed, although not without remonstrance. The major part of the orders, however, only referred to the time that the brig was in harbour; and, as we were about to proceed to sea, it was hardly worth while saying anything at present. The orders for the sailing of the brig came down, and by the same post I received a letter from my sister Ellen, stating that they had heard from Captain Fielding, who had immediately written to Bombay, where the regiment was stationed, and had received an answer, informing him that there was no married man in the regiment of the name of Sullivan, and no woman who had followed that regiment of that name. This at once put an end to all our researches after the wet-nurse, who had been confined in my uncle's house. Where she had been sent, it was of course impossible to say; but I gave up all chance of discovering my uncle's treachery; and, as I thought of Celeste, sighed at the little hope I had of ever being united to her. I wrote a long letter to O'Brien, and the next day we sailed for our station in the North Sea. The captain added a night order-book to the other, and sent it up every evening, to be returned in the morning, with the signature of every officer of the night watches. He also required all our signatures to his general order-book, that we might not say we had not read them. I had the first watch, when Swinburne came up to me. "Well, Mr Simple, I do not think we have made much by our exchange of captains; and I have a shrewd suspicion we shall have squalls ere long." "We must not judge too hastily, Swinburne," replied I. "No, no--I don't say that we should; but still, one must go a little by looks in the world, and I'm sure his looks wouldn't help him much. He's just like a winter's day, short and dirty; and he walks the deck as if planks were not good enough for his feet. Mr Williams says, he looks as if he were 'big with the fate of Cato and of Rome:' what that means, I don't know--some joke, I suppose, for the youngsters are always joking. Were you ever up the Baltic, Mr Simple? Now I think of it, I know you never were. I've seen some tight work up there with the gun-boats; and so we should now with Captain O'Brien; but as for this little man, I've an idea 'twill be more talk than work." "You appear to have taken a great dislike to the captain, Swinburne. I do not know whether, as first lieutenant, I ought to listen to you." "It's because you're first lieutenant that I tell it you, Mr Simple. I never was mistaken, in the main, of an officer's character, when I could look him in the face, and hear him talk for half an hour; and I came up on purpose to put you on your guard: for I feel convinced, that towards you he means mischief. What does he mean by having the greasy-faced serjeant of marines in his cabin for half an hour every morning? His reports as master of arms ought to come through you, as first lieutenant; but he means him as a spy upon all, and upon you in particular. The fellow has begun to give himself airs already, and speaks to the young gentlemen as if they were beneath him. I thought you might not know it, Mr Simple, so I thought it right to tell you." "I am much obliged to you, Swinburne, for your good wishes; but I can do my duty, and why should I fear anything?" "A man may do his duty, Mr Simple; but if a captain is determined to ruin him, he has the power. I have been longer in the service than you have, and have been wide awake: only be careful of one thing, Mr Simple; I beg your pardon for being so free, but in no case lose your temper." "No fear of that, Swinburne," replied I. "It's very easy to say 'no fear of that,' Mr Simple; but recollect, you have not yet had your temper tried as some officers have. You have always been treated like a gentleman; but should you find yourself treated otherwise, you have too good blood in your veins not to speak--I am sure of that. I've seen officers insulted and irritated, till no angel could put up with the treatment--and then for an unguarded word, which they would have been _swabs_ not to have made use of, sent out of the service to the devil." "But you forget, Swinburne, that the articles of war are made for the captain as well as for everybody else in the ship." "I know that; but still, at court-martials captains make a great distinction between what a superior says to an inferior, and what an inferior says to a superior." "True," replied I, quoting Shakespeare: "'That's in the captain but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is rank blasphemy.'" "Exactly my meaning--I rather think," said Swinburne, "if a captain calls you no gentleman, you mus'n't say the same to him." "Certainly not, but I can demand a court-martial." "Yes; and it will be granted: but what do you gain by that? It's like beating against a heavy gale and a lee tide--thousand to one if you fetch your port; and if you do, your vessel is strained to pieces, sails worn as thin as a newspaper, and rigging chafed half through, wanting fresh serving: no orders for a re-fit, and laid up in ordinary for the rest of your life. No, no, Mr Simple, the best plan is to grin and bear it, and keep a sharp look-out; for depend upon it, Mr Simple, in the best ship's company in the world, a spy captain will always find spy followers." "Do you refer that observation to me, Mr Swinburne?" said a voice from under the bulwark. I started round, and found the captain, who had crept upon deck, unperceived by us, during our conversation. Swinburne made no reply; but touched his hat and walked over to leeward. "I presume, Mr Simple," said the captain, turning to me, "that you consider yourself justified in finding fault, and abusing your captain, to an inferior officer, on His Majesty's quarter-deck." "If you heard the previous conversation, sir," replied I, "you must be aware that we were speaking generally about court-martials. I do not imagine that I have been guilty of any impropriety in conversing with an officer upon points connected with the service." "You mean then to assert, sir, that the gunner did not refer to me when he said the words, 'spy captain.'" "I acknowledge, sir, that as you were listening unperceived, the term might appear to refer to you; but the gunner had no idea, at the time, that you were listening. His observation was, that a spy captain would always find spy followers. This I take to be a general observation; and I am sorry that you think otherwise." "Very well, Mr Simple," said Captain Hawkins--and he walked down the companion ladder into his cabin. "Now a'n't it odd, Mr Simple, that I should come up with the intention of being of service to you, and yet get you into such a scrape? However, perhaps it is all for the best; open war is preferable to watching in the dark, and stabbing in the back. He never meant to have shown his colours; but I hit him so hard, that he forgot himself." "I suspect that to be the case, Swinburne; but I think that you had better not talk any more with me to-night." "Wish I hadn't talked quite so much, as things have turned out," replied Swinburne. "Good-night, sir." I reflected upon what had passed, and felt convinced that Swinburne was right in saying that it was better this had occurred than otherwise. I now knew the ground which I stood upon; and forewarned was being forearmed. Chapter LV We encounter a Dutch brig of war--Captain Hawkins very contemplative near the capstan--Hard knocks, and no thanks for it--Who's afraid?--Men will talk--The brig goes about on the wrong tack. At daylight the next morning we were off the Texel, and could see the low sand-hills; but we had scarcely made them out, when the fog in the offing cleared up, and we made a strange vessel. The hands were turned up, and all sail made in chase. We made her out to be a brig of war; and as she altered her course considerably, we had an idea that she was an enemy. We made the private signal, which was unanswered, and we cleared for action; the brig making all sail on the starboard tack, and we following her--she bearing about two miles on our weather bow. The breeze was not steady; at one time the brig was staggering under her top-gallant sails, while we had our royals set; at another we would have hands by the top-gallant sheets and topsail halyards, while she expanded every stitch of canvas. On the whole, however, in an hour we had neared about half a mile. Our men were all at their quarters, happy to be so soon at their old work. Their jackets and hats were thrown off, a bandana handkerchief tied round their heads, and another, or else their black silk handkerchiefs, tied round their waists. Every gun was ready, everything was in its place, and every soul, I was going to say, was anxious for the set-to; but I rather think I must not include the captain, who from the commencement, showed no signs of pleasure, and anything but presence of mind. When we first chased the vessel, it was reported that it was a merchantman; and it was not until we had broad daylight, that we discovered her to be a man-of-war. There was one thing to be said in his favour--he had never been in action in his life. The breeze now fell light, and we were both with our sails set, when a thick fog obscured her from our sight. The fog rolled on till we met it, and then we could not see ten yards from the brig. This was a source of great mortification, as we had every chance of losing her. Fortunately, the wind was settling down fast into a calm, and about twelve o'clock the sails flapped against the mast. I reported twelve o'clock, and asked the captain whether we should pipe to dinner. "Not yet," replied he; "we will put her head about." "Go about, sir?" replied I, with surprise. "Yes;" said he, "I'm convinced that the chase is on the other tack at this moment; and if we do not, we shall lose her." "If she goes about, sir," said I, "she must get among the sands, and we shall be sure of her." "Sir," replied he, "when I ask your advice, you will be pleased to give it. I command this vessel." I touched my hat, and turned the hands up about ship, convinced that the captain wished to avoid the action, as the only chance of escape for the brig was her keeping her wind in the tack she was on. "'Bout ship--'bout ship!" cried the men. "What the hell are we going about for?" inquired they of one another, as they came up the ladder. "Silence there, fore and aft!" cried I. "Captain Hawkins, I do not think we can get her round, unless we wear--the wind is very light." "Then wear ship, Mr Simple." There are times when grumbling and discontent among the seamen is so participated by the officers, although they do not show it, that the expressions made use of are passed unheeded. Such was the case at present. The officers looked at each other, and said nothing; but the men were unguarded in their expressions. The brig wore gradually round; and when the men were bracing up the yards, sharp on the other tack, instead of the "Hurrah!" and "Down with the mark!" they fell back with a groan. "Brace up those yards in silence, there," said I to the men. The ropes were coiled down, and we piped to dinner. The captain, who continued on deck, could not fail to hear the discontented expressions which occasionally were made use of on the lower deck. He made no observation, but occasionally looked over the side, to see whether the brig went through the water. This she did slowly for about ten minutes, when it fell a perfect calm--so that, to use a common sea phrase, he gained little by his motion. About half-past one, a slight breeze from the opposite quarter sprung up--we turned round to it--it increased--the fog blew away, and, in a quarter of an hour, the chase was again visible, now upon our lee beam. The men gave three cheers. "Silence there, fore and aft," cried the captain, angrily. "Mr Simple, is this the way that the ship's company have been disciplined under their late commander, to halloo and bawl whenever they think proper?" I was irritated at any reflection upon O'Brien, and I replied, "Yes, sir; they have been always accustomed to express their joy at the prospect of engaging the enemy." "Very well, Mr Simple," replied he. "How are we to shift her head?" inquired the master, touching his hat: "for the chase?" "Of course," replied the captain, who then descended into his cabin. "Come, my lads," said Swinburne, as soon as the captain was below, "I have been going round, and I find that your _pets_ are all in good fighting order. I promise ye, you sha'n't wait for powder. They'll find that the _Rattlesnake_ can bite devilish hard yet, I expect."--"Aye, and without its _head_, too," replied one of the men, who was the Joe Miller of the brig. The chase, perceiving that she could not escape--for we were coming up with her, hand over hand, now shortened sail for action, hoisting Dutch colours. Captain Hawkins again made his appearance on the quarter-deck, when we were within half a mile of her. "Are we to run alongside of her or how?" inquired I. "Mr Simple, I command her," replied he, "and want no interference whatever." "Very well, sir," replied I, and I walked to the gangway. "Mr Thompson," cried the captain, who appeared to have screwed up his courage to the right pitch, and had now taken his position for a moment on one of the carronades; "you will lay the brig right--" Bang, bang--whiz, whiz--bang--whiz, came three shots from the enemy, cleaving the air between our masts. The captain jumped down from the carronade, and hastened to the capstern, without finishing his sentence. "Shall we fire when we are ready, sir?" said I; for I perceived that he was not capable of giving correct orders. "Yes--yes, to be sure," replied he, remaining where he was. "Thompson," said I to the master, "I think we can manage, in our present commanding position, to get foul of him, so as to knock away his jib-boom and fore topmast, and then she can't escape. We have good way on her." "I'll manage it, Simple, or my name's not Thompson," replied the master, jumping into the quarter-boat, conning the vessel in that exposed situation, as we received the enemy's fire. "Look out, my lads, and pour it into her now, just as you please," said I to the men. The seamen were, however, too well disciplined to take immediate advantage of my permission; they waited until we passed her, and just as the master put up his helm, so as to catch her jib-boom between our masts, the whole broadside was poured into his bow and chess-tree. Her jib-boom and fore-topgallant went down, and she had so much way through the water, that we tore clear from her, and rounding to the wind shot a-head. The enemy, although in confusion from the effects of our broadside, put up his helm to rake us; we perceived his manoeuvre, and did the same, and then, squaring our sails, we ran with him before the wind, engaging broadside to broadside. This continued about half an hour, and we soon found that we had no fool to play with. The brig was well fought, and her guns well directed. We had several men taken down below, and I thought it would be better to engage her even closer. There was about a cable's length between both vessels, as we ran before the wind, at about six miles an hour, with a slight rolling motion. "Thompson," said I, "let us see if we cannot beat them from their guns. Let's port the helm and close her, till we can shy a biscuit on board." "Just my opinion, Simple; we'll see if they won't make another sort of running fight of it." In a few minutes we were so close on board of her, that the men who loaded the guns could touch each other with their rammers and sponges. The men cheered; it was gallantly returned by the enemy, and havoc was now commenced by the musketry on both sides. The French captain, who appeared as brave a fellow as ever stepped, stood for some minutes on the hammocks; I was also holding on by the swifter of the main rigging, when he took off his hat and politely saluted me. I returned the compliment; but the fire became too hot, and I wished to get under the shelter of the bulwark. Still I would not go down first, and the French captain appeared determined not to be the first either to quit the post of honour. At last one of our marines hit him in the right arm: he clapped his hand to the part, as if to point it out to me, nodded, and was assisted down from the hammocks. I immediately quitted my post, for I thought it foolish to stand as a mark for forty or fifty soldiers. I had already received a bullet through the small of my leg. But the effects of such close fire now became apparent: our guns were only half manned, our sides terribly cut up, and our sails and rigging in tatters. The enemy was even worse off, and two broadsides more brought her mainmast by the board. Our men cheered, and threw in another broadside. The enemy dropped astern; we rounded to rake her; she also attempted to round to, but could not until she had cleared away her wreck, and taken in her foresail, and lowered her topsail. She then continued the action with as much spirit as ever. "He's a fine fellow, by God!" exclaimed Thompson; "I never saw a man fight his ship better: but we have him. Webster's down, poor fellow!" "I'm sorry for it," replied I; "but I'm afraid that there are many poor fellows who have lost the number of their mess. I think it useless throwing away the advantage which we now have. He can't escape, and he'll fight this way for ever. We had better run a-head, repair damages, and then he must surrender, in his crippled state, when we attack him again." "I agree with you," said Thompson; "the only point is, that it will soon be dark." "I'll not lose sight of him, and he cannot get away. If he puts before the wind, then we will be at him again." We gave him the loaded guns as we forged a-head, and when we were about half a mile from him, hove-to to repair damages. The reader may now ask, "But where was the captain all this time?" My answer is, that he was at the capstern, where he stood in silence, not once interfering during the whole action, which was fought by Thompson, the master, and myself. How he looked, or how he behaved in other points during the engagement, I cannot pretend to say, for I had no time to observe him. Even now I was busy knotting the rigging, rousing up new sails to bend, and getting everything in order, and I should not have observed him, had he not come up to me; for as soon as we had ceased firing he appeared to recover himself. He did not, however, first address me; he commenced speaking to the men. "Come, be smart, my lads; send a hand here to swab up the blood. Here, youngster, run down to the surgeon, and let him know that I wish a report of the killed and wounded." By degrees he talked more, and at last came up to me, "This has been rather smartish, Mr Simple." "Very smart indeed, sir," replied I, and then turned away to give directions. "Maintop there, send down the hauling line on the starboard side." "Ay, ay, sir." "Now then, my lads, clap on, and run it up at once." "Maintop, there," hailed the captain, "be a little smarter, or by G----d, I'll call you down for something." This did not come with a good grace from one who had done nothing, to those who were working with all their energy. "Mr Simple," said the captain, "I wish you would carry on duty with less noise." "At all events, he set us that example during the action," muttered the Joe Miller; and the other men laughed heartily at the implication. In two hours, during which we had carefully watched the enemy, who still lay where we left him, we were again ready for action. "Shall I give the men their grog now, sir?" said I to the captain; "they must want it." "No, no," replied the captain; "no, no, Mr Simple, I don't like what you call _Dutch_ courage." "I don't think he much does; and this fellow has shown plenty of it," said the Joe Miller, softly; and the men about him laughed heartily. "I think, sir," observed I, "that it is an injustice to this fine ship's company to hint at their requiring Dutch courage." (Dutch courage is a term for courage screwed up by drinking freely.) "And I most respectfully beg leave to observe, that the men have not had their afternoon's allowance; and, after the fatigues they have undergone, really require it." "I command this ship, sir," replied he. "Certainly, sir, I am aware of it," rejoined I. "She is now all ready for action again, and I wait your orders. The enemy is two miles on the lee quarter." The surgeon here came up with his report. "Good heavens!" said the captain, "forty-seven men killed and wounded, Mr Webster dangerously. Why, the brig is crippled. We can do no more-- positively, we can do no more." "_We can take that brig, anyhow_," cried one of the seamen from a dozen of the men who were to leeward, expecting orders to renew the attack. "What man was that?" cried the captain. No one answered. "By G----d! this ship is in a state of mutiny, Mr Simple." "Will _soon_ be, I think," said a voice from the crowd, which I knew very well; but the captain, having been but a short time with us, did not know it. "Do you hear that, Mr Simple?" cried the captain. "I regret to say that I did hear it, sir; I little thought that ever such an expression would have been made use of on board of the _Rattlesnake_." Then, fearing he would ask me the man's name, and to pretend not to have recognised it, I said, "Who was that who made use of that expression?" But no one answered; and it was so dark, that it was impossible to distinguish the men. "After such mutinous expressions," observed the captain, "I certainly will not risk His Majesty's brig under my command, as I should have wished to have done, even in her crippled state, by again engaging the enemy. I can only regret that the officers appear as insolent as the men." "Perhaps, Captain Hawkins, you will state in what, and when, I have proved myself insolent. I cannot accuse myself." "I hope the expression was not applied to me, sir," said Thompson, the master, touching his hat. "Silence, gentlemen, if you please. Mr Simple, wear round the ship." Whether the captain intended to attack the enemy or not, we could not tell, but we were soon undeceived; for when we were round, he ordered her to be kept away until the Dutch brig was on our lee quarter: then ordering the master to shape his course for Yarmouth, he went down into the cabin, and sent up word that I might pipe to supper and serve out the spirits. The rage and indignation of the men could not be withheld. After they went down to supper they gave three heavy groans in concert; indeed, during the whole of that night, the officers who kept the watches had great difficulty in keeping the men from venting their feeling, in what might be almost termed justifiable mutiny. As for myself, I could hardly control my vexation. The brig was our certain prize; and this was proved, for the next day she hauled down her colours immediately to a much smaller man-of-war, which fell in with her, still lying in the same crippled state; the captain and first lieutenant killed, and nearly two-thirds of her ship's company either killed or wounded. Had we attacked her, she would have hauled down her colours immediately, for it was our last broadside which had killed the captain. As first lieutenant, I should have received my promotion, which was now lost. I cried for vexation when I thought of it as I lay in bed. That his conduct was severely commented upon by the officers in the gun-room, as well as by the whole ship's company, I hardly need say. Thompson was for bringing him to a court-martial, which I would most gladly have done, if it only were to get rid of him; but I had a long conversation with old Swinburne on the subject, and he proved to me that I had better not attempt it. "For, d'ye see, Mr Simple, you have no proof. He did not run down below; he stood his ground on deck, although he did nothing. You can't _prove_ cowardice, then, although there can be no great doubt of it. Again, with regard to his not renewing the attack, why, is not a captain at liberty to decide what is the best for His Majesty's service? And if he thought, in the crippled state of the brig, so close to the enemy's coast, that it wasn't advisable, why, it could only be brought in as an error in judgment. Then there's another thing which must be remembered, Mr Simple, which is, that no captains sitting on a court-martial will, if it be possible to extricate him, ever prove _cowardice_ against a brother captain, because they feel that it's a disgrace to the whole cloth." Swinburne's advice was good, and I gave up all thoughts of proceeding; still it appeared to me, that the captain was very much afraid that I would, he was so extremely amiable and polite during our run home. He said, that he had watched how well I had behaved in the action, and would not fail to notice it. This was something, but he did not keep his word: for his despatch was published before we quitted the roadstead, and not the name of one officer mentioned, only generally saying, that they conducted themselves to his satisfaction. He called the enemy a corvette, not specifying whether she was a brig or ship corvette; and the whole was written in such a bombastic style, that any one would have imagined that he had fought a vessel of superior force. He stated, at the end, that as soon as he repaired damages, he wore round, but that the enemy declined further action. So she did--certainly--for the best of all possible reasons, that she was too disabled to come down to us. All this might have been contested; but the enormous list of killed and wounded proved that we had had a hard fight, and the capture of the brig afterwards, that we had really overpowered her. So that, on the whole, Captain Hawkins gained a great deal of credit with some; although whispers were afloat which came to the ears of the Admiralty, and prevented him from being posted--the more so, as he had the modesty not to apply for it. Chapter LVI Consequences of the action--A ship without a fighting captain is like a thing without a head--So do the sailors think--A mutiny, and the loss of our famous ship's company. During our stay at Yarmouth, we were not allowed to put our foot on shore, upon the plea that we must repair damages, and proceed immediately to our station; but the real fact was, that Captain Hawkins was very anxious that we should not be able to talk about the action. Finding no charges preferred against him, he re-commenced his system of annoyance. His apartments had windows which looked out upon where the brig lay at anchor, and he constantly watched all our motions with his spy-glass, noting down if I did not hoist up boats, &c., exactly at the hour prescribed in his book of orders, so as to gather a list of charges against me if he could. This we did not find out until afterwards. I mentioned before, that when Swinburne joined us at Plymouth, he had recommended a figure-head being put on the brig. This had been done at O'Brien's expense--not in the cheap way recommended by Swinburne, but in a very handsome manner. It was a large snake coiled up in folds, with its head darting out in a menacing attitude, and the tail, with its rattle appeared below. The whole was gilded, and had a very good effect; but after the dock-yard men had completed the repairs, and the brig was painted, one night the head of the rattlesnake disappeared. It had been sawed off by some malicious and evil disposed persons, and no traces of it were to be found. I was obliged to report this to the captain, who was very indignant, and offered twenty pounds for the discovery of the offender; but had he offered twenty thousand he never would have found out the delinquent. It was, however, never forgotten; for he understood what was implied by these manoeuvres. A new head was carved, but disappeared the night after it was fixed on. The rage of the captain was without bounds: he turned the hands up, and declared that if the offender was not given up, he would flog every hand on board. He gave the ship's company ten minutes, and then prepared to execute his threat. "Mr Paul, turn the hands up for punishment," said the captain, in a rage, and descended to his cabin for the articles of war. When he was down below, the officers talked over the matter. To flog every man for the crime of one was the height of injustice, but it was not for us to oppose him; still the ship's company must have seen, in our countenances, that we shared their feelings. The men were talking with each other in groups, until they all appeared to have communicated their ideas on the subject. The carpenters, who had been slowly bringing aft the gratings, left off the job; the boatswain's mates, who had came aft, rolled the tails of their cats round the red handles; and every man walked down below. No one was left on the quarter-deck but the marines under arms, and the officers. Perceiving this, I desired Mr Paul, the boatswain, to send the men up to rig the gratings, and the quarter-masters with their seizings. He came up, and said that he had called them, but that they did not answer. Perceiving that the ship's company would break out into open mutiny, if the captain persisted in his intention, I went down into the cabin, and told the captain the state of things, and wished for his orders or presence on deck. The captain, whose wrath appeared incapable of reflection, immediately proceeded on deck, and ordered the marines to load with ball-cartridge. This was done; but, as I was afterwards told by Thompson, who was standing aft, the marines loaded with powder, and put the balls into their pockets. They wished to keep up the character of their corps for fidelity, and at the same time not fire upon men whom they loved as brothers, and with whom they coincided in opinion. Indeed, we afterwards discovered that it was a _marine_ who had taken off the _head_ of the snake a second time. The captain then ordered the boatswain to turn the hands up. The boatswain made his appearance with his right arm in a sling.--"What's the matter with your arm, Mr Paul?" said I, as he passed me. "Tumbled down the hatchway just now--can't move my arm; I must go to the surgeon as soon as this is over." The hands were piped up again, but no one obeyed the order. Thus was the brig in a state of mutiny. "Mr Simple, go forward to the main hatchway with the marines, and fire on the lower deck," cried the captain. "Sir," said I, "there are two frigates within a cable's length of us; and would it not be better to send for assistance, without shedding blood? Besides, sir, you have not yet tried the effect of calling up the carpenter's and boatswain's mates by name. Will you allow me to go down first, and bring them to a sense of their duty?" "Yes, I presume you know your power; but of this hereafter." I went down below and called the men by name. "Sir," said one of the boatswain's mates, "the ship's company say that they will not submit to be flogged." "I do not speak to the ship's company generally, Collins," replied I; "but you are now ordered to rig the gratings, and come on deck. It is an order that you cannot refuse. Go up directly, and obey it. Quarter-masters, go on deck with your seizings. When all is ready, you can then expostulate." The men obeyed my orders; they crawled on deck, rigged the gratings, and stood by. "All is ready, sir," said I, touching my hat to the captain. "Send the ship's company aft, Mr Paul." "Aft, then, all of you, for punishment," cried the boatswain. "Yes, it is _all of us for punishment_," cried one voice. "We're all to flog one another, and then pay off the _jollies_."[1] This time the men obeyed the order; they all appeared on the quarter-deck. "The men are all aft, sir," reported the boatswain. "And now, my lads," said the captain, "I'll teach you what mutiny is. You see the two frigates alongside of us. You had forgotten them, I suppose, but I hadn't. Here, you scoundrel, Mr Jones"--(this was the Joe Miller)--"strip, sir. If ever there was mischief in a ship, you are at the head." "Head, sir," said the man, assuming a vacant look; "what head, sir? Do you mean the snake's head? I don't know anything about it, sir."-- "Strip, sir!" cried the captain in a rage; "I'll soon bring you to your senses." "If you please, your honour, what have I done to be tied up?" said the man. "Strip, you scoundrel!"--"Well, sir, if you please, it's hard to be flogged for nothing." The man pulled off his clothes, and walked up to the grating. The quarter-masters seized him up. "Seized up, sir," reported the scoundrel of a sergeant of marines who acted as the captain's spy. The captain looked for the articles of war to read, as is necessary previous to punishing a man, and was a little puzzled to find one, where no positive offence had been committed. At last, he pitched upon the one which refers to combination and conspiracy, and creating discontent. We all took off our hats as he read it, and he then called Mr Paul, the boatswain, and ordered him to give the man a dozen. "Please, sir," said the boatswain, pointing to his arm in a sling, "I can't flog--I can't lift up my arm."--"Your arm was well enough when I came on board, sir," cried the captain. "Yes, sir; but in hurrying the men up, I slipped down the ladder, and I'm afraid I've put my shoulder out." The captain bit his lips; he fully believed it was a sham on the part of the boatswain (which indeed it was) to get off flogging the men. "Well, then, where is the chief boatswain's mate, Miller?" "Here, sir," said Miller, coming forward: a stout, muscular man, nearly six feet high, with a pig-tail nearly four feet long, and his open breast covered with black, shaggy hair. "Give that man a dozen, sir," said the captain. The man looked at the captain, then at the ship's company, and then at the man seized up, but did not commence the punishment. "Do you hear me, sir?" roared the captain. "If you please, your honour, I'd rather take my disrating--I--don't wish to be chief boatswain's mate in this here business." "Obey your orders, immediately, sir," cried the captain; "or, by God, I'll try you for mutiny." "Well, sir, I beg your pardon; but what must be, must be. I mean no disrespect, Captain Hawkins, but I cannot flog that man--my conscience won't let me." "Your _conscience_, sir!" "Beg your pardon, Captain Hawkins, I've always done my duty, foul weather or fair; and I've been eighteen years in His Majesty's service, without ever being brought to punishment; but if I am to be hung now, saving your pleasure, and with all respect, I can't help it." "I give you but one moment more, sir," cried the captain; "do your duty." The man looked at the captain, and then eyed the yard-arm. "Captain Hawkins, I will _do my duty_, although I must swing for it." So saying he threw his cat down on the quarter-deck, and fell back among the ship's company. The captain was now confounded, and hardly knew how to act: to persevere appeared useless--to fall back was almost as impossible. A dead silence of a minute ensued. Every one was breathless with impatience, to know what would be done next. The silence was, however, first broken by Jones, the Joe Miller, who was seized up. "Beg your honour's pardon, sir," said he, turning his head round; "but if I am to be flogged, will you be pleased to let me have it over? I shall catch my death a-cold, naked here all day." This was decided mockery, on the part of the man, and roused the captain. "Sergeant of marines, put Miller and that man Collins, both legs in irons, for mutiny. My men, I perceive that there is a conspiracy in the ship, but I shall very soon put an end to it: I know the men, and, by God, they shall repent it. Mr Paul, pipe down. Mr Simple, man my gig; and recollect, it's my positive orders that no boat goes on shore." The captain left the brig, looking daggers at me as he went over the side; but I had done my duty, and cared little for that; indeed, I was now watching his conduct as carefully as he did mine. "The captain wishes to tell his own story first," said Thompson, coming up to me. "Now, if I were you, Simple, I would take care that the real facts should be known." "How's that to be done," replied I; "he has ordered no communication with the shore." "Simply by sending an officer on board of each of the frigates to state that the brig is in a state of mutiny, and request that they will keep a look-out upon her. This is no more than your duty as commanding officer; you only send the message, leave me to state the facts of my own accord. Recollect that the captains of these frigates will be summoned, if there is a court of inquiry, which I expect will take place." I considered a little, and thought the advice good. I despatched Thompson first to one frigate, and then to the other. The next day the captain came on board. As soon as he stepped on the quarter-deck he inquired how I dare disobey his orders in sending the boats away. My reply was that his orders were, not to communicate with the shore, but that, as commanding officer, I considered it my duty to make known to the other ships that the men were in a state of insubordination, that they might keep their eyes upon us. He _kept his eyes_ upon me for some time, and then turned away without reply. As we expected, a court of inquiry was called, upon his representations to the admiral. About twenty of the men were examined, but so much came out as to the _reason why_ the head of the snake had been removed--for the sailors spoke boldly--that the admiral and officers who were appointed strongly recommended Captain Hawkins not to proceed further than to state that there were some disaffected characters in the ship, and move the admiral to have them exchanged into others. This was done, and the captains of the frigates, who immediately gave their advice, divided all our best men between them. They spoke very freely to me, and asked me who were the best men, which I told them honestly, for I was glad to be able to get them out of the power of Captain Hawkins; these they marked as disaffected, and exchanged them for all the worst they had on board. The few that were left ran away, and thus, from having one of the finest and best organised ship's companies in the service, we were now one of the very worst. Miller was sent on board of the frigate, and under surveillance: he soon proved that his character was as good as I stated it to be, and two years afterwards was promoted to the rank of boatswain. Webster, the second lieutenant, would not rejoin us, and another was appointed. I must here remark, that there is hardly any degree of severity which a captain may not exert towards his seamen, provided they are confident of, or he has proved to them, his courage; but if there be a doubt, or a confirmation to the contrary, all discipline is destroyed by contempt, and the ship's company mutiny, either directly or indirectly. There is an old saying, that all tyrants are cowards; that tyranny is in itself a species of meanness, I acknowledge: but still the saying ought to be modified. If it is asserted that all mean tyrants are cowards, I agree; but I have known in the service most special tyrants, who were not cowards: their tyranny was excessive, but there was no meanness in their dispositions. On the contrary, they were generous, open-hearted, and, occasionally, when not influenced by anger, proved that their hearts, if not quite right, were not very much out of their places. Yet they were tyrants; but, although tyrants, the men forgave them, and one kind act, when they were not led away by the impetuosity of their feelings, obliterated a hundred acts of tyranny. But such is not the case in our service with men who, in their tyranny, are mean; the seamen show no quarter to them, and will undergo all the risk which the severity of the articles of war renders them liable to, rather than not express their opinion of a man whom they despise. I do not like to mention names, but I could point out specimens of brave tyrants, and of cowardly tyrants who have existed, and do even now exist in our service. The present regulations have limited tyranny to a certain degree, but it cannot check the _mean_ tyrant; for it is not in points of consequence, likely to be brought before the notice of his superiors, that he effects his purpose. He resorts to paltry measures--he smiles that he may betray--he confines himself within the limit that may protect him; and he is never exposed, unless by his courage being called in question, which but rarely occurs; and when it does occur it is most difficult, as well as most dangerous, to attempt to prove it. It may be asked why I did not quit the ship, after having been aware of the character of the captain, and the enmity which he bore to me. In reply, I can only say that I did often think of it, talked over the subject with my messmates, but they persuaded me to remain, and, as I was a first lieutenant, and knew that any successful action would, in all probability, insure my promotion, I determined, to use a nautical expression, to rough it out, and not throw away the only chance which I now had of obtaining my rank as commander. [Footnote 1: Marines.] Chapter LVII News from home not very agreeable, although the reader may laugh--We arrive at Portsmouth, where I fall in with my old acquaintance, Mrs Trotter--We sail with a convoy for the Baltic. I had written to my sister Ellen, giving her an account of all that had passed, and mentioning the character of the captain, and his apparent intimacy with my uncle. I received an answer from her, telling me that she had discovered, from a very communicative old maiden lady, that Captain Hawkins was an illegitimate son of my uncle, by a lady with whom he had been acquainted about the time that he was in the army. I immediately conceived the truth, that my uncle had pointed me out to him as an object of his vengeance, and that Captain Hawkins was too dutiful and too dependent a son not to obey him. The state of my father was more distressing than ever, but there was something very ludicrous in his fancies. He had fancied himself a jackass, and had brayed for a week, kicking the old nurse in the stomach, so as to double her up like a hedgehog. He had taken it into his head that he was a pump; and, with one arm held out as a spout, he had obliged the poor old nurse to work the other up and down for hours together. At another time, he had an idea that he was a woman in labour, and they were obliged to give him a strong dose of calomel, and borrow a child of six years old from a neighbour, to make him believe that he was delivered. He was perfectly satisfied, although the child was born to him in cloth trousers, and a jacket with three rows of sugar-loaf buttons. Aye, said he, it was those buttons which hurt my side so much. In fact, there was a string of strange conceptions of this kind that had accumulated, so as to drive my poor sister almost mad; and sometimes his ideas would be attended with a very heavy expense, as he would send for architects, make contracts, &c., for building, supposing himself to have come to the title and property of his brother. This, being the basis of his disease, occurred frequently. I wrote to poor Ellen, giving her my best advice, and by this time the brig was again ready for sea, and we expected to sail immediately. I did not forget to write to O'Brien, but the distance between us was so great that I knew I could not obtain his answer probably for a year, and I felt a melancholy foreboding how much I required his advice. Our orders were to proceed to Portsmouth, and join a convoy collected there, bound up the Baltic, under the charge of the _Acasta_ frigate, and two other vessels. We did not sail with any pleasure, or hopes of gaining much in the way of prize-money. Our captain was enough to make any ship a hell; and our ship's company were composed of a mutinous and incorrigible set of scoundrels, with, of course, a few exceptions. How different did the officers find the brig after losing such a captain as O'Brien, and so fine a ship's company! But there was no help for it, and all we had to do was to make the best of it, and hope for better times. The cat was at work nearly every day, and I must acknowledge that, generally speaking, it was deserved; although sometimes a report from the sergeant of marines of any good man favoured by me, was certain to be attended to. This system of receiving reports direct from an inferior officer, instead of through me, as first lieutenant, became so annoying, that I resolved, at all risk, to expostulate. I soon had an opportunity, for one morning the captain said to me, "Mr Simple, I understand that you had a fire in the galley last night after hours." "It is very true, sir, that I did order a stove to be lighted; but may I inquire whether the first lieutenant has not a discretionary power in that point? and further, how it is that I am reported to you by other people? The discipline of this ship is carried on by me, under your directions, and all reports ought to come through me; and I cannot understand upon what grounds you permit them through any other channel." "I command my own ship, sir, and shall do as I please in that respect. When I have officers I can confide in, I shall, in all probability, allow them to report to me." "If there is anything in my conduct which has proved to you that I am incapable, or not trustworthy, I would feel obliged to you, sir, if you would, in the first place, point it out;--and, in the next, bring me to a court-martial if I do not correct it." "I am no court-martial man, sir," replied he, "but I am not to be dictated to by an inferior officer, so you'll oblige me by holding your tongue. The sergeant of marines, as master-at-arms, is bound to report to me any deviation from the regulations I have laid down for the discipline of the ship." "Granted, sir; but that report, according to the custom of the service, should come through the first lieutenant." "I prefer it coming direct, sir;--it stands less chance of being garbled." "Thank you, Captain Hawkins, for the compliment." The captain walked away without further reply, and shortly after went down below. Swinburne ranged up alongside of me as soon as the captain disappeared. "Well, Mr Simple, so I hear we are bound to the Baltic. Why couldn't they have ordered us to pick up the convoy off Yarmouth, instead of coming all the way to Portsmouth? We shall be in to-morrow with this slant of wind." "I suppose the convoy are not yet collected, Swinburne; and you recollect there's no want of French privateers in the channel." "Very true, sir." "When were you up the Baltic, Swinburne?" "I was in the old _St George_, a regular old ninety-eight; she sailed just like a hay-stack, one mile ahead and three to leeward. Lord bless you, Mr Simple, the Cattegat wasn't wide enough for her; but she was a comfortable sort of vessel after all, excepting on a lee-shore, so we used always to give the land a wide berth, I recollect. By the bye, Mr Simple, do you recollect how angry you were because I didn't peach at Barbadoes, when the men _sucked the monkey?_" "To be sure I do." "Well, then, I didn't think it fair then, as I was one of them. But now that I'm a bit of an officer, I just tell you that when we get to Carlscrona there's a method of _sucking the monkey_ there, which, as first lieutenant, with such a queer sort of captain, it is just as well that you should be up to. In the old _St George_ we had seventy men drunk one afternoon, and the first lieutenant couldn't find it out nohow." "Indeed, Swinburne, you must let me into that secret." "So I will, Mr Simple. Don't you know there's a famous stuff for cuts and wounds, called balsam?" "What, Riga balsam?" "Yes, that's it; well, all the boats will bring that for sale, as they did to us in the old _St George_. Devilish good stuff it is for wounds, I believe; but it's not bad to drink, and it's very strong. We used to take it _inwardly_, Mr Simple, and the first lieutenant never guessed it." "What! you all got tipsy upon Riga balsam?" "All that could; so I just give you a hint." "I'm much obliged to you, Swinburne; I certainly never should have suspected it. I believe seamen would get drunk upon anything." The next morning we anchored at Spithead, and found the convoy ready for sea. The captain went on shore to report himself to the admiral, and, as usual, the brig was surrounded with bumboats and wherries, with people who wished to come on board. As we were not known on the Portsmouth station, and had no acquaintance with the people, all the bumboats were very anxious to supply the ship: and, as this is at the option of the first lieutenant, he is very much persecuted until he has made his decision. Certificates of good conduct from other officers were handed up the side from all of them; and I looked over the books at the capstern. In the second book the name struck me; it was that of Mrs Trotter, and I walked to the gangway out of curiosity, to ascertain whether it was the same personage who, when I was a youngster, had taken such care of my shirts. As I looked at the boats, a voice cried out, "O, Mr Simple, have you forgot your old friend? don't you recollect Mrs Trotter?" I certainly did not recollect her; she had grown very fat, and, although more advanced in years, was a better-looking woman than when I had first seen her, for she looked healthy and fresh. "Indeed, I hardly did recollect you, Mrs Trotter." "I've so much to tell you, Mr Simple," replied she, ordering the boat to pull alongside; and, as she was coming up, desired the man to get the things in, as if permission was quite unnecessary. I did not counter-order it, as I knew none of the others, and, as far as honesty was concerned, believed them all to be much on a par. On the strength, then, of old acquaintance, Mrs Trotter was admitted. "Well, I'm sure, Mr Simple," cried Mrs Trotter, out of breath with climbing up the brig's side; "what a man you've grown,--and such a handsome man, too! Dear, dear, it makes me feel quite old to look at you, when I call to mind the little boy whom I had charge of in the cockpit. Don't you think I look very old and ugly, Mr Simple?" continued she, smiling and smirking. "Indeed, Mrs Trotter, I think you wear very well. Pray, how is your husband?" "Ah, Mr Simple, poor dear Mr Trotter--he's gone. Poor fellow! no wonder; what with his drinking, and his love for me--and his jealousy--(do you recollect how jealous he was, Mr Simple?)--he wore himself out at last. No wonder, considering what he had been accustomed to, after keeping his carriage and dogs with everybody, to be reduced to see his wife go a _bumming_. It broke his heart, poor fellow! and, Mr Simple, I've been much happier ever since, for I could not bear to see him fretting. Lord, how jealous he was--and all about nothing! Don't you want some fresh meat for the gun-room? I've a nice leg of mutton in the boat, and some milk for tea." "Recollect, Mrs Trotter, I shall not overlook your bringing spirits on board." "Lord, Mr Simple, how could you think of such a thing? It's very true that these common people do it, but the company I have kept, the society I have been in, Mr Simple! Besides, you must recollect that I never drank anything but water." I could not exactly coincide with her, but I did not contradict her. "Would you like the Portsmouth paper, Mr Simple?" taking one out of her pocket; "I know gentlemen are fond of the news. Poor Trotter used never to stir from the breakfast table until he had finished the daily paper-- but that was when we lived in very different style. Have you any clothes to wash, Mr Simple,--or have any of the gentlemen?" "I fear we have no time, we sail too soon," replied I; "we go with the convoy." "Indeed!" cried Mrs Trotter, who walked to the main hatchway and called to her man Bill. I heard her give him directions to sell nothing upon trust, in consequence of the intelligence of our immediate sailing. "I beg your pardon, Mr Simple, I was only desiring my head man to send for your steward, that he might be supplied with the best, and to save some milk for the gun-room." "And I must beg your pardon, Mrs Trotter, for I must attend to my duty." Mrs Trotter made her courtesy and walked down the main ladder to attend to _her duty_, and we separated. I was informed that she had a great deal of custom, as she understood how to manage the officers, and made herself generally useful to them. She had been a bumboat woman for six years, and had made a great deal of money. Indeed, it was reported, that if a _first lieutenant_ wanted forty or fifty pounds, Mrs Trotter would always lend it to him, without requiring his promissory note. The captain came on board in the evening, having dined with the admiral, and left directions for having all ready for unmooring and heaving short at daylight. The signal was made from the frigate at sunrise, and before twelve o'clock we were all under weigh, and running past St Helen's with a favourable wind. Our force consisted of the _Acasta_ frigate, the _Isis_ ship, sloop, mounting twenty guns, the _Reindeer_, eighteen, and our own brig. The convoy amounted to nearly two hundred. Although the wind was fair, and the water smooth, we were more than a week before we made Anholt light, owing _to_ the bad sailing and inattention of many of the vessels belonging to the convoy. We were constantly employed repeating signals, firing guns, and often sent back to tow up the sternmost vessels. At last we passed the Anholt light, with a light breeze; and the next morning the main land was to be distinguished on both bows. Chapter LVIII How we passed the Sound, and what passed in the Sound The Captain overhears again a conversation between Swinburne and me. I was on the signal-chest abaft, counting the convoy, when Swinburne came up to me. "There's a little difference between this part of the world and the West Indies, Mr Simple," observed he. "Black rocks and fir woods don't remind us of the Blue Mountains of Jamaica, or the cocoa-nut waving to the sea-breeze." "Indeed not, Swinburne," replied I. "We shall have plenty of calms here, without panting with the heat, although we may find the gun-boats a little too warm for us; for, depend upon it, the very moment the wind goes down, they will come out from every nook and corner, and annoy us not a little." "Have you been here before, with a convoy, Swinburne?" "To be sure I have; and it's sharp work that I've seen here, Mr Simple-- work that I've an idea our captain won't have much stomach for." "Swinburne, I beg you will keep your thoughts relative to the captain to yourself; recollect the last time. It is my duty not to listen to them." "And I should rather think to report them also, Mr Simple," said Captain Hawkins, who had crept up to us, and overheard our conversation. "In this instance there is no occasion for my reporting them, sir," replied I, "for you have heard what has passed." "I have, sir," replied he; "and I shall not forget the conversation." I turned forward. Swinburne had made his retreat the moment that he heard the voice of the captain. "How many sails are there in sight, sir?" inquired the captain. "One hundred and sixty-three, sir," replied I. "Signal for convoy to close from the _Acasta_" reported the midshipman of the watch. We repeated it, and the captain descended to his cabin. We were then running about four miles an hour, the water very smooth, and Anholt lighthouse hardly visible on deck, bearing N.N.W. about twenty miles. In fact, we were near the entrance of the Sound, which, the reader may be aware, is a narrow passage leading into the Baltic Sea. We ran on, followed by the convoy, some of which were eight or ten miles astern of us, and we were well into the Sound, when the wind gradually died away, until it fell quite calm, and the heads of the vessels were laid round the compass. My watch was nearly out, when the midshipman, who was looking round with his glass on the Copenhagen side, reported three gun-boats, sweeping out from behind a point. I examined them and went down to report them to the captain. When I came on deck, more were reported, until we counted ten, two of them large vessels, called praams. The captain now came on deck, and I reported them. We made the signal of enemy in sight, to the _Acasta_, which was answered. They divided--six of them pulling along shore towards the convoy in the rear, and four coming out right for the brig. The _Acasta_ now made the signal for "Boats manned and armed to be held in readiness." We hoisted out our pinnace, and lowered down our cutters--the other men-of-war doing the same. In about a quarter of an hour the gun-boats opened their fire with their long thirty-two pounders, and their first shot went right through the hull of the brig, just abaft the fore-bits; fortunately, no one was hurt. I turned round to look at the captain; he was as white as a sheet. He caught my eye, and turned aft, when he was met by Swinburne's eye, steadily fixed upon him. He then walked to the other side of the deck. Another shot ploughed up the water close to us, rose, and came through the hammock-netting, tearing out two of the hammocks, and throwing them on the quarter-deck, when the _Acasta_ hoisted out pennants, and made the signal to send our pinnace and cutter to the assistance of vessels astern. The signal was also made to the _Isis_ and _Reindeer_. I reported the signal, and inquired who was to take the command. "You, Mr Simple, will take the pinnace, and order Mr Swinburne into the cutter." "Mr Swinburne, sir!" replied I; "the brig will, in all probability, be in action soon, and his services as a gunner will be required." "Well, then, Mr Hilton may go. Beat to quarters. Where is Mr Webster?"[1] The second lieutenant was close to us, and he was ordered to take the duty during my absence. I jumped into the pinnace, and shoved off; ten other boats from the _Acasta_ and the other men-of-war were pulling in the same direction, and I joined them. The gun-boats had now opened fire upon the convoy astern, and were sweeping out to capture them, dividing themselves into two parts, and pulling towards different portions of the convoy. In half an hour we were within gunshot of the nearest, which directed its fire at us; but the lieutenant of the _Acasta_, who commanded the detachment, ordered us to lie on our oars for a minute, while he divided his force in three divisions, of four boats each, with instructions that we should each oppose a division of two gun-boats, by pulling to the outermost vessel of the convoy, and securing ourselves as much as possible from the fire, by remaining under her lee, and be in readiness to take them by boarding, if they approached to capture any of our vessels. This was well arranged. I had the command of one division, for the first lieutenants had not been sent away from the _Isis_ and _Reindeer_, and having inquired which of the divisions of gun-boats I was to oppose, I pulled for them. In the meantime, we observed that the two praams, and two gun-boats, which had remained behind us, and had been firing at the _Racehorse_, had also divided--one praam attacking the _Acasta_, the two gun-boats playing upon the _Isis_, and the other praam engaging the _Rattlesnake_ and _Reindeer_; the latter vessel being in a line with us, and about half a mile further out, so that she could not return any effectual fire, or, indeed, receive much damage. The _Rattlesnake_ had the worst of it, the fire of the praam being chiefly directed to her. At the distance chosen by the enemy, the frigate's guns reached, but the other men-of-war, having only two long guns, were not able to return the fire but with their two, the carronades being useless. One of the praams mounted ten guns, and the other eight. The last was opposed to the _Rattlesnake_, and the fire was kept up very smartly, particularly by the _Acasta_ and the enemy. In about a quarter of an hour I arrived with my division close to the vessel which was nearest to the enemy. It was a large Sunderland-built ship. The gun-boats, which were within a quarter of a mile of her, sweeping to her as fast as they could, as soon as they perceived our approach, directed their fire upon us, but without success, except the last discharge, in which, we being near enough, they had loaded with grape. The shot fell a little short, but one piece of grape struck one of the bowmen of the pinnace, taking off three fingers of his right hand as he was pulling his oar. Before they could fire again, we were sheltered by the vessel, pulling close to her side, hid from the enemy. My boat was the only one in the division which carried a gun, and I now loaded, waiting for the discharge of the gun-boats, and then, pulling a little ahead of the ship, fired at them, and then returned under cover to load. This continued for some time, the enemy not advancing nearer, but now firing into the Sunderland ship, which protected us. At last the master of the ship looked over the side, and said to me, "I say, my joker, do you call this _giving me assistance?_ I think I was better off before you came. Then I had only my share of the enemy's fire, but now that you have come, I have it all. I'm riddled like a sieve, and have lost four men already. Suppose you give me a spell now--pull behind the vessel ahead of us. I'll take my chance." I thought this request very reasonable, and as I should be really nearer to the enemy if I pulled to the next vessel, and all ready to support him if attacked, I complied with his wish. I had positive orders not to board with so small a force (the four boats containing but forty men, and each gun-boat having at least seventy), unless they advanced to capture, and then I was to run all risks. I pulled up to the other vessel, a large brig, and the captain, as soon as we came alongside, said, "I see what you're about, and I'll just leave you my vessel to take care of. No use losing my men, or being knocked on the head." "All's right--you can't do better, and we can't do better either." His boat was lowered down, and getting in with his men, he pulled to another vessel, and lay behind it, all ready to pull back if a breeze sprang up. As was to be expected, the gun-boats shifted their fire to the deserted vessel, which our boat lay behind; and thus did the action in our quarter continue until it was dark, the gun-boats not choosing to advance, and we restricted from pulling out to attack them. There was no moon, and, as daylight disappeared, the effect was very beautiful. In the distance, the cannonading of the frigate, and other men-of-war, answered by the praams and gunboats, reinforced by six more, as we afterwards found out--the vivid flashing of the guns, reflected by the water, as smooth as glass--the dark outlines of the numerous convoy, with their sails hanging down the masts, one portion of the convoy appearing for a moment, as the guns were discharged in that direction, and then disappearing, while others were momentarily seen--the roar of the heavy guns opposed to us--the crashing of the timbers of the brig, which was struck at every discharge, and very often perforated--with the whizzing of the shot as it passed by;--all this in a dark yet clear night, with every star in the heavens twinkling, and, as it were, looking down upon us, was interesting as well as awful. But I soon perceived that the gun-boats were nearing us every time that they fired, and I now discharged grape alone, waiting for the flash of the fire to ascertain their direction. At last I could perceive their long, low hulls, not two cables' length from us, and their sweeps lifting from the water. It was plain that they were advancing to board, and I resolved to anticipate them if possible. I had fired ahead of the brig, and I now pulled with all my boats astern, giving my orders to the officers, and laying on our oars in readiness. The gun-boats were about half a cable's length from each other, pulling up abreast, and passing us at about the same distance, when I directed the men to give way. I had determined to throw all my force upon the nearest boat, and in half a minute our bows were forced between their sweeps, which we caught hold of to force our way alongside. The resistance of the Danes was very determined. Three times did I obtain a footing on the deck, and three times was I thrown back into the boats. At last we had fairly obtained our ground, and were driving them gradually forward, when, as I ran on the gunwale to obtain a position more in advance of my men, I received a blow with the butt end of a musket--I believe on the shoulder--which knocked me overboard, and I fell between the sweeps, and sunk under the vessel's bottom. I rose under her stern; but I was so shook with the violence of the blow, that I was for some time confused; still I had strength to keep myself above water, and paddled, as it appeared, away from the vessel, until I hit against a sweep which had fallen overboard. This supported me, and I gradually recovered myself. The loud report of a gun close to me startled me, and I perceived that it was from the gun-boat which I had boarded, and that her head was turned in the direction of the other gun-boat. From this, with the noise of the sweeps pulling, I knew that my men had succeeded in capturing her. I hallooed, but they did not hear me, and I soon lost sight of her. Another gun was now fired; it was from the other gun-boat retreating, and I perceived her pulling in-shore, for she passed me not twenty yards off. I now held the sweep with my hands, and struck out off the shore, in the direction of the convoy. A light breeze rippled the water, and I knew that I had no time to lose. In about five minutes I heard the sound of oars, and perceived a boat crossing me. I hailed as loud as I could--they heard me, laid on their oars--and I hailed again--they pulled to me, and took me in. It was the master of the brig, who, aware of the capture of one gun-boat, and the retreat of the other, was looking for his vessel; or, as he told me, for what was left of her. In a short time we found her, and, although very much cut up, she had received no shot under water. In an hour the breeze was strong, the cannonading had ceased in every direction, and we had repaired her damages, so as to be able to make sail, and continue our course through the Sound. Here I may as well relate the events of the action. One of the other divisions of gun-boats had retreated when attacked by the boats. The other had beaten off the boats, and killed many of the men, but had suffered so much themselves, as to retreat without making any capture. The _Acasta_ lost four men killed, and seven wounded; the _Isis_, three men wounded; the _Reindeer_ had nobody hurt; the _Rattlesnake_ had six men killed, and two wounded, including the captain; but of that I shall speak hereafter. I found that I was by no means seriously hurt by the blow I had received: my shoulder was stiff for a week, and very much discoloured, but nothing more. When I fell overboard I had struck against a sweep, which had cut my ear half off. The captain of the brig gave me dry clothes, and in a few hours I was very comfortably asleep, hoping to join my ship the next day; but in this I was disappointed. The breeze was favourable and fresh, and we were clear of the Sound, but a long way astern of the convoy, and none of the headmost men-of-war to be seen. I dressed and went on deck, and immediately perceived that I had little chance of joining my ship until we arrived at Carlscrona, which proved to be the case. About ten o'clock, the wind died away, and we had from that time such baffling light winds, that it was six days before we dropped our anchor, every vessel of the convoy having arrived before us. [Footnote 1: Webster, however, had left the ship at Yarmouth. See p. 202.--ED.] Chapter LIX The dead man attends at the auction of his own effects, and bids the sale to stop--One more than was wanted--Peter steps into his shoes again--Captain Hawkins takes a friendly interest in Peter's papers-- Riga Balsam sternly refused to be admitted for the relief of the ship's company. As soon as the sails were furled, I thanked the master of the vessel for his kindness, and requested the boat. He ordered it to be manned, saying, "How glad your captain will be to see you!" I doubted that. We shook hands, and I pulled to the _Rattlesnake_, which lay about two cables' length astern of us. I had put on a jacket, when I left the brig on service, and coming in a merchantman's boat, no attention was paid to me; indeed, owing to circumstances, no one was on the look-out, and I ascended the side unperceived. The men and officers were on the quarter-deck, attending the sale of dead men's effects before the mast; and every eye was fixed upon six pair of nankeen trousers exposed by the purser's steward which I recognized as my own. "Nine shillings for six pair of nankeen trousers," cried the purser's steward. "Come, my men, they're worth more than that," observed the captain, who appeared to be very facetious. "It's better to be in his trousers than in his shoes." This brutal remark created a silence for a moment. "Well, then, steward, let them go. One would think that pulling on his trousers would make you as afraid as he was," continued the captain, laughing. "Shame!" was cried out by one or two of the officers, and I recognised Swinburne's voice as one. "More likely if they put on yours," cried I, in a loud, indignant tone. Everybody started, and turned round; Captain Hawkins staggered to a carronade: "I beg to report myself as having rejoined my ship, sir," continued I. "Hurrah, my lads! three cheers for Mr Simple!" said Swinburne. The men gave them with emphasis. The captain looked at me, and without saying a word, hastily retreated to his cabin. I perceived, as he went down, that he had his arm in a sling. I thanked the men for their kind feeling towards me, shook hands with Thompson and Webster, who warmly congratulated me, and then with old Swinburne, (who nearly wrung my arm off, and gave my shoulder such pain as to make me cry out,) and with the others who extended theirs. I desired the sale of my effects to be stopped; fortunately for me, it had but just begun, and the articles were all returned. Thompson had informed the captain that he knew my father's address, and would take charge of my clothes, and send them home, but the captain would not allow him. In a few minutes, I received a letter from the captain, desiring me to acquaint him in writing, for the information of the senior officer, in what manner I had escaped. I went down below, when I found one very melancholy face, that of the passed midshipman of the _Acasta_, who had received an acting order in my place. When I went to my desk, I found two important articles missing; one, my private letter-book, and the other, the journal which I kept of what passed, and from which this narrative has been compiled. I inquired of my messmates, who stated that the desk had not been looked into by any one but the captain, who, of course, must have possessed himself of those important documents. I wrote a letter containing a short narrative of what had happened, and, at the same time, another on service to the captain, requesting that he would deliver up my property, the private journal, and letter-book in his possession. The captain, as soon as he received my letters, sent up word for his boat to be manned. As soon as it was manned, I reported it, and then begged to know whether he intended to comply with my request. He answered that he should not, and then went on deck, and quitted the brig to pull on board of the senior officer. I therefore determined immediately to write to the captain of the _Acasta_, acquainting him with the conduct of Captain Hawkins, and requesting his interference. This I did immediately, and the boat that had brought me on board not having left the brig, I sent the letter by it, requesting them to put it into the hands of one of the officers. The letter was received previous to Captain Hawkins' visit being over, and the Captain of the _Acasta_ put it into his hands, inquiring if the statement were correct. Captain Hawkins replied that it was true that he had detained these papers, as there was so much mutiny and disaffection in them, and that he should not return them to me. "That I cannot permit," replied the captain of the _Acasta_, who was aware of the character of Captain Hawkins; "if, by mistake, you have been put in possession of any of Mr Simple's secrets, you are bound in honour not to make use of them; neither can you retain property not your own." But Captain Hawkins was determined, and refused to give them to me. "Well, then, Captain Hawkins," replied the captain of the _Acasta_, "you will oblige me by remaining on my quarter-deck till I come out of the cabin." The captain of the _Acasta_ then wrote an order, directing Captain Hawkins immediately to deliver up _to him_ the papers of mine in his possession; and coming out of the cabin, put it into Captain Hawkins' hands, saying, "Now, sir, here is a written order from your superior officer. Disobey it, if you dare. If you do, I will put you under arrest, and try you by a court-martial. I can only regret, that any captain in His Majesty's service should be forced in this way to do his duty as a gentleman and a man of honour." Captain Hawkins bit his lip at the order, and the cutting remarks accompanying it. "Your boat is manned, sir," said the captain of the _Acasta_, in a severe tone. Captain Hawkins came on board, sealed up the books, and sent them to the captain of the _Acasta_, who re-directed them to me, on His Majesty's service, and returned them by the same boat. The public may therefore thank the captain of the _Acasta_ for the memoirs which they are now reading. From my messmates I gained the following intelligence of what had passed after I had quitted the brig. The fire of the praam had cut them up severely, and Captain Hawkins had been struck in the arm with a piece of the hammock-rail, which had been shot away shortly after I left. Although the skin only was razed, he thought proper to consider himself badly wounded; and giving up the command to Mr Webster, the second lieutenant, had retreated below, where he remained until the action was over. When Mr Webster reported the return of the boats, with the capture of the gun-boat, and my supposed death, he was so delighted, that he quite forgot his wound, and ran on deck, rubbing his hands as he walked up and down. At last, he recollected himself, went down into his cabin, and came up again with his arm in a sling. The next morning he went on board of the _Acasta_, and made his report to the senior officer, bringing back with him the disappointed passed-midshipman as my successor. He had also stated on the quarter-deck, that if I had not been killed, he intended to have tried me by a court-martial, and have turned me out of the service; that he had quite enough charges to ruin me, for he had been collecting them ever since I had been under his command; and that now he would make that old scoundrel of a gunner repent his intimacy with me. All this was confided to the surgeon, who, as I before observed, was very much of a courtier; but the surgeon had repeated it to Thompson, the master, who now gave me the information. There was one advantage in all this, which was that I knew exactly the position in which I stood, and what I had to expect. During the short time that we remained in port, I took care that _Riga balsam_ should not be allowed to come alongside, and the men were all sober. We received orders from the captain of the _Acasta_ to join the admiral, who was off the Texel in pursuance of directions he had received from the Admiralty to despatch one of the squadron, and we were selected, from the dislike which he had taken to Captain Hawkins. Chapter LX An old friend in a new case--Heart of oak in Swedish fur--A man's a man all the world over, and something more in many parts of it--Peter gets reprimanded for being dilatory, but proves a title to a defence-- Allowed. When we were about forty miles off the harbour, a frigate hove in sight. We made the private signal: she hoisted Swedish colours, and kept away a couple of points to close with us. We were within two miles of her when she up courses and took in her topgallant sails. As we closed to within two cables' lengths, she hove-to. We did the same; and the captain desired me to lower down the boat, and board her, ask her name, by whom she was commanded, and offer any assistance if the captain required it. This was the usual custom of the service, and I went on board in obedience to my orders. When I arrived on the quarter-deck, I asked in French, whether there was any one who spoke it. The first lieutenant came forward, and took off his hat: I stated that I was requested to ask the name of the vessel and the commanding officer, to insert it in our log, and to offer any service that we could command. He replied that the captain was on deck, and turned round, but the captain had gone down below. "I will inform him of your message--I had no idea that he had quitted the deck;" and the first lieutenant left me. I exchanged a few compliments and a little news with the officers on deck, who appeared to be very gentlemanlike fellows, when the first lieutenant requested my presence in the cabin. I descended--the door was opened--I was announced by the first lieutenant, and he quitted the cabin. I looked at the captain, who was sitting at the table: he was a fine, stout man, with two or three ribands at his button-hole, and a large pair of moustachios. I thought that I had seen him before, but I could not recollect when: his face was certainly familiar to me, but, as I had been informed by the officers on deck, that the captain was a Count Shucksen, a person I had never heard of, I thought that I must be mistaken. I therefore addressed him in French, paying him a long compliment, with all the necessary _et ceteras_. The captain turned round to me, took his hand away from his forehead, which it had shaded, and looking me full in the face, replied, "Mr Simple, I don't understand but very little French. Spin your yarn in plain English." I started--"I thought that I knew your face," replied I; "am I mistaken?--no, it must be--Mr Chucks!" "You are right, my dear Mr Simple: it is your old friend, Chucks, the boatswain, whom you now see. I knew you as soon as you came up the side, and I was afraid that you would immediately recognize me, and I slipped down into the cabin (for which apparent rudeness allow me to apologise), that you might not explain before the officers." We shook hands heartily, and then he requested me to sit down. "But," said I, "they told me on deck that the frigate was commanded by a Count Shucksen." "That is my present rank, my dear Peter," said he; "but as you have no time to lose, I will explain all. I know I can trust to your honour. You remember that you left me, as you and I supposed, dying in the privateer, with the captain's jacket and epaulettes on my shoulders. When the boats came out, and you left the vessel, they boarded and found me. I was still breathing; and judging of my rank by the coat, they put me into the boat, and pushed on shore. The privateer sank very shortly after. I was not expected to live, but in a few days a change took place, and I was better. They asked me my name, and I gave my own, which they lengthened into Shucksen, somehow or another. I recovered by a miracle, and am now as well as ever I was in my life. They were not a little proud of having captured a captain in the British service, as they supposed, for they never questioned me as to my real rank. After some weeks I was sent home to Denmark in a running vessel; but it so happened, that we met with a gale, and were wrecked on the Swedish coast, close to Carlscrona. The Danes were at that time at war, having joined the Russians; and they were made prisoners, while I was of course liberated, and treated with great distinction; but as I could not speak either French or their own language, I could not get on very well. However, I had a handsome allowance, and permission to go to England as soon as I pleased. The Swedes were then at war with the Russians, and were fitting out their fleet; but, Lord bless them! they didn't know much about it. I amused myself walking in the dockyard, and looking at their motions; but they had not thirty men in the fleet who knew what they were about, and, as for a man to set them going, there wasn't one. Well, Peter, you know I could not be idle, and so by degrees I told one, and then told another--until they went the right way to work; and the captains and officers were very much obliged to me. At last, they all came to me, and if they did not understand me entirely, I showed them how to do it with my own hands; and the fleet began to make a show with their rigging. The admiral who commanded was very much obliged, and I seemed to come as regularly to my work as if I was paid for it. At last, the admiral came with an English interpreter, and asked me whether I was anxious to go back to England, or would I like to join their service. I saw what they wanted, and I replied that I had neither wife nor child in England, and that I liked their country very much; but I must take time to consider of it, and must also know what they had to propose. I went home to my lodgings, and, to make them more anxious, I did not make my appearance at the dockyard for three or four days, when a letter came from the admiral, offering me the command of a frigate if I would join their service. I replied, (for I knew how much they wanted me,) that I would prefer an English frigate to a Swedish one, and that I would not consent unless they offered something more; and then, with the express stipulation that I should not take arms against my own country. They then waited for a week, when they offered to make me a _Count_, and give me the command of a frigate. This suited me, as you may suppose, Peter; it was the darling wish of my heart--I was to be made a gentleman. I consented, and was made Count Shucksen, and had a fine large frigate under my command. I then set to work with a will, superintended the fitting out of the whole fleet, and showed them what an Englishman could do. We sailed, and you of course know the brush we had with the Russians, which, I must say, did us no discredit. I was fortunate to distinguish myself, for I exchanged several broadsides with a Russian two-deck ship, and came off with honour. When we went into port I got this riband. I was out afterwards, and fell in with a Russian frigate, and captured her, for which I received this other riband. Since that I have been in high favour, and now that I speak the languages, I like the people very much. I am often at court when I am in harbour; and, Peter, I am _married_." "I wish you joy, count, with all my heart." "Yes, and well married too--to a Swedish countess of very high family, and I expect that I have a little boy or girl by this time. So you observe, Peter, that I am at last a gentleman, and, what is more, my children will be noble by two descents. Who would have thought that this would have been occasioned by my throwing the captain's jacket into the boat instead of my own? And now, my dear Mr Simple, that I have made you my confidant, I need not say, do not say a word about it to anybody. They certainly could not do me much harm, but still, they might do me some; and although I am not likely to meet any one who may recognize me in this uniform and these moustachios, it's just as well to keep the secret, which to you and O'Brien only would I have confided." "My dear count," replied I, "your secret is safe with me. You have come to your title before me, at all events; and I sincerely wish you joy, for you have obtained it honourably; but, although I would like to talk with you for days, I must return on board, for I am now sailing with a very unpleasant captain." I then, in a few words, stated where O'Brien was; and when we parted, I went with him on deck, Count Shucksen taking my arm, and introducing me as an old shipmate to his officers. "I hope we may meet again," said I, "but I am afraid there is little chance." "Who knows?" replied he; "see what chance has done for me. My dear Peter, God bless you! You are one of the very few whom I always loved. God bless you, my boy! and never forget that all I have is at your command if you come my way." I thanked him, and saluting the officers, went down the side. As I expected, when I came on board, the captain demanded, in an angry tone, why I had stayed so long. I replied, that I was shown down into Count Shucksen's cabin, and he conversed so long, that I could not get away sooner, as it would not have been polite to have left him before he had finished his questions. I then gave a very civil message, and the captain said no more; the very name of a great man always silenced him. Chapter LXI Bad news from home, and worse on board--Notwithstanding his previous trials, Peter forced to prepare for another--Mrs Trotter again; improves as she grows old--Captain Hawkins and his twelve charges. No other event of consequence occurred until we joined the admiral, who only detained us three hours with the fleet, and then sent us home with his despatches. We arrived, after a quiet passage, at Portsmouth, where I wrote immediately to my sister Ellen, requesting to know the state of my father's health. I waited impatiently for an answer, and by return of post received one with a black seal. My father had died the day before from a brain fever; and Ellen conjured me to obtain leave of absence, to come to her in her state of distress. The captain came on board the next morning, and I had a letter ready written on service to the admiral, stating the circumstances, and requesting leave of absence. I presented it to him, and entreated him to forward it. At any other time I would not have condescended, but the thoughts of my poor sister, unprotected and alone, with my father lying dead in the house, made me humble and submissive. Captain Hawkins read the letter, and very coolly replied, "that it was very easy to say that my father was dead, but he required proofs." Even this insult did not affect me; I put my sister's letter into his hand--he read it, and as he returned it to me, he smiled maliciously. "It is impossible for me to forward your letter, Mr Simple, as I have one to deliver to you." He put a large folio packet into my hand, and went below. I opened it: it was a copy of a letter demanding a court-martial upon me, with a long list of the charges preferred by him. I was stupefied, not so much at his asking for a court-martial, but at the conviction of the impossibility of my now being able to go to the assistance of my poor sister. I went down into the gunroom and threw myself on a chair, at the same time tossing the letter to Thompson, the master. He read it over carefully, and folded it up. "Upon my word, Simple, I do not see that you have much to fear. These charges are very frivolous." "No, no--that I care little about; but it is my poor sister. I had written for leave of absence, and now she is left, God knows how long, in such distressing circumstances." Thompson looked grave. "I had forgotten your father's death, Simple: it is indeed cruel. I would offer to go myself, but you will want my evidence at the court-martial. It can't be helped. Write to your sister, and keep up her spirits. Tell her why you cannot come, and that it will all end well." I did so, and went early to bed, for I was really ill. The next morning, the official letter from the port-admiral came off, acquainting me that a court-martial had been ordered upon me, and that it would take place that day week. I immediately resigned the command to the second lieutenant, and commenced an examination into the charges preferred. They were very numerous, and dated back almost to the very day that he had joined the ship. There were twelve in all. I shall not trouble the reader with the whole of them, as many were very frivolous. The principal charges were-- 1. For mutinous and disrespectful conduct to Captain Hawkins, on such a date, having, in a conversation with an inferior officer on the quarter-deck, stated that Captain Hawkins was a spy, and had spies in the ship. 2. For neglect of duty, in disobeying the orders of Captain Hawkins on the night of the ---- of ----. 3. For having, on the ---- of ----, sent away two boats from the ship, in direct opposition to the orders of Captain Hawkins. 4. For having again, on the morning of the ---- of ----, held mutinous and disrespectful conversation relative to Captain Hawkins with the gunner of the ship, allowing the latter to accuse Captain Hawkins of cowardice, without reporting the same. 5. For insulting expressions on the quarter-deck to Captain Hawkins on his rejoining the brig on the morning of the ---- of ----. 6. For not causing the orders of Captain Hawkins to be put in force on several occasions, &c. &c. &c. And further, as Captain Hawkins' testimony was necessary in two of the charges, the king, on _those charges,_ was the prosecutor. Although most of these charges were frivolous, yet I at once perceived my danger. Some were dated back many months, to the time before our ship's company had been changed: and I could not find the necessary witnesses. Indeed, in all but the recent charges, not expecting to be called to a court-martial, I had serious difficulties to contend with. But the most serious was the first charge, which I knew not how to get over. Swinburne had most decidedly referred to the captain when he talked of spy captains. However, with the assistance of Thompson, I made the best defence I could, ready for my trial. Two days before my court-martial I received a letter from Ellen, who appeared in a state of distraction from this accumulation of misfortune. She told me that my father was to be buried the next day, and that the new rector had written to her, to know when it would be convenient for the vicarage to be given up. That my father's bills had been sent in, and amounted to twelve hundred pounds already; and that she knew not the extent of the whole claims. There appeared to be nothing left but the furniture of the house; and she wanted to know whether the debts were to be paid with the money I had left in the funds for her use. I wrote immediately, requesting her to liquidate every claim, as far as my money went, sending her an order upon my agent to draw for the whole amount, and a power of attorney to him to sell out the stock. I had just sealed the letter, when Mrs Trotter, who had attended the ship since our return to Portsmouth, begged to speak with me, and walked in after her message, without waiting for an answer. "My dear Mr Simple," said she, "I know all that is going on, and I find that you have no lawyer to assist you. Now I know that it is necessary, and will very probably be of great service in your defence--for when people are in distress and anxiety, they have not their wits about them; so I have brought a friend of mine from Portsea, a very clever man, who, for my sake, will undertake your cause, and I hope you will not refuse him. You recollect giving me a dozen pair of stockings. I did not refuse them, nor shall you refuse me now. I always said to Mr Trotter, 'Go to a lawyer;' and if he had taken my advice he would have done well. I recollect, when a hackney-coachman smashed the panel of our carriage-- 'Trotter,' says I, 'go to a lawyer;' and he very politely answered, 'Go to the devil!' But what was the consequence!--he's dead and I'm bumming. Now, Mr Simple, will you oblige me?--it's all free gratis for nothing--not for nothing, for it's for my sake. You see, Mr Simple, I have admirers yet," concluded she, smiling. Mrs Trotter's advice was good; and although I would not listen to receiving his services gratuitously, I agreed to employ him; and very useful did he prove against such charges, and such a man as Captain Hawkins. He came on board that afternoon, carefully examined into all the documents and the witnesses whom I could bring forward, showed me the weak side of my defence, and took the papers on shore with him. Every day he came on board to collect fresh evidence and examine into my case. At last the day arrived. I dressed myself in my best uniform. The gun fired from the admiral's ship, with the signal for a court-martial at nine o'clock; and I went on board in a boat, with all the witnesses. On my arrival, I was put under the custody of the provost-marshal. The captains ordered to attend pulled alongside one after another, and were received by a party of marines, presenting their arms. At half-past nine the court was all assembled, and I was ushered in. Courts-martial are open courts, although no one is permitted to print the evidence. At the head of the long table was the admiral, as president; on his right hand, standing, was Captain Hawkins, as prosecutor. On each side of the table were six captains, sitting near to the admiral, according to their seniority. At the bottom, facing the admiral, was the judge-advocate, on whose left hand I stood, as prisoner. The witnesses called in to be examined were stationed on his right; and behind him, by the indulgence of the court, was a small table, at which sat my legal adviser, so close as to be able to communicate with me. The court were all sworn, and then took their seats. Stauncheons, with ropes covered with green baize, passed along, were behind the chairs of the captains who composed the court, so that they might not be crowded upon by those who came in to listen to what passed. The charges were then read, as well as the letters to and from the admiral, by which the court-martial was demanded and granted: and then Captain Hawkins was desired to open his prosecution. He commenced with observing his great regret that he had been forced to a measure so repugnant to his feelings; his frequent cautions to me, and the indifference with which I treated them; and, after a preamble composed of every falsity that could be devised, he commenced with the first charge, and stating himself to be the witness, gave his evidence. When it was finished, I was asked if I had any questions to put. By the advice of my lawyer, I replied, "No." The president then asked the captains composing the court-martial, commencing according to their seniority, whether they wished to ask any questions. "I wish," said the second captain who was addressed, "to ask Captain Hawkins whether, when he came on deck, he came up in the usual way in which a captain of a man-of-war comes on his quarter-deck, or whether he slipped up without noise?" Captain Hawkins declared that he came up as he _usually did._ This was true enough, for he invariably came up by stealth. "Pray, Captain Hawkins, as you have repeated a good deal of conversation which passed between the first lieutenant and the gunner, may I ask you how long you were by their side without their perceiving you?" "A very short time," was the answer. "But, Captain Hawkins, do you not think, allowing that you came up on deck in your _usual_ way, as you term it, that you would have done better to have hemmed or hawed, so as to let your officers know that you were present? I should be very sorry to hear all that might be said of me in my supposed absence." To this observation Captain Hawkins replied, that he was so astonished at the conversation, that he was quite breathless, having, till then, had the highest opinion of me. No more questions were asked, and they proceeded to the second charge. This was a very trifling one--for lighting a stove, contrary to orders; the evidence brought forward was the sergeant of marines. When his evidence in favour of the charge had been given, I was asked by the president if I had any questions to put to the witness. I put the following:-- "Did you repeat to Captain Hawkins that I had ordered the stove to be lighted?"--"I did." "Are you not in the custom of reporting, direct to the captain, any negligence, or disobedience of orders, you may witness in the ship?"--"I am." "Did you ever report anything of the sort to me, as first lieutenant, or do you always report direct to the captain?" "I always report direct to the captain." "By the captain's orders?"--"Yes." The following questions were then put by some of the members of the court:-- "You have served in other ships before?"--"Yes." "Did you ever, sailing with other captains, receive an order from them to report direct to them, and not through the first lieutenant?" The witness here prevaricated. "Answer directly, yes or no."--"No." The third charge was then brought forward--for sending away boats contrary to express orders. This was substantiated by Captain Hawkins' own evidence, the order having been verbal. By the advice of my counsel, I put no questions to Captain Hawkins, neither did the court. The fourth charge--that of holding mutinous conversation with the gunner, and allowing him to accuse the captain of unwillingness to engage the enemy--was then again substantiated by Captain Hawkins, as the only witness. I again left my reply for my defence; and only one question was put by one of the members, which was, to inquire of Captain Hawkins, as he appeared peculiarly unfortunate in overhearing conversations, whether he walked up as usual to the taffrail, or whether he _crept up._ Captain Hawkins gave the same answer as before. The fifth charge--for insulting expressions to Captain Hawkins, on my rejoining the brig at Carlscrona--was then brought forward, and the sergeant of marines and one of the seamen appeared as witnesses. This charge excited a great deal of amusement. In the cross-examination by the members of the court, Captain Hawkins was asked what he meant by the expression, when disposing of the clothes of an officer who was killed in action, that the men appeared to think that his trousers would instil fear. "Nothing more, upon my honour, sir," replied Captain Hawkins, "than an implication that they were alarmed lest they should be haunted by his ghost." "Then, of course, Mr Simple meant the same in his reply," observed the captain sarcastically. The remainder of the charges were then brought forward, but they were of little consequence. The witnesses were chiefly the sergeant of marines, and the spy-glass of Captain Hawkins, who had been watching me from the shore. It was late in the afternoon before they were all gone through; and the president then adjourned the court, that I might bring forward my own witnesses, in my defence, on the following day, and I returned on board the _Rattlesnake_. Chapter LXII A good defence not always good against a bad accusation--Peter wins the heart of his judges, yet loses his cause, and is dismissed his ship. The next day I commenced my defence, and I preferred calling my own witnesses first, and, by the advice of my counsel, and at the request of Swinburne, I called him. I put the following questions:--"When we were talking on the quarter-deck, was it fine weather?"--"Yes, it was." "Do you think that you might have heard any one coming on deck, in the usual way, up the companion ladder?" "Sure of it." "Do you mean, then, to imply that Captain Hawkins came up stealthily?" "I have an idea he pounced upon us as a cat does on a mouse." "What were the expressions made use of?" "I said that a spy captain would always find spy followers." "In that remark were you and Mr Simple referring to your own captain?"-- "The remark was mine. What Mr Simple was thinking of, I can't tell; but I _did_ refer to the captain, and he has proved that I was right." This bold answer of Swinburne's rather astonished the court, who commenced cross-questioning him; but he kept to his original assertion--that I had only answered generally. To repel the second charge I produced no witnesses; but to the third charge I brought forward three witnesses to prove that Captain Hawkins's orders were that I should send no boats on shore, not that I should not send them on board of the men-of-war close to us. In answer to the fourth charge, I called Swinburne, who stated that if I did not, he would come forward. Swinburne acknowledged that he accused the captain of being shy, and that I reprimanded him for so doing. "Did he say that he would report you?" inquired one of the captains. "No, sir," replied Swinburne, "'cause he never meant to do it." This was an unfortunate answer. To the fifth charge, I brought several witnesses to prove the words of Captain Hawkins, and the sense in which they were taken by the ship's company, and the men calling out "Shame!" when he used the expression. To refute the other charges I called one or two witnesses, and the court then adjourned, inquiring of me when I would be ready to commence my defence. I requested a day to prepare, which was readily granted; and the ensuing day the court did not sit. I hardly need say that I was busily employed, arranging my defence with my counsel. At last all was done, and I went to bed tired and unhappy; but I slept soundly, which could not be said of my counsel, for he went on shore at eleven o'clock, and sat up all night making a fair copy. After all, the fairest court of justice is a naval court-martial--no brow-beating of witnesses, an evident inclination towards the prisoner--every allowance and every favour granted him, and no legal quibbles attended to. It is a court of equity, with very few exceptions; and the humbler the individual, the greater the chance in his favour. I was awoke the following morning by my counsel, who had not gone to bed the previous night, and who had come off at seven o'clock to read over with me my defence. At nine o'clock I again proceeded on board, and in a short time the court was sitting. I came in, handed my defence to the judge-advocate, who read it aloud to the court. I have a copy still by me, and will give the whole of it to the reader. "Mr President and Gentlemen,--After nearly fourteen years' service in his Majesty's navy, during which I have been twice made prisoner, twice wounded, and once wrecked; and, as I trust I shall prove to you, by certificates and the public despatches, I have done my duty with zeal and honour; I now find myself in a situation in which I never expected to be placed--that of being arraigned before and brought to a court-martial for charges of mutiny, disaffection, and disrespect towards my superior officer. If the honourable court will examine the certificates I am about to produce, they will find that, until I sailed with Captain Hawkins, my conduct has always been supposed to have been diametrically opposite to that which is now imputed to me. I have always been diligent and obedient to command; and I have only to regret that the captains with whom I have had the honour to sail are not now present to corroborate by their oral evidence the truth of these documents. Allow me, in the first place, to point out to the court, that the charges against me are spread over a large space of time, amounting to nearly eighteen months, during the whole of which period Captain Hawkins never stated to me that it was his intention to try me by a court-martial; and, although repeatedly in the presence of a senior officer, has never preferred any charge against me. The articles of war state expressly that if any officer, soldier, or marine has any complaint to make he is to do so upon his arrival at any port or fleet where he may fall in with a superior officer. I admit that this article of war refers to complaints to be made by inferiors against superiors; but, at the same time, I venture to submit to the honourable court that a superior is equally bound to prefer a charge, or to give notice that the charge will be preferred, on the first seasonable opportunity, instead of lulling the offender into security, and disarming him in his defence, by allowing the time to run on so long as to render him incapable of bringing forward his witnesses. I take the liberty of calling this to your attention, and shall now proceed to answer the charges which have been brought against me. "I am accused of having held a conversation with an inferior officer on the quarter-deck of his Majesty's brig _Rattlesnake_, in which my captain was treated with contempt. That it may not be supposed that Mr Swinburne was a new acquaintance, made upon my joining the brig, I must observe that he was an old shipmate, with whom I had served many years, and with whose worth I was well acquainted. He was my instructor in my more youthful days, and has been rewarded for his merit, with the warrant which he now holds as gunner of His Majesty's brig _Rattlesnake_. The offensive observation, in the first place, was not mine; and, in the second, it was couched in general terms. Here Mr Swinburne has pointedly confessed that _he_ did refer to the captain, although the observation was in the plural; but that does not prove the charge against me--on the contrary, adds weight to the assertion of Mr Swinburne, that I was guiltless of the present charge. That Captain Hawkins has acted as a spy, his own evidence on this charge, as well as that brought forward by other witnesses, will decidedly prove; but as the truth of the observation does not warrant the utterance, I am glad that no such expression escaped my lips. "Upon the second charge I shall dwell but a short time. It is true that there is a general order that no stoves shall be alight after a certain hour; but I will appeal to the honourable court, whether a first lieutenant is not considered to have a degree of licence of judgment in all that concerns the interior discipline of the ship. The surgeon sent to say that a stove was required for one of the sick. I was in bed at the time, and replied immediately in the affirmative. Does Captain Hawkins mean to assert to the honourable court, that he would have refused the request of the surgeon? Most certainly not. The only error I committed, if it were an error, was not going through the form of awaking Captain Hawkins, to ask the permission, which, as first lieutenant, I thought myself authorized to give. "The charge against me, of having sent away two boats, contrary to his order, I have already disproved by witnesses. The order of Captain Hawkins was, not to communicate with the shore. My reasons for sending away the boats"--(Here Captain Hawkins interposed, and stated to the president that my reasons were not necessary to be received. The court was cleared, and, on our return, the court had decided, that my reasons ought to be given, and I continued.) "My reasons for sending away these boats, or rather it was one boat which was despatched to the two frigates, if I remember well, were, that the brig was in a state of mutiny. The captain had tied up one of the men, and the ship's company refused to be flogged. Captain Hawkins then went on shore to the admiral, to report the situation of his ship, and I conceived it my duty to make it known to the men-of-war anchored close to us. I shall not enter into further particulars, as they will only detain the honourable court; and I am aware that this court-martial is held upon my conduct, and not upon that of Captain Hawkins. To the charge of again holding disrespectful language on the quarter-deck, as overheard by Captain. Hawkins, I must refer the honourable court to the evidence, in which it is plainly proved that the remarks upon him were not mine, but those of Mr Swinburne, and that I remonstrated with Mr Swinburne for using such unguarded expressions. The only point of difficulty is, whether it was not my duty to have reported such language. I reply, that there is no proof that I did not intend to report it; but the presence of Captain Hawkins, who heard what was said, rendered such report unnecessary. "On the fifth charge, I must beg that the court will be pleased to consider that some allowance ought to be made for a moment of irritation. My character was traduced by Captain Hawkins, supposing that I was dead; so much so, that even the ship's company cried out _shame._ I am aware, that no language of a superior officer can warrant a retort from an inferior; but, as what I intended to imply by that language is not yet known, although Captain Hawkins has given an explanation to his, I shall merely say, that I meant no more by my insinuations, than Captain Hawkins did at the time, by those which he made use of with respect to me. "Upon the other trifling charges brought forward, I lay no stress, as I consider them fully refuted by the evidence which has been already adduced; and I shall merely observe, that, for reasons best known to himself, I have been met with a most decided hostility on the part of Captain Hawkins, from the time that he first joined the ship; that, on every occasion, he has used all his efforts to render me uncomfortable, and embroil me with others; that, not content with narrowly watching my conduct on board, he has resorted to his spy-glass from the shore; and, instead of assisting me in the execution of a duty sufficiently arduous, he has thrown every obstacle in my way, placed inferior officers as spies over my conduct, and made me feel so humiliated in the presence of the ship's company, over which I have had to superintend, and in the disciplining of which I had a right to look to him for support, that, were it not that some odium would necessarily be attached to the sentence, I should feel it as one of the happiest events of my life that I were dismissed from the situation which I now hold under his command. I now beg that the honourable court will allow the documents I lay upon the table to be read in support of my character." When this was over, the court was cleared, that they might decide upon the sentence. I waited about half an hour in the greatest anxiety, when I was again summoned to attend. The usual forms of reading the papers were gone through, and then came the sentence, which was read by the president, he and the whole court standing up with their cocked hats on their heads. After the preamble, it concluded with saying, "that it was the opinion of that court that the charges had been _partly_ proved, and therefore, that Lieutenant Peter Simple was dismissed his ship; but, in consideration of his good character and services, his case was strongly recommended to the consideration of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty." Chapter LXIII Peter looks upon his loss as something gained--Goes on board the _Rattlesnake_ to pack up, and is ordered to pack off--Polite leave-taking between relations. Mrs Trotter better and better--Goes to London, and afterwards falls into all manner of misfortunes by the hands of robbers, and of his own uncle. I hardly knew whether I felt glad or sorry at this sentence. On the one hand, it was almost a deathblow to my future advancement or employment in the service; on the other, the recommendation very much softened down the sentence, and I was quite happy to be quit of Captain Hawkins, and free to hasten to my poor sister. I bowed respectfully to the court, which immediately adjourned. Captain Hawkins followed the captains on the quarter-deck, but none of them would speak to him--so much to his disadvantage had come out during the trial. About ten minutes afterwards, one of the elder captains composing the court called me into the cabin. "Mr Simple," said he, "we are all very sorry for you. Our sentence could not be more lenient, under the circumstances: it was that conversation with the gunner at the taffrail which floored you. It must be a warning to you to be more careful in future, how you permit any one to speak of the conduct of your superiors on the quarter-deck. I am desired by the president to let you know that it is our intention to express ourselves very strongly to the admiral in your behalf; so much so, that if another captain applies for you, you will have no difficulty in being appointed to a ship; and as for leaving your present ship, under any other circumstances I should consider it a matter of congratulation." I returned my sincere thanks, and soon afterwards quitted the guard-ship, and went on board of the brig to pack up my clothes, and take leave of my messmates. On my arrival, I found that Captain Hawkins had preceded me, and he was on deck when I came up the side. I hastened down into the gun-room, where I received the condolements of my messmates. "Simple, I wish you joy," cried Thompson, loud enough for the captain to hear on deck. "I wish I had your luck; I wish somebody would try me by a court-martial." "As it has turned out," replied I, in a loud voice, "and after the communication made to me by the captains composing the court, of what they intend to say to the Admiralty, I agree with you, Thompson, that it is a very kind act on the part of Captain Hawkins, and I feel quite grateful to them." "Steward, come--glasses," cried Thompson, "and let us drink success to Mr Simple." All this was very annoying to Captain Hawkins, who overheard every word. When our glasses were filled--"Simple, your good health, and may I meet with as good a messmate," said Thompson. At this moment, the sergeant of marines put his head in at the gun-room door, and said, in a most insolent tone, that I was to leave the ship immediately. I was so irritated, that I threw my glass of grog in his face, and he ran up to the captain to make the complaint; but I did not belong to the ship, and even if I had, I would have resented such impertinence. Captain Hawkins was in a great rage, and I believe would have written for another court-martial, but he had had enough of them. He inquired very particularly of the sergeant whether he had told me that I was to leave the ship directly, or whether, that Captain Hawkins desired that I should leave the ship immediately; and finding that he had not given the latter message (which I was aware of, for had he given it, I dare not have acted as I did); he then sent down again by one of the midshipmen, desiring me to leave the ship immediately. My reply was, that I should certainly obey his orders with the greatest pleasure. I hastened to pack up my clothes, reported myself ready to the second lieutenant, who went up for permission to man a boat, which was refused by Captain Hawkins, who said I might go on shore in a shore-boat. I called one alongside, shook hands with all my messmates, and when I arrived on the quarter-deck, with Swinburne, and some of the best men, who came forward; Captain Hawkins stood by the binnacle, bursting with rage. As I went over the planeshear, I took my hat off to him, and wished him good-morning very respectfully, adding, "If you have any commands for my _uncle_, Captain Hawkins, I shall be glad to execute them." This observation, which showed him that I knew the connection and correspondence between them, made him gasp with emotion. "Leave the ship, sir, or by God I'll put you in irons for mutiny," cried he. I again took off my hat, and went down the side, and shoved off. As soon as I was a few yards distant, the men jumped on the carronades and cheered, and I perceived Captain Hawkins order them down, and before I was a cable's length from her, the pipe "all hands to punishment;" so I presume some of the poor fellows suffered for their insubordination in showing their good will. I acknowledge that I might have left the ship in a more dignified manner, and that my conduct was not altogether correct; but still, I state what I really did do, and some allowance must be made for my feelings. This is certain, that my conduct after the court-martial, was more deserving of punishment, than that for which I had been tried. But I was in a state of feverish excitement, and hardly knew what I did. When I arrived at Sally Port, I had my effects wheeled up to the Blue Posts, and packing up those which I most required, I threw off my uniform, and was once more a gentleman at large. I took my place in the mail for that evening, sent a letter of thanks, with a few bank notes, to my counsel, and then sat down and wrote a long letter to O'Brien, acquainting him with the events which had taken place. I had just finished, and sealed it up, when in came Mrs Trotter. "Oh my dear Mr Simple! I'm so sorry, and I have come to console you. There's nothing like women when men are in affliction, as poor Trotter used to say, as he laid his head in my lap. When do you go to town?" "This evening, Mrs Trotter." "I hope I am to continue to attend the ship?" "I hope so too, Mrs Trotter, I have no doubt but you will." "Now, Mr Simple, how are you off for money? Do you want a little? You can pay me by-and-by. Don't be afraid. I'm not quite so poor as I was when you came down to mess with Trotter and me, and when you gave me the dozen pair of stockings. I know what it is to want money, and what it is to want friends." "Many thanks to you, Mrs Trotter," replied I; "but I have sufficient to take me home, and then I can obtain more." "Well, I'm glad of it, but it was offered in earnest. Good-bye, God bless you! Come, Mr Simple, give me a kiss; it won't be the first time." I kissed her, for I felt grateful for her kindness; and with a little smirking and ogling she quitted the room. I could not help thinking, after she was gone, how little we know the hearts of others. If I had been asked if Mrs Trotter was a person to have done a generous action, from what I had seen of her in adversity, I should have decidedly said, No. Yet in this offer she was disinterested, for she knew the service well enough to be aware that I had little chance of being a first lieutenant again, and of being of service to her. And how often does it also occur, that those who ought, from gratitude or long friendship, to do all they can to assist you, turn from you in your necessity, and prove false and treacherous! It is God alone who knows our hearts. I sent my letter to O'Brien to the admiral's office, sat down to a dinner which I could not taste, and at seven o'clock got into the mail. When I arrived in town I was much worse, but I did not wait more than an hour. I took my place in a coach which did not go to the town near which we resided; for I had inquired and found that coach was full, and I did not choose to wait another day. The coach in which I took my place went within forty miles of the vicarage, and I intended to post across the country. The next evening I arrived at the point of separation, and taking out my portmanteau, ordered a chaise, and set off for what had once been my home. I could hardly hold my head up, I was so ill, and I lay in a corner of the chaise in a sort of dream, kept from sleeping from intense pain in the forehead and temples. It was about nine o'clock at night, when we were in a dreadful jolting road, the shocks proceeding from which gave me agonizing pain, that the chaise was stopped by two men, who dragged me out on the grass. One stood over me, while the other rifled the chaise. The post-boy, who appeared a party to the transaction, remained quietly on his horse, and as soon as they had taken my effects, turned round and drove off. They then rifled my person, taking away everything that I had, leaving me nothing but my trousers and shirt. After a short consultation, they ordered me to walk on in the direction in which we had been proceeding in the chaise, and to hasten as fast as I could, or they would blow my brains out. I complied with their request, thinking myself fortunate to have escaped so well. I knew that I was still thirty miles at least from the vicarage; but ill as I was, I hoped to be able to reach it on foot. I walked during the remainder of the night, but I got on but slowly. I reeled from one side of the road to the other, and occasionally sat down to rest. Morning dawned, and I perceived habitations not far from me. I staggered on in my course. The fever now raged in me, my head was splitting with agony, and I tottered to a bank near a small neat cottage, on the side of the road. I have a faint recollection of some one coming to me and taking my hand, but nothing further; and it was not till many months afterwards, that I became acquainted with the circumstances which I now relate. It appears that the owner of the cottage was a half-pay lieutenant in the army, who had sold-out on account of his wounds. I was humanely taken into his house, laid on a bed, and a surgeon requested to come to me immediately. I had now lost all recollection, and who I was they could not ascertain. My pockets were empty, and it was only by the mark on my linen that they found that my name was Simple. For three weeks I remained in a state of alternate stupor and delirium. When the latter came on, I raved of Lord Privilege, O'Brien, and Celeste. Mr Selwin, the officer who had so kindly assisted me, knew that Simple was the patronymic name of Lord Privilege, and he immediately wrote to his lordship, stating that a young man of the name of Simple, who, in his delirium called upon him and Captain O'Brien, was lying in a most dangerous state in his house, and, that as he presumed I was a relative of his lordship's he had deemed it right to apprise him of the fact. My uncle, who knew that it must be me, thought this too favourable an opportunity, provided I should live, not to have me in his power. He wrote to say that he would be there in a day or two; at the same time thanking Mr Selwin for his kind attention to his poor nephew, and requesting that no expense might be spared. When my uncle arrived, which he did in his own chariot, the crisis of the fever was over, but I was still in a state of stupor, arising from extreme debility. He thanked Mr Selwin for his attention, which he said he was afraid was of little avail, as I was every year becoming more deranged; and he expressed his fears that it would terminate in chronic lunacy. "His poor father died in the same state," continued my uncle, passing his hand across his eyes, as if much affected. "I have brought my physician with me, to see if he can be moved. I shall not be satisfied unless I am with him night and day." The physician (who was my uncle's valet) took me by the hand, felt my pulse, examined my eyes, and pronounced that it would be very easy to move me, and that I should recover sooner in a more airy room. Of course, Mr Selwin raised no objections, putting down all to my uncle's regard for me; and my clothes were put on me, as I lay in a state of insensibility, and I was lifted into the chariot. It is most wonderful that I did not die from being thus taken out of my bed in such a state, but it pleased Heaven that it should be otherwise. Had such an event taken place, it would probably have pleased my uncle much better than my surviving. When I was in the carriage, supported by the pseudo-physician, my uncle again thanked Mr Selwin, begged that he would command his interest, wrote a handsome cheque for the surgeon who had attended me, and getting into the carriage, drove off with me still in a state of insensibility--that is, I was not so insensible, but I think I felt I had been removed, and I heard the rattling of the wheels; but my mind was so uncollected, and I was in a state of such weakness, that I could not feel assured of it for a minute. For some days afterwards, for I recollect nothing about the journey, I found myself in bed in a dark room and my arms confined. I recalled my senses, and by degrees was able to recollect all that had occurred, until I laid down by the roadside. Where was I? The room was dark, I could distinguish nothing; that I had attempted to do myself some injury, I took for granted, or my arms would not have been secured. I had been in a fever and delirious, I supposed, and had now recovered. I had been in a reverie for more than an hour, wondering why I was left alone, when the door of the apartment opened. "Who is there?" inquired I. "Oh! you've come to yourself again," said a gruff voice; "then I'll give you a little daylight." He took down a shutter which covered the whole of the window, and a flood of light poured in, which blinded me. I shut my eyes, and by degrees admitted the light until I could bear it. I looked at the apartment: the walls were bare and whitewashed. I was on a truckle-bed. I looked at the window--it was closed up with iron bars.--"Why, where am I?" inquired I of the man, with alarm. "Where are you?" replied he; "why, in Bedlam!" Chapter LXIV As O'Brien said; it's a long lane that has no turning--I am rescued, and happiness pours in upon me as fast as misery before overwhelmed me. The shock was too great--I fell back on my pillow insensible. How long I laid, I know not, but when I recovered the keeper was gone, and I found a jug of water and some bread by the side of the bed, I drank the water, and the effect it had upon me was surprising. I felt that I could get up, and I rose: my arms had been unpinioned during my swoon. I got on my feet, and staggered to the window. I looked out, saw the bright sun, the passers-by, the houses opposite--all looked cheerful and gay, but I was a prisoner in a madhouse. Had I been mad? I reflected, and supposed that I had been, and had been confined by those who knew nothing of me. It never came into my head that my uncle had been a party to it. I threw myself on the bed, and relieved myself with tears. It was about noon that the medical people, attended by the keepers and others, came into my apartment. "Is he quite quiet?" "O Lord! yes, sir, as quiet as a lamb," replied the man who had before entered. I then spoke to the medical gentleman, begging him to tell why, and how, I had been brought here. He answered mildly and soothingly, saying that I was there at the wish of my friends, and that every care would be taken of me; that he was aware that my paroxysms were only occasional, and that, during the time I was quiet, I should have every indulgence that could be granted, and that he hoped that I soon should be perfectly well, and be permitted to leave the hospital. I replied by stating who I was, and how I had been taken ill. The doctor shook his head, advised me to lie down as much as possible, and then quitted me to visit the other patients. As I afterwards discovered, my uncle had had me confined upon the plea that I was a young man who was deranged with an idea that his name was Simple, and that he was the heir to the title and estates; that I was very troublesome at times, forcing my way into his house and insulting the servants, but in every other respect was harmless; that my paroxysms generally ended in a violent fever, and it was more from the fear of my coming to some harm, than from any ill-will towards the poor young man, that he wished me to remain in the hospital, and be taken care of. The reader may at once perceive the art of this communication: I, having no idea why I was confined, would of course continue to style myself by my true name; and as long as I did this, so long would I be considered in a deranged state. The reader must not therefore be surprised when I tell him that I remained in Bedlam for one year and eight months. The doctor called upon me for two or three days, and finding me quiet, ordered me to be allowed books, paper, and ink, to amuse myself; but every attempt at explanation was certain to be the signal for him to leave my apartment. I found, therefore, not only by him, but from the keeper, who paid no attention to anything I said, that I had no chance of being listened to, or of obtaining my release. After the first month, the doctor came to me no more: I was a quiet patient, and he received the report of the keeper. I was sent there with every necessary document to prove that I was mad; and, although a very little may establish a case of lunacy, it requires something very strong indeed to prove that you are in your right senses. In Bedlam I found it impossible. At the same time I was well treated, was allowed all necessary comforts, and such amusement as could be obtained from books, &c. I had no reason to complain of the keeper--except that he was too much employed to waste his time in listening to what he did not believe. I wrote several letters to my sister and to O'Brien, during the first two or three months, and requested the keeper to put them in the post. This he promised to do, never refusing to take the letters; but, as I afterwards found out, they were invariably destroyed. Yet I still bore up with the hopes of release for some time; but the anxiety relative to my sister, when I thought of her situation, my thoughts of Celeste and of O'Brien, sometimes quite overcame me; then, indeed, I would almost become frantic, and the keeper would report that I had had a paroxysm. After six months I became melancholy, and I wasted away. I no longer attempted to amuse myself, but sat all day with my eyes fixed upon vacancy. I no longer attended to my person; I allowed my beard to grow-- my face was never washed, unless mechanically, when ordered by the keeper; and if I was not mad, there was every prospect of my soon becoming so. Life passed away as a blank--I had become indifferent to everything--I noted time no more--the change of seasons was unperceived --even the day and the night followed without my regarding them. I was in this unfortunate situation, when one day the door was opened, and, as had been often the custom during my imprisonment, visitors were going round the establishment, to indulge their curiosity, in witnessing the degradation of their fellow-creatures, or to offer their commiseration. I paid no heed to them, not even casting up my eyes. "This young man," said the medical gentleman who accompanied the party, "has entertained the strange idea that his name is Simple, and that he is the rightful heir to the title and property of Lord Privilege." One of the visitors came up to me, and looked me in the face. "And so he is," cried he to the doctor, who looked with astonishment. "Peter, don't you know me?" I started up. It was General O'Brien. I flew into his arms, and burst into tears. "Sir," said General O'Brien, leading me to the chair, and seating me upon it, "I tell you that _is_ Mr Simple, the nephew of Lord Privilege; and I believe, the heir to the title. If, therefore, his assertion of such being the case is the only proof of his insanity, he is illegally confined. I am here, a foreigner, and a prisoner on parole; but I am not without friends. My Lord Belmore," said he, turning to another of the visitors who had accompanied him, "I pledge you my honour that what I state is true; and I request that you will immediately demand the release of this poor young man." "I assure you, sir, that I have Lord Privilege's letter," observed the doctor. "Lord Privilege is a scoundrel," replied General O'Brien. "But there is justice to be obtained in this country, and he shall pay dearly for his _lettre de cachet_. My dear Peter, how fortunate was my visit to this horrid place! I had heard so much of the excellent arrangements of this establishment, that I agreed to walk round with Lord Belmore; but I find that it is abused." "Indeed, General O'Brien, I have been treated with kindness," replied I; "and particularly by this gentleman. It was not his fault." General O'Brien and Lord Belmore then inquired of the doctor if he had any objection to my release. "None whatever, my lord, even if he were insane; although I now see how I have been imposed upon. We allow the friends of any patient to remove him, if they think that they can pay him more attention. He may leave with you this moment." I now did feel my brain turn with the revulsion from despair to hope, and I fell back in my seat. The doctor, perceiving my condition, bled me copiously, and laid me on the bed, where I remained more than an hour, watched by General O'Brien. I then got up, calm and thankful. I was shaved by the barber of the establishment, washed and dressed myself, and, leaning on the general's arm, was let out. I cast my eyes upon the two celebrated stone figures of Melancholy and Raving Madness, as I passed them; I trembled, and clung more tightly to the general's arm, was assisted into the carriage, and bade farewell to madness and misery. The general said nothing until we approached the hotel where he resided, in Dover-street, and then he inquired, in a low voice, whether I could bear more excitement. "It is Celeste you mean, general?" "It is, my dear boy; she is here;" and he squeezed my hand. "Alas!" cried I, "what hopes have I now of Celeste?" "More than you had before," replied the general. "She lives but for you; and if you are a beggar, I have a competence to make you sufficiently comfortable." I returned the general's pressure of the hand, but could not speak. We descended, and in a minute I was led by the father into the arms of the astonished daughter. I must pass over a few days, during which I had almost recovered my health and spirits, and had narrated my adventures to General O'Brien and Celeste. My first object was to discover my sister. What had become of poor Ellen, in the destitute condition in which she had been left I knew not; and I resolved to go down to the vicarage, and make inquiries. I did not, however, set off until a legal adviser had been sent for by General O'Brien, and due notice given to Lord Privilege of an action to be immediately brought against him for false imprisonment. I set off in the mail, and the next evening arrived at the town of----. I hastened to the parsonage, and the tears stood in my eyes as I thought of my mother, my poor father, and the peculiar and doubtful situation of my dear sister. I was answered by a boy in livery, and found the present incumbent at home. He received me politely, listened to my story, and then replied that my sister had set off for London on the day of his arrival, and that she had not communicated her intentions to any one. Here, then, was all clue lost, and I was in despair. I walked to the town in time to throw myself into the mail, and the next evening joined Celeste and the general, to whom I communicated the intelligence, and requested advice how to proceed. Lord Belmore called the next morning, and the general consulted him. His lordship took great interest in my concerns, and, previous to any further steps, advised me to step into his carriage, and allow him to relate my case to the First Lord of the Admiralty. This was done immediately; and, as I had now an opportunity of speaking freely to his lordship, I explained to him the conduct of Captain Hawkins, and his connection with my uncle; also the reason of my uncle's persecution. His lordship, finding me under such powerful protection as Lord Belmore's, and having an eye to my future claims, which my uncle's conduct gave him reason to suppose were well founded, was extremely gracious, and said that I should hear from him in a day or two. He kept his word, and, on the third day after my interview, I received a note, announcing my promotion to the rank of commander. I was delighted with this good fortune, as was General O'Brien and Celeste. When at the Admiralty, I inquired about O'Brien, and found that he was expected home every day. He had gained great reputation in the East Indies, was chief in command at the taking of some of the islands, and, it was said, was to be created a baronet for his services. Everything wore a favourable aspect, excepting the disappearance of my sister. This was a weight on my mind I could not remove. But I have forgotten to inform the reader by what means General O'Brien and Celeste arrived so opportunely in England. Martinique had been captured by our forces about six months before, and the whole of the garrison surrendered as prisoners of war. General O'Brien was sent home, and allowed to be on parole; although born a Frenchman, he had very high connections in Ireland, of whom Lord Belmore was one. When they arrived, they had made every inquiry for me without success; they knew that I had been tried by a court-martial, and dismissed my ship, but after that, no clue could be found for my discovery. Celeste, who was fearful that some dreadful accident had occurred to me, had suffered very much in health; and General O'Brien, perceiving how much his daughter's happiness depended upon her attachment for me, had made up his mind that if I were found we should be united. I hardly need say how delighted he was when he discovered me, though in a situation so little to be envied. The story of my incarceration, of the action to be brought against my uncle, and the reports of foul play relative to the succession, had in the meantime been widely circulated among the nobility; and I found that every attention was paid me, and I was repeatedly invited out as an object of curiosity and speculation. The loss of my sister also was a subject of much interest, and many people, from goodwill, made every inquiry to discover her. I had returned one day from the solicitor's, who had advertised for her in the newspapers without success, when I found a letter for me on the table, in an Admiralty enclosure. I opened it--the enclosure was one from O'Brien, who had just cast anchor at Spithead, and who had requested that the letter should be forwarded to me, if any one could tell my address. I tore it open. "My dear Peter,--Where are, and what has become of, you? I have received no letters for these two years, and I have fretted myself to death. I received your letter about the rascally court-martial; but perhaps you have not heard that the little scoundrel is dead. Yes, Peter; he brought your letter out in his own ship, and that was his death-warrant. I met him at a private party. He brought up your name-- I allowed him to abuse you, and then told him he was a liar and a scoundrel; upon which he challenged me, very much against his will; but the affront was so public, that he couldn't help himself. Upon which I shot him, with all the good-will in the world, and could he have jumped up again twenty times, like Jack-in-the-Box, I would have shot him every time. The dirty scoundrel! but there's an end of him. Nobody pitied him, for every one hated him; and the admiral only looked grave, and then was very much obliged to me for giving him a vacancy for his nephew. By-the-bye, from some unknown hand, but I presume from the officers of his ship, I received a packet of correspondence between him and your worthy uncle, which is about as elegant a piece of rascality as ever was carried on between two scoundrels; but that's not all, Peter. I've got a young woman for you who will make your heart glad--not Mademoiselle Celeste, for I don't know where she is--but the wet-nurse who went out to India. Her husband was sent home as an invalid, and she was allowed her passage home with him in my frigate. Finding that he belonged to the regiment, I talked to him about one O'Sullivan, who married in Ireland, and mentioned the girl's name, and when he discovered that he was a countryman of mine he told me that his real name was O'Sullivan, sure enough, but that he had always served as O'Connell, and that his wife on board was the young woman in question. Upon which I sent to speak to her, and telling her that I knew all about it, and mentioning the names of Ella Flanagan and her mother, who had given me the information, she was quite astonished; and when I asked her what had become of the child which she took in place of her own, she told me that it had been drowned at Plymouth, and that her husband was saved at the same time by a young officer, 'whose name I have here,' says she; and then she pulled out of her neck your card, with Peter Simple on it. 'Now,' says I, 'do you know, good woman, that in helping on the rascally exchange of children, you ruin that very young man who saved your husband, for you deprive him of his title and property?" She stared like a stuck pig, when I said so, and then cursed and blamed herself, and declared she'd right you as soon as we came home; and most anxious she is still to do so, for she loves the very name of you; so you see, Peter, a good action has its reward sometimes in this world, and a bad action also, seeing as how I've shot that confounded villain who dared to ill-use you. I have plenty more to say to you, Peter; but I don't like writing what, perhaps, may never be read, so I'll wait till I hear from you; and then, as soon as I get through my business, we will set to and trounce that scoundrel of an uncle. I have twenty thousand pounds jammed together in the Consolidated, besides the Spice Islands, which will be a pretty penny; and every farthing of it shall go to right you, Peter, and make a lord of you, as I promised you often that you should be; and if you win you shall pay, and if you don't then d--n the luck and d--n the money too. I beg you will offer my best regards to Miss Ellen, and say how happy I shall be to hear that she is well; but it has always been on my mind, Peter, that your father did not leave too much behind him, and I wish to know how you both get on. I left you a _carte blanche_ at my agent's, and I only hope that you have taken advantage of it, if required; if not, you're not the Peter that I left behind me. So now, farewell, and don't forget to answer my letter in no time. Ever yours, "Terence O'Brien." This was indeed joyful intelligence. I handed the letter to General O'Brien, who read it, Celeste hanging over his shoulder, and perusing it at the same time. "This is well," said the General. "Peter, I wish you joy, and Celeste, I ought to wish you joy also at your future prospects. It will indeed be a gratification if ever I hail you as Lady Privilege." "Celeste," said I, "you did not reject me when I was pennyless, and in disgrace. O my poor sister Ellen! If I could but find you, how happy should I be!" I sat down to write to O'Brien, acquainting him with all that had occurred, and the loss of my dear sister. The day after the receipt of my letter, O'Brien burst into the room. After the first moments of congratulation were past, he said, "My heart's broke, Peter, about your sister Ellen: find her I must. I shall give up my ship, for I'll never give up the search as long as I live. I must find her." "Do, pray, my dear O'Brien, and I only wish--" "Wish what, Peter? shall I tell you what I wish?--that if I find her, you'll give her to me for my trouble." "As far as I am concerned, O'Brien, nothing would give me greater pleasure; but God knows to what wretchedness and want may have compelled her." "Shame on you, Peter, to think so of your sister. I pledge my honour for her. Poor, miserable, and unhappy she may be--but no--no, Peter. You don't know--you don't love her as I do, if you can allow such thoughts to enter your mind." This conversation took place at the window: we then turned round to General O'Brien and Celeste. "Captain O'Brien," said the general. "Sir Terence O'Brien, if you please, general. His Majesty has given me a handle to my name." "I congratulate you, Sir Terence," said the general, shaking him by the hand: "what I was about to say is, that I hope you will take up your quarters at this hotel, and we will all live together. I trust that we shall soon find Ellen: in the meanwhile we have no time to lose, in our exposure of Lord Privilege. Is the woman in town?" "Yes, and under lock and key; but the devil a fear of her. Millions would not bribe her to wrong him who risked his life for her husband. She's Irish, general, to the back bone. Nevertheless, Peter, we must go to our solicitor, to give the intelligence, that he may take the necessary steps." For three weeks, O'Brien was diligent in his search for Ellen, employing every description of emissary without success. In the meanwhile, the general and I were prosecuting our cause against Lord Privilege. One morning, Lord Belmore called upon us, and asked the general if we would accompany him to the theatre, to see two celebrated pieces performed. In the latter, which was a musical farce, a new performer was to come out, of whom report spoke highly. Celeste consented, and after an early dinner, we joined his lordship in his private box, which was above the stage, on the first tier. The first piece was played, and Celeste, who had never seen the performance of Young, was delighted. The curtain then drew up for the second piece. In the second act, the new performer, a Miss Henderson, was led by the manager on the stage; she was apparently much frightened and excited, but three rounds of applause gave her courage, and she proceeded. At the very first notes of her voice I was startled, and O'Brien, who was behind, threw himself forward to look at her; but as we were almost directly above, and her head was turned the other way, we could not distinguish her features. As she proceeded in her song, she gained courage, and her face was turned towards us, and she cast her eyes up--saw me--the recognition was mutual--I held out my arm, but could not speak--she staggered, and fell down in a swoon. "'Tis Ellen!" cried O'Brien, rushing past me; and making one spring down on the stage, he carried her off, before any other person could come to her assistance. I followed him, and found him with Ellen still in his arms, and the actresses assisting in her recovery. The manager came forward to apologize, stating that the young lady was too ill to proceed, and the audience, who had witnessed the behaviour of O'Brien and myself, were satisfied with the romance in real life which had been exhibited. Her part was read by another, but the piece was little attended to, every one trying to find out the occasion of this uncommon occurrence. In the meantime, Ellen was put into a hackney-coach by O'Brien and me, and we drove to the hotel, where we were soon joined by the general and Celeste. Chapter LXV It never rains but it pours, whether it be good or bad news--I succeed in everything, and to everything, my wife, my title, and estate--And "All's well that ends well." I shall pass over the scenes which followed, and give my sister's history in her own words. "I wrote to you, my dear Peter, to tell you that I considered it my duty to pay all my father's debts with your money, and that there were but sixty pounds left when every claim had been satisfied; and I requested you to come to me as soon as you could, that I might have your counsel and assistance as to my future arrangements." "I received your letter, Ellen, and was hastening to you, when--but no matter, I will tell my story afterwards." "Day after day I waited with anxiety for a letter, and then wrote to the officers of the ship to know if any accident had occurred. I received an answer from the surgeon, informing me that you had quitted Portsmouth to join me, and had not since been heard of. You may imagine my distress at this communication, as I did not doubt but that something dreadful had occurred, as I knew, too well, that nothing would have detained you from me at such a time. The new vicar appointed had come down to look over the house, and to make arrangements for bringing in his family. The furniture he had previously agreed to take at a valuation, and the sum had been appropriated in liquidation of your father's debts. I had already been permitted to remain longer than was usual, and had no alternative but to quit, which I did not do until the last moment. I could not leave my address, for I knew not where I was to go. I took my place in the coach, and arrived in London. My first object was to secure the means of livelihood, by offering myself as a governess; but I found great difficulties from not being able to procure a good reference, and from not having already served in that capacity. At last I was taken into a family to bring up three little girls; but I soon found out how little chance I had of comfort. The lady had objected to me as too good-looking--for this same reason the gentleman insisted upon my being engaged. "Thus was I a source of disunion; the lady treated me with harshness, and the gentleman with too much attention. At last her ill-treatment and his persecution, were both so intolerable, that I gave notice that I should leave my situation." "I beg pardon, Miss Ellen, but you will oblige me with the name and residence of that gentleman?" said O'Brien. "Indeed, Ellen, do no such thing," replied I; "continue your story." "I could not obtain another situation as governess; for, as I always stated where I had been, and did not choose to give the precise reason for quitting, merely stating that I was not comfortable, whenever the lady was called upon for my character, she invariably spoke of me so as to prevent my obtaining a situation. At last I was engaged as teacher to a school. I had better have taken a situation as housemaid. I was expected to be everywhere, to do everything; was up at daylight, and never in bed till past midnight; fared very badly, and was equally ill paid; but still it was honest employment, and I remained there for more than a year; but, though as economical as possible, my salary would not maintain me in clothes and washing, which was all I required. There was a master of elocution, who came every week, and whose wife was the teacher of music. They took a great liking to me, and pointed out how much better I should be off if I could succeed on the stage, of which they had no doubt. For months I refused, hoping still to have some tidings of you; but at last my drudgery became so insupportable, and my means so decreased, that I unwillingly consented. It was then nineteen months since I had heard of you, and I mourned you as dead. I had no relations except my uncle, and I was unknown even to him. I quitted the situation, and took up my abode with the teacher of elocution and his wife, who treated me with every kindness, and prepared me for my new career. Neither at the school, which was three miles from London, nor at my new residence, which was over Westminster-bridge, did I ever see a newspaper. It was no wonder, therefore, that I did not know of your advertisements. After three months' preparation I was recommended and introduced to the manager by my kind friends, and accepted. You know the rest." "Well, Miss Ellen, if any one ever tells you that you were on the stage, at all events you may reply that you wasn't there long." "I trust not long enough to be recognised," replied she. "I recollect how often I have expressed my disgust at those who would thus consent to exhibit themselves; but circumstances strangely alter our feelings. I do, however, trust that I should have been respectable, even as an actress." "That you would, Miss Ellen," replied O'Brien. "What did I tell you, Peter?" "You pledged your honour that nothing would induce Ellen to disgrace her family, I recollect, O'Brien." "Thank you, Sir Terence, for your good opinion," replied Ellen. My sister had been with us about three days, during which I had informed her of all that had taken place, when, one evening, finding myself alone with her, I candidly stated to her what were O'Brien's feelings towards her, and pleaded his cause with all the earnestness in my power. "My dear brother," she replied, "I have always admired Captain O'Brien's character, and always have felt grateful to him for his kindness and attachment to you; but I cannot say that I love him. I have never thought about him except as one to whom we are both much indebted." "But do you mean to say that you could not love him?" "No, I do not; and I will do all I can, Peter--I will try. I never will, if possible, make him unhappy who has been so kind to you." "Depend upon it, Ellen, that with your knowledge of O'Brien, and with feelings of gratitude to him, you will soon love him, if once you accept him as a suitor. May I tell him--" "You may tell him that he may plead his own cause, my dear brother; and, at all events, I will listen to no other until he has had fair play; but recollect that at present I only _like_ him--like him _very much,_ it is true; but still I only _like_ him." I was quite satisfied with my success, and so was O'Brien, when I told him. "By the powers, Peter, she's an angel, and I can't expect her to love an inferior being like myself; but if she'll only like me well enough to marry me, I'll trust to after-marriage for the rest. Love comes with the children, Peter. Well, but you need not say that to her-- divil a bit--they shall come upon her like old age, without her perceiving it." O'Brien having thus obtained permission, certainly lost no time in taking advantage of it. Celeste and I were more fondly attached every day. The solicitor declared my case so good, that he could raise fifty thousand pounds upon it. In short, all our causes were prosperous, when an event occurred, the details of which, of course, I did not obtain until some time afterwards, but which I shall narrate here. My uncle was very much alarmed when he discovered that I had been released from Bedlam--still more so, when he had notice given him of a suit, relative to the succession to the title. His emissaries had discovered that the wet-nurse had been brought home in O'Brien's frigate, and was kept so close that they could not communicate with her. He now felt that all his schemes would prove abortive. His legal adviser was with him, and they had been walking in the garden, talking over the contingencies, when they stopped close to the drawing-room windows of the mansion at Eagle Park. "But, sir," observed the lawyer, "if you will not confide in me, I cannot act for your benefit. You still assert that nothing of the kind has taken place?" "I do," replied his lordship. "It is a foul invention." "Then, my lord, may I ask you why you considered it advisable to imprison Mr Simple in Bedlam?" "Because I hate him," retorted his lordship,--"detest him." "And for what reason, my lord? his character is unimpeached, and he is your near relative." "I tell you, sir, that I hate him--would that he were now lying dead at my feet!" Hardly were the words out of my uncle's mouth, when a whizzing was heard for a second, and then something fell down within a foot of where they stood, with a heavy crash. They started--turned round--the adopted heir lay lifeless at their feet, and their legs were bespattered with his blood and his brains. The poor boy, seeing his lordship below, had leaned out of one of the upper windows to call to him, but lost his balance, and had fallen head foremost upon the wide stone pavement which surrounded the mansion. For a few seconds the lawyer and my uncle looked upon each other with horror. "A judgment!--a judgment!" cried the lawyer, looking at his client. My uncle covered his face with his hands, and fell. Assistance now came out, but there was more than one to help up. The violence of his emotion had brought on an apoplectic fit, and my uncle, although he breathed, never spoke again. It was in consequence of this tragical event, of which we did not know the particulars until afterwards, that the next morning my solicitor called upon me, and put a letter into my hand, saying, "Allow me to congratulate your lordship." We were all at breakfast at the time, and the general, O'Brien, and myself jumped up, all in such astonishment at this unexpected title being so soon conferred upon me, that we had a heavy bill for damages to pay; and had not Ellen caught the tea-urn, as it was tipping over, there would, in all probability, have been a doctor's bill into the bargain. The letter was eagerly read--it was from my uncle's legal adviser, who had witnessed the catastrophe, informing me, that all dispute as to the succession was at an end by the tragical event that had taken place, and that he had put seals upon everything, awaiting my arrival or instructions. The solicitor, as he presented the letter, said that he would take his leave, and call again in an hour or two, when I was more composed. My first movement, when I had read the letter aloud, was to throw my arms round Celeste, and embrace her--and O'Brien, taking the hint, did the same to Ellen, and was excused in consideration of circumstances; but, as soon as she could disengage herself, her arms were entwined round my neck, while Celeste was hanging on her father's. Having disposed of the ladies, the gentlemen now shook hands, and though we had not all appetites to finish our breakfasts, never was there a happier quintette. In about an hour my solicitor returned, and congratulated me, and immediately set about the necessary preparations. I desired him to go down immediately to Eagle Park, attend to the funeral of my uncle, and the poor little boy who had paid so dearly for his intended advancement, and take charge from my uncle's legal adviser, who remained in the house. The "dreadful accident in high life" found its way into the papers of the day, and before dinner time a pile of visiting cards was poured in, which covered the table. The next day a letter arrived from the First Lord, announcing that he had made out my commission as post-captain, and trusted that I would allow him the pleasure of presenting it himself at his dinner hour, at half-past seven. Very much obliged to him, the "fool of the family" might have waited a long while for it. While I was reading this letter, the waiter came up to say that a young woman below wanted to speak to me. I desired her to be shown up. As soon as she came in, she burst into tears, knelt down, and kissed my hand. "Sure, it's you--oh! yes--it's you that saved my poor husband when I was assisting to your ruin. And an't I punished for my wicked doings--an't my poor boy dead?" She said no more, but remained on her knees, sobbing bitterly. Of course, the reader recognises in her the wet-nurse who had exchanged her child. I raised her up, and desired her to apply to my solicitor to pay her expenses, and leave her address. "But do you forgive me, Mr Simple? It's not that I have forgiven myself." "I do forgive you with all my heart, my good woman. You have been punished enough." "I have, indeed," replied she, sobbing; "but don't I deserve it all, and more too? God's blessing, and all the saints' too, upon your head, for your kind forgiveness, anyhow. My heart is lighter." And she quitted the room. She had scarcely quitted the hotel, when the waiter came up again. "Another lady, my lord, wishes to speak with you, but she won't give her name." "Really, my lord, you seem to have an extensive female acquaintance," said the general. "At all events, I am not aware of any that I need be ashamed of. Show the lady up, waiter." In a moment entered a fat, unwieldly little mortal, very warm from walking; she sat down in a chair, threw back her tippet, and then exclaimed, "Lord bless you, how you have grown! Gemini, if I can hardly believe my eyes; and I declare he don't know me." "I really cannot exactly recollect where I had the pleasure of seeing you before, madam." "Well, that's what I said to Jemima, when I went down in the kitchen. 'Jemima,' says I, 'I wonder if little Peter Simple will know me.' And Jemima says, 'I think he would the parrot, marm.'" "Mrs Handycock, I believe," said I, recollecting Jemima and the parrot, although, from a little thin woman, she had grown so fat as not to be recognisable. "Oh! so you've found me out, Mr Simple--my lord, I ought to say. Well, I need not ask after your grandfather now, for I know he's dead; but as I was coming this way for orders, I thought I would just step in and see how you looked." "I trust Mr Handycock is well, ma'am. Pray is he a bull or a bear?" "Lord bless you, Mr Simple, my lord, I should say, he's been neither bull nor bear for this three years. He was obliged to _waddle_. If I didn't know much about bulls and bears, I know very well what a _lame duck_ is, to my cost. We're off the Stock Exchange, and Mr Handycock is set up as a coal merchant." "Indeed!" "Yes; that is, we have no coals, but we take orders, and have half-a-crown a chaldron for our trouble. As Mr Handycock says, it's a very good business, if you only had enough of it. Perhaps your lordship may be able to give us an order. It's nothing out of your pocket, and something into ours." "I shall be very happy, when I return again to town, Mrs Handycock. I hope the parrot is quite well." "Oh! my lord, that's a sore subject; only think of Mr Handycock, when we retired from the 'Change, taking my parrot one day and selling it for five guineas, saying, five guineas were better than a nasty squalling bird. To be sure, there was nothing for dinner that day; but, as Jemima agreed with me, we'd rather have gone without a dinner for a month, than have parted with Poll. Since we've looked up a little in the world, I saved up five guineas, by hook or by crook, and tried to get Poll back again, but the lady said she wouldn't take fifty guineas for him." Mrs Handycock then jumped from her chair, saying, "Good morning, my lord; I'll leave one of Mr Handycock's cards. Jemima would be so glad to see you." As she left the room, Celeste laughingly asked me whether I had any more such acquaintances. I replied, that I believed not; but I must acknowledge that Mrs Trotter was brought to my recollection, and I was under some alarm, lest she should also come and pay me her respects. The next day I had another unexpected visit. We had just sat down to dinner, when we heard a disturbance below; and, shortly after, the general's French servant came up in great haste, saying that there was a foreigner below, who wished to see me: and that he had been caning one of the waiters of the hotel, for not paying him proper respect. "Who can that be?" thought I: and I went out of the door, and looked over the banisters, as the noise continued. "You must not come here to beat Englishmen, I can tell you," roared one of the waiters. "What do we care for your foreign counts?" "Sacre, canaille?" cried the other party, in a contemptuous voice, which I well knew. "Ay, canal!--we'll duck you in the canal, if you don't mind." "You will!" said the stranger, who had hitherto spoken French. "Allow me to observe--in the most delicate manner in the world--just to hint, that you are a d----d trencher-scraping, napkin-carrying, shilling-seeking, up-and-down-stairs son of a bitch--and take this for your impudence!" The noise of the cane was again heard; and I hastened downstairs, where I found Count Shucksen thrashing two or three of the waiters without mercy. At my appearance, the waiters, who were showing fight, retreated to a short distance, out of reach of the cane. "My dear count," exclaimed I, "is it you?" "My dear Lord Privilege, will you excuse me? but these fellows are saucy." "Then I'll have them discharged," replied I. "If a friend of mine, and an officer of your rank and distinction, cannot come to see me without insult, I will seek another hotel." This threat of mine, and the reception I gave the count, put all to rights. The waiters sneaked off, and the master of the hotel apologised. It appeared that they had desired him to wait in the coffee-room until they could announce him, which had hurt the count's dignity. "We are just sitting down to dinner, count; will you join us?" "As soon as I have improved my toilet, my dear lord," replied he; "you must perceive that I am off a journey." The master of the hotel bowed, and proceeded to show the count to a dressing-room. When I returned upstairs--"What was the matter?" inquired O'Brien. "Oh, nothing!--a little disturbance in consequence of a foreigner not understanding English." In about five minutes the waiter opened the door, and announced Count Shucksen. "Now, O'Brien, you'll be puzzled," said I; and in came the count. "My dear Lord Privilege," said he, coming up and taking me by the hand, "let me not be the last to congratulate you upon your accession. I was running up the channel in my frigate when a pilot-boat gave me a newspaper, in which I saw your unexpected change of circumstances. I made an excuse for dropping my anchor at Spithead this morning, and I have come up post, to express how sincerely I participate in your good fortune." Count Shucksen then politely saluted the ladies and the general, and turned round to O'Brien, who had been staring at him with astonishment. "Count Shucksen, allow me to introduce Sir Terence O'Brien." "By the piper that played before Moses, but it's a puzzle," said O'Brien. "Blood and thunder! if it a'n't Chucks!--my dear fellow, when did you rise from your grave?" "Fortunately," replied the count, as they shook each other's hands for some time, "I never went into it, Sir Terence. But now, with your permission, my lord, I'll take some food, as I really am not a little hungry. After dinner, Captain O'Brien, you shall hear my history." His secret was confided to the whole party, upon my pledging myself for their keeping it locked up in their own breasts, which was a bold thing on my part, considering that two of them were ladies. The count stayed with us for some time, and was introduced everywhere. It was impossible to discover that he had not been bred up in a court, his manners were so good. He was a great favourite with the ladies; and his moustachios, bad French, and waltzing--an accomplishment he had picked up in Sweden--were quite the vogue. All the ladies were sorry when the Swedish count announced his departure by a P.P.C. Before I left town I called upon the First Lord of the Admiralty, and procured for Swinburne a first-rate building--that is to say, ordered to be built. This he had often said he wished, as he was tired of the sea, after a service of forty-five years. Subsequently I obtained leave of absence for him every year, and he used to make himself very happy at Eagle Park. Most of his time was, however, passed on the lake, either fishing or rowing about; telling long stories to all who would join him in his water excursions. A fortnight after my assuming my title, we set off for Eagle Park, and Celeste consented to my entreaties that the wedding should take place that day month. Upon this hint O'Brien spake; and, to oblige _me_, Ellen consented that we should be united on the same day. O'Brien wrote to Father M'Grath; but the letter was returned by post, with "_dead_" marked upon the outside. O'Brien then wrote to one of his sisters, who informed him that Father M'Grath would cross the bog one evening when he had taken a very large proportion of whisky; and that he was seen out of the right path, and had never been heard of afterwards. On the day appointed we were all united, and both unions have been attended with as much happiness as this world can afford. Both O'Brien and I are blessed with children, which, as O'Brien observed, have come upon us like old age, until we now can muster a large Christmas party in the two families. The general's head is white, and he sits and smiles, happy in his daughter's happiness, and in the gambols of his grandchildren. Such, reader, is the history of Peter Simple, Viscount Privilege, no longer the fool, but the head of the family, who now bids you farewell. THE END. The Three Cutters Chapter I CUTTER THE FIRST Reader, have you ever been at Plymouth? If you have, your eye must have dwelt with ecstasy upon the beautiful property of the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe: if you have not been at Plymouth, the sooner that you go there, the better. At Mount Edgcumbe you will behold the finest timber in existence, towering up to the summits of the hills, and feathering down to the shingle on the beach. And from this lovely spot you will witness one of the most splendid panoramas in the world. You will see--I hardly know what you will not see--you will see Ram Head, and Cawsand Bay; and then you will see the Breakwater, and Drake's Island, and the Devil's Bridge below you; and the town of Plymouth and its fortifications, and the Hoe; and then you will come to the Devil's Point, round which the tide runs devilish strong; and then you will see the New Victualling Office,--about which Sir James Gordon used to stump all day, and take a pinch of snuff from every man who carried a box, which all were delighted to give, and he was delighted to receive, proving how much pleasure may be communicated merely by a pinch of snuff--and then you will see Mount Wise and Mutton Cove; the town of Devonport, with its magnificent dockyard and arsenals, North Corner, and the way which leads to Saltash. And you will see ships building and ships in ordinary; and ships repairing and ships fitting; and hulks and convict ships, and the guardship; ships ready to sail and ships under sail; besides lighters, men-of-war's boats, dockyard-boats, bumboats, and shore-boats. In short, there is a great deal to see at Plymouth besides the sea itself: but what I particularly wish now, is, that you will stand at the battery of Mount Edgecumbe and look into Barn Pool below you, and there you will see, lying at single anchor, a cutter; and you may also see, by her pendant and ensign, that she is a yacht. Of all the amusements entered into by the nobility and gentry of our island there is not one so manly, so exciting, so patriotic, or so national, as yacht-sailing. It is peculiar to England, not only from our insular position and our fine harbours, but because it requires a certain degree of energy and a certain amount of income rarely to be found elsewhere. It has been wisely fostered by our sovereigns, who have felt that the security of the kingdom is increased by every man being more or less a sailor, or connected with the nautical profession. It is an amusement of the greatest importance to the country; as it has much improved our ship-building and our ship-fitting, while it affords employment to our seamen and shipwrights. But if I were to say all that I could say in praise of yachts, I should never advance with my narrative. I shall therefore drink a bumper to the health of Admiral Lord Yarborough and the Yacht Club, and proceed. You observe that this yacht is cutter-rigged, and that she sits gracefully on the smooth water. She is just heaving up her anchor; her foresail is loose, all ready to cast her--in a few minutes she will be under weigh. You see that there are some ladies sitting at the taffrail; and there are five haunches of venison hanging over the stern. Of all amusements, give me yachting. But we must go on board. The deck, you observe, is of narrow deal planks as white as snow; the guns are of polished brass; the bitts and binnacles of mahogany; she is painted with taste; and all the mouldings are gilded. There is nothing wanting; and yet how clear and unencumbered are her decks! Let us go below. This is the ladies' cabin: can anything be more tasteful or elegant? is it not luxurious? and, although so small, does not its very confined space astonish you, when you view so many comforts so beautifully arranged? This is the dining-room, and where the gentlemen repair. What can be more complete or _recherché_? and just peep into their state-rooms and bed-places. Here is the steward's room and the beaufet: the steward is squeezing lemons for the punch, and there is the champagne in ice; and by the side of the pail the long-corks are ranged up, all ready. Now, let us go forwards: here are the men's berths, not confined as in a man-of-war. No! luxury starts from abaft, and is not wholly lost, even at the fore-peak. This is the kitchen: is it not admirably arranged? What a _multum in parvo_! And how delightful are the fumes of the turtle-soup! At sea we do meet with rough weather at times; but, for roughing it out, give me a _yacht_. Now that I have shown you round the vessel, I must introduce the parties on board. You observe that florid, handsome man in white trousers and blue jacket, who has a telescope in one hand, and is sipping a glass of brandy and water which he has just taken off the skylight. That is the owner of the vessel, and a member of the Yacht Club. It is Lord B--: he looks like a sailor, and he does not much belie his looks; yet I have seen him in his robes of state at the opening of the House of Lords. The one near to him is Mr Stewart, a lieutenant in the navy. He holds on by the rigging with one hand, because, having been actively employed all his life, he does not know what to do with hands which have nothing in them. He is _protégé_ of Lord B., and is now on board as sailing-master of the yacht. That handsome, well-built man who is standing by the binnacle, is a Mr Hautaine. He served six years as midshipman in the navy, and did not like it. He then served six years in a cavalry regiment, and did not like it. He then married, and in a much shorter probation, found that he did not like that. But he is very fond of yachts and other men's wives, if he does not like his own; and wherever he goes, he is welcome. That young man with an embroidered silk waistcoat and white gloves, bending to talk to one of the ladies, is a Mr Vaughan. He is to be seen at Almack's, at Crockford's, and everywhere else. Everybody knows him, and he knows everybody. He is a little in debt, and yachting is convenient. The one who sits by the lady is a relation of Lord B.; you see at once what he is. He apes the sailor; he has not shaved, because sailors have no time to shave every day; he has not changed his linen, because sailors cannot change every day. He has a cigar in his mouth, which makes him half sick and annoys his company. He talks of the pleasure of a rough sea, which will drive all the ladies below--and then they will not perceive that he is more sick than themselves. He has the misfortune to be born to a large estate, and to be a _fool_. His name is Ossulton. The last of the gentlemen on board whom I have to introduce, is Mr Seagrove. He is slightly made, with marked features full of intelligence. He has been brought up to the bar; and has every qualification but application. He has never had a brief, nor has he a chance of one. He is the fiddler of the company, and he has locked up his chambers, and come, by invitation of his lordship, to play on board of his yacht. I have yet to describe the ladies--perhaps I should have commenced with them--I must excuse myself upon the principle of reserving the best to the last. All puppet-showmen do so: and what is this but the first scene in my puppet-show? We will describe them according to seniority. That tall, thin, cross-looking lady of forty-five is a spinster, and sister to Lord B. She has been persuaded very much against her will to come on board; but her notions of propriety would not permit her niece to embark under the protection of _only_ her father. She is frightened at everything: if a rope is thrown down on the deck, up she starts, and cries, "Oh!" if on the deck, she thinks the water is rushing in below; if down below, and there is a noise, she is convinced there is danger; and, if it be perfectly still, she is sure there is something wrong. She fidgets herself and everybody, and is quite a nuisance with her pride and ill-humour; but she has strict notions of propriety, and sacrifices herself as a martyr. She is the Hon. Miss Ossulton. The lady who, when she smiles, shows so many dimples in her pretty oval face, is a young widow of the name of Lascelles. She married an old man to please her father and mother, which was very dutiful on her part. She was rewarded by finding herself a widow with a large fortune. Having married the first time to please her parents, she intends now to marry to please herself; but she is very young, and is in no hurry. The young lady with such a sweet expression of countenance is the Hon. Miss Cecilia Ossulton. She is lively, witty, and has no fear in her composition; but she is very young yet, not more than seventeen--and nobody knows what she really is--she does not know herself. These are the parties who meet in the cabin of the yacht. The crew consists of ten fine seamen, the steward, and the cook. There is also Lord B.'s valet, Mr Ossulton's gentleman, and the lady's maid of Miss Ossulton. There not being accommodation for them, the other servants have been left on shore. The yacht is now under weigh, and her sails are all set. She is running between Drake's Island and the main. Dinner has been announced. As the reader has learnt something about the preparations, I leave him to judge whether it be not very pleasant to sit down to dinner in a yacht. The air has given everybody an appetite; and it was not until the cloth was removed that the conversation became general. "Mr Seagrove," said his lordship, "you very nearly lost your passage; I expected you last Thursday." "I am sorry, my lord, that business prevented my sooner attending to your lordship's kind summons." "Come, Seagrove, don't be nonsensical," said Hautaine; "you told me yourself, the other evening, when you were talkative, that you had never had a brief in your life." "And a very fortunate circumstance," replied Seagrove; "for if I had had a brief I should not have known what to have done with it. It is not my fault; I am fit for nothing but a commissioner. But still I had business, and very important business, too; I was summoned by Ponsonby to go with him to Tattersall's, to give my opinion about a horse he wishes to purchase, and then to attend him to Forest Wild to plead his cause with his uncle." "It appears, then, that you were retained," replied Lord B.; "may I ask you whether your friend gained his cause?" "No, my lord, he lost his cause, but he gained a suit." "Expound your riddle, sir," said Cecilia Ossulton. "The fact is, that old Ponsonby is very anxious that William should marry Miss Percival, whose estates join on to Forest Wild. Now, my friend William is about as fond of marriage as I am of law, and thereby issue was joined." "But why were you to be called in?" inquired Mrs Lascelles. "Because, madam, as Ponsonby never buys a horse without consulting me--" "I cannot see the analogy, sir," observed Miss Ossulton, senior, bridling up. "Pardon me, madam: the fact is," continued Seagrove, "that, as I always have to back Ponsonby's horses, he thought it right that, in this instance, I should back him: he required special pleading, but his uncle tried him for the capital offence, and he was not allowed counsel. As soon as we arrived, and I had bowed myself into the room, Mr Ponsonby bowed me out again--which would have been infinitely more jarring to my feelings, had not the door been left a-jar." "Do anything but pun, Seagrove," interrupted Hautaine. "Well, then, I will take a glass of wine." "Do so," said his lordship; "but, recollect, the whole company are impatient for your story." "I can assure you, my lord, that it was equal to any scene in a comedy." Now be it observed that Mr Seagrove had a great deal of comic talent; he was an excellent mimic, and could alter his voice almost as he pleased. It was a custom of his to act a scene as between other people, and he performed it remarkably well. Whenever he said that anything he was going to narrate was "as good as a comedy," it was generally understood by those who were acquainted with him, that he was to be asked so to do. Cecilia Ossulton therefore immediately said, "Pray act it, Mr Seagrove." Upon which, Mr Seagrove--premising that he had not only heard, but also seen all that passed--changing his voice, and suiting the action to the word, commenced. "It may," said he, "be called "FIVE THOUSAND ACRES IN A RING-FENCE." We shall not describe Mr Seagrove's motions; they must be inferred from his words. "'It will, then, William,' observed Mr Ponsonby, stopping, and turning to his nephew, after a rapid walk up and down the room with his hands behind him under his coat, so as to allow the tails to drop their perpendicular about three inches clear of his body, 'I may say, without contradiction, be the finest property in the county--five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "'I dare say it will, uncle,' replied William, tapping his foot as he lounged in a green morocco easy-chair; 'and so, because you have set your fancy upon having these two estates enclosed together in a ring-fence, you wish that I should also be enclosed in a _ring_-fence.' "'And a beautiful property it will be,' replied Mr Ponsonby. "'Which, uncle?--the estate, or the wife?' "'Both, nephew, both; and I expect your consent.' "'Uncle, I am not avaricious. Your present property is sufficient for me. With your permission, instead of doubling the property, and doubling myself, I will remain your sole heir, and single.' "'Observe, William, such an opportunity may not occur again for centuries. We shall restore Forest Wild to its ancient boundaries. You know it has been divided nearly two hundred years. We now have a glorious, golden opportunity of re-uniting the two properties; and when joined, the estate will be exactly what it was when granted to our ancestors by Henry the Eighth, at the period of the Reformation. This house must be pulled down, and the monastery left standing. Then we shall have our own again, and the property without encumbrance.' "'Without encumbrance, uncle! You forget that there will be a wife.' "'And you forget that there will be five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "'Indeed, uncle, you ring it too often in my ears that I should forget it; but much as I should like to be the happy possessor of such a property, I do not feel inclined to be the happy possessor of Miss Percival; and the more so, as I have never seen the property.' "'We will ride over it to-morrow, William." "'Ride over Miss Percival, uncle! That will not be very gallant. I will, however, one of these days, ride over the property with you, which, as well as Miss Percival, I have not as yet seen.' "'Then I can tell you, she is a very pretty property.' "'If she were not in a ring-fence.' "'In good heart, William. That is, I mean an excellent disposition.' "'Valuable in matrimony.' "'And well tilled--I should say well-educated, by her thee maiden aunts, who are the patterns of propriety.' "'Does any one follow the fashion?' "'In a high state of cultivation; that is, her mind highly cultivated, and according to the last new system--what is it?' "'A four-course shift, I presume,' replied William, laughing; 'that is, dancing, singing, music, and drawing.' "'And only seventeen! Capital soil, promising good crops. What would you have more?' "'A very pretty estate, uncle, if it were not the estate of matrimony. I am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint you; but I must decline taking a lease of it for life.' "'Then, sir, allow me to hint to you that in my testament you are only tenant-at-will. I consider it a duty that I owe to the family, that the estate should be re-united. That can only be done by one of our family marrying Miss Percival; and, as you will not, I shall now write to your cousin James, and if he accept my proposal, shall make _him_ my heir. Probably he will more fully appreciate the advantages of five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "And Mr Ponsonby directed his steps towards the door. "'Stop, my dear uncle,' cried William, rising up from his easy-chair; 'we do not quite understand one another. It is very true that I would prefer half the property and remaining single to the two estates and the estate of marriage; but, at the same time I did not tell you that I would prefer beggary to a wife and five thousand acres in a ring-fence. I know you to be a man of your word;--I accept your proposal, and you need not put my cousin James to the expense of postage.' "'Very good, William; I require no more: and as I know you to be a man of your word, I shall consider this match as settled. It was on this account only that I sent for you, and now you may go back again as soon as you please. I will let you know when all is ready.' "'I must be at Tattersall's on Monday, uncle; there is a horse I must have for next season. Pray, uncle, may I ask when you are likely to want me?' "'Let me see--this is May--about July, I should think.' "'July, uncle! Spare me--I cannot marry in the dog-days. No, hang it, not July.' "'Well, William, perhaps, as you must come down once or twice to see the property--Miss Percival, I should say--it may be too soon--suppose we put it off till October.' "'October--I shall be down at Melton.' "'Pray, sir, may I then inquire what portion of the year is not, with you, _dog_-days?' "'Why, uncle, next April, now--I think that would do.' "'Next April. Eleven months, and a winter between. Suppose Miss Percival was to take a cold, and die.' "'I should be excessively obliged to her,' thought William. "'No! no!' continued Mr Ponsonby: 'there is nothing certain in this world, William.' "'Well, then, uncle, suppose we arrange it for the first _hard frost_.' "'We have had no hard frosts lately, William.--We may wait for years.-- The sooner it is over the better.--Go back to town, buy your horse, and then come down here--my dear William, to oblige your uncle--never mind the dog-days.' "'Well, sir, if I am to make a sacrifice, it shall not be done by halves; out of respect for you I will even marry in July, without any regard to the thermometer.' "'You are a good boy, William.--Do you want a cheque?' "'I have had one to-day,' thought William, and was almost at fault. 'I shall be most thankful, sir--they sell horse-flesh by the ounce now-a-days.' "'And you pay in pounds.--There, William.' "'Thank you, sir, I'm all obedience; and I'll keep my word, even if there should be a comet. I'll go and buy the horse, and then I shall be ready to take the ring-fence as soon as you please.' "'Yes, and you'll get over it cleverly, I've no doubt.--Five thousand acres, William, and--a pretty wife!' "'Have you any further commands, uncle?' said William, depositing the cheque in his pocket-book. "'Now, my dear boy, are you going?' "'Yes, sir; I dine at the Clarendon.' "'Well, then, good-bye.--Make my compliments and excuses to your friend Seagrove.--You will come on Tuesday or Wednesday.' "Thus was concluded the marriage between William Ponsonby and Emily Percival, and the junction of the two estates, which formed together the great desideratum,--_five thousand acres in a ring-fence_." Mr Seagrove finished, and he looked round for approbation. "Very good, indeed, Seagrove," said his lordship, "you must take a glass of wine after that." "I would not give much for Miss Percival's chance of happiness," observed the elder Miss Ossulton. "Of two evils choose the least, they say," observed Mr Hautaine. "Poor Ponsonby could not help himself." "That's a very polite observation of yours, Mr Hautaine--I thank you in the name of the sex," replied Cecilia Ossulton. "Nay, Miss Ossulton; would you like to marry a person whom you never saw?" "Most certainly not; but when you mentioned the two evils, Mr Hautaine, I appeal to your honour, did you not refer to marriage or beggary?" "I must confess it, Miss Ossulton; but it is hardly fair to call on my honour to get me into a scrape." "I only wish that the offer had been made to me," observed Vaughan; "I should not have hesitated as Ponsonby did." "Then I beg you will not think of proposing for me," said Mrs Lascelles, laughing;--for Mr Vaughan had been excessively attentive. "It appears to me, Vaughan," observed Seagrove, "that you have slightly committed yourself by that remark." Vaughan, who thought so too, replied: "Mrs Lascelles must be aware that I was only joking." "Fie! Mr Vaughan," cried Cecilia Ossulton; "you know it came from your heart." "My dear Cecilia," said the elder Miss Ossulton, "you forget yourself-- what can you possibly know about gentlemen's hearts?" "The Bible says, 'that they are deceitful and desperately wicked,' aunt." "And cannot we also quote the Bible against your sex, Miss Ossulton?" replied Seagrove. "Yes, you could, perhaps, if any of you had ever read it," replied Miss Ossulton, carelessly. "Upon my word, Cissy, you are throwing the gauntlet down to the gentlemen," observed Lord B.; "but I shall throw my warder down, and not permit this combat _à l'outrance_.--I perceive you drink no more wine, gentlemen, we will take our coffee on deck." "We were just about to retire, my lord," observed the elder Miss Ossulton, with great asperity: "I have been trying to catch the eye of Mrs Lascelles for some time, but--" "I was looking another way, I presume," interrupted Mrs Lascelles, smiling. "I am afraid that I am the unfortunate culprit," said Mr Seagrove. "I was telling a little anecdote to Mrs Lascelles--" "Which, of course, from its being communicated in an undertone, was not proper for all the company to hear," replied the elder Miss Ossulton; "but if Mrs Lascelles is now ready--" continued she, bridling up, as she rose from her chair. "At all events, I can hear the remainder of it on deck," replied Mrs Lascelles. The ladies rose, and went into the cabin, Cecilia and Mrs Lascelles exchanging very significant smiles, as they followed the precise spinster, who did not choose that Mrs Lascelles should take the lead, merely because she had once happened to have been married.--The gentlemen also broke up, and went on deck. "We have a nice breeze now, my lord," observed Mr Stewart, who had remained on deck, "and we lie right up Channel." "So much the better," replied his lordship; "we ought to have been anchored at Cowes a week ago. They will all be there before us." "Tell Mr Simpson to bring me a light for my cigar," said Mr Ossulton to one of the men. Mr Stewart went down to his dinner; the ladies and the coffee came on deck; the breeze was fine, the weather (it was April) almost warm; and the yacht, whose name was the _Arrow_, assisted by the tide, soon left the Mewstone far astern. Chapter II CUTTER THE SECOND Reader, have you ever been at Portsmouth? If you have, you must have been delighted with the view from the saluting battery; and, if you have not, you had better go there as soon as you can. From the saluting battery you may look up the harbour, and see much of what I have described at Plymouth; the scenery is different; but similar arsenals and dockyards, and an equal portion of our stupendous navy, are to be found there.--And you will see Gosport on the other side of the harbour, and Sally Port close to you; besides a great many other places, which, from the saluting battery, you cannot see. And then there is Southsea Beach to your left. Before you, Spithead, with the men-of-war, and the Motherbank, crowded with merchant vessels;--and there is the buoy where the _Royal George_ was wrecked, and where she still lies, the fish swimming in and out of her cabin windows; but that is not all; you can also see the Isle of Wight,--Ryde, with its long wooden pier, and Cowes, where the yachts lie. In fact, there is a great deal to be seen at Portsmouth as well as at Plymouth; but what I wish you particularly to see, just now, is a vessel holding fast to the buoy, just off the saluting battery. She is a cutter; and you may know that she belongs to the Preventive Service by the number of gigs and galleys which she has hoisted up all round her. She looks like a vessel that was about to sail with a cargo of boats. Two on deck, one astern, one on each side of her. You observe that she is painted black, and all her boats are white. She is not such an elegant vessel as the yacht, and she is much more lumbered up. She has no haunches of venison over the stern; but I think there is a leg of mutton, and some cabbages hanging by their stalks. But revenue-cutters are not yachts.--You will find no turtle or champagne; but, nevertheless, you will, perhaps, find a joint to carve at, a good glass of grog, and a hearty welcome. Let us go on board.--You observe the guns are iron, and painted black, and her bulwarks are painted red; it is not a very becoming colour; but then it lasts a long while, and the dock-yard is not very generous on the score of paint--or lieutenants of the navy troubled with much spare cash. She has plenty of men, and fine men they are; all dressed in red flannel shirts, and blue trousers; some of them have not taken off their canvas or tarpaulin petticoats, which are very useful to them, as they are in the boats night and day, and in all weathers. But we will at once go down into the cabin, where we shall find the lieutenant who commands her, a master's mate, and a midshipman. They have each their tumbler before them, and are drinking gin-toddy, hot, with sugar--capital gin, too, 'bove proof; it is from that small anker, standing under the table. It was one that they forgot to return to the custom-house when they made their last seizure. We must introduce them. The elderly personage, with grizzly hair and whiskers, a round pale face, and a somewhat red nose (being too much in the wind will make the nose red, and this old officer is very often "in the wind," of course, from the very nature of his profession), is a Lieutenant Appleboy. He has served in every class of vessel in the service, and done the duty of first lieutenant for twenty years; he is now on promotion--that is to say, after he has taken a certain number of tubs of gin, he will be rewarded with his rank as commander. It is a pity that what he takes inside of him does not count, for he takes it morning, noon, and night. --He is just filling his fourteenth glass: he always keeps a regular account, as he never exceeds his limited number, which is seventeen; then he is exactly down to his bearings. The master's mate's name is Tomkins; he has served his six years three times over, and has now outgrown his ambition; which is fortunate for him, as his chances of promotion are small. He prefers a small vessel to a large one, because he is not obliged to be so particular in his dress --and looks for his lieutenancy whenever there shall be another charity promotion. He is fond of soft bread, for his teeth are all absent without leave; he prefers porter to any other liquor, but he can drink his glass of grog, whether it be based upon rum, brandy, or the liquor now before him. Mr Smith is the name of that young gentleman, whose jacket is so out at the elbows; he has been intending to mend it these last two months, but is too lazy to go to his chest for another. He has been turned out of half the ships in the service for laziness; but he was born so--and therefore it is not his fault.--A revenue-cutter suits him, she is half her time hove to; and he has no objection to boat-service, as he sits down always in the stern-sheets, which is not fatiguing. Creeping for tubs is his delight, as he gets over so little ground. He is fond of grog, but there is some trouble in carrying the tumbler so often to his mouth; so he looks at it, and lets it stand. He says little, because he is too lazy to speak. He has served more than _eight years;_ but as for passing--it has never come into his head. Such are the three persons who are now sitting in the cabin of the revenue-cutter, drinking hot gin-toddy. "Let me see, it was, I think, in ninety-three or ninety-four. Before you were in the service, Tomkins.--" "Maybe, sir; it's so long ago since I entered, that I can't recollect dates,--but this I know, that my aunt died three days before." "Then the question is, when did your aunt die?" "Oh! she died about a year after my uncle." "And when did your uncle die?" "I'll be hanged if I know!" "Then, d'ye see, you've no departure to work from. However, I think you cannot have been in the service at that time. We were not quite so particular about uniform as we are now." "Then I think the service was all the better for it. Now-a-days, in your crack ships, a mate has to go down in the hold or spirit-room, and after whipping up fifty empty casks, and breaking out twenty full ones, he is expected to come on quarter-deck as clean as if he was just come out of a band-box." "Well, there's plenty of water alongside, as far as the outward man goes, and iron dust is soon brushed off. However, as you say, perhaps a little too much is expected; at least, in five of the ships in which I was first-lieutenant, the captain was always hauling me over the coals about the midshipmen not dressing properly, as if I was their dry-nurse. I wonder what Captain Prigg would have said, if he had seen such a turn-out as you, Mr Smith, on his quarter-deck." "I should have had one turn-out more," drawled Smith. "With your out-at-elbows jacket, there, heh!" continued Mr Appleboy. Smith turned up his elbows, looked at one and then at the other: after so fatiguing an operation, he was silent. "Well, where was I? Oh! it was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as I said, that it happened--Tomkins, fill your glass, and hand me the sugar --how do I get on? This is No. 15," said Appleboy, counting some white lines on the table by him; and taking up a piece of chalk, he marked one more line on his tally. "I don't think this is so good a tub as the last, Tomkins, there's a twang about it--a want of juniper--however, I hope we shall have better luck this time. Of course, you know we sail to-morrow?" "I presume so, by the leg of mutton coming on board." "True--true--I'm regular--as clock-work.--After being twenty years a first-lieutenant, one gets a little method--I like regularity. Now the admiral has never omitted asking me to dinner once, every time I have come into harbour, except this time--I was so certain of it, that I never expected to sail; and I have but two shirts clean in consequence." "That's odd, isn't it? and the more so, because he has had such great people down here, and has been giving large parties every day." "And yet I made three seizures, besides sweeping up those thirty-seven tubs." "I swept them up," observed Smith. "That's all the same thing, _younker_.--When you've been a little longer in the service, you'll find out that the commanding officer has the merit of all that is done--but you're _green_ yet. Let me see, where was I? Oh!--It was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as I said. At that time I was in the Channel fleet--Tomkins, I'll trouble you for the hot water; this water's cold.--Mr Smith, do me the favour to ring the bell. --Jem, some more hot water." "Please, sir," said Jem, who was barefooted as well as bare-headed, touching the lock of hair on his forehead, "the cook has capsized the kettle--but he has put more on." "Capsized the kettle! Ha!--very well--we'll talk about that to-morrow. Mr Tomkins, do me the favour to put him in the report, I may forget it. And pray, sir, how long is it since he has put more on?" "Just this moment, sir, as I came aft." "Very well, we'll see to that to-morrow:--You bring the kettle aft as soon as it is ready. I say, Mr Jem, is that fellow sober?" "Yees, sir, he be sober as you be." "It's quite astonishing what a propensity the common sailors have to liquor. Forty odd years have I been in the service, and I've never found any difference: I only wish I had a guinea for every time that I have given a fellow seven-water grog during my servitude as first-lieutenant, I wouldn't call the king my cousin. Well, if there's no hot water, we must take lukewarm--it won't do to heave to. By the Lord Harry! who would have thought it?--I'm at number sixteen! Let me count--yes!-- surely I must have made a mistake. A fact, by Heaven!" continued Mr Appleboy, throwing the chalk down on the table. "Only one more glass, after this--that is, if I have counted right--I may have seen double." "Yes," drawled Smith. "Well, never mind--let's go on with my story.--It was either in the year ninety-three or ninety-four, that I was in the Channel fleet--we were then abreast of Torbay--" "Here be the hot water, sir," cried Jem, putting the kettle down on the deck. "Very well, boy--by-the-bye, has the jar of butter come on board?" "Yes, but it broke all down the middle; I tied him up with a ropeyarn." "Who broke it, sir?" "Coxswain says as how he didn't." "But who did, sir?" "Coxswain handed it up to Bill Jones, and he says as how he didn't." "But who did, sir?" "Bill Jones gave it to me, and I'm sure as how I didn't." "Then who did, sir, I ask you?" "I think it be Bill Jones, sir, 'cause he's fond of butter, I know, and there be very little left in the jar." "Very _well_, we'll see to that to-morrow morning. Mr Tomkins, you'll oblige me by putting the butter-jar down in the report, in case it should slip my memory. Bill Jones, indeed, looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth--never mind. Well, it was, as I said before--it was in the year ninety-three or ninety-four, when I was in the Channel fleet; we were then off Torbay, and had just: taken two reefs in the top-sails. Stop, before I go on with my story, I'll take my last glass--I think it's the last: let me count--yes, by heavens I make out sixteen, well told. Never mind, it shall be a stiff one. Boy, bring the kettle, and mind you don't pour the hot water into my shoes, as you did the other night. There, that will do. Now, Tomkins, fill up yours; and you, Mr Smith: let us all start fair, and then you shall have my story--and a very curious one it is, I can tell you; I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it. Hilloa! what's this? confound it! what's the matter with the toddy? Heh, Mr Tomkins?" Mr Tomkins tasted, but, like the lieutenant, he had made it very stiff; and, as he had also taken largely before, he was, like him, not quite so clear in his discrimination: "It has a queer _twang_, sir: Smith, what is it?" Smith took up his glass, tasted the contents. "_Salt water"_ drawled the midshipman. "Salt water! so it is, by heavens!" cried Mr Appleboy. "Salt as Lot's wife!--by all that's infamous!" cried the master's mate. "Salt water, sir!" cried Jem in a fright, expecting a _salt_ eel for supper. "Yes, sir," replied Mr Appleboy, tossing the contents of the tumbler in the boy's face, "salt water. Very well, sir,--very well!" "It warn't me, sir," replied the boy, making up a piteous look. "No, sir, but you said the cook was sober." "He was not so _very_ much disguised, sir," replied Jem. "Oh! very well--never mind. Mr Tomkins, in case I should forget it, do me the favour to put the kettle of salt water down in the report. The scoundrel! I'm very sorry, gentlemen, but there's no means of having any more gin-toddy,--but never mind, we'll see to this to-morrow. Two can play at this; and if I don't salt-water their grog, and make them drink it, too, I have been twenty years a first-lieutenant for nothing--that's all. Good night, gentlemen; and," continued the lieutenant, in a severe tone, "you'll keep a sharp look-out, Mr Smith--do you hear, sir?" "Yes," drawled Smith, "but it's not my watch; it was my first watch, and, just now, it struck one bell." "You'll keep the middle watch, then, Mr Smith," said Mr Appleboy, who was not a little put out; "and, Mr Tomkins, let me know as soon as it's daylight. Boy, get my bed made. Salt water, by all that's blue! However, we'll see to that to-morrow morning." Mr Appleboy then turned in; so did Mr Tomkins; and so did Mr Smith, who had no idea of keeping the middle watch because the cook was drunk and had filled up the kettle with salt water. As for what happened in ninety-three or ninety-four, I really would inform the reader if I knew, but I am afraid that that most curious story is never to be handed down to posterity. The next morning, Mr Tomkins, as usual, forgot to report the cook, the jar of butter, and the kettle of salt water; and Mr Appleboy's wrath had long been appeased before he remembered them. At daylight the lieutenant came on deck, having only slept away half of the sixteen, and a taste of the seventeenth salt-water glass of gin-toddy. He rubbed his grey eyes, that he might peer through the grey of the morning; the fresh breeze blew about his grizzly locks, and cooled his rubicund nose. The revenue-cutter, whose name was the _Active_, cast off from the buoy; and, with a fresh breeze, steered her course for the Needles' passage. Chapter III CUTTER THE THIRD Reader! have you been to St Maloes? If you have, you were glad enough to leave the hole; and, if you have not, take my advice, and do not give yourself the trouble to go and see that, or any other French port in the Channel. There is not one worth looking at. They have made one or two artificial ports, and they are no great things; there is no getting out, or getting in. In fact, they have no harbours in the Channel, while we have the finest in the world; a peculiar dispensation of Providence, because it knew that we should want them, and France would not. In France, what are called ports are all alike, nasty narrow holes, only to be entered at certain times of tide and certain winds; made up of basins and back-waters, custom-houses, and cabarets; just fit for smugglers to run into, and nothing more; and, therefore, they are used for very little else. Now, in the dog-hole called St Maloes there is some pretty land, although a great deficiency of marine scenery. But never mind that: stay at home, and don't go abroad to drink sour wine, because they call it Bordeaux, and eat villanous trash, so disguised by cooking that you cannot possibly tell which of the birds of the air, or beasts of the field, or fishes of the sea, you are cramming down your throat. "If all is right, there is no occasion for disguise," is an old saying; so depend upon it, that there is something wrong, and that you are eating offal, under a grand French name. They eat everything in France, and would serve you up the head of a monkey who has died of the smallpox, as _singe au petite vérole_--that is, if you did not understand French; if you did, they would call it, _Tête d'amour a l'Ethiopique,_ and then you would be even more puzzled. As for their wine, there is no disguise in that--it's half vinegar. No, no! stay at home; you can live just as cheaply, if you choose; and then you will have good meat, good vegetables, good ale, good beer, and a good glass of grog--and what is of more importance, you will be in good company. Live with your friends, and don't make a fool of yourself. I would not have condescended to have noticed this place, had it not been that I wish you to observe a vessel which is lying along the pier-wharf, with a plank from the shore to her gunnel. It is low water, and she is aground, and the plank dips down at such an angle that it is a work of danger to go either in or out of her. You observe that there is nothing very remarkable in her. She is a cutter, and a good sea-boat, and sails well before the wind. She is short for her breadth of beam, and is not armed. Smugglers do not arm now--the service is too dangerous; they effect their purpose by cunning, not by force. Nevertheless, it requires that smugglers should be good seamen, smart, active fellows, and keen-witted, or they can do nothing. This vessel has not a large cargo in her, but it is valuable. She has some thousand yards of lace, a few hundred pounds of tea, a few bales of silk, and about forty ankers of brandy--just as much as they can land in one boat. All they ask is a heavy gale or a thick fog, and they trust to themselves for success. There is nobody on board except a boy; the crew are all up at the cabaret, settling their little accounts of every description--for they smuggle both ways, and every man has his own private venture. There they are all, fifteen of them, and fine-looking fellows, too, sitting at that long table. They are very merry, but quite sober, as they are to sail to-night. The captain of the vessel (whose name, by-the-bye is the "_Happy-go-lucky_,"--the captain christened her himself) is that fine-looking young man, with dark whiskers, meeting under his throat. His name is Jack Pickersgill. You perceive, at once, that he is much above a common sailor in appearance. His manners are good, he is remarkably handsome, very clean, and rather a dandy in his dress. Observe, how very politely he takes off his hat to that Frenchman, with whom he has just settled accounts; he beats Johnny Crapeau at his own weapons. And then there is an air of command, a feeling of conscious superiority about Jack; see how he treats the landlord, _de haut en bas_, at the same time that he is very civil. The fact is, that Jack is of a very good, old family, and received a very excellent education; but he was an orphan, his friends were poor, and could do but little for him: he went out to India as a cadet, ran away, and served in a schooner which smuggled opium into China, and then came home. He took a liking to the employment, and is now laying up a very pretty little sum: not that he intends to stop: no, as soon as he has enough to fit out a vessel for himself, he intends to start again for India, and with two cargoes of opium, he will return, he trusts, with a handsome fortune, and re-assume his family name. Such are Jack's intentions; and, as he eventually means to reappear as a gentleman, he preserves his gentlemanly habits: he neither drinks, nor chews, nor smokes. He keeps his hands clean, wears rings, and sports a gold snuff-box; notwithstanding which, Jack is one of the boldest and best of sailors, and the men know it. He is full of fun, and as keen as a razor. Jack has a very heavy venture this time-- all the lace is his own speculation, and if he gets it in safe, he will clear some thousands of pounds. A certain fashionable shop in London has already agreed to take the whole off his hands. That short, neatly-made young man is the second in command, and the companion of the captain. He is clever, and always has a remedy to propose when there is a difficulty, which is a great quality in a second in command. His name is Corbett. He is always merry--half-sailor, half-tradesman; knows the markets, runs up to London, and does business as well as a chapman--lives for the day, and laughs at to-morrow. That little punchy old man, with long gray hair and fat face, with a nose like a note of interrogation, is the next personage of importance. He ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on shore in France, off the English coast he never quits the vessel. When they leave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be found off any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his position in defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs: as for the revenue-vessels, they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel in ballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage. He knows every creek, and hole, and corner, of the coast; how the tide runs in--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. That is his value. His name is Morrison. You observe that Jack Pickersgill has two excellent supporters in Corbett and Morrison; his other men are good seamen, active, and obedient, which is all that he requires. I shall not particularly introduce them. "Now you may call for another _litre_, my lads, and that must be the last; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour, and we have just the breeze we want. What d'ye think, Morrison, shall we have dirt?" "I've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year I should say, yes; but there's no trusting April, captain. Howsomever, if it does blow off, I'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards." "That will do as well. Corbett, have you settled with Duval?" "Yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the Stock Exchange would make in England. He fought and squabbled for an hour, and I found that, without some abatement, I never should have settled the affair." "What did you let him off?" "Seventeen sous," replied Corbett, laughing. "And that satisfied him?" inquired Pickersgill. "Yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives were a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could not be happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide, if he had to pay a bill without a deduction." "Let him live," replied Pickersgill. "Jeannette, a bottle of Volnay, of 1811, and three glasses." Jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottle of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the _Happy-go-lucky_. "You sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him. Pickersgill nodded his head. "I had a strange dream," said Jeannette; "I thought you were all taken by a revenue cutter, and put in a _cachot_. I went to see you, and I did not know one of you again--you were all changed." "Very likely, Jeannette--you would not be the first who did not know their friends again when in misfortune. There was nothing strange in your dream." "_Mais, mon Dieu! je ne suis pas comme ça moi_." "No, that you are not, Jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these fine days I'll marry you," said Corbett. "_Doit être bien beau ce jour là, par exemple_," replied Jeannette, laughing; "you have promised to marry me every time you have come in, these last three years." "Well, that proves I keep to my promise, any how." "Yes; but you never go any further." "I can't spare him, Jeannette, that is the real truth," said the captain: "but wait a little--in the meantime, here is a five-franc piece to add to your _petite fortune_." "_Merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage!_" Jeannette held her finger up to Corbett, saying, with a smile, "_méchant!_" and then quitted the room. "Come, Morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all go on board." "I wish that girl wouldn't come here with her nonsensical dreams," said Morrison, taking his seat; "I don't like it. When she said that we should be taken by a revenue cutter, I was looking at a blue and a white pigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and I said to myself, now, if that be a warning, I will see: if the _blue_ pigeon flies away first, I shall be in jail in a week; if the _white,_ I shall be back here." "Well?" said Pickersgill, laughing. "It wasn't well," answered Morrison, tossing off his wine, and putting the glass down with a deep sigh; "for the cursed _blue_ pigeon flew away immediately." "Why, Morrison, you must have a chicken-heart to be frightened at a blue pigeon," said Corbett, laughing, and looking out of the window; "at all events, he has come back again, and there he is sitting by the white one." "It's the first time that ever I was called chicken-hearted," replied Morrison, in wrath. "Nor do you deserve it, Morrison," replied Pickersgill; "but Corbett is only joking." "Well, at all events, I'll try my luck in the same way, and see whether I am to be in jail: I shall take the blue pigeon as my bad omen, as you did." The sailors and Captain Pickersgill all rose and went to the window, to ascertain Corbett's fortune by this new species of augury. The blue pigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; at last, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of the adjacent house. "Bravo, white pigeon!" said Corbett; "I shall be here again in a week." The whole party, laughing, then resumed their seats; and Morrison's countenance brightened up. As he took the glass of wine poured out by Pickersgill, he said, "Here's your health, Corbett; it was all nonsense, after all--for, d'ye see, I can't be put in jail without you are. We all sail in the same boat, and when you leave me, you take with you everything that can condemn the vessel--so here's success to our trip." "We will all drink that toast, my lads, and then on board," said the captain; "here's success to our trip." The captain rose, as did the mates and men, drank the toast, turned down the drinking-vessels on the table, hastened to the wharf, and, in half an hour, the _Happy-go-lucky_ was clear of the port of St Maloes. Chapter IV PORTLAND BILL The _Happy-go-lucky_ sailed with a fresh breeze and a flowing sheet from St Maloes, the evening before the _Arrow_ sailed from Barn Pool. The _Active_ sailed from Portsmouth the morning after. The yacht, as we before observed, was bound to Cowes, in the Isle of Wight. The _Active_ had orders to cruise wherever she pleased within the limits of the admiral's station; and she ran for West Bay, on the other side of the Bill of Portland. The _Happy-go-lucky_ was also bound for that bay to land her cargo. The wind was light, and there was every appearance of fine weather, when the _Happy-go-lucky_, at ten o'clock on the Tuesday night, made the Portland lights; as it was impossible to run her cargo that night, she hove to. At eleven o'clock, the Portland lights were made by the revenue cutter _Active_. Mr Appleboy went up to have a look at them, ordered the cutter to be hove to, and then went down to finish his allowance of gin-toddy. At twelve o'clock, the yacht _Arrow_ made the Portland lights, and continued her course, hardly stemming the ebb tide. Day broke, and the horizon was clear. The first on the look-out were, of course, the smugglers; they, and those on board the revenue cutter, were the only two interested parties--the yacht was neuter. "There are two cutters in sight, sir," said Corbett, who had the watch; for Pickersgill, having been up the whole night, had thrown himself down on the bed with his clothes on. "What do they look like?" said Pickersgill, who was up in a moment. "One is a yacht, and the other may be; but I rather think, as far as I can judge in the gray, that it is our old friend off here." "What! old Appleboy?" "Yes, it looks like him; but the day has scarcely broke yet." "Well, he can do nothing in a light wind like this; and before the wind we can show him our heels; but are you sure the other is a yacht?" said Pickersgill, coming on deck. "Yes; the king is more careful of his canvas." "You're right," said Pickersgill, "that is a yacht; and you're right there again in your guess--that is the stupid old _Active_, which creeps about creeping for tubs. Well, I see nothing to alarm us at present, provided it don't fall a dead calm, and then we must take to our boat as soon as he takes to his; we are four miles from him at least. Watch his motions, Corbett, and see if he lowers a boat. What does she go now? Four knots?--that will soon tire their men." The positions of the three cutters were as follows:-- The _Happy-go-lucky_ was about four miles off Portland Head, and well into West Bay. The revenue cutter was close to the Head. The yacht was outside of the smuggler, about two miles to the westward, and about five or six miles from the revenue cutter. "Two vessels in sight, sir," said Mr Smith, coming down into the cabin to Mr Appleboy. "Very well," replied the lieutenant, who was _lying_ down in his _standing_ bed-place. "The people say one is the _Happy-go-lucky,_ sir," drawled Smith. "Heh? what! _Happy-go-lucky?_ Yes, I recollect; I've boarded her twenty times--always empty. How's she standing?" "She stands to the westward now, sir; but she was hove to, they say, when they first saw her." "Then she has a cargo in her;" and Mr Appleboy shaved himself, dressed, and went on deck. "Yes," said the lieutenant, rubbing his eyes again and again, and then looking through the glass, "it is her sure enough. Let draw the fore sheet--hands make sail. What vessel's the other?" "Don't know, sir,--she's a cutter." "A cutter? yes; may be a yacht, or may be the new cutter ordered on the station. Make all sail, Mr Tomkins; hoist our pendant, and fire a gun-- they will understand what we mean then; they don't know the _Happy-go-lucky_ as well as we do." In a few minutes the _Active_ was under a press of sail; she hoisted her pendant, and fired a gun. The smuggler perceived that the _Active_ had recognised her, and she also threw out more canvas, and ran off more to the westward. "There's a gun, sir," reported one of the men to Mr Stewart, on board of the yacht. "Yes; give me the glass--a revenue cutter; then this vessel in shore, running towards us, must be a smuggler." "She has just now made all sail, sir." "Yes, there's no doubt of it; I will go down to his lordship--keep her as she goes." Mr Stewart then went down to inform Lord B. of the circumstance. Not only Lord B., but most of the gentlemen came on deck; as did soon afterwards the ladies, who had received the intelligence from Lord B., who spoke to them through the door of the cabin. But the smuggler had more wind than the revenue cutter, and increased her distance. "If we were to wear round now, my lord," observed Mr Stewart, "she is just abreast of us and in shore, we could prevent her escape." "Round with her, Mr Stewart," said Lord B.; "we must do our duty, and protect the laws." "That will not be fair, papa," said Cecilia Ossulton; "we have no quarrel with the smugglers: I'm sure the ladies have not, for they bring us beautiful things." "Miss Ossulton," observed her aunt, "it is not proper for you to offer an opinion." The yacht wore round, and, sailing so fast, the smuggler had little chance of escaping her; but to chase is one thing--to capture, another. "Let us give her a gun," said Lord B., "that will frighten her; and he dare not cross our hawse." The gun was loaded, and not being more than a mile from the smuggler, actually threw the ball almost a quarter of the way. The gentlemen, as well as Lord B., were equally excited by the ardour of pursuit; but the wind died away, and at last it was nearly calm. The revenue cutter's boats were out, and coming up fast. "Let us get our boat out, Stewart," said his lordship; "and help them; it is quite calm now." The boat was soon out: it was a very large one, usually stowed on, and occupied a large portion of, the deck. It pulled six oars; and when it was manned, Mr Stewart jumped in, and Lord B. followed him. "But you have no arms," said Mr Hautaine. "The smugglers never resist now," observed Stewart. "Then you are going on a very gallant expedition, indeed," observed Cecilia Ossulton; "I wish you joy." But Lord B. was too much excited to pay attention. They shoved off, and pulled towards the smuggler. At this time, the revenue boats were about five miles astern of the _Happy-go-lucky_, and the yacht about three-quarters of a mile from her in the offing. Pickersgill had, of course, observed the motions of the yacht; had seen her wear on chase, hoist her ensign and pendant, and fire her gun. "Well," said he, "this is the blackest ingratitude; to be attacked by the very people whom we smuggle for. I only wish she may come up with us; and, let her attempt to interfere, she shall rue the day: I don't much like this, though." As we before observed, it fell nearly calm, and the revenue boats were in chase. Pickersgill watched them as they came up. "What shall we do," said Corbett,--"get the boat out?" "Yes," replied Pickersgill, "we will get the boat out, and have the goods in her all ready; but we can pull faster than they do, in the first place; and, in the next, they will be pretty well tired before they come up to us. We are fresh, and shall soon walk away from them; so I shall not leave the vessel till they are within half a mile. We must sink the ankers, that they may not seize the vessel, for it is not worth while taking them with us. Pass them along ready to run them over the bows, that they may not see us and swear to it. But we have a good half hour, and more." "Ay, and you may hold all fast if you choose," said Morrison, "although it's better to be on the right side and get ready; otherwise, before half an hour, I'll swear that we are out of their sight. Look there," said he, pointing to the eastward at a heavy bank, "it's coming right down upon us, as I said it would." "True enough; but still there is no saying which will come first, Morrison; the boats or the fog, so we must be prepared." "Hilloa! what's this? why, there's a boat coming from the yacht!" Pickersgill took out his glass. "Yes, and the yacht's own boat, with the name painted on her bows. Well, let them come--we will have no ceremony in resisting them; they are not in the Act of Parliament, and must take the consequences. We have nought to fear. Get stretchers, my lads, and hand-spikes; they row six oars, and are three in the stern sheets--they must be good men if they take us." In a few minutes Lord B. was close to the smuggler. "Boat, ahoy! what do you want?" "Surrender in the king's name." "To what, and to whom, and what are we to surrender? We are an English vessel coasting along shore." "Pull on board, my lads," cried Stewart; "I am a king's officer--we know her." The boat darted alongside, and Stewart and Lord B., followed by the men, jumped on the deck. "Well, gentlemen, what do you want?" said Pickersgill. "We seize you--you are a smuggler; there's no denying it: look at the casks of spirits stretched along the deck." "We never said that we were not smugglers," replied Pickersgill; "but what is that to you? You are not a king's ship, or employed by the revenue." "No, but we carry a pendant, and it is our duty to protect the laws." "And who are you?" said Pickersgill. "I am Lord B." "Then, my lord, allow me to say that you would do much better to attend to the framing of laws, and leave people of less consequence, like those astern of me, to execute them. 'Mind your own business,' is an old adage. We shall not hurt you, my lord, as you have only employed words, but we shall put it out of your power to hurt us. Come aft, my lads. Now, my lord, resistance is useless; we are double your numbers, and you have caught a Tartar." Lord B. and Mr Stewart perceived that they were in an awkward predicament. "You may do what you please," observed Mr Stewart, "but the revenue boats are coming up, recollect." "Look you, sir, do you see the revenue cutter?" said Pickersgill. Stewart looked in that direction, and saw that she was hidden in the fog. "In five minutes, sir, the boats will be out of sight also, and so will your vessel; we have nothing to fear from them." "Indeed, my lord, we had better return," said Mr Stewart, who perceived that Pickersgill was right. "I beg your pardon, you will not go on board your yacht so soon as you expect. Take the oars out of the boat, my lads, two or three of you, and throw in a couple of our paddles for them to reach the shore with. The rest of you knock down the first man who offers to resist. You are not aware, perhaps, my lord, that you have attempted _piracy_ on the high seas?" Stewart looked at Lord B. It was true enough. The men of the yacht could offer no resistance; the oars were taken out of the boat, and the men put in again. "My lord," said Pickersgill, "your boat is manned--do me the favour to step into it; and you, sir, do the same. I should be sorry to lay my hands upon a peer of the realm, or a king's officer even on half pay." Remonstrance was vain; his lordship was led to the boat by two of the smugglers, and Stewart followed. "I will leave your oars, my lord, at the Weymouth Custom-house; and I trust this will be a lesson to you in future to 'mind your own business.'" The boat was shoved off from the sloop by the smugglers, and was soon lost sight of in the fog, which had now covered the revenue boats as well as the yacht; at the same time, it brought down a breeze from the eastward. "Haul to the wind, Morrison," said Pickersgill, "we will stand out to get rid of the boats; if they pull on, they will take it for granted that we shall run into the bay, as will the revenue cutter." Pickersgill and Corbett were in conversation abaft for a short time, when the former desired the course to be altered two points. "Keep silence all of you, my lads, and let me know if you hear a gun or a bell from the yacht," said Pickersgill. "There is a gun, sir, close to us," said one of the men; "the sound was right ahead." "That will do, keep her as she goes. Aft here, my lads; we cannot run our cargo in the bay, for the cutter has been seen to chase us, and they will all be on the look-out at the preventive stations for us on shore. Now, my lads, I have made up my mind that, as these yacht gentlemen have thought proper to interfere, I will take possession of the yacht for a few days. We shall then out-sail everything, go where we like unsuspected, and land our cargo with ease. I shall run alongside of her --she can have but few hands on board; and mind, do not hurt anybody, but be civil and obey my orders. Morrison, you and your four men and the boy will remain on board as before, and take the vessel to Cherbourg, where we will join you." In a short time another gun was fired from the yacht. Those on board, particularly the ladies, were alarmed; the fog was very thick, and they could not distinguish the length of the vessel. They had seen the boat board, but had not seen her turned adrift without oars, as the fog came on just at that time. The yacht was left with only three seamen on board, and, should it come on bad weather, they were in an awkward predicament. Mr Hautaine had taken the command, and ordered the guns to be fired that the boat might be enabled to find them. The fourth gun was loading, when they perceived the smuggler's cutter close to them looming through the fog. "Here they are," cried the seamen; "and they have brought the prize along with them! Three cheers for the _Arrow_!" "Hilloa! you'll be on board of us?" cried Hautaine. "That's exactly what I intended to be, sir," replied Pickersgill, jumping on the quarter-deck, followed by his men. "Who the devil are you?" "That's exactly the same question that I asked Lord B. when he boarded us," replied Pickersgill, taking off his hat to the ladies. "Well, but what business have you here?" "Exactly the same question which I put to Lord B.," replied Pickersgill. "Where is Lord B., sir?" said Cecilia Ossulton, going up to the smuggler; "is he safe?" "Yes, madam, he is safe; at least he is in his boat with all his men, and unhurt: but you must excuse me if I request you and the other ladies to go down below while I speak to these gentlemen. Be under no alarm, miss; you will receive neither insult nor ill-treatment--I have only taken possession of this vessel for the present." "Take possession," cried Hautaine, "of a yacht." "Yes, sir, since the owner of the yacht thought proper to attempt to take possession of me. I always thought that yachts were pleasure-vessels, sailing about for amusement, respected themselves, and not interfering with others; but it appears that such is not the case. The owner of this yacht has thought proper to break through the neutrality, and commence aggression, and under such circumstances I have now, in retaliation, taken possession of her." "And, pray, what do you mean to do, sir?" "Simply for a few days to make an exchange. I shall send you on board of my vessel as smugglers, while I remain here with the ladies and amuse myself with yachting." "Why, sir, you cannot mean--" "I have said, gentlemen, and that is enough; I should be sorry to resort to violence, but I must be obeyed. You have, I perceive, three seamen only left: they are not sufficient to take charge of the vessel, and Lord B. and the others you will not meet for several days. My regard for the ladies, even common humanity, points out to me that I cannot leave the vessel in this crippled condition. At the same time, as I must have hands on board of my own, you will oblige me by going on board and taking her safely into port. It is the least return you can make for my kindness. In those dresses, gentlemen, you will not be able to do your duty; oblige me by shifting, and putting on these." Corbett handed a flannel shirt, a rough jacket and trousers, to Messrs Hautaine, Ossulton, Vaughan, and Seagrove. After some useless resistance they were stripped, and having put on the smugglers' attire, they were handed on board of the _Happy-go-lucky_. The three English seamen were also sent on board and confined below, as well as Ossulton's servant, who was also equipped like his master, and confined below with the seamen. Corbett and the men then handed up all the smuggled goods into the yacht, dropped the boat, and made it fast astern; and, Morrison having received his directions, the vessels separated--Morrison running for Cherbourg, and Pickersgill steering the yacht along shore to the westward. About an hour after this exchange had been effected, the fog cleared up, and showed the revenue cutter hove to for her boats, which had pulled back and were close on board of her; and the _Happy-go-lucky_, about three miles in the offing. Lord B. and his boat's crew were about four miles in shore, paddling and drifting with the tide towards Portland. As soon as the boats were on board, the revenue cutter made all sail after the smuggler, paying no attention to the yacht, and either not seeing or not caring about the boat which was drifting about in West Bay. Chapter V THE TRAVESTIE "Here we are, Corbett, and now I only wish my venture had been double," observed Pickersgill; "but I shall not allow business to absorb me wholly--we must add a little amusement. It appears to me, Corbett, that the gentleman's clothes which lie there will fit you, and those of the good-looking fellow who was spokesman will, I am sure, suit me well. Now, let us dress ourselves, and then for breakfast." Pickersgill then exchanged his clothes for those of Mr Hautaine, and Corbett fitted on those of Mr Ossulton. The steward was summoned up, and he dared not disobey; he appeared on deck, trembling. "Steward--you will take these clothes below," said Pickersgill, "and, observe, I now command this yacht; and, during the time that I am on board, you will pay me the same respect as you did Lord B.: nay, more, you will always address me as Lord B. You will prepare dinner and breakfast, and do your duty just as if his lordship was on board, and take care that you feed us well, for I will not allow the ladies to be entertained in a less sumptuous manner than before.--You will tell the cook what I say,--and now that you have heard me, take care that you obey; if not, recollect that I have my own men here, and if I but point with my finger, _overboard you go_.--Do you perfectly comprehend me?" "Yes,--sir," stammered the steward. "Yes, _sir_!--What did I tell you, sirrah?--Yes, my lord.--Do you understand me?" "Yes--my lord." "Pray, steward, whose clothes has this gentleman put on?" "Mr--Mr Ossulton's, I think--sir--my lord, I mean." "Very well, steward; then recollect, in future you always address that gentleman as _Mr Ossulton_." "Yes, my lord," and the steward went down below, and was obliged to take a couple of glasses of brandy, to keep himself from fainting. "Who are they, and what are they! Mr Maddox?" cried the lady's-maid, who had been weeping. "Pirates!--_bloody, murderous, stick-at-nothing_ pirates!" replied the steward. "Oh!" screamed the lady's-maid, "what will become of us, poor unprotected females?" And she hastened into the cabin, to impart this dreadful intelligence. The ladies in the cabin were not in a very enviable situation. As for the elder Miss Ossulton (but, perhaps, it will be better in future to distinguish the two ladies, by calling the elder simply Miss Ossulton, and her niece, Cecilia), she was sitting with her salts to her nose, agonised with a mixture of trepidation and wounded pride. Mrs Lascelles was weeping, but weeping gently. Cecilia was sad, and her heart was beating with anxiety and suspense--when the maid rushed in. "O madam! O miss! O Mrs Lascelles! I have found it all out!--they are murderous, bloody, do-everything pirates!!!" "Mercy on us!" exclaimed Miss Ossulton; "surely they will never dare--?" "Oh, ma'am, they dare anything!--they just now were throwing the steward overboard--and they have rummaged all the portmanteaus, and dressed themselves in the gentlemen's best clothes--the captain of them told the steward that he was Lord B.--and that if he dared to call him anything else, he would cut his throat from ear to ear--and if the cook don't give them a good dinner, they swear that they'll chop his right hand off, and make him eat it, without pepper or salt!" Miss Ossulton screamed, and went off into hysterics. Mrs Lascelles and Cecilia went to her assistance; but the latter had not forgotten the very different behaviour of Jack Pickersgill, and his polite manners, when he boarded the vessel. She did not, therefore, believe what the maid had reported, but still her anxiety and suspense were great, especially about her father. After having restored her aunt, she put on her bonnet, which was lying on the sofa. "Where are you going, dear?" said Mrs Lascelles. "On deck," replied Cecilia. "I must and will speak to these men." "Gracious heaven, Miss Ossulton going on deck! have you heard what Phoebe says?" "Yes, aunt, I have; but I can wait here no longer." "Stop her! stop her!--she will be murdered!--she will be--she is mad!" screamed Miss Ossulton; but no one attempted to stop Cecilia, and on deck she went. On her arrival, she found Jack Pickersgill and Corbett walking the deck; one of the smugglers at the helm, and the rest forward, and as quiet as the crew of the yacht. As soon as she made her appearance, Jack took off his hat, and made her a bow. "I do not know whom I have the honour of addressing, young lady! but I am flattered with this mark of confidence. You feel, and I assure you, you feel correctly, that you are not exactly in lawless hands." Cecilia looked with more surprise than fear at Pickersgill; Mr Hautaine's dress became him, he was a handsome, fine-looking man, and had nothing of the ruffian in his appearance; unless, like Byron's Corsair, he was _half savage, half soft_. She could not help thinking that she had met many with less pretensions, as far as appearance went, to the claims of a gentleman, at Almack's, and other fashionable circles. "I have ventured on deck, sir," said Cecilia, with a little tremulousness in her voice, "to request, as a favour, that you will inform me what your intentions may be, with regard to the vessel, and with regard to the ladies!" "And I feel much obliged to you, for so doing, and I assure you, I will, as far as I have made up my own mind, answer you candidly: but you tremble--allow me to conduct you to a seat. In few words, then, to remove your present alarm, I intend that the vessel shall be returned to its owner, with every article in it, as religiously respected as if they were church property. With respect to you, and the other ladies on board, I pledge you my honour, that you have nothing to fear; that you shall be treated with every respect; your privacy never invaded; and that, in a few days, you will be restored to your friends. Young lady, I pledge my hopes of future salvation to the truth of this; but, at the same time, I must make a few conditions, which, however, will not be very severe." "But, sir," replied Cecilia, much relieved, for Pickersgill had stood by her in the most respectful manner, "you are, I presume, the captain of the smuggler? Pray, answer me one question more--What became of the boat, with Lord B.,--he is my father?" "I left him in his boat, without a hair of his head touched, young lady; but I took away the oars." "Then he will perish!" cried Cecilia, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. "No, young lady, he is on shore probably by this time; although I took away his means of assisting to capture us, I left him the means of gaining the land. It is not every one who would have done that, after his conduct to us." "I begged him not to go," said Cecilia; "I told him that it was not fair, and that he had no quarrel with the smugglers." "I thank you even for that," replied Pickersgill. "And now, Miss--I have not the pleasure of recollecting his lordship's family name--" "Ossulton, sir," said Cecilia, looking at Pickersgill with surprise. "Then, with your permission, Miss Ossulton, I will now make you my confidant: excuse my using so free a term, but it is because I wish to relieve your fears; at the same time, I cannot permit you to divulge all my intentions to the whole party on board; I feel that I may trust you, for you have courage, and where there is courage, there generally is truth; but you must first tell me whether you will condescend to accept these terms?" Cecilia demurred a moment--the idea of being the confidant of a smuggler rather startled her; but still, her knowledge of what his intentions were, if she might not reveal them, might be important; as, perhaps, she might dissuade him. She could be in no worse position than she was now, and she might be in a much better. The conduct of Pickersgill had been such, up to the present, as to inspire confidence; and, although he defied the laws, he appeared to regard the courtesies of life. Cecilia was a courageous girl, and at length she replied:-- "Provided what you desire me to keep secret will not be injurious to any one, or compromise me, in my peculiar situation, I consent." "I would not hurt a fly, Miss Ossulton, but in self-defence, and I have too much respect for you, from your conduct during our short meeting, to compromise you. Allow me now to be very candid; and then, perhaps, you will acknowledge that, in my situation, others would do the same; and, perhaps, not show half so much forbearance. Your father, without any right whatever, interferes with me, and my calling: he attempts to make me a prisoner, to have me thrown in jail; heavily fined, and, perhaps, sent out of the country. I will not enter into any defence of smuggling, it is sufficient to say, that there are pains and penalties attached to the infraction of certain laws, and that I choose to risk them--but Lord B. was not empowered by Government to attack me; it was a gratuitous act--and had I thrown him, and all his crew into the sea, I should have been justified, for it was in short, an act of piracy on their part. Now, as your father has thought to turn a yacht into a revenue cutter, you cannot be surprised at my retaliating, in turning her into a smuggler; and as he has mixed up looking after the revenue with yachting, he cannot be surprised if I retaliate, by mixing up a little yachting with smuggling. I have dressed your male companions as smugglers, and have sent them in the smuggling vessel to Cherbourg, where they will be safely landed; and I have dressed myself, and the only person whom I could join with me in this frolic, as gentlemen, in their places. My object is twofold: one is, to land my cargo, which I have now on board, and which is very valuable; the other is, to retaliate upon your father and his companions, for their attempt upon me, by stepping into their shoes, and enjoying, for a day or two, their luxuries. It is my intention to make free with nothing, but his lordship's wine and eatables,--that you may be assured of; but I shall have no pleasure, if the ladies do not sit down to the dinner-table with us, as they did before with your father and his friends." "You can hardly expect that, sir," said Cecilia. "Yes, I do; and that will be not only the price of the early release of the yacht and themselves, but it will also be the only means by which they will obtain anything to eat. You observe, Miss Ossulton, the sins of the fathers are visited on the children. I have now told you what I mean to do, and what I wish. I leave you to think of it, and decide whether it will not be the best for all parties to consent. You have my permission to tell the other ladies, that whatever may be their conduct, they are as secure from ill-treatment or rudeness, as if they were in Grosvenor Square; but I cannot answer that they will not be hungry, if, after such forbearance in every point, they show so little gratitude, as not to honour me with their company." "Then I am to understand that we are to be starved into submission?" "No, not starved, Miss Ossulton; but recollect that you will be on bread and water, and detained until you do consent, and your detention will increase the anxiety of your father." "You know how to persuade, sir," said Cecilia. "As far as I am concerned, I trust I shall ever be ready to sacrifice any feelings of pride, to spare my father so much uneasiness. With your permission, I will now go down into the cabin, and relieve my companions from the worst of their fears. As for obtaining what you wish, I can only say, that, as a young person, I am not likely to have much influence with those older than myself, and must inevitably be overruled, as I have not permission to point out to them reasons which might avail. Would you so far allow me to be relieved from my promise, as to communicate all you have said to me, to the only married woman on board? I think I then might obtain your wishes, which, I must candidly tell you, I shall attempt to effect, _only_ because I am most anxious to rejoin my friends." "And be relieved of my company," replied Pickersgill, smiling, ironically,--"of course you are; but I must and will have my petty revenge: and although you may, and probably will detest me, at all events you shall not have any very formidable charge to make against me Before you go below, Miss Ossulton, I give you my permission to add the married lady to the number of my confidants; and you must permit me to introduce my friend, Mr Ossulton;" and Pickersgill waved his hand in the direction of Corbett, who took off his hat, and made a low obeisance. It was impossible for Cecilia Ossulton to help smiling. "And," continued Pickersgill, "having taking the command of this yacht, instead of his lordship, it is absolutely necessary that I also take his lordship's name. While on board I am Lord B.; and allow me to introduce myself under that name--I cannot be addressed otherwise. Depend upon it, Miss Ossulton, that I shall have a most paternal solicitude to make you happy and comfortable." Had Cecilia Ossulton dared to have given vent to her real feelings at that time, she would have burst into a fit of laughter, it was too ludicrous. At the same time, the very burlesque reassured her still more. She went into the cabin with a heavy weight removed from her heart. In the meantime, Miss Ossulton and Mrs Lascelles remained below, in the greatest anxiety at Cecilia's prolonged stay; they knew not what to think, and dared not go on deck. Mrs Lascelles had once determined at all risks to go up; but Miss Ossulton and Phoebe had screamed, and implored her so fervently not to leave them, that she unwillingly consented to remain. Cecilia's countenance, when she entered the cabin, reassured Mrs Lascelles, but not her aunt, who ran to her, crying and sobbing, and clinging to her, saying, "What have they done to you, my poor, poor Cecilia?" "Nothing at all, aunt," replied Cecilia, "the captain speaks very fairly, and says he shall respect us in every possible way, provided that we obey his orders, but if not--" "If not--what, Cecilia?" said Miss Ossulton, grasping her niece's arm. "He will starve us, and not let us go!" "God have mercy on us!"--cried Miss Ossulton, renewing her sobs. Cecilia then went to Mrs Lascelles, and communicated to her, apart, all that had passed. Mrs Lascelles agreed with Cecilia, that they were in no danger of insult; and as they talked over the matter, they at last began to laugh; there was a novelty in it, and there was something so ridiculous in all the gentlemen being turned into smugglers. Cecilia was glad that she could not tell her aunt, as she wished her to be so frightened, as never to have her company on board of the yacht again; and Mrs Lascelles was too glad to annoy her for many and various insults received. The matter was, therefore, canvassed over very satisfactorily, and Mrs Lascelles felt a natural curiosity to see this new Lord B. and the second Mr Ossulton. But they had had no breakfast and were feeling very hungry, now that their alarm was over. They desired Phoebe to ask the steward for some tea or coffee. The reply was, that, "Breakfast was laid in the cabin, and Lord B. trusted that the ladies would come to partake of it." "No, no," replied Mrs Lascelles, "I never can, without being introduced to them first." "Nor will I go," replied Cecilia, "but I will write a note, and we will have our breakfast here." Cecilia wrote a note in pencil as follows:-- "Miss Ossulton's compliments to Lord B., and, as the ladies feel rather indisposed after the alarm of this morning, they trust that his lordship will excuse their coming to breakfast; but hope to meet his lordship at dinner, if not before that time, on deck." The answer was propitious, and the steward soon appeared with the breakfast in the ladies' cabin. "Well Maddox," said Cecilia, "how do you get on with your new master?" The steward looked at the door to see if it was closed, shook his head, and then said with a look of despair, "He has ordered a haunch of venison for dinner, miss, and he has twice threatened to toss me overboard." "You must obey him, Maddox, or he certainly will. These pirates are dreadful fellows; be attentive, and serve him just as if he was my father." "Yes, yes, ma'am, I will, but our time may come; it's _burglary_ on the high seas, and I'll go fifty miles to see him hanged." "Steward!" cried Pickersgill, from the cabin. "O lord! he can't have heard me--d'ye-think he did, miss?" "The partitions are very thin, and you spoke very loud," said Mrs Lascelles; "at all events, go to him quickly." "Good-bye, miss; good-bye, ma'am; if I shouldn't see you any more," said Maddox, trembling with fear, as he obeyed the awful summons--which was to demand a tooth-pick. Miss Ossulton would not touch the breakfast; not so Mrs Lascelles and Cecilia, who ate very heartily. "It's very dull to be shut up in this cabin," said Mrs Lascelles; "come, Cecilia, let's go on deck." "And leave me," cried Miss Ossulton. "There is Phoebe here, aunt; we are going up to persuade the pirates to put us all on shore." Mrs Lascelles and Cecilia put on their bonnets and went up. Lord B. took off his hat, and begged the honour of being introduced to the pretty widow. He handed the ladies to a seat, and then commenced conversing upon various subjects, which, at the same time, possessed great novelty. His lordship talked about France, and described its ports; told now and then a good anecdote; pointed out the different headlands, bays, towns, and villages, which they were passing rapidly, and always had some little story connected with each. Before the ladies had been two hours on deck, they found themselves, to their infinite surprise, not only interested, but in conversation with the captain of the smuggler, and more than once they laughed outright. But the _soi-disant_ Lord B. had inspired them with confidence; they fully believed that what he had told them was true, and that he had taken possession of the yacht to smuggle his goods, to be revenged, and to have a laugh. Now none of these three offences are capital in the eyes of the fair sex; and Jack was a handsome, fine-looking fellow, of excellent manners, and very agreeable conversation, at the same time, neither he nor his friend were in their general deportment and behaviour otherwise than most respectful. "Ladies, as you are not afraid of me, which is a greater happiness than I had reason to expect, I think you may be amused to witness the fear of those who accuse your sex of cowardice. With your permission, I will send for the cook and steward, and inquire about the dinner." "I should like to know what there is for dinner," observed Mrs Lascelles demurely; "wouldn't you, Cecilia?" Cecilia put her handkerchief to her mouth. "Tell the steward and the cook both to come aft immediately," cried Pickersgill. In a few seconds they both made their appearance. "Steward!" cried Pickersgill, with a loud voice. "Yes, my lord," replied Maddox, with his hat in his hand. "What wines have you put out for dinner?" "Champagne, my lord; and claret, my lord; and Madeira and sherry, my lord." "No Burgundy, sir?" "No, my lord; there is no Burgundy on board." "No Burgundy, sir! do you dare to tell me that?" "Upon my soul, my lord," cried Maddox, dropping on his knees, "there is no Burgundy on board--ask the ladies." "Very well, sir; you may go." "Cook, what have you got for dinner?" "Sir, a haunch of mutt--of venison, my lord," replied the cook, with his white night-cap in his hand. "What else, sirrah?" "A boiled calf's head, my lord." "A boiled calf's head! Let it be roasted, or I'll roast you, sir!" cried Pickersgill in an angry tone. "Yes, my lord; I'll roast it." "And what else, sir?" "Maintenon cutlets, my lord." "Maintenon cutlets! I hate them--I won't have them, sir. Let them be dressed _à l'ombre Chinoise_." "I don't know what that is, my lord." "I don't care for that, sirrah; if you don't find out by dinner-time, you're food for fishes--that's all; you may go." The cook walked off wringing his hands and his night-cap as well--for he still held it in his right hand--and disappeared down the fore-hatchway. "I have done this to pay you a deserved compliment, ladies; you have more courage than the other sex." "Recollect that we have had confidence given to us in consequence of your pledging your word, my lord." "You do me, then, the honour of believing me?" "I did not until I saw you," replied Mrs Lascelles; "but now I am convinced that you will perform your promise." "You do, indeed, encourage me, madam, to pursue what is right," said Pickersgill, bowing; "for your approbation I should be most sorry to lose, still more sorry to prove myself unworthy of it." As the reader will observe, everything was going on remarkably well. Chapter VI THE SMUGGLING YACHT Cecilia returned to the cabin, to ascertain whether her aunt was more composed; but Mrs Lascelles remained on deck. She was much pleased with Pickersgill; and they continued their conversation. Pickersgill entered into a defence of his conduct to Lord B.; and Mrs Lascelles could not but admit the provocation. After a long conversation, she hinted at his profession, and how superior he appeared to be to such a lawless life. "You may be incredulous, madam," replied Pickersgill, "if I tell you that I have as good a right to quarter my arms as Lord B. himself; and that I am not under my real name. Smuggling is, at all events, no crime; and I infinitely prefer the wild life I lead at the head of my men, to being spurned by society because I am poor. The greatest crime in this country is poverty. I may, if I am fortunate, some day resume my name. You may, perhaps, meet me, and, if you please, you may expose me." "That I should not be likely to do," replied the widow; "but still I regret to see a person, evidently intended for better things, employed in so disreputable a profession." "I hardly know, madam, what is and what is not disreputable in this conventional world. It is not considered disreputable to cringe to the vices of a court, or to accept a pension wrung from the industry of the nation, in return for base servility. It is not considered disreputable to take tithes, intended for the service of God, and lavish them away at watering-places or elsewhere, seeking pleasure instead of doing God service. It is not considered disreputable to take fee after fee to uphold injustice, to plead against innocence, to pervert truth, and to aid the devil. It is not considered disreputable to gamble on the Stock Exchange, or to corrupt the honesty of electors by bribes, to doing which the penalty attached is equal to that decreed to the offence of which I am guilty. All these, and much more, are not considered disreputable; yet, by all these are the moral bonds of society loosened, while in mine we cause no guilt in others--" "But still it is a crime." "A violation of the revenue laws, and no more. Observe, madam, the English Government encourage the smuggling of our manufactures to the Continent, at the same time that they take every step to prevent articles being smuggled into this country. Now, madam, can that be a _crime_, when the head of the vessel is turned north, which becomes _no crime_ when she steers the opposite way?" "There is a stigma attached to it, you must allow." "That I grant you, madam; and as soon as I can quit the profession I shall. No captive ever sighed more to be released from his chains; but I will not leave it, till I find that I am in a situation not to be spurned and neglected by those with whom I have a right to associate." At this moment, the steward was seen forward making signs to Mrs Lascelles, who excused herself, and went to him. "For the love of God, madam," said Maddox, "as he appears to be friendly with you, do pray find out how these cutlets are to be dressed; the cook is tearing his hair, and we shall never have any dinner; and then it will all fall upon me, and I--shall be tossed overboard." Mrs Lascelles desired poor Maddox to wait there while she obtained the desired information. In a few minutes she returned to him. "I have found it out. They are first to be boiled in vinegar; then fried in batter, and served up with a sauce of anchovy and Malaga raisins!" "First fried in vinegar; then boiled in batter, and served up with almonds and raisins!" "No--no!" Mrs Lascelles repeated the injunction to the frightened steward; and then returned aft, and re-entered into a conversation with Pickersgill, in which for the first time, Corbett now joined. Corbett had sense enough to feel, that the less he came forward until his superior had established himself in the good graces of the ladies, the more favourable would be the result. In the mean time Cecilia had gone down to her aunt, who still continued to wail and lament. The young lady tried all she could to console her, and to persuade her that if they were civil and obedient they had nothing to fear. "Civil and obedient, indeed!" cried Miss Ossulton, "to a fellow who is a smuggler and a pirate! I, the sister of Lord B.! Never! The presumption of the wretch!" "That is all very well, aunt; but recollect, we must submit to circumstances. These men insist upon our dining with them; and we must go, or we shall have no dinner." "I sit down with a pirate! Never! I'll have no dinner--I'll starve--I'll die!" "But, my dear aunt, it's the only chance we have of obtaining our release; and if you do not do it Mrs Lascelles will think that you wish to remain with them." "Mrs Lascelles judges of other people by herself." "The captain is certainly a very well-behaved, handsome man. He looks like a nobleman in disguise. What an odd thing it would be, aunt, if this should be all a hoax!" "A hoax, child?" replied Miss Ossulton, sitting up on the sofa. Cecilia found that she had hit the right nail, as the saying is; and she brought forward so many arguments to prove that she thought it was a hoax to frighten them, and that the gentleman above was a man of consequence, that her aunt began to listen to reason, and at last consented to join the dinner-party. Mrs Lascelles now came down below; and when dinner was announced they repaired to the large cabin, where they found Pickersgill and Corbett waiting for them. Miss Ossulton did not venture to look up, until she heard Pickersgill say to Mrs Lascelles, "Perhaps, madam, you will do me the favour to introduce me to that lady, whom I have not had the honour of seeing before?" "Certainly, my lord," replied Mrs Lascelles. "Miss Ossulton, the aunt of this young lady." Mrs Lascelles purposely did not introduce _his lordship_ in return, that she might mystify the old spinster. "I feel highly honoured in finding myself in the company of Miss Ossulton," said Pickersgill. "Ladies, we wait but for you to sit down. Ossulton, take the head of the table and serve the soup." Miss Ossulton was astonished; she looked at the smugglers, and perceived two well-dressed gentlemanly men, one of whom was apparently a lord, and the other having the same family name. "It must be all a hoax," thought she; and she very quietly took to her soup. The dinner passed off very pleasantly; Pickersgill was agreeable, Corbett funny, and Miss Ossulton so far recovered herself as to drink wine with his lordship, and to ask Corbett what branch of their family he belonged to. "I presume it's the Irish branch," said Mrs Lascelles, prompting him. "Exactly, madam," replied Corbett. "Have you ever been to Torquay, ladies?" inquired Pickersgill. "No, my lord," answered Mrs Lascelles. "We shall anchor there in the course of an hour, and probably remain there till to-morrow. Steward, bring coffee. Tell the cook these cutlets were remarkably well dressed." The ladies retired to the cabin. Miss Ossulton was now convinced that it was all a hoax; but said she, "I shall tell Lord B. my opinion of their practical jokes when he returns. What is his lordship's name who is on board?" "He won't tell us," replied Mrs Lascelles; "but I think I know; it is Lord Blarney." "Lord Blaney you mean, I presume," said Miss Ossulton; "however, the thing is carried too far. Cecilia, we will go on shore at Torquay, and wait till the yacht returns with Lord B. I don't like these jokes; they may do very well for widows, and people of no rank." Now, Mrs Lascelles was sorry to find Miss Ossulton so much at her ease. She owed her no little spite, and wished for revenge. Ladies will go very far to obtain this. How far Mrs Lascelles would have gone, I will not pretend to say; but this is certain, that the last innuendo of Miss Ossulton very much added to her determination. She took her bonnet and went on deck, at once told Pickersgill that he could not please her or Cecilia more than by frightening Miss Ossulton, who, under the idea that it was all a hoax, had quite recovered her spirits; talked of her pride and ill-nature, and wished her to receive a useful lesson. Thus, to follow up her revenge, did Mrs Lascelles commit herself so far, as to be confidential with the smuggler in return. "Mrs Lascelles, I shall be able to obey you, and, at the same time, to combine business with pleasure." After a short conversation, the yacht dropped her anchor at Torquay. It was then about two hours before sunset. As soon as the sails were furled, one or two gentlemen, who resided there, came on board to pay their respects to Lord B.; and, as Pickersgill had found out from Cecilia that her father was acquainted with no one there, he received them in person; asked them down in the cabin; called for wine; and desired them to send their boat away, as his own was going on shore. The smugglers took great care, that the steward, cook, and lady's maid, should have no communication with the guests; one of them, by Corbett's direction, being a sentinel over each individual. The gentlemen remained about half-an-hour on board, during which Corbett and the smugglers had filled the portmanteaus found in the cabin with the lace, and they were put in the boat. Corbett then landed the gentlemen in the same boat, and went up to the hotel, the smugglers following him with the portmanteaus, without any suspicion or interruption. As soon as he was there, he ordered post-horses, and set off for a town close by, where he had correspondents; and thus the major part of the cargo was secured. Corbett then returned in the night, bringing with him people to receive the goods; and the smugglers landed the silks, teas, &c., with the same good fortune. Everything was out of the yacht except a portion of the lace, which the portmanteaus would not hold. Pickersgill might easily have sent this on shore; but, to please Mrs Lascelles, he arranged otherwise. The next morning, about an hour after breakfast was finished, Mrs Lascelles entered the cabin pretending to be in the greatest consternation, and fell on the sofa as if she were going to faint. "Good heavens! what is the matter?" exclaimed Cecilia, who knew very well what was coming. "Oh, the wretch! he has made such proposals!" "Proposals! what proposals? what! Lord Blaney?" cried Miss Ossulton. "Oh, he's no lord! he's a villain and a smuggler! and he insists that we shall both fill our pockets full of lace, and go on shore with him." "Mercy on me! Then it is no hoax after all; and I've been sitting down to dinner with a smuggler!" "Sitting down, madam!--if it were to be no more than that--but we are to take his arm up to the hotel. Oh, dear! Cecilia, I am ordered on deck, pray come with me!" Miss Ossulton rolled on the sofa, and rang for Phoebe; she was in a state of great alarm. A knock at the door. "Come in," said Miss Ossulton, thinking it was Phoebe; when Pickersgill made his appearance. "What do you want, sir? Go out, sir! go out directly, or I'll scream!" "It is no use screaming, madam; recollect that all on board are at my service. You will oblige me by listening to me, Miss Ossulton. I am, as you know, a smuggler, and I must send this lace on shore. You will oblige me by putting it into your pockets, or about your person, and prepare to go on shore with me. As soon as we arrive at the hotel, you will deliver it to me, and I then shall reconduct you on board of the yacht. You are not the first lady who has gone on shore with contraband articles about her person." "Me, sir! go on shore in that way? No, sir, never! What will the world say? the Hon. Miss Ossulton walking with a smuggler! No, sir, never!" "Yes, madam, walking arm-in-arm with a smuggler: I shall have you on one arm, and Mrs Lascelles on the other; and I would advise you to take it very quietly; for, in the first place, it will be you who smuggle, as the goods will be found on your person, and you will certainly be put in prison, for, at the least appearance of insubordination, we run and inform against you; and, further, your niece will remain on board as a hostage for your good behaviour, and if you have any regard for her liberty, you will consent immediately." Pickersgill left the cabin, and shortly afterwards Cecilia and Mrs Lascelles entered, apparently much distressed. They had been informed of all, and Mrs Lascelles declared, that, for her part, sooner than leave her poor Cecilia to the mercy of such people, she had made up her mind to submit to the smuggler's demands. Cecilia also begged so earnestly, that Miss Ossulton, who had no idea that it was a trick, with much sobbing and blubbering, consented. When all was ready, Cecilia left the cabin; Pickersgill came down, handed up the two ladies, who had not exchanged a word with each other during Cecilia's absence; the boat was ready alongside--they went in, and pulled on shore. Everything succeeded to the smuggler's satisfaction. Miss Ossulton, frightened out of her wits, took his arm; and, with Mrs Lascelles on the other, they went up to the hotel, followed by four of his boat's crew. As soon as they were shown into a room, Corbett, who was already on shore, asked for Lord B., and joined them. The ladies retired to another apartment, divested themselves of their contraband goods, and, after calling for some sandwiches and wine, Pickersgill waited an hour, and then returned on board. Mrs Lascelles was triumphant; and she rewarded her new ally, the smuggler, with one of her sweetest smiles. Community of interest will sometimes make strange friendships. Chapter VII CONCLUSION We must now return to the other parties who have assisted in the acts of this little drama. Lord B., after paddling and paddling, the men relieving each other in order to make head against the wind which was off shore, arrived about midnight at a small town in West Bay, from whence he took a chaise on to Portsmouth, taking it for granted that his yacht would arrive as soon as, if not before himself, little imagining that it was in possession of the smugglers. There he remained three or four days, when, becoming impatient, he applied to one of his friends who had a yacht at Cowes, and sailed with him to look after his own. We left the _Happy-go-lucky_ chased by the revenue cutter. At first the smuggler had the advantage before the wind; but, by degrees, the wind went round with the sun, and brought the revenue cutter to leeward: it was then a chase on a wind, and the revenue cutter came fast up with her. Morrison, perceiving that he had no chance of escape, let run the ankers of brandy that he might not be condemned; but still he was in an awkward situation, as he had more men on board than allowed by Act of Parliament. He therefore stood on, notwithstanding the shot of the cutter went over and over him, hoping that a fog or night might enable him to escape; but he had no such good fortune,--one of the shot carried away the head of his mast, and the _Happy-go-lucky's_ luck was all over. He was boarded and taken possession of; he asserted that the extra men were only passengers; but, in the first place, they were dressed in seamen's clothes; and, in the second, as soon as the boat was aboard of her, Appleboy had gone down to his gin-toddy, and was not to be disturbed. The gentlemen smugglers therefore passed an uncomfortable night; and the cutter going to Portland by daylight before Appleboy was out of bed, they were taken on shore to the magistrate. Hautaine explained the whole affair, and they were immediately released and treated with respect; but they were not permitted to depart until they were bound over to appear against the smugglers, and prove the brandy having been on board. They then set off for Portsmouth in the seamen's clothes, having had quite enough of yachting for that season, Mr Ossulton declaring that he only wanted to get his luggage, and then he would take care how he put himself again in the way of the shot of a revenue cruiser, or of sleeping a night on her decks. In the mean time Morrison and his men were locked up in the jail, the old man, as the key was turned on him, exclaiming, as he raised his foot in vexation, "That cursed blue pigeon!" We will now return to the yacht. About an hour after Pickersgill had come on board, Corbett had made all his arrangements and followed him. It was not advisable to remain at Torquay any longer, through fear of discovery; he, therefore, weighed the anchor before dinner, and made sail. "What do you intend to do now, my lord?" said Mrs Lascelles. "I intend to run down to Cowes, anchor the yacht in the night; and an hour before daylight have you in my boat with all my men. I will take care that you are in perfect safety, depend upon it, even if I run a risk. I should, indeed, be miserable, if, through my wild freaks, any accident should happen to Mrs Lascelles or Miss Ossulton." "I am very anxious about my father," observed Cecilia. "I trust that you will keep your promise." "I always have hitherto, Miss Ossulton; have I not?" "Ours is but a short and strange acquaintance." "I grant it; but it will serve for you to talk about long after. I shall disappear as suddenly as I have come--you will neither of you, in all probability, ever see me again." The dinner was announced, and they sat down to table as before; but the elderly spinster refused to make her appearance; and Mrs Lascelles and Cecilia, who thought she had been frightened enough, did not attempt to force her. Pickersgill immediately yielded to these remonstrances, and, from that time she remained undisturbed in the ladies' cabin, meditating over the indignity of having sat down to table, having drank wine, and been obliged to walk on shore, taking the arm of a smuggler, and appear in such a humiliating situation. The wind was light, and they made but little progress, and were not abreast of Portland till the second day, when another yacht appeared in sight, and the two vessels slowly neared until in the afternoon they were within four miles of each other. It then fell a dead calm--signals were thrown out by the other yacht, but could not be distinguished, and, for the last time, they sat down to dinner. Three days' companionship on board of a vessel, cooped up together, and having no one else to converse with, will produce intimacy; and Pickersgill was a young man of so much originality and information, that he was listened to with pleasure. He never attempted to advance beyond the line of strict decorum and politeness; and his companion was equally unpresuming. Situated as they were, and feeling what must have been the case had they fallen into other hands, both Cecilia and Mrs Lascelles felt some degree of gratitude towards him; and, although anxious to be relieved from so strange a position, they had gradually acquired a perfect confidence in him, and this had produced a degree of familiarity, on their parts, although never ventured upon by the smuggler. As Corbett was at the table, one of the men came down and made a sign. Corbett shortly after quitted the table and went on deck. "I wish, my lord, you would come up a moment, and see if you can make this flag out," said Corbett, giving a significant nod to Pickersgill. "Excuse me, ladies, one moment," said Pickersgill, who went on deck. "It is the boat of the yacht coming on board," said Corbett; "and Lord B. is in the stern-sheets with the gentleman who was with him." "And how many men in the boat?--let me see--only four. Well, let his lordship and his friend come: when they are on the deck, have the men ready in case of accident; but if you can manage to tell the boat's crew that they are to go on board again, and get rid of them that way, so much the better. Arrange this with Adams, and then come down again--his lordship must see us all at dinner." Pickersgill then descended, and Corbett had hardly time to give his directions and to resume his seat, before his lordship and Mr Stewart pulled up alongside and jumped on deck. There was no one to receive them but the seamen, and those whom they did not know. They looked round in amazement; at last his lordship said to Adams, who stood forward, "What men are you?" "Belong to the yacht, ye'r honour." Lord B. heard laughing in the cabin; he would not wait to interrogate the men; he walked aft, followed by Mr Stewart, looked down the skylight, and perceived his daughter and Mrs Lascelles with, as he supposed, Hautaine and Ossulton. Pickersgill had heard the boat rub the side, and the sound of the feet on deck, and he talked the more loudly, that the ladies might be caught by Lord B. as they were. He heard their feet at the skylight, and knew that they could hear what passed; and at that moment he proposed to the ladies that as this was their last meeting at table they should all take a glass of champagne to drink to "their happy meeting with Lord B." This was a toast which they did not refuse. Maddox poured out the wine, and they were all bowing to each other, when his lordship, who had come down the ladder, walked into the cabin, followed by Mr Stewart. Cecilia perceived her father; the champagne-glass dropped from her hand--she flew into his arms, and burst into tears. "Who would not be a father, Mrs Lascelles?" said Pickersgill, quietly seating himself, after having first risen to receive Lord B. "And pray, whom may I have the honour of finding established here?" said Lord B., in an angry tone, speaking over his daughter's head, who still lay in his arms. "By heavens, yes?--Stewart, it is the smuggling captain dressed out." "Even so, my lord," replied Pickersgill. "You abandoned your yacht to capture me; you left these ladies in a vessel crippled for want of men; they might have been lost. I have returned good for evil by coming on board with my own people, and taking charge of them. This night, I expected to have anchored your vessel in Cowes, and have left them in safety." "By the--" cried Stewart. "Stop, sir, if you please!" cried Pickersgill; "recollect you have once already attacked one who never offended. Oblige me by refraining from intemperate language; for I tell you I will not put up with it. Recollect, sir, that I have refrained from that, and also from taking advantage of you when you were in my power. Recollect, sir, also, that the yacht is still in possession of the smugglers, and that you are in no condition to insult with impunity. My lord, allow me to observe, that we men are too hot of temperament to argue, or listen coolly. With your permission, your friend, and my friend, and I, will repair on deck, leaving you to hear from your daughter and that lady all that has passed. After that, my lord, I shall be most happy to hear anything which your lordship may please to say." "Upon my word--" commenced Mr Stewart. "Mr Stewart," interrupted Cecilia Ossulton, "I request your silence; nay, more, if ever we are again to sail in the same vessel together, I _insist_ upon it." "Your lordship will oblige me by enforcing Miss Ossulton's request," said Mrs Lascelles. Mr Stewart was dumbfounded, no wonder, to find the ladies siding with the smuggler. "I am obliged to you ladies for your interference," said Pickersgill; "for, although I have the means of enforcing conditions, I should be sorry to avail myself of them. I wait for his lordship's reply." Lord B. was very much surprised. He wished for an explanation; he bowed with _hauteur_. Everybody appeared to be in a false position; even he, Lord B., somehow or another had bowed to a smuggler. Pickersgill and Stewart went on deck, walking up and down, crossing each other without speaking, but reminding you of two dogs who both are anxious to fight, but have been restrained by the voice of their masters. Corbett followed, and talked in a low tone to Pickersgill; Stewart went over to leeward to see if the boat was still alongside, but it had long before returned to the yacht. Miss Ossulton had heard her brother's voice, but did not come out of the after-cabin; she wished to be magnificent and, at the same time, she was not sure whether all was right, Phoebe having informed her that there was nobody with her brother and Mr Stewart, and that the smugglers still had the command of the vessel. After a while, Pickersgill and Corbett went down forward, and returned dressed in the smuggler's clothes, when they resumed their walk on the deck. In the mean time, it was dark; the cutter flew along the coast; and the Needles' lights were on the larboard bow. The conversation between Cecilia, Mrs Lascelles, and her father, was long. When all had been detailed, and the conduct of Pickersgill duly represented, Lord B. acknowledged that, by attacking the smuggler, he had laid himself open to retaliation; that Pickersgill had shown a great deal of forbearance in every instance; and, after all, had he not gone on board the yacht she might have been lost, with only three seamen on board. He was amused with the smuggling and the fright of his sister; still more with the gentlemen being sent to Cherbourg, and much consoled that he was not the only one to be laughed at. He was also much pleased with Pickersgill's intention of leaving the yacht safe in Cowes harbour, his respect to the property on board, and his conduct to the ladies. On the whole, he felt grateful to Pickersgill; and where there is gratitude there is always good will. "But who can he be?" said Mrs Lascelles; "his name he acknowledges not to be Pickersgill; and he told me confidentially that he was of good family." "Confidentially, my dear Mrs Lascelles!" said Lord B. "Oh, yes! we are both his confidants. Are we not, Cecilia?" "Upon my honour, Mrs Lascelles, this smuggler appears to have made an impression which many have attempted in vain." Mrs Lascelles did not reply to that remark, but said, "Now, my lord, you must decide--and I trust you will to oblige us--treat him as he has treated us, with the greatest respect and kindness." "Why should you suppose otherwise?" replied Lord B.; "it is not only my wish but my interest so to do. He may take us over to France to-night, or anywhere else. Has he not possession of the vessel?" "Yes," replied Cecilia; "but we flatter ourselves that we have _the command_. Shall we call him down, papa?" "Ring for Maddox. Maddox, tell Mr Pickersgill, who is on deck, that I wish to speak with him, and shall be obliged by his stepping down into the cabin." "Who, my lord? What? _Him_?" "Yes, _him_," replied Cecilia, laughing. "Must I call him, my lord, now, miss?" "You may do as you please, Maddox; but recollect, he is still in possession of the vessel," replied Cecilia. "Then, with your lordship's permission, I will; it's the safest way." The smuggler entered the cabin; the ladies started as he appeared in his rough costume, with his throat open, and his loose black handkerchief. He was the _beau idéal_ of a handsome sailor. "Your lordship wishes to communicate with me?" "Mr Pickersgill, I feel that you have had cause of enmity against me, and that you have behaved with forbearance. I thank you for your considerate treatment of the ladies; and I assure you, that I feel no resentment for what has passed." "My lord, I am quite satisfied with what you have said; and I only hope that, in future, you will not interfere with a poor smuggler, who may be striving, by a life of danger and privation, to procure subsistence for himself and, perhaps, his family. I stated to these ladies my intention of anchoring the yacht this night at Cowes, and leaving her as soon as she was in safety. Your unexpected presence will only make this difference, which is, that I must previously obtain your lordship's assurance that those with you will allow me and my men to quit her without molestation, after we have performed this service." "I pledge you my word, Mr Pickersgill, and I thank you into the bargain. I trust you will allow me to offer some remuneration." "Most certainly not, my lord." "At all events, Mr Pickersgill, if, at any other time, I can be of service, you may command me." Pickersgill made no reply. "Surely, Mr Pickersgill,--" "Pickersgill! how I hate that name!" said the smuggler, musing. "I beg your lordship's pardon--if I may require your assistance for any of my unfortunate companions--" "Not for yourself, Mr Pickersgill?" said Mrs Lascelles. "Madam, I smuggle no more." "For the pleasure I feel in hearing that resolution, Mr Pickersgill," said Cecilia, "take my hand and thanks." "And mine," said Mrs Lascelles, half crying. "And mine, too," said Lord B., rising up. Pickersgill passed the back of his hand across his eyes, turned round, and left the cabin. "I'm so happy!" said Mrs Lascelles, bursting into tears. "He's a magnificent fellow," observed Lord B. "Come, let us all go on deck." "You have not seen my aunt, papa." "True; I'll go in to her, and then follow you." The ladies went upon deck. Cecilia entered into conversation with Mr Stewart, giving him a narrative of what had happened. Mrs Lascelles sat abaft at the taffrail, with her pretty hand supporting her cheek, looking very much _à la Juliette_. "Mrs Lascelles," said Pickersgill, "before we part, allow me to observe, that it is _you_ who have induced me to give up my profession--" "Why me, Mr Pickersgill?" "You said that you did not like it." Mrs Lascelles felt the force of the compliment. "You said, just now, that you hated the name of Pickersgill: why do you call yourself so?" "It was my smuggling name, Mrs Lascelles." "And now, that you have left off smuggling, pray what may be the name we are to call you by?" "I cannot resume it till I have not only left this vessel, but shaken hands with, and bid farewell to, my companions; and by that time, Mrs Lascelles, I shall be away from you." "But I've a great curiosity to know it, and a lady's curiosity must be gratified. You must call upon me some day, and tell it me. Here is my address." Pickersgill received the card with a low bow: and Lord B. coming on deck, Mrs Lascelles hastened to meet him. The vessel was now passing the Bridge at the Needles, and the smuggler piloted her on. As soon as they were clear and well inside, the whole party went down into the cabin, Lord B. requesting Pickersgill and Corbett to join him in a parting glass. Mr Stewart, who had received the account of what had passed from Cecilia, was very attentive to Pickersgill, and took an opportunity of saying, that he was sorry that he had said or done anything to annoy him. Every one recovered his spirits; and all was good humour and mirth, because Miss Ossulton adhered to her resolution of not quitting the cabin till she could quit the yacht. At ten o'clock the yacht was anchored. Pickersgill took his leave of the honourable company, and went in his boat with his men; and Lord B. was again in possession of his vessel, although he had not a ship's company. Maddox recovered his usual tone; and the cook flourished his knife, swearing that he should like to see the smuggler who would again order him to dress cutlets _à l'ombre Chinoise_. The yacht had remained three days at Cowes, when Lord B. received a letter from Pickersgill, stating that the men of his vessel had been captured, and would be condemned, in consequence of their having the gentlemen on board, who were bound to appear against them, to prove that they had sunk the brandy. Lord B. paid all the recognisances, and the men were liberated for want of evidence. It was about two years after this that Cecilia Ossulton, who was sitting at her work-table in deep mourning for her aunt, was presented with a letter by the butler. It was from her friend Mrs Lascelles, informing her that she was married again to a Mr Davenant, and intended to pay her a short visit on her way to the Continent. Mr and Mrs Davenant arrived the next day; and when the latter introduced her husband, she said to Miss Ossulton, "Look, Cecilia, dear, and tell me if you have ever seen Davenant before." Cecilia looked earnestly: "I have, indeed," cried she at last, extending her hand with warmth; "and happy am I to meet with him again." For in Mr Davenant she recognised her old acquaintance, the captain of the _Happy-go-lucky_, Jack Pickersgill, the smuggler. THE END.